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(Download PDF) Book Madness A Story of Book Collectors in America Denise Gigante Full Chapter PDF
(Download PDF) Book Madness A Story of Book Collectors in America Denise Gigante Full Chapter PDF
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Book Madness
Charles Lamb. Engraved from a drawing by Daniel Maclise in
Fraser’s Magazine (February 1835). Author’s Collection.
Book Madness
A Story of Book Collectors in America
Denise Gigante
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
I like books about books.
—C H ARL E S LAM B, May 16, 1820
This page intentionally left blank
Contents
Dramatis Personae ix
Prologue 1
1. Bookmen Across the Atlantic:
Charles Lamb’s Books on Broadway 12
2. The Literary World: Publishers, Editors,
Journalists 66
3. New York Shakespeareans: Bardomania,
Testimonials, and Gift Exchange 117
4. Boston Antiquarians: American History,
Bibliography, and Bibliomania 174
5. Educating America: The Dream of a
Great Public Library 226
Epilogue 280
List of Abbreviations 293
Notes 297
Acknowledgments 361
Index 363
This page intentionally left blank
Dramatis Personae
ix
x dramatis personae
Major Actors
Daniel Appleton (1785–1849): Leading bookseller and publisher in New York
John Jacob Astor (1763–1848): German-born real estate tycoon; founder of the
Astor House hotel and the Astor Library, New York
Mary Balmanno (1802–1875): Expatriate British artist and poet; wife of Robert
Balmanno
John Russell Bartlett (1805–1886): American antiquarian, bookseller, publisher,
editor, bibliographer, ethnographer, and U.S. boundary commissioner
Thomas Crofton Croker (1798–1854): Irish antiquary living in London
Thomas Frognall Dibdin (1776–1847): English bibliographer; founder of the
Roxburghe Club and the “father of bibliomania”
Thomas Dowse (1772–1856): American book collector and bibliophile; the
“Learned Leather Dresser” of Cambridge, Massachusetts
dramatis personae xi
Minor Actors
William Backhouse Astor (1792–1875): Real estate developer and philanthro-
pist; son of John Jacob Astor
xii d r a m a t i s p e r s o n a e
Geoffrey Chaucer, The Works of Our Ancient and Learned English Poet,
and Lidgate’s Story of Thebes, Speght’s Edition (London, 1598). James T.
Annan, William Evans Burton, Edward Augustus Crowninshield, Henry
Stevens, Jr., Charles W. Frederickson, Charles Scribner’s Sons.
John Cleveland, J. Cleaveland Revived: Poems, Orations, and Epistles, and
Other of His Genuine Incomparable Pieces, 12mo (London, 1668). Robert
Balmanno, William Thomas Hildrup Howe.
John Cleveland, Poems by John Cleavland (London, 1662). Robert
Balmanno, Ogden Goelet.
Philippe de Commines, The History of Philip de Commines, Knight, Lord
of Argenton (London, 1674). George Templeton Strong, Charles W.
Frederickson, Charles Scribner’s Sons, Harry Bache Smith.
Abraham Cowley, The Works (London, 1693). Horatio Woodman.
John Dennis, Original Letters, Familiar, Moral, and Critical, 8vo
(London, 1726). James T. Annan, William Alfred Jones (?), Thomas
Pennant Barton (?).
John Donne, Poems, &c. by John Donne, Dean of St. Paul’s (London,
1669). George Templeton Strong, Charles W. Frederickson, Dodd, Mead
& Company.
Michael Drayton, The Works (London, 1748). James T. Annan, Edward
Augustus Crowninshield, Henry Stevens, Jr., Charles W. Frederickson,
Harry Bache Smith.
Jonathan Edwards, Freedom of the Will, and Joseph Priestley, The
Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity, 8vo. George Livermore.
Euripides, Euripidis tragoediarum, trans. August Matthiae (Oxford, 1821).
Charles Eliot Norton.
Aulus Gellius. Noctes Atticæ (Amsterdam: Elzevir, 1651). Charles Astor
Bristed.
Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke, Certaine Learned and Elegant Works
(London, 1633). Horatio Woodman.
Ben Jonson, The Works (London, 1692). George Templeton Strong,
Charles W. Frederickson, Charles Scribner’s Sons.
dramatis personae xvii
Minor Poets, bound quarto with fifteen tracts by Sir John Vanbrugh,
George Farquhar, Elkanah Settle, Andrew Marvell, Charles Cotton,
Peter Anthony Motteux, &c. James T. Annan, Joseph Green Cogswell.
Miscellaneous bound volume of tracts from the 1730s including Matthew
Green’s The Spleen (1737); William Benson’s Letters Concerning Poetical
Translations (1739); Jacob Hildebrand’s Of the Sister Arts (1734), &c.
Charles Eliot Norton.
Miscellanies, containing Antonio: A Tragedy by William Godwin;
Remorse: A Tragedy, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge; Antiquity: A Farce, by
Barron Field, A Letter to the Right Hon. William Windham by John
Lamb; and a copy of Windham’s speech delivered in the House of
Commons on June 13, 1809. George Templeton Strong, Charles W.
Frederickson, Dodd, Mead & Company, Harry Bache Smith.
Henry More, A Collection of Several Philosophical Writings (London,
1712). Charles Deane, Charles W. Frederickson.
Henry More, An Explanation of the Grand Mystery of Godliness (London,
1660). Charles Deane.
Henry More, Philosophical Poems, Platonic Song of the Soul, &c.
(Cambridge, 1647). George Templeton Strong, Charles W. Frederickson,
George Dallas Smith.
Old Plays. A Collection of twelve bound in one vol., 4to. James T.
Annan, George Henry Moore.
Francis Osborne, The Works (London, 1689). George Folsom.
John Petvin, Letters Concerning Mind. To Which Is Added, a Sketch of
Universal Arithmetic; Comprehending the Differential Calculus, and the
Doctrine of Fluxions (London, 1750). George Templeton Strong.
Poetical Tracts, including Poems by Charles Lloyd, 1795; Coleridge’s France,
Fears in Solitude, &c.; Wordsworth’s Descriptive Sketches, &c. bound in one
vol., 8vo. James T. Annan, Charles Eliot Norton.
