ein
the author discourses so pleasantly on these rare pygmies of the book
world. 'The Pastissier Francois,' we read, 'has lately fetched L600 at a
sale'; and the 'Caesar' of 1635 seemed nearly as rare, provided it were a
copy of that impression wherein the 149th page is misprinted '153.' A
little later our bookman was dipping, for the _n_-th time, into that
bibliophile's bible 'The Book Hunter,' by John Hill Burton, whose opinion
of the Caesar seemed even higher, for he devotes nearly half a page to
the little volume which Brunet describes as 'une des plus jolies et plus
rares de la collection des Elsevier.'

That decided our friend. He would collect Elzeviers. Moreover, he would
continue to collect them until he had acquired both the 'Pastissier
Francois' and the 1635 'Caesar.' Such was the confidence of youth! So he
sallied forth straight away, determined to ransack the nooks and corners
of certain shops of his acquaintance.

He didn't find the 'Pastissier Francois' that afternoon, but he found the
1635 'Caesar' in Charing Cross Road for _two shillings_. Moreover, it had
the requisite misprint and certain other distinctions which proclaim it
to be of the rare impression, and it is no less than 126 millimetres in
height! He has not yet come across the Pastissier, but doubtless he will
find a copy one day, provided his luck holds good.

The little 'Pastissier' is a far more interesting volume than the
'Caesar.' The latter is a dainty book, beautifully printed upon fine
paper, with folding maps and plans of castramentation. The 'Pastissier,'
on the other hand, is a disappointing little book in appearance, for it
is but indifferently printed upon poor paper. It cannot even claim the
merit of originality, being merely a pirated reprint of a volume that
appeared in Paris some two years previously.[11] But it is very, very
rare, and it has been celebrated by many distinguished pens.

'"Monsieur," said I, "pray forgive me if my question seems impertinent,
but are you extremely fond of eggs?"'

Such were the words with which Alexandre Dumas first addressed Charles
Nodier, the famous dramatist and bibliophile, whom he found sitting next
to him at the Theatre Porte-Saint-Martin. Dumas' curiosity as to the
little volume that was engrossing his neighbour's attention more than
the play was at length allayed, and it was a view of the title-page that
prompted his unusual question. Looking over his neighbour's shoulder, he
read,