Judge Rochfort exlibris bookplate, ca. 1760

A biblioclast cut this early eighteenth century Judge Rochfort exlibris bookplate from a copy of James Foster, Sermons on the following subjects, viz. …, 3rd ed. (1736) [ESTC: n24146 (recording 15 copies); here]. I know this because, the bookplate was, and still is, fixed to the back of the titlepage, as you can see:

Bookplates are usually attached to front (fixed) endpaper, not to the title leaf; most likely, there was already a bookplate on the front endpaper, when Rochfort went to add his plate, so it was placed on the verso of the title leaf instead (more on this below).

There is a copy of this edition of Foster's Sermons on ECCO, but not freely available online (yet—probably), but there are copies of the first edition of 1733 (here) and the fourth edition of 1745 (here) for anyone interested in Rochfort’s reading or book-buying preferences. Below is the full title page, taken from the University of Cambridge Library copy on ECCO:

Although I have been unable to find a reference to any other Judge Rochfort bookplates in library catalogues online—or on ESTC under “Copy Specific Notes”—there is actually another book from Judge Rochfort’s library available at present on ABE (here):

The title of this book is not well represented in this ABE catalogue listing, but it is a copy of Jeremy Taylor, Eniautos. A course of sermons for all the Sundays of the year, 2nd ed. (1655) [Wing T330; ESTC: r10569 (recording 40 copies); here]. As you can see, this copy of Rochfort’s bookplate is printed in red, which is very unusual I believe.

Although there is no image of it online, this armorial bookplate features in J. H. Slater’s, “Alphabetical List of Noted Book-Plates” in his Book Plates and Their Value (London: Henry Grant, 1898), 203 (online here):

According to Slater, there are actually two Judge Rochfort bookplates, mine being “distinctly ‘Jacobean’ with elaborate mantling”—although he dates is to “about 1760” (long after the Jacobean period)—but both feature the crest and motto: “Probitas est optima politia” [honesty is the best policy].

Slater, who is styled J. Herbert Slater in the books of his I have on my shelves, was particularly well informed, so I am inclined to accept his date for the bookplate. As I noted above, the unusual positioning of the bookplate suggests that Rochfort was not the first owner of his 1736 copy of Foster’s Sermons—any more than he was the first owner of his 1655 copy of Taylor’s Eniautos on ABE.

* * * * *

As for who was Rochfort—like St John Broderick, the other stray Anglo-Irish bookplate I bought in the late 80s (and blogged about here)—he is: Judge Rochfort, of Streamstown, Co. Westmeath, Ireland; High Sheriff of Westmeath in 1736.

Judge Rochfort was related to the much-better-known Rochforts of Gaulstown (Gaulstown is only about 25kms by road from Streamstown), but the link between the two families is somewhat distant, and if the families may even have been at odds.

The Gaulstown Rochforts “were close friends of [Jonathan] Swift’s, and both George and John figure frequently in Swift’s letters and poems. John seems to have been a particular favorite: He was named by Stella one of her executors; and he was selected a member of the Lunacy Commission appointed, in 1742, to in quire into the state of Swift's mind” (Katherine Hornbeak, “Swift’s Letter to a Very Young Lady on Her Marriage,” Huntington Library Quarterly, Vol. 7, No. 2 (February 1944): 183).

Swift was a regular visitor to the Rochfort family at Gaulstown House—a very famous estate, which you will find information about here) and here). “It is said that it was when Dean Swift looked across the expanse of Lough Ennell one day and saw the tiny human figures on the opposite shore of the lake that he conceived the idea of the Lilliputians featured in Gulliver’s Travels” (here).

“A number of Rochforts family served in the Irish House of Commons for constituencies in Westmeath” (here); Robert Rochfort (1652–1727), of the Rochforts of Gaulstown, “had a highly distinguished career, being Speaker of the Irish House of Commons and Chief Baron of the Irish Exchequer. Robert’s grandson, also named Robert, was created 1st Earl of Belvedere in 1756. Their principal residences were Gaulstown House and, later, Belvedere House in Westmeath, of which only the latter still exists.”

Belvedere House is about 10kms from Gaulstown, but still only 25kms from Judge Rochfort in Streamstown—assuming that Judge Rochfort actually resided in Streamstown, which is by no means certain. The population of Streamstown is tiny, even today, although it is rapidly rising (increasing from 378 in 2016 to 519 in 2022; see here), and, as Arthur Sherbo notes, various members of the Rochfort family that Swift numbered among his friends were “resident in Dublin” at the time (Arthur Sherbo, “From the Westminster Magazine: Swift, Goldsmith, Garrick, et al.” Studies in Bibliography, Vol. 41 (1988), 276; here).

* * * * *

Returning to Judge Rochfort: Judge (here) was the son of Charles, son and heir of Charles Rochfort Esq. of Streamstown (ca. 1636–92; here and here), eldest son and heir of Lt.-Col. “Prime Iron” James Rochfort (ca. 1600–1652), who was court martialed and executed for killing his Major (in a duel) in Cromwell’s Army (here and here)—Lodge’s The Peerage of Ireland, vol. 3 (Dublin, 1754), 374–76 (here) provides the connections between all the otherwise disconnected references provided above.

Judge married Jane Donnellan (here), and had three daughters: Jane (here), Rebecca, who married (on 17 November 1779) Thomas Edwards, Esq. “an eminent surgeon” (here), and an un-named third daughter mentioned here.

Judge’s daughter Jane Rochfort married Rowland Rochfort (here)—a distant cousin—and had two daughters (only Harriet mentioned here, but two daughters mentioned here).

Rowland was the great, great, grandson of Lt.-Col. “Prime Iron” James Rochfort, and great grandson of Robert Rochfort (1652–1727; here; Prime Iron’s youngest son)—and wife Lady Hannah Hancock (d. 1733; here)—the friend of Swift.

Judge and his immediate family—indeed, most of the Streamstown Rochforts—have “no dates”—that I can find anyway—Robert, his ancestors, and descendants (i.e., the Gaulstown Rochforts), do. Lt.-Col. James Rochfort (d. 1652) was the father of Robert Rochfort (1652–1727), who was the father of the Rt. Hon. George