THE sale of books by auction, in the streets, is now inconsiderable and irregular. The "auctioning" of books—I mean of new books—some of which were published principally with a view to their sale by auction, was, to years ago, systematic and extensive. It was not strictly a street-sale. The auctioneer offered his books to the public, cases out of , in town, in an apartment (now commonly known as a "mock-auction room"), which was so far a portion of the street that access was rendered easier by the removal of the door and window of any room on a ground-floor, and some of the bidders could and did stand in the street and take part in the proceedings. In the suburbs— which at that period were not so integral a portion of the metropolis as at present—the book-auction sales were carried on strictly in the open air, generally in front of a public-house, and either on a platform erected for the purpose, or from a covered cart; the books then being deposited in the vehicle, and the auctioneer standing on a sort of stage placed on the propped--up shafts. In the country, however, the auction was often carried on in an inn.

The works thus sold were generally standard works. The poems were those of Pope, Young, Thomson, Goldsmith, Falconer, Cowper, &c. The prose writings were such works as "The Pilgrim's Progress," "The Travels of Mr. Lemuel Gulliver," "Johnson's Lives of the Poets," "The Vicar of Wakefield," the most popular of the works of Defoe, Fielding, and Smollett, and "Hervey's Meditations among the Tombs" (at time highly popular). These books were not correctly printed, they were printed, too, on inferior paper, and the frontispiece—when there a frontispiece—was often ridiculous. But they certainly gave to the public what is called an "impetus" for reading. Some were published in London (chiefly by the late Mr. Tegg, who at time, I am told, himself "offered to public competition," by auction, the works he published); others were printed in Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Ipswich, Bungay, &c.

of my informants remembered being present at a street-sale, about or years ago; he perfectly remembered, however, the oratory of the auctioneer, of whom he purchased some books. The sale was in of the streets in Stoke , a door or from a thoroughfare. My informant was there—as he called it—"accidentally," and knew little of the neighbourhood. The auctioneer stood at the door of what appeared to have been a coachhouse, and sold his books, which were arranged within, very rapidly: "Byron," he exclaimed; "Lord Byron's latest and best po'ms. Sixpence! Sixpence! Eightpence! I take penny bids under a shilling. Eightpence for the poems written by a lord—Gone! Yours, sir" (to my informant). The auctioneer, I was told, "spoke very rapidly, and clipped many of his words." The work thus sold consisted of some of Byron's minor poems. It was in the pamphlet form, and published, I have no doubt, surreptitiously; for there was, in those days, a bold and frequent piracy of any work which was thought distasteful to the Government, or to which the Court of Chancery might be likely to refuse the protection of the law of copyright.

The auctioneer went on: "Coop'r—Coop'r! Published at , as printed on the back. Superior to Byron—Coop'r's 'Task.' No bidders? Thank you, sir. -and-,— your's, sir. Young—'Young's Night Thoughts. Life, Death, and Immortality,'—great subjects. London edition, marked Going!—last bidder——gone!" The purchaser then complained that the frontispiece—a man seated on a tombstone—was exactly the same as to a copy he had of "Hervey's Meditations," but the auctioneer said it was impossible.

I have thus shown what the style and nature of the address of the street bookauc- tioneer, formerly, to the public. If it were not strictly "patter," or "pompous oration," it certainly partook of some of the characteristics of patter. At present, however, the street bookauctioneer may be described as a true patterer.

It will be seen from the account I have

experienced man in the book-stall trade calculated that years ago there might be book-auctioneers in the streets of London, or rather, of its suburbs. of these was a frequenter of the Old Kent-road; another, " way;" and a resorted to "any likely pitch in Pimlico"—all selling from a sort of van. Of these , however, my informant thought that there were never more than in London at time, as they were all itinerant; and they have gradually dwindled down to , who are now not half their time in town. These traders are brothers, and sell their books from a sort of platform erected on a piece of waste-ground, or from a barrow. The works they sell are generally announced as new, and are often uncut. They are all recommended as explanatory of every topic of the day, and are often set forth as "spicy." or years ago, a gentleman told me how greatly he was amused with the patter of of these men, who was selling books at the entrance of a yard full of caravans, not far from the School for the Blind, . work the street-auctioneer announced at the top of his voice, in the following terms, as far as a good memory could retain them: "'The Rambler!' Now you rambling boys—now you young devils, that's been staring those pretty girls out of countenance—here's the very book for you, and more shame for you, and perhaps for me too; but I must sell—I must do business. If any lady or gen'lman 'll stand treat to a glass of brandy and water, 'warm with,' I'll tell more about this 'Rambler'—I'm too bashful, as it is. Who bids? — thank'ee, sir. Sold again!" The "Rambler" was Dr. Johnson's!

The last time of my informants heard the "patter" of the smartest of the brothers, it was to the following effect: "Here is the 'History of the Real Flying Dutchman,' and mistake; no fiction, I assure you, upon my honour. Published at —who bids halfa-crown? Sixpence; thank you, sir. Ninepence; going—going! Any more?—gone!"

A book-stall-keeper, who had sold goods to a book-auctioneer, and attended the sales, told me he was astonished to hear how his own books—"old new books," he called them, were set off by the auctioneer: "Why, there was a vol. lettered 'Pamphlets,' and I think there something about Jack Sheppard in it, but it was all odds and ends of other things, I know. 'Here's the Jack Sheppard,' sings out the man, 'and no gammon!' The real edition—no spooniness here, but set off with other interesting histories, valuable for the rising generation and all generations. This is the real Jack. This will

put you up to the time o' day,

Nix, my dolly pals, bid away.

Then he went on: 'Goldsmith's History of England. Continued by the first writers of the day—to the very last rumpus in the palace, and no mistake. Here it is; genuine.' Well, sir," the stall-keeper continued, "the man didn't do well; perhaps he cleared 1s. 6d. or a little more that evening on books. People laughed more than they bought. But it's no wonder the trade's going to the dogs — they're not allowed to have a pitch now; I shouldn't be surprised if they was not all driven out of London next year. It's contrary to Act of Parliament to get an honest living in the streets now-a-days.

A man connected with the street book-trade considered that if of these auctioneers earned a guinea in London streets in the days it was a "good week." Half-a-guinea was nearer the average, he thought, "looking at the weather and everything." What amount is expended to enable this street-dealer to earn his guinea or half-guinea, is so uncertain, from the very nature of an auction, that I can obtain no data to rely upon.

The itinerant book-auctioneer is now confined chiefly to the provincial towns, and especially the country markets. The reason for this is correctly given in the statement above cited. The street-auction requires the gathering of so large a crowd that the metropolitan police consider the obstruction to the public thoroughfares warrants their interference. The remaining book--auctioneers in London generally restrict their operations to the outskirts—the small space which fronts "the George Inn" in the Commercial-road, and which lays a few yards behind the main thoroughfare, and similar suburban "retreats" being favourite "pitches." The trade is, as regards profits, far from bad—the books sold consisting chiefly of those picked up in cheap "lots" at the regular auctions; so that what fetches in the streets has generally been purchased for less than a penny. The average rate of profit may be taken at per cent. at the least. Exorbitant however as this return may appear, still it should be remembered