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THE

2438

BOOKMART.

VOLUME 5.
JUNE, 1887, TO MAY, 1888.

PITTSBURG:

BOOKMART PUBLISHING CO.,

PUBLISHERS.

1888.

THE

BOOKMART.

VOL. V.

TO NETSKIE.

JUNE, 1887.

Nox erat et cœlo fulgebat Luna sereno.
Hor. Ep. XV.
From Heaven's star-studded ebon floor
Unclouded shone the moon, and clear,
The night, with frenzied oaths, you swore
Eternal love and truth, my dear:
Your twining arms around my neck

Close-clinging as the tendril vine,

Come weal or woe, come storm or wreck, Come Fortune bright or Fate malign,

Long as Orion frets the deep,

As needle to the pole-star true, You swore those fervid oaths to keep, 'Till, dying, your last breath you drew. The Turk, you know, will never bear A brother, even, near the throne; For Venus' self I should not care, Unless I knew her all my owu.

To Sycorax, no doubt, her boy

Was moulded in Adonis' shape; You've played me false, I wish you joy, Make merry with your new-won ape. I'll bask in her less tutored smiles

Who yet has something left to learn; Nor think your tears, or worn-out wiles, Aught else but my contempt can earn. And you-you travesty of man

You counterfeit-you "singing boy," You, foremost in the backend van, Who mumble what you can't enjoy; You! you, of ass's milk mere curds,

Who think to joke at my expense, You chatterer of parrot words,

You pauper both in wit and sense; Although for you Pactolus flows,

Though for her sake you drain it dry, Tis not for you her passion glows, The love she grants-you'll have to buy. Time's whirligig revenge will bring,

The bitter cup you needs must quaff, She'll quit you for some other "thing." Then you will weep, and I-shall laugh. HALKETT LORD.

Whole No. 49.

TONSON AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES It is the second week of September, the year 1666. At his shop-door in Holborn, beneath the timehonored emblem of his profession, the parti-colored pole, stands Mr. Jacob Tonson, barber-surgeon. He looks earnestly and sorrowfully at the dense canopy of smoke that hangs over the east. The fire that had destroyed more than half of London is still smouldering. Fragments of burning paper still fall upon the causeway, as the remains of the books that were stowed in St. Faith's under Paul's, are stirred by the wind. Mr. Tonson is troubled. He has friends amongst the booksellers in the ruined city; and occasional customers, who have come thence to be trimined, with beards of a se'nnight's growth, tell him that these traders are most of them undone.

A month has passed since the fire broke out. The wealthy are finding house-room in Westminster and Southwark, and in streets of the city which the flames have not reached. The poor are still, many of them, abiding in huts and tents in Moorfields and St. George's Fields, and on the hills leading to Highgate. Some of the great thoroughfares may now be traversed. Mr. Tonson will venture forth to see the condition of his Company's Hall. With his second son, Jacob, holding his hand, he makes his way to Monkwell Street. Barber-Surgeon's Hall has sustained some injury; but the theatre, built by Inigo Jones, which is the pride of the Company, has not been damaged. He shows his son Holbein's great picture of the Company receiving their charter from Henry VIII., and expatiates upon the honor of belonging to such a profession. Young Jacob does not seen much impressed by the parental enthusiasm. The blood-'etting and tooth-drawing are not more attractive to him than the shaving, which latter operation his father deputes to his apprentices. They make their way through narrow lanes across Aldersgate Street, and so into Little Britain. Mr. Tonson enters a large book-shop, and salutes the bookseller with great respect. By common repute, Mr. Scot is the largest librarian in Europe. Young Jacob listens attentively to all that passes. His father brings out William Loudon's 'Catalogue of the most vendible books in England,' and inquires for 'The Anatomical Exercises of Dr. W. Harvey, Physician to the King's most Excellent

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