Longmans profited largely from their transactions with Scott, they certainly retained him on liberal terms, having paid him, so it is asserted on good authority, in less than fifteen years, a sum of fully £20,000. They dealt with Tom Moore with an equally free hand, giving him 3,000 guineas for the copyright of "Lalla Rookh" alone. Contrast this with Milton's literary gains-£10 for his "Paradise Lost;" with Curll's short payments to his writers-who were treated as harshly as day-labourers; or even with what was thought the liberality of Jacob Tonson. True, Pope obtained £3,000 for his "Homer," but it was by subscription; and many years after, Samuel Johnson, writing to Cave for the loan of a few shillings, added, at the foot of the note, "Impransus," as a motive for compliance with his demand.

The Longmans preserve on their premises some highly interesting literary portraits, and they have an invaluable collection of rare books, from which bibliopolists are allowed to choose the pets they desire on really low terms, considering the precious character of the works. Here premier editions of Tasso are possible; here tall uncut tomes, ancient and modern, delight the bookworm; choice bindings in wood, vellum, and leather, by the best artists. Often books are bought for their outsides merely. Illustrated missals-the "Romance of the Rose," in all its beauty-Caxtons of undoubted genuineness, enough to make their non-possessors weep-and folios of tracts and broad-sheets, not unfrequently absolutely unique, may be secured by those who are willing and able to barter gold for knowledge, or what they value more. Happy the sexagenarian, without wife or children, who takes to a library, and occupies all his harmless life in hunting out rare volumes: not to read them-oh, no!—but to display them on his shelves to admiring visitors. Incidentally, if not directly, he is a useful labourer for science and literature, as but for him such books would often be lost for ever.

At Rivington's, the original sign of the old house, the Bible and Crown, let into the stone course over the window, might long be seen, and attracted great notice as the sole relic of a past custom once so common in the City.

We now are to speak of the Chapter Coffee-house-within a very short period still flourishing at the corner opposite Ivy-lane, but now finally closed. When I knew the quaint old establishment, probably built in the time of William III., though sobered much by age, it looked in sound condition; and while its heavy, small-paned windows and low ceilings made the coffee-room dusky even at midday, there was a great air of comfort and respectability about it. Rakes of the gay classes, or Hectors of the military, never came there; but studious men, members of the learned professions-proctors, attorneys-at-law, and especially clergymen and curates in abundance, and occasionally the beneficed in search of cheap helps, or, more rarely still, an economical dean or canon, and, at long intervals, a wearer of lawn sleeves, on business with less fortunate members of the Establishment, filled the benches and boxes, for the most part so quietly that their voices were scarcely heard above a whisper, the wisdom or the piety of their conversation being toned down so as to be inaudible except to themselves. Here are a couple of

extracts relative to the place:—

"I must notice the Chapter Coffee-house, frequented by those encouragers of literature, 'not the worst judges of men,' the booksellers. Their conversation naturally turns upon the newest publications; but their criticisms are somewhat singular. When they say 'a good book,' they do not mean to praise the style or sentiment, but the quick and extensive sale of it. That book is best which sells most, and if the demand for Quarles should be greater than for Pope, he would have the highest place on the rubric-post."--Connoisseur, Jan. 7, 1754.

"I am quite familiar at the Chapter Coffee-house, and know all the geniuses there. A character is now quite unnecessary—an author carries his character in his pen." -Chatterton to his mother, May, 1770.