Political Tracts, bound vol., 4to. George Templeton Strong, Charles
W. Frederickson.
Alexander Pope, The Dunciad Variorum (London, 1729). George
Livermore.
xviii d r a m a t i s p e r s o n a e
We are not the first, and probably will not be the last, to follow the trail
of books from Charles Lamb’s library.1 Those old books have a perennial
fascination—even if, in themselves, they were not worth much. Lamb’s
friend Henry Crabb Robinson once remarked that Lamb had amassed “the
finest collection of shabby books” that he (and perhaps anyone else) had ever
seen.2 Across the Atlantic the prominent American man of letters Evert
Augustus Duyckinck could not have known about the “wizened old cobbler”
who helped Lamb repair his books, but he was right in suspecting, when he
saw them at a bookstore on Broadway, that a shoemaker had bound them.3
Despite their dilapidated appearance, however, those same books were the
relics of an author who wrote so memorably about his book collection that
he has become the patron saint of book collectors ever since. “Saint Charles,”
as William Makepeace Thackeray dubbed him, had a knack for making
readers fall in love with all the tattered and dog-eared volumes on his shelves.4
This story of book collectors in America, by focusing on the dispersal of
Charles Lamb’s library in New York in 1848, brings together and recalls to
life the leading figures from the transatlantic book world at midcentury, a
time when Americans were busy assembling libraries, public as well as
private, from masses of old books in circulation.
For American bibliophiles, Lamb provided the inspiration as well
as the language necessary to combat the idea that bookishness was an Old
1
2 prologue
World affectation incompatible with life in the New. It is telling that the
library sale catalogue of virtually every major American book collector in
the nineteenth century who owned books from Charles Lamb’s library—no
matter how vast or valuable the collection, no matter how deep in historical
time or how lavishly embellished with the arts of the bookbinder—appealed
to its audience by boasting of its association with Saint Charles. As a biblio-
phile motivated by his own tastes, Lamb was as little interested in setting
literary trends as in following them, immune (as he made clear in the voice of
“Elia,” his best-known essayistic personality) to reigning ideologies of what
a “gentleman’s library” ought or ought not to contain.5 And yet at the time
our story is set, Lamb was trendy. He was a model for book collectors of all
stripes in America.
To some degree, his popularity was owing to the fact that he was a
working man of letters: he served as a mouthpiece for all those whose week-
days were spent in the grind of economic survival but whose evenings and
fugitive hours were all spent with books. The category included merchant
scholars, midnight historians, scribbling civil servants, and attorneys who
preferred literature to the law. Lamb himself had clerked in the accounting
office of the British East India Company, then the ruling symbol of British
mercantile capitalism, and he well understood what it meant to be condemned
to “dry drudgery at the desk’s dead wood.”6 But as a literary essayist, most
memorably under the pen name “Elia,” he transformed his everyday experi-
ence in a way that profoundly touched many readers. On both sides of the
Atlantic working men of letters turned to literature, books, and other bookish
individuals as an escape from the disenchanted pragmatism of modernity, and
Lamb spoke to them from the midst of their own world in the voice of child-
hood enchantment. Among likeminded bibliophiles, there naturally arose
social and scripted communities in which books, like sturdy old cobblestones,
formed pathways between them. This is the rationale for grouping our protag-
onists together into clusters of shared affinities in the chapters that follow.
In the language of the book trade, the books from Charles Lamb’s
library have a special name: association copies. Unlike the pristine book in
its original wrappers prized by a certain kind of collector, an association
copy comes trailing clouds of glory through signs of previous ownership
and use. While any old book with a cracked skin and foxing (bibliographical
age spots) can bespeak the singularity of individual experience, standing out
against the anonymity of commodity culture, an association copy of a book
prologue 3
As a book moves through the world, moreover, passing from one indi-
vidual to another, it can prompt more thoughts and memories—as well as
commentaries, confessions, self-reflections, poetry, pictures, and other
responses, which can in turn trigger further associations. In the nineteenth
century, association copies also had the peculiar quality of connecting one
person to another, forging chains of relation that resulted in clubs, memo-
rials, testimonials, publications, and monuments.9 The Scottish essayist John
Hill Burton found that associations formed through books at this time
reshaped the very nature of human subjectivity: “He, the man—to himself
the ego, and to others the mere homo—ceased to revolve around the center of
gravity of his own personality, and, following the instincts of his adhesive
nature, resolved himself into an associative community.”10 The key point to
keep in mind is that an association copy of a book is something that connects.
It connects the past to the present, the material to the immaterial, and the
experiential to the imagined. Charles Lamb’s library was a living nexus of
association, and its dispersal in New York in 1848 offers a unique opportu-
nity to explore different pockets of book collecting in midcentury America.
We offer this story of book collectors in America as a narrative experiment
in associational literary history that views literature (in the manner of the
bibliophiles who comprise it) as a lived phenomenon.
To be sure, 1848 was a watershed year on both sides of the Atlantic.
The California Gold Rush began in January, luring thousands of Easterners
and European immigrants across the continent to fantasies of wealth in the
West. The following month, the Mexican-American War ended, initiating a
renegotiation of the southern border of the United States. John Russell
Bartlett, a partner in the bookstore that dispersed Lamb’s library, left his life
as a bookseller and publisher and headed to El Paso, Texas, in his new role as
the U.S. boundary commissioner. As these events were transpiring, political
upheaval was tearing through the European continent. The February Revo-
lution of 1848 began in Paris, where the last French king, Louis-Philippe,
was chased from his throne. The seizure of the royal palace by revolution-
aries triggered rebellion in other European states against unconstitutional
forms of government—in Vienna, Berlin, Bavaria, The Hague, Warsaw,
Naples, Copenhagen, and elsewhere.
More than one of our protagonists were in Paris at the time of revolu-
tion. The Unitarian minister Henry Whitney Bellows recognized what was at
stake in the event that would forever change the face of Europe: “Revolution
prologue 5
Isola, who married the English publisher and poet Edward Moxon. Moxon’s
prestigious publishing career began with Charles Lamb’s Album Verses in
1830. Fourteen years later he scandalized his countrymen by letting Elia’s
books go to New York. In October 1848, after those books had been sold in
the Astor House, roughly a third of the collection was resold by the auction-
eers Cooley, Keese & Hill, located a few doors down from the Astor House.
Thus the last relics of the quintessential book lover’s library were scattered.
New York City by 1848 had become the book capital of the United
States and gave rise to an emergent class of literary professionals—editors,
publishers, journalists—to whom our story turns. That same year the Duyck-
inck brothers, Evert Augustus and George Long, sons of one of the longest-
established printers in the city, together purchased the Literary World, a
biweekly paper founded by Evert, and began transforming it into a premier
organ of tastemaking in the transatlantic world of letters. Evert also edited
the “Library of Choice Reading,” a series of reprinted European books, for
the publishers John Wiley and George Palmer Putnam, which included works
by Charles Lamb and his fellow English essayists Leigh Hunt and William
Hazlitt. The motto he chose for the series (“Books That Are Books”) alluded
to Elia’s “books which are no books—biblia a-biblia” in Lamb’s well-known
essay “Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading” (1822). Professor Henry
Hope Reed of the University of Pennsylvania had agreed to edit “The
Coleridge Miscellany” for the Library of Choice Reading, and Reed recog-
nized the “magic power” of Elia’s books to forge connections when Evert sent
him Coleridge’s marginal notes on those books to include in the anthology.14
Coleridge, who coined the term marginalia, was himself the genre’s undis-
puted master, and he left enough commentary in the books he borrowed from
Lamb’s library to make the literary world of New York sit up and take note.
Our protagonist George Templeton Strong, who snapped up all of Elia’s
volumes from the store of Bartlett & Welford with notes by Coleridge, gave
Evert permission to publish those notes, which Evert eventually did in the
Literary World, by which means they returned to London.
New York was then not only the book capital but also the theatrical
capital of the country and the city was home to a robust society of literary
antiquarians whose interests centered on Shakespeare. The bardomania
(as we shall call this species of bibliomania) involved not only old books
and manuscripts but old rings, old goblets, old gloves, old glass panels, old
oak tiles, and other Shakespeareana. The most prominent American
prologue 7
private library became the centerpiece of the nation’s oldest historical society,
the Dowse Library of the Massachusetts Historical Society, a lasting monu-
ment to self-culture.
While the greater part of the story explores the culture of private
collecting in America, it is also true that on both sides of the Atlantic at
midcentury the public library movement was gaining steam. Two of our
protagonists, Henry Stevens, Jr., and Joseph Green Cogswell, were major
figures in the development of public libraries in America. In the spring of
1848, Stevens addressed the Library Committee of the British House of
Commons about the many different types of libraries serving the public in
the United States, from mercantile libraries to subscription libraries to
lyceum and athenaeum libraries to the Library of Congress. His own relent-
less work as a bibliographer and bookdealer did much to stock those libraries.
With funds bequeathed by the real estate tycoon John Jacob Astor on April
15, 1848, Cogswell focused his efforts on acquiring books for the Astor
Library, the forerunner of the New York Public Library. His work inspired
his friends in Boston, George Ticknor and Edward Everett, to establish the
Boston Public Library that same year as the nation’s first major public library
with circulating books. Around the same time, Stevens made the most spec-
tacular purchase of his career: the association copies from George Washing-
ton’s library in Mount Vernon. When he announced his intention of selling
them to the British Museum, he roused the fighting spirits of a group of
Boston bibliophiles, including George Livermore and Charles Eliot Norton,
who worked to keep the library of the leader of the American Revolution in
the city where that revolution began. Today it resides in the Boston
Athenæum as another monument of self-culture.
Our story finds its end by way of its beginning in the epilogue. Spurred
by the sale of Charles W. Frederickson’s sentimental library in New York in
1897, the American bibliomaniac Dewitt Miller began tracking down all the
books from Charles Lamb’s library in America. The bibliomaniacal Freder-
ickson, while still a young man, had visited the store of Bartlett & Welford in
the Astor House and seen the books from Charles Lamb’s library. Although
his working wages as a printer did not allow him to buy any, he vowed that
someday he would own some, and “well he kept that sacred oath, for eventu-
ally he possessed ten of them.”15 After his death, those association copies
spilled back into the freewheeling bibliospace of the transatlantic book
market, and Miller’s book sleuthing began. He produced an Elian book-bible
prologue 9
of sorts by binding William Carew Hazlitt’s book The Lambs (1897) together
with the fifty-eighth imprint of the Dibdin Club of New York’s Descriptive
Catalogue of Lamb’s library (1897) and crammed his own notes into the
margins. He communicated with the author of the former, William Hazlitt’s
grandson, who knew more than anyone else at the time about Lamb’s books.
He also contacted purchasers like Charles Eliot Norton and bibliographers
like Ernest Dressel North, who had written the introduction to the Freder-
ickson sale catalogue. He clipped out letters and articles related to the sale
and pasted them into his book. The resulting patchwork volume, now in the
Department of Special Collections at Stanford University Libraries, was the
original inspiration for this story of book collectors in America.
The story takes its name from the book madness—at once a parody and
a pathology—that raged in Elia’s day and swept across the Atlantic.16 The
Reverend Thomas Frognall Dibdin, a bibliographer as eccentric as his name,
popularized the craze for collecting rare and antiquarian books that suffused
Britain in the first decades of the century. His best-known work, The Biblio-
mania; or, Book-Madness; Containing Some Account of the History, Symptoms,
and Cure of This Fatal Disease (1809), took the form of an epistle to Richard
Heber, Esq., an English bibliomaniac who filled not just one but nine houses
with books—some in England (Hodnet Hall in Shropshire, houses on York
Street and in Pimlico, London) and others in continental Europe, where
he frequently went on book-buying expeditions (Paris, Louvain, Leyden,
The Hague, Brussels, and Antwerp).17 For bibliomaniacs like Heber, one
copy of a book was never enough. “Why you see,” he explained, “no man
can comfortably do without three copies of a book. One he must have for his
show-copy. . . . Another he will require for his own use and reference; and
unless he is inclined to part with this, which is very inconvenient, or risk the
injury of his best copy, he must needs have a third at the service of his
friends.”18 The dispersal of Heber’s library after his death in 1833 marked the
end of what Dibdin called “the grand era of Bibliomania.”19
The second quarter of the century was “a period of retrenchment in
British book collecting, a bear market after the bull market of the earlier
decades of the century and the Bibliomania so famously hymned by Thomas
Dibdin,” as the British librarian David Pearson explains.20 In the 1830s, the
father of bibliomania himself turned from singing the praises of the book
madness to lamenting what he called the “Bibliophobia.” Dibdin’s work of
1832 by that title bore the explanatory subtitle: “Remarks on the Present
10 p r o l o g u e
Languid and Depressed State of Literature and the Book Trade.” That work,
also, took the form of a letter, addressed this time not in cheerful comradery
to the bibliomaniacal Heber but with rueful irony to himself, “the Author of
the Bibliomania.”21 Yet this was the time that American collectors entered the
transatlantic book market in full force, infusing it with new money and new
interests. The American book market heated up in the 1840s, as antiquarians
sought the materials to write New World history, wealthy bibliophiles
amassed the book collections that would become the basis of major institu-
tional libraries today, and librarians, bookdealers, and bibliographers worked
to fill what Henry Stevens called the “hungry alcoves” of American public
libraries.22
We have seen William Hazlitt describe the associative nature of books,
and it was likely his friend Leigh Hunt—the man who never went anywhere
without a book in his pocket as a precaution against boredom—who wrote,
“If there be one word in our language, beyond all others teeming with
delightful associations, Books is that word.” But what, after all, is a book?
