anuscript were made. The treatise on coat-armour, or 'cootarmuris,'
as it is quaintly spelt, which comprises the third part of the 'Book of
Saint Albans' (first printed in 1486), is, for the greater part, a
literal translation of the second half of the fourth book of the 'De
Studio Militari' as printed by Bysshe. Ames, in his 'Typographical
Antiquities,' asserts that Upton's work was reprinted from the St.
Albans book in folio, 1496, 'with the King's Arms and Caxton's mark
printed in red ink.' But he gives no authority for his assertion, and it
seems doubtful whether such a volume ever existed. At all events there
does not appear to be any trace of such a book beyond this mention, and
Herbert, editing Ames, omitted the whole passage. Hain,[2] probably
copying Ames, calls this supposititious work 'De Re Heraldica,' and
states that it was printed at Westminster in 1496 'Anglice.' So much for
worthy Master Nicholas, Canon of Salisbury and protege of the 'good duke
Humfrey.'

There is a curious phenomenon of not infrequent occurrence among
book-collectors, and that is the enforced acquisition of certain volumes
solely by means of the passive persuasion of their presence. In other
words, it is possible to bully the bibliophile into purchasing a book
merely by obtruding it continually before his gaze, till at length its
very presence becomes a source of annoyance to him. To escape from this
incubus he purchases the volume.

In nine cases out of ten, books so acquired never attain the same status
as their fellow-volumes. They are invariably assigned either to the
lowest or topmost shelves of the library, and are, in fact, pariahs.
Their owner did not really want them, and he can never quite forgive
their presence on his shelves. Generally their stay in any one home is
not a long one, for they are weeded out at the first opportunity, and
find no permanent rest until they come finally to that ultimate goal of
books, the paper mills. I confess that in my early days of
collecting this phenomenon was of not infrequent occurrence, being
associated, probably, with the indecision of youth. And in this
connection a bookseller once told me an interesting story.

A certain young man of the working class, on his way to work every day,
used to pass a bookstall situated in a narrow alley. Every day he glanced
at the books, and as custom was scanty he would notice what books were
sold and with what works the bookseller filled the empty pla