Mr. Heber in the present century is a modern
example of the same kind. 'A book is a book,' he said: and he bought all
that came in his way, by cart-loads and ship-loads, and in whole
libraries, on which in some cases he never cast his eyes. The most
zealous lovers of books have smiled at his duplicates, quadruplicates,
and multiplied specimens of a single edition.
Thomas Rawlinson, for all his continual sales, blocked himself out of
house and home by his purchases: his set of chambers at Gray's Inn was so
completely filled with books that his bed had to be moved into the
passage. Some thought that he was the 'Tom Folio' of Addison's
caricature, in which it was assumed that the study of bibliography was
only fit for a 'learned idiot.' Hearne defended his friend from the
charge of pedantry, and declared that the mistake could only be made by a
'shallow buffoon.'
Rawlinson had a miserly craving after good books. If he had twenty copies
of a work he would always open his purse for 'a different edition, a
fairer copy, a larger paper.' His covetousness increased as the mass of
his library was multiplied: and as he lived, said Oldys, so he died,
among dust and cobwebs, 'in his bundles, piles, and bulwarks of paper.'
Upon Dr. Mead's death his place in the book-world was taken by Dr.
Anthony Askew, who travelled far and wide in search of rare editions and
large-paper copies. In describing the sale of his books in 1775 Dibdin
almost lost himself in ecstasies over the magnificent folios, and the
shining duodecimos 'printed on vellum and embossed with knobs of gold.
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