I do not think many authors of note took their coffee there in my time. They seemed to be busy, bustling pendrivers-possibly, when at home, located in Grub-street, or some congenial region, and chiefly anxious about small bargains with second-rate publishers. The clergy were the chief visitants, and were principally middle-aged or elderly men, in very threadbare black, and not always with the whitest linen. In fact, it was a house of call for poor parsons who were on hire to perform Sunday duty, from a guinea down to five shillings, according to services expected or the character of the parties. Men of damaged repute, to each of whom it might be said without harshness,

"Go, lay thy orders at the bishop's feet;

Send thy dishonoured gown to Monmouth-street"

could be had easily, on the lowest terms; while those of whom no harm was known, save their indigence, obtained the higher fee without much difficulty. A dronish rector, too, could buy a sermon there at almost any price, according to the ability of the composer. Some of the discourses were really written by the vendors, but others were offered for sale by clerical middlemen, furnished with an assortment by purchase from poor brethren, who, from lack of decent dress, were unable to attend the market themselves. A buyer had only to name his subject and doctrine, and would be fitted to a hair in a moment. Charity sermons were quite a drug; there was such a glut of the commodity that a moving appeal for a parish school could be purchased for half-a-crown; while, if a course of sermons on a special subject was needed, the price per discourse varied from 5s. to 10s. 6d. In this manner the dullest clergyman

could avoid the necessity of study on his own account, and appear wise and eloquent on the easiest terms. The sermons were frequently mere commonplace, but occasionally were the productions of learned, pious, and eloquent men, without patrons or private means, and, by consequence, without livings. We fear such trading in sermons and preachers is still practised. We know that discourses, lithographed to resemble manuscript, may be openly bought at various London shops; and we are assured that persons in orders, and even with University honours, are to be engaged by the day on very moderate terms. We trust so scandalous a practice is on the decline, and that in a more conscientious age it will be wholly abandoned.

The charges at the Chapter were moderate, but then your desires must be moderate too, or you would come to grief. Hungry folks did well to keep away from its precincts, for a hearty meal was out of the question. A cup of coffee, of excellent quality, cost 5d.-6d. rather, for William, the head waiter, had a lien on the penny, and woe to him who sought for change! Four delicate ham sandwiches, with a glass of sherry, were charged 10d.-the eleventh and twelfth penny went to William. The tea deserves special mention. It was served in a red earthenware glazed pot, holding sufficient to fill three small cups, but quite superlative in quality. For this, with six slices of bread and butter, a muffin, or two crumpets, the charge was also 10d., the copper being appropriated as aforesaid. Persons might enter the coffeeroom, turn over the files of papers, and even transact business, without being obliged to call for anything; but if you did it often, a cold reception must be anticipated. Mr. William, who, it was believed, had money in the funds, was quite a character-age forty; height, the average; stout, but not fat; carefully dressed in a better black cloth suit than many of the visitors, wearing knee breeches, black silk hose, and a spotless white cravat; very civil and

attentive, never talking but in answer to questions, and then briefly. His eyes were in every corner of the room: woe to the luckless wight harbouring any design on the spoons! Yet he was capable of kind feeling, for when he suspected a customer was very needy, he would bring him two muffins, and only charge for one; nay, he had been known to avoid receiving payment altogether from a certain needy curate, by asserting, with great gravity, that he got the money when he served the tea. As a rule, he expected his pence with inexorable firmness; and no plea of wanting change, or remembering it next time, would answer with him. On easy terms with regular visitors, he scanned the strangers and new comers with inquisitive looks, watching all their proceedings like a very Argus.. If improper persons, such as mere tradesmen or mechanics, sought admission, he dismissed them coolly but decidedly, by intimating that they "must have mistaken the housethe Blue Boar was in Warwick-lane." He must have passed away long years ago, and with him most of his class; for the waiters in modern places of refreshment, or even in the club-houses, are of a very different grade. Genteel clubs in our day are for the "nobility and gentry," or certainly for the well-to-do only. Ordinary coffee-houses are chiefly for the busy and the vulgar. There are few or no refuges for poor gentlemen, where, as in the time of Addison and Johnson, a small outlay entitled the visitor to a cordial welcome, and where, in

"The feast of reason, and the flow of soul,"

carking cares and anxieties were banished.*

* Addison declares in one of his delightful “Spectators” that he knew a gentleman who managed to live very respectably on an annuity of £40. He spent the whole of his time in favourite coffee-houses, where he was always cordially welcomed, because he never failed to give the waiter a penny on leaving.