were sold, but three cases of
these ancient books were sent back to the nuns who stayed behind in
Portugal, and of these cases two were lost in transit.

London, however, has always been the centre of book production in this
country, and it is there that any existing copies of these forgotten
books are most likely to re-appear. Was not a priceless manuscript, a
Household Book of the Black Prince, discovered only a few years ago in
the office of a city lawyer? Once, in the course of his rambles by the
bookstalls of the Farringdon Road,[8] our book-hunter caught a glimpse of
an old box almost covered by books and prints on one of the stalls. Being
unearthed, it proved to be a veritable gem of a trunk, about two feet by
one, and nine inches deep. It had a convex lid, and was covered with
shaggy horsehide, bound with heavily studded leather. The proprietor
stated that he had found it in a cellar, full of old books, most of which
had already been sold (his listener promptly pictured Caxtons among
them); and he was amused to think that any one could be so foolish as to
offer him two shillings for such a dirty old box. However, it was carried
home in triumph, regardless of the great interest shown by
fellow-travellers in the train. A year or two ago the same vender
produced a similar trunk, rather larger, which was full of ancient deeds
relating to property in Clerkenwell. These he sold for a shilling or two
shillings apiece, according to size and seals. The box was larger than
our bookman wanted, but apparently it soon found a purchaser.

Surely such instances must be common in this great city, and many a trunk
must yet linger in cellars and attics in the old parts of the town. Not
many years ago our book-hunter chanced to visit an ancient house at the
end of a small court off Fleet Street. Inside, it seemed to be entirely
lined with oak planking, and it was occupied, or at least that part into
which he penetrated was, by a printer in a small way of business. The
staircase was magnificent, of massive coal-black oak; and when our
book-hunter remarked upon it, the printer informed him he had discovered
that the house had once been the town residence of a famous bishop of
Tudor times.[9] How the occupant discovered this fact our bookman does
not remember; possibly the house is well known to antiquaries, and the
occupier may have read about it or have been told by the previous tenant.
But it is also within the bounds of possibil