collection previous to
auction. "Oh, by all means," said the auctioneer; "just point me out the
volume and say what you are willing to give me for it, and you can take
it out at once." What was Mr. Hunt's chagrin and disappointment, on
again taking up the bundle, to find that the number of books was all
right according to the catalogue, but Milton's "Paradise Lost" had
disappeared. Someone with as keen an eye as the Town Clerk had also
discovered the jewel, and had put in practice the theory that exchange
is no robbery, and had substituted some other volume for the Milton
without going through the formality of a consultation with the
auctioneer. Not long after this, a "Paradise Lost," which I have every
reason to believe was _the_ "Paradise Lost" described above, in the
original sheepskin binding, and having the "first" title-page, was
offered for sale to Mr. Simpson, who carried on an old-book business for
Mr. Skeat, in King William Street, Strand. He purchased it for what in
those days was considered a high price; but how much it was below what
is now esteemed its value is witnessed by the fact that he offered it to
the late Mr. Crossley, of Manchester, and after much haggling sold it to
him for L12 12s. When Mr. Crossley had secured it, he quietly remarked,
"And now let me tell you that if you find a dozen more copies in similar
condition, I will give you the same price for every one." It remained in
Mr. Crossley's library for many years, and at the sale of his books in
1884 realized what was considered the very high price of L25. Eight
years after it had advanced to L120.'

The book-borrower is, perhaps, a greater curse than the thief, for he
simulates a virtue to which the latter makes no pretension. The
book-plate of a certain French collector bore this text from the parable
of the Ten Virgins: 'Go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for
yourselves.' 'Sir,' said a man of wit to an acquaintance who lamented
the difficulty which he found in persuading his friends to return the
volumes that he had lent them, 'Sir, your acquaintances find, I suppose,
that it is much more easy to retain the books themselves than what is
contained in them.' A certain wise physician took a gentle way of
reminding the borrower who dog-eared or tore the pages of his books:
pasted on the fly-leaf of each of his books is a printed tag, bearing
this legend: 'Library of Galen, M.D. "And if a man borrow aught of his
neighbour and it be hurt, h