ant, for his eyes had met the same entry that had thrilled him a
year ago. This time it was described as 'very scarce,' and the price was
considerably enhanced; but he had his coat on and was in the street
almost immediately.

The nearest telegraph office likely to be open at such an hour was a mile
away, and it was a miserable night, snowing and blowing; but no weather
would have deterred him. So the telegram was safely dispatched, and he
returned to bed, pinning a notice on the bedroom door to the effect that
he was to be called, without fail, at seven o'clock.

That night he was obsessed by Uptons of all shapes and sizes. Some he
beheld with agony, cut down by the ruthless binder to duodecimo size;
others there were no larger than Pickering's Diamond Classics; some (on
his chest) were of a size which I can only describe as 'Atlas,' or,
perhaps more appropriately, 'Elephant Folio,' large-paper copies with
hideous margins.

Next morning our bookman was at the shop betimes. Yes! his wire had
arrived; Upton was his at last! Should the dealer send it for him by
carrier? Carrier, forsooth! As well entrust the Koh-i-noor to a messenger
boy. Of course it was the same copy that our friend had missed
previously, the owner having sold his books _en bloc_ in the meantime.

Why Upton is so scarce it is hard to say; perhaps very few copies were
printed, or perhaps a fire at the printer's destroyed most of them.
Certain it is that the premises of James Allestry and Roger Norton, who
published the book, were both burnt in the great fire twelve years after
its publication. Besides the two copies in the British Museum, there are
examples of it in several of the ancient libraries throughout the
kingdom; but it is very rarely indeed to be met with in the London
salerooms.[1] Dallaway mentions two copies as being, in 1793, in the
library of Lord Carlisle at Naworth; and probably there are examples in
some of the libraries of our older nobility. There would seem to be
copies, also, in France; for several writers upon chivalry, such as La
Roque and Sainte Marie, make mention of it. The writer bought a portion
of it, some forty-eight pages, a few years ago for four shillings. But
take heart, brother bibliophile; it is quite possible that you may
unearth a copy some day--if indeed the book be in your line--long buried
in the dust of some old country bookshop.

Upton died in 1457, and his work was so popular that numerous copies of
the m