According to Roger Chartier, a pioneer of academic book studies, books are
works that “take on a certain density in their peregrinations . . . about the
social world.” A text may be an abstract linguistic structure, reproducible in
print or digital forms, but a book obtains unique layers of meaning in its
wanderings through time and space, making it a resource “for thinking about
what is essential: the construction of social ties, individual subjectivity, and
relationship with the sacred.”23 The books from Charles Lamb’s library are
literary works as well as objects, and we will be considering them as such—
moving beyond titles to content, without forgetting title pages, covers,
flyleaves, marginalia, and other bibliographical features that make up a book.
“Is book history a subset of textual interpretation or vice versa?” asks the
literary historian Leah Price.24 There is no universal answer to this question,
nor perhaps should there be. What is needed is more tension between them.
For sentimental collectors too, the value of a book lay in the accidents,
or unpredictable circumstances, that result from its embeddedness in the
social world around it. For Walter Pater, Charles Lamb was “a true ‘collector,’
delighting in the personal finding of a thing, in the colour an old book or
print gets for him by the little accidents which attest previous ownership.”25
We might remember that it was the “moving accidents” of Othello’s stories
that attracted Shakespeare ’s Desdemona to him, and Elia was equally sensible
of “the becoming accidents, as they may be called, of books.”26 As the books
prologue 11
from Lamb’s library follow trajectories that intersect, overlap, and form
tangents with one another and the collectors in this story, they reflect the
accidental nature of life in a culture of letters. “Nowadays authors are to be
found ‘autographing’ their books before perspiring crowds in department
stores,” one bookseller complained in 1937, when the sentimental taste for
association copies had gained a hold in the American culture of collecting.
“These are not real association copies. They convey no sentiment of inti-
macy. They are advertising products and should be so rated.”27 While such
books were actually intended to simulate “presentation copies,” what is true
of one is true of the other: a book with genuine sentimental value cannot be
manufactured like a commodity. The sixty association copies from Lamb’s
library sold in New York in 1848 were all “real association copies,” and liter-
ature, for all our protagonists, was a real way of life.28
Of course, this story does not presume to address all cultures of
collecting in the United States at midcentury. Nor do all the buyers of asso-
ciation copies from Charles Lamb’s library sold in 1848 figure in it, for not all
of them are known. Who, for instance, was the “Bateman of Philadelphia”
who purchased a volume of dramatic works that included Joanna Baillie’s
Plays on the Passions and Coleridge ’s translation of Wallenstein (a trilogy of
plays by Friedrich Schiller) from Bartlett & Welford? What “Stranger”
walked off from the store with Lamb’s copy of A Tale of a Tub? Bookstore
clerks were not always accurate, and since American auction rooms were
noisy and crowded, people jotting down names and prices in sale catalogues
did not always hear the same thing. Occasionally, books would migrate
silently from one collection to another, leaving no written record of the
transaction. Given the inevitability of gaps and discrepancies in the histor-
ical record, this story of book collectors in America has been shaped
according to what is known, accepting the presence of bibliographical
enigmas and leaving those association copies that fall through the cracks to
another day, another author—with confidence that, in the event, the shadows
that play over the books from Charles Lamb’s library will continue to give
them their aura of intrigue and associative potential.
1. Bookmen Across the Atlantic
Charles Lamb’s Books on Broadway
What would Charles Lamb think if he could know how the shabby
old books which he saved from the paper-mill would be made
immortal by their short sojourn upon his shelves?
—Luther Samuel Livingston
12
bookmen across the atlantic 13
The juncture of Broadway and the Bowery, New York, c. 1828. Drawing from John Jacob Astor:
Landlord of New York (1929) by Arthur D. Howden Smith. Courtesy of the Department of
Special Collections, Stanford University Libraries.
get into the crowd; and when I get in, I am borne, and rubbed, and crowded
along, and need scarcely trouble myself about using my own legs; and when
I get out, it seems like I had been pulled to pieces and very badly put together
again.”4 Amidst all this urban hubbub, one bookstore tucked away on the
ground floor of the Astor House at 229 Broadway (beneath the American
Hotel, the nation’s premier luxury hotel, built by John Jacob Astor) gained a
reputation as a beacon of taste.
The bookstore, owned by John Russell Bartlett and Charles Welford,
had a commodious reading room, and the rare book collector James Carson
Brevoort (future superintendent of the Astor Library) described it as a “cozy
nook.”5 Throughout the 1840s, it attracted a circle of literary lights. Bartlett
recalled that it “was the resort of literary men not only from New York, but
from all parts of the country.” The poet Fitz-Greene Halleck and novelist
James Fenimore Cooper were daily visitors, sometimes remaining for hours
in conversation. “Others would come in and look over the new books. There
was scarcely a literary or scientific man in the city who did not pay frequent
visits to our store, and the same class of men from other cities generally
made us an early call on visiting the city to see what there was new among
books.”6 Among the out-of-towners was Ralph Waldo Emerson, who in
1848 was on a lecture tour in Britain. The following year he stopped in the
store and Welford’s wife, Mary Anne, found it “too provoking” to have
missed him.7 The booksellers in the Astor House were intellectuals as well as
14 b o o k m e n a c r o s s t h e a t l a n t i c
country.” The bull market of the 1830s had gone bust. “The West is just
beginning to feel it,” Russell reported in June, auguring more “disastrous
and untried scenes . . . before us.” Andrew Jackson and his successor Martin
Van Buren (who became the eighth U.S. president in March) were lucky they
were not in Europe, Russell believed, or their heads would have paid the
price for “the wide spread ruin that is now sweeping over our country in its
length and breadth.”11
Bartlett’s bookkeeping services were no longer needed by his
employers, but libraries and book collectors in Providence continued to rely
on him. He scanned sale catalogues, attended evening auctions, and eventu-
ally began to think he might channel his commercial and bibliographical
knowledge into a new career. Surely books could be traded with as much
ease or difficulty as other commodities. But his friend William C. Hall, an
American bookdealer in London, warned him otherwise: “The book trade is
the most dangerous of any, and not one out of 100 succeed at it in this country
or any other.” Like Bartlett, Hall had begun his career at a New England
country store. He was able to explain that while the logic of retailing such
things as cotton, tea, rum, and molasses was straightforward—stock no
goods that did not turn a profit—booksellers frequently sacrificed quantita-
tive logic to sentiment and taste. By piling up authors, subjects, historical
periods, and even bindings that appealed to them, they ran the risk of accu-
mulating inventories that were “of little or no value, and not worth one
twentieth” of the price they had paid. Flooding the market with unwanted
books was not only “bad for the owners,” but bad for the business in general
since “no trade is so bad as books when forced into the market.”12
The greatest reason for the sluggish sale of new books in Britain in the
1830s was the slew of “cheap literature” flooding the marketplace, a phenom-
enon enabled by technological innovations like steam-powered printing and
machine-made paper. The Panic of 1837 compounded the slump in the
British book trade by making cash scarce on both sides of the Atlantic. On
December 18, 1838, Hall warned Bartlett, “Send out a man with the very best
knowledge of the market & a large capital of ready cash. . . . I doubt whether
he will be able to make enough to pay his board and lodging. . . . [O]ne thing
is certain, all that have attempted amongst English books have become bank-
rupt.”13 The shelf life of a new publication was not long, and if the first print
run did not sell out, the remainders would go for a fraction of their original
retail price. Three years later, in November 1841, only 750 copies (of a print
16 b o o k m e n a c r o s s t h e a t l a n t i c
run of 1,000) of William Wordsworth’s most recent book had sold, causing
the poet to fear that “the wretched state of the Book trade and the heavy
stock” his publisher Edward Moxon had on hand would discourage Moxon
from publishing a new volume of poems he was preparing for the press.14 In
the New Year, he confessed to Moxon that Moxon’s own “account of the
depressed state of the book-trade” had made him “almost indifferent about
publishing the volume.”15
Yet while Moxon continued to publish new books, Hall shipped his
remaining stock to Bartlett to be sold on commission in New York, happy to
“quit a dangerous and an impossible business in which . . . very few get rich
but many are poor.”16 American bibliomania was on the rise, and Bartlett was
convinced the books would sell with enough margin for him to send Hall his
5 percent commission (half the usual bookdealer’s markup). “New York is
certainly infected with the Bibliomania,” attested George Templeton Strong
after one book auction on March 15, 1839; “I never saw anything like the
eagerness to buy, and the prices given.”17 Three months before that, Hall had
said the same thing of the book market in London: “Old books are becoming
extremely scarce and generally very dear.” Prices in the previous six years
had doubled, and he estimated that more antiquarian books had been offered
for sale during a single month at the start of the decade than in six months
combined by the end.18 In 1841, Bartlett suggested that the prices of anti-
quarian books had increased, and in many instances doubled again, since
1836. But the American market for such books was robust. “In this country
the number of book collectors has greatly increased and in whatever depart-
ment of literature a man’s taste runs, he wants a few specimens of early
printing,” observed Bartlett.19
The time was ripe, and what Bartlett needed was a partner whose bibli-
ographical expertise ran beyond American history and ethnography. As it
turns out, he was prescient in his choice of Charles Welford. For while
Welford was then still a young man in his mid-twenties, he would become a
leading bibliographer in the transatlantic world of books, eventually part-
nering with Charles Scribner. As the son of a London bookseller, he had
grown up around books. His father, John G. Welford, had moved the family
to New York when Charles was eighteen, opening a bookstore at 424 Grand
Street, where Charles worked for three years, until the age of twenty-one. At
that point, he landed a job as a clerk with Daniel Appleton, then the leading
bookseller in the city, at 200 Broadway. “All he knew he learned by
bookmen across the atlantic 17
experience,” said one who knew Welford; he “was entirely self educated,
having had no time to go to school or college.”20 His friendly disposition
masked an “extraordinary knowledge of books and a wonderful memory
which enabled him to answer puzzling questions off-hand.”21
A daily customer in Daniel Appleton’s bookstore was George
Templeton Strong, who stopped in on his way from school on March 8, 1836,
and met Charles Welford. “I can’t conceive what this Mr. Welford is doing as
clerk in a book store,” wrote the sixteen-year-old Strong in his diary: “He
seems to know something about everything—talks about Sanskrit roots,
Polyglots, scarce editions, boustrophedon inscriptions, and everything of
the sort . . . and seems moreover perfectly well acquainted with the works of
many authors not often read, and well versed in all sorts of literature. I
should think he might find a better situation than that of a clerk.”22 However,
as the book historian Michael Winship explains, being a bookstore clerk in
nineteenth-century urban America required some bibliographical expertise:
“The general stock was chiefly shelved behind counters and not accessible
for browsing. Customers depended on sales clerks for advice and service.”23
Welford constantly surprised those who knew him best with the “the extent
and exactness of his knowledge,” and others saw him as a “walking
cyclopædia.” According to one London bookseller, Edward Marston, “if he
did not know the contents of many books, he knew at least all that it was
necessary to know about them for the practical purpose of buying or selling.
. . . He had a peculiar faculty of seizing the leading features of a book, and
his strong memory retained them.”24
When George Templeton Strong spoke with Welford at Appleton’s
bookstore, their conversation drifted from old books to old coins, and
Welford promised to bring coins from his own collection to the store to show
the young bibliophile. “Coins of Alexander the Great, Philip, Cassander,
Hiero, Abgarus, and of Etruria, Carthage, Phoenicia, the Mamertines, Libya,
Syracuse and Messana, &c., &c., are not to be met with every day,” Strong
marveled when he saw them. He made it known that he “would give any
thing to get them,” although Welford did not seem willing to part with his
relics of the ancient world. Perhaps it says something about Welford’s
personality that three weeks later Strong walked off in elated spirits with
thirty-seven coins, for which he had paid fifty cents each.25
Like any business, the book trade was a small world in which the
leading figures knew one another, and reputation went a long way toward
18 b o o k m e n a c r o s s t h e a t l a n t i c
determining success. Whereas Welford “was most kindly, and greatly liked
by all who knew him,” his boss Daniel Appleton had a more mixed reputa-
tion.26 In London, Appleton was known as “the old screw” and in Paris as “a
very good liar.”27 He had been accused of delaying payment, of refusing to
settle his accounts, of indiscreetly bragging about low prices he had been
offered, of attempting to evade shipping fees, and of insisting that volumes
were missing from boxes of books he had been shipped. European book-
sellers had become wary of dealing with him, and Appleton complained that
the only books he could import from Europe were “worth only for throwing
down the scuttle” (with the coal to light the fire).28 William C. Hall, who
considered his bibliographical knowledge “very limited,” claimed to find, on
one of his business trips to New York, books in Appleton’s cellar that had
been stripped of their leather bindings and discarded but that were worth
more than others for which he had paid inflated prices in London.29 The
Parisian booksellers were more skeptical, suspecting that he “allowed himself
to be imposed upon with his eyes open,” buying poor books at exorbitant
prices to raise his commission with wealthy American clients.30
Charles Welford, on the other hand, was no more willing to overpay for
books than he was to undervalue them when he sold them. “He was shrewd at
a bargain, and could, on occasion be pretty stiff in maintaining his own
ground,” observed Roger Burlingame, a former book editor of Scribner’s
Magazine who knew Welford through Charles Scribner’s Sons. Yet for all
his shrewdness, Welford “was a man with whom it was quite impossible to
quarrel.” To an ingrained English politeness, he joined a “quick intuition
about people, knew their frailties and prejudices and could tell a visiting
American precisely how to cajole and how not to irritate some of the great
and formidable men who ruled London publishing houses.”31 He had not only
the knowledge, in short, but the character to succeed in the book business.
In 1840, Bartlett & Welford set up shop at No. 2 Astor House, on
Broadway facing City Hall Park. Determined to build the most spectacular
hotel in America, John Jacob Astor, the first real estate mogul of New York,
had gobbled up all the buildings in the square-block area where his own
home had stood—on Broadway, between Barclay Street to the north and
Vesey Street to the south, with Church Street as the eastern side of the
square. There was only one holdout: John Gerard Coster, who lived imme-
diately north of Astor on Broadway. Coster, a Dutch immigrant, had made
his fortune as a shipping merchant in the United States and had no need of
bookmen across the atlantic 19
The Astor House, Broadway and Vesey Street, New York, 1842. Colored lithograph from
Valentine’s Manual of Old New York, no. 5, new series (1921). Author’s Collection.
the old German immigrant’s money. His wife liked their home, and he
refused to sell at any price. But Astor, having pocketed the other lots in the
vicinity for under fifteen thousand dollars each, approached his neighbor one
day and said, “Coster, I am going to build a hotel. I want the ground upon
which your house stands. It is of no particular use to you; you can go up
Broadway, above Canal Street, and build a palace with the money I will pay
you.” Thus, for the sum of sixty thousand dollars, Astor had his way.32
Before long, New Yorkers were crossing the street to avoid the dust and
debris flying from the demolition site.
The American Hotel (sometimes referred to as the Astor Hotel or the
Park Hotel) opened in 1836, with retail stores lining the streets on the ground
floor. They sold a range of products, from satin scarves and Oriental robes to
wigs, combs, and hair products; china, glass, and earthenware; bandages and
surgical instruments; artificial flowers and perfumes; and four years later, in
May 1840, Bartlett and Welford opened their “Antiquarian Bookstore and
Repository for Standard Literature.”33 Visitors lounged in the store’s reading
room and marveled that the firm stocked not only old and rare books but
incunabula (books printed before 1500), which were rarely seen in America.34
“We will not tantalise our Bibliomaniacal friends by particularizing all the
varieties to be found at this tempting repository,” a local journalist wrote four
20 b o o k m e n a c r o s s t h e a t l a n t i c
months later, “but recommend each and all to inspect for themselves such
curiosities as rarely meet the eye in this country.” By 1843, the business had
moved from No. 2 Astor House to a larger space at No. 7, which could accom-
modate its inventory of more than four thousand books.35
Bartlett and Welford originally advertised themselves as “Booksellers
and Importers of English Books, Ancient and Modern.” They printed their
early sale catalogues with Robert Craighead on Fulton Street and focused
their energies on acquiring, cataloguing, and selling fine, rare, and anti-
quarian books. But most booksellers at the time doubled as publishers, and
Bartlett had ambitions in that area. In 1844, as we shall see, he sent Welford
to London to scout for antiquarian books while he began publishing new
books under the imprint of Bartlett & Welford, mainly volumes that reflected
his own interests. A random sampling of their early titles yields the Canadian
military journal of John Graves Simcoe; a map of Oyster Bay, Long Island,
during the American Revolution; an atlas of American Revolutionary battles;
a collection of U.S. presidential addresses; a treatise on international copy-
right law; the Transactions of the American Ethnological Society (cofounded by
Bartlett and Albert Gallatin); Gallatin’s observations on the “semi-civilized”
nations of Mexico and Central America; and a geological study of burial
mounds in West Virginia and the Mississippi Valley by Henry Rowe School-
craft. When our protagonist Robert Balmanno sent a copy of this last to his
friend, the Irish antiquary Thomas Crofton Croker, in 1848, three years after
it was published, the latter replied in a burst of enthusiasm that characterized
the literary antiquarianism of the time: “I can scarcely convey to you, by
anything I can write, my extacies at receiving . . . the Mounds of the Missis-
sippi Valley.”36
In the meantime, while Bartlett and Welford were still unknown
figures in the contemporary book world, William Hall advised them to
acquire “a few good old books” that would do credit to their store even
if they did not yield direct profits, and the partners seem to have followed
his advice. On June 3, 1840, just after Bartlett & Welford opened at
No. 2 Astor House, Philip Hone, a former mayor of New York and a biblio-
maniac to boot, stepped into the store and purchased two sets of old books
that caused him much delight. The first was a six-volume illustrated edition
of The Works of William Shakespear (1743–1744) by Sir Thomas Hanmer,
which Hone considered “a fine old Oxford copy of Shakespeare.”37
The other was an eleven-volume edition of Homer and one of only three
bookmen across the atlantic 21
first editions that the Astor librarian, Joseph Green Cogswell, would consider
necessary for a great public library. (The other two were the Gutenberg
Bible, popularly, if inexactly, known as the world’s first printed book,
and the first collected edition of Shakespeare ’s plays, the so-called First Folio
of 1623, which Bartlett & Welford would have in their store for sale in
1847.)38
Commissioned by the London bookseller Bernard Lintot, the work
Hone purchased was the original subscription copy of Pope’s translation of
Homer, consisting of six folio volumes of The Iliad (1715–1720) and five
folio volumes of The Odyssey (1725–1726). Pope translated the whole of the
Iliad, and he later collaborated with William Broome and Elijah Fenton on
the Odyssey. Like many readers before and after him, Charles Lamb preferred
the Iliad, judging “the confederate jumble of Pope, Broome and Fenton
which goes under Pope ’s name” to be “far inferior.”39 But from the perspec-
tive of a collector, the complete folio set in eleven volumes was a surprise on
the streets of New York: “a most rare and valuable old book, in fine preser-
vation, beautifully printed, and containing many quaint but well-executed
engravings.”40 The bookstore in the Astor House was on its way to becoming
a landmark in early American culture. One year into the venture, Evert
Augustus Duyckinck pronounced in his column “The Loiterer” that Bartlett
& Welford in “every way deserve to take the lead” among booksellers in the
literary world of New York.41
death of her own mother. I was at hand only time enough to snatch the knife
out of her grasp.”42 Whatever Mary’s mental illness might be labeled today,
it was not helped by the burdens placed upon her by an impoverished family
that included a father with growing signs of dementia, a mother who had
become an invalid and required constant attention, and the financial respon-
sibility of maintaining them both through such poorly paid menial labor as
needlework. Her elder brother, John, employed at the South Sea Company,
felt no such responsibility, and Charles, who had just completed a trial period
of employment at the British East India Company, earned little.
By way of introducing the letter, Talfourd printed a newspaper account
from Monday, September 26, 1796, of the coroner’s report of the murder
that took place four days earlier:
It appeared by the evidence adduced, that while the family were
preparing for dinner, the young lady seized a case knife laying on
the table, and in a menacing manner pursued a little girl, her appren-
tice, round the room; on the eager calls of her helpless infirm mother
to forbear, she renounced her first object, and with loud shrieks
approached her parent.
The child by her cries quickly brought up the landlord of the
house, but too late—the dreadful scene presented to him the mother
lifeless, pierced to the heart, on a chair, her daughter yet wildly
standing over her with the fatal knife, and the venerable old man,
her father, weeping by her side, himself bleeding at the forehead
from the effects of a severe blow he received from one of the forks
she had been madly hurling about the room.43
Fearing that his closest friend Coleridge would hear about the tragedy from
another source, Lamb had written to him the day after the news appeared in
the London papers. Responding immediately, Coleridge confessed, “Your
letter, my friend, struck me with a mighty horror. It rushed upon me and
stupefied my feelings. You bid me write you a religious letter; I am not a man
who would attempt to insult the greatness of your anguish by any other
consolation.”44
These events never surfaced explicitly in the essays published under
the pseudonym Elia, but they helped to explain their strange tone. Readers
had always recognized a taint of melancholy in Lamb’s mischievous humor.
Charles was twenty-one at the time the event that permanently changed their
bookmen across the atlantic 23
lives took place, Mary nine years and nine months older. He would forever
regret that he had returned home only minutes too late to snatch the knife
from his sister. The madness in the Lamb family was probably hereditary.
Only four months before Mary’s more violent attack of mental illness,
Charles had spent six weeks at the largest private lunatic asylum in London,
located at 34 Hoxton Street. “I am got somewhat rational now, and don’t bite
any one,” he wrote to Coleridge on May 27, 1796: “But mad I was—and
many a vagary my imagination played with me, enough to make a volume if
all told.”45
While his was merely a “temporary frenzy,” Mary had long been
conscious “of a certain flightiness in her poor head” and never passed Bedlam
(Bethlem Royal Hospital) without fearing that she would end her days in one
of its cells. She had already suffered one breakdown, and in the days leading
up to the matricide she had exhibited enough symptoms of mental illness that
Charles had gone to consult her physician, David Pitcairn, that morning,
unfortunately not finding him at home. A little over a week after the ghastly
scene in the Inner Temple, Mary came to her senses in a private asylum,
where Charles was relieved to find her sober and resigned, able to distinguish
rationally “between a deed committed in a transient fit of frenzy, and the
terrible guilt of a Mother’s murther.” But her fits of frenzy would recur,
lasting longer and becoming more frequent as the lives of the Lambs wore
on. “Tis the eleventh week of the illness, and I cannot get her well,” Charles
would lament on December 15, 1827; “the world is full of troubles.”46
Over a decade later, on May 1, 1848, the British Quarterly Review
published a review of Talfourd’s edition of the formerly unpublished letters,
and readers on both sides of the Atlantic were shocked. Daniel Appleton
rushed to reprint Talfourd’s edition under the title Literary Sketches and
Letters; Being the Final Memorials of Charles Lamb (1848) as the American
newspapers circulated the story under the headline “A Secret in Charles
Lamb’s Life.”47 Reading about it in the British Quarterly Review, Evert
Duyckinck shared the news with his friend, the American literary essayist
William Alfred Jones, that “Bridget Elia in a fit of insanity murdered her
own mother. That was the ‘strange calamity’ of which I think Wordsworth
speaks.”48 In his letter to Coleridge communicating news of the matricide,
Lamb had spoken of “the terrible calamities that have fallen on our family,”
and in a poem written in 1796, “This Lime-Tree Bower, My Prison,”
Coleridge echoed the phrase, portraying Lamb as making his way through
24 b o o k m e n a c r o s s t h e a t l a n t i c
life, “With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain / and strange
calamity!”49 (Duyckinck, drawing on his memory, mistook Wordsworth for
Coleridge.)
Yet Wordsworth was one of the few in the Lambs’ inner circle who
knew the “secret,” and his elegy for Charles Lamb echoed Coleridge by
referring to the “troubles strange, / Many and strange, that hung about his
life.” Charles was seen as the victim of duty, chained to the “strict labours of
the merchant’s desk,” in order to maintain his sister.50 In fact Charles had
secured Mary’s release from custody—and the public hospital where they
both feared she would wind up—by assuming legal and financial responsi-
bility for her. Their elder brother, John, would have preferred to see Mary
permanently confined on the charge of the state, though he, like their mother,
Elizabeth, “never understood her right,” as Charles put it, saying that their
parent “would always love my brother above Mary, who was not worthy of
one tenth of that affection, which Mary had a right to claim.” After the matri-
cide, Mary wrote to Charles from the asylum where she was confined,
assuring Charles that she had no more “terrifying dreams”: “The spirit of
my mother seems to descend, and smile upon me, and bid me live to enjoy
the life and reason which the Almighty has given me—I shall see her again
in heaven; she will then understand me better; my Grandmother too will
understand me better, and will then say no more, as she used to do, ‘Polly
what are those poor crazy moyther’d brains of yours thinking of always?’ ”51
The reference was to her maternal grandmother, Mary Field, and ironically
the term “mothered” here means not nurtured but befouled or full of dregs.
Charles Lamb’s status as a working man of letters, defined by his life-
long employment in the accounting office of the British East India Company,
was made necessary by his personal tragedy. Shortly before the “day of
horrors,” Coleridge had asked Lamb whether he might include some of
Lamb’s poems with his own in a volume he was preparing that would also
include some by their friend Charles Lloyd. In a postscript added to his letter
informing Coleridge of the tragedy, Lamb responded, “Mention nothing of
poetry. I have destroyed every vestige of past vanities of that kind. Do as
you please, but if you publish, publish mine (I give free leave) without name
or initial, and never send me a book, I charge you.”52 Coleridge did publish
Lamb’s poems, though not anonymously, in Poems by S.T. Coleridge, To
Which Are Now Added Poems by Charles Lamb, and Charles Lloyd (1797). The
internal title pages of the volume, moreover, marked a difference: “Poems,
bookmen across the atlantic 25
Prevalence and forms. Red Mange. Causes: constitutional, hereditary, races most
susceptible, short-haired, delicate skins, 1st and 2d years, flesh fed, overfed, spiced
food, secondary to internal disorders, heat, cold, dust, irritants. Symptoms: blush
inside elbow, thigh, belly, heat, tenderness, itchiness, scratching, vesicles,
abrasions, sores, skin thickens, wrinkles, moistens. Diagnosis: from demodex,
distemper, mange. Treatment: change diet, restrict in quantity, from flesh, or
stimulating food, one meal daily, laxative, bitters; locally, cleanse skin, antipruritic
non-poisonous dusting powders or lotions, starch, magnesia, bismuth; with
muzzle, phenol, lead, thymol, thiol, later creolin, oil of cade, lysol, etc. Acute
general eczema. Causes as in red mange. Symptoms: Common on head, ears, back,
rump, eyelids, lips, scrotum, arms, digits, crusts and depilation, large vesicles,
bleeding digits. Treatment.
Apart from eczema rubrum, the acute forms have been designated
according to their seat and the nature of the attendant eruption.
Acute General Eczema. This may be often traced to various
causes of irritation local or general: overfeeding, over-stimulating or
spiced food, digestive, hepatic, or urinary disorders, irritant dust or
inspissated secretions on the skin, hot seasons, over exertion, cold
baths when heated, skin parasites and scratching.
Symptoms. The whole skin, or a portion thereof is the seat of
pruritus, causing active scratching and on separating the hairs on the
affected parts there is found redness, congestion, and swelling with
the formation of papules or vesicles, abraded, or moist surfaces, and
scales or crusts. These patches are common on the back, the head,
ears, rump, (Caudal eczema), the palpabræ, the lips (eczema
labialis), the interdigital space (interdigital eczema), the
scrotum, or the anus.
Sometimes the formation of crusts and the loss of hairs is to be
noted, sometimes the eruption of large vesicles which burst and
discharge a honey like fluid (impetiginous eczema), sometimes
blood escapes from the irritated surface and concretes in dark crusts.
The vesication and moist exudation is especially common about the
head, ears, eyelids, and rump, while bleeding is especially seen
around the claws and in the interdigital spaces in connection with
running on rough ground, snow or stubble. The impetiginous form
often bears a strong resemblance to vesicles caused by a burn with
hot water. The treatment of these different forms does not differ
materially from that of eczema rubrum, being first dietetic and
hygienic, then soothing, and finally stimulating.
CHRONIC ECZEMA IN THE DOG.
Follows acute. Same general causes. Symptoms: skin thickens with papules,
vesicles or pustules, scurf, crusts, depilation, surface glossy, abraded, scratched,
raw, rough, fœtid, itching, emaciation, exhaustion. Chronic eczema of the back.
Fat, old, gluttons. Symptoms: circumscribed patches on back, loins, quarters, tail,
intense itching, skin thickened, cracked, raw, encrusted, black, folded, rigid, fœtid,
hair broken, erect, shedding. Very inveterate. Chronic eczema of elbow and hock.
Causes: friction on summits of prominent bones, filth, infection, predisposition.
Symptoms: red, thickened, bare, indurated, calloused skin, cracks, sores,
discharge. Inveterate. Chronic dry eczema of head, ears, neck and limbs.
Circumscribed area, slow progress, thick, rigid, folded skin, hairless, dry, scaly,
moderate itching. Treatment: Fresh eruption like acute form. For old chronic form,
stimulating astringents, silver, mercury, copper, boric acid, tannic acid, iodoform:
for dry and scaly, ointments of oil of cade, tar, green soap, zinc, cresol, lysol,
chloro-naphtholeum, sulphur, sulphur iodide, ichthyol, salicylic acid, chrysarobin,
naphthalin, naphthol, resorcin.
Horses, cattle, sheep and dogs suffer in hot season or hot stables. Nervous
temperament. Delicate skin. Over-driving. Heating foods. Cold water when heated.
Unwholesome food. Indigestion. Chronic affections of stomach, liver, kidneys, etc.
Symptoms: Clusters of small papules on neck, back, croup, or thighs, crest, tail,
exudate concretes, lifts hairs from follicles, depilation in round spots, or patches,
abrasions, ulceration, corrugated skin. Diagnosis; sudden eruption, its isolation,
subsidence on the coming of cold weather, and re-appearance with the hot, intense
itching. Treatment: As in eczema. Protect against friction, give shade, and spray
with cold water.
Dry, scaly, or powdery affection. Causes: Fine, thin, dry skin with little hair, race,
Arab, Barb, racer, trotter, nervous temperament, age, dry summer heat, dry winter
cold, foul skin, caustic soaps, ingestion of salt, iodides, bromides, etc.,
derangement of internal organs bacteria or cryptogams. Symptoms: scurfy patches,
general or circumscribed, where little hair is, where harness rubs, depilation of
ears, crest, tail, shoulder, back. Diagnosis, from eczema by lack of pruritus, of rapid
extension, of thickening of the skin, from acariasis by absence of acarus.
Treatment: correct disorder of stomach, liver, or kidneys: green, succulent or
nutritive food; alkalies; arsenic; tonics; locally potash soaps, ointments of tar, birch
oil, creolin, creosote, naphthalin, lysol, mercury, iodine, salicylic acid, zinc oxide.
Head, neck and back of overfed, old house dogs. Symptoms: floury dandruff,
with little itching or redness, on limited areas; in cats over the whole back, where
stroking causes electric development, the collecting of the hair in tufts, and
insufferable irritation. Hair constantly shedding without necessarily bare patches.
Treatment: simpler, restricted diet, correct internal disorders, laxatives, arsenic,
locally solutions of alkalies, borax, potassium sulphide, sulphur iodide, baths.
In dogs this affection attacks especially the head, neck and back of
pet and house dogs gorged with dainties, and particularly in those
that are already becoming aged. The affected parts are covered with a
floury or branlike product lying upon a dry surface usually devoid of
irritation or congestion, though it may be distinctly congested and
reddened, and even the seat of pruritus. The affection is usually
confined to limited areas, more or less destitute of hair, and without
showing a disposition to active extension. In the cat, however, it may
affect the whole dorsal aspect of the body, being associated with
extreme electrical susceptibility, so that on being stroked the hair at
once collects in tufts, crackles, and in the darkness sparkles, and the
animal at first fawning on the hand, will fly at and scratch it after a
few strokes. The scaly product is excessive and drops off abundantly
when handled, without, however, leaving thin or bare patches.
Treatment is mainly in the line of a simpler and more natural diet,
the avoidance of sugar and cake, the correction of disorders of the
digestion, or of the hepatic or urinary functions, the exhibition of an
occasional laxative, and of alteratives, especially Fowler’s solution.
Locally, alkaline lotions, carbonate or bicarbonate of soda or
potash, borax, sulphide of potassium and iodide of sulphur are often
useful. A moderately strong solution of common salt with glycerine
in water is an useful alternate, and a warm saline or bran bath may
soften the skin and modify its nutrition.
CONTAGIOUS PUSTULAR DERMATITIS IN THE
HORSE. ACNE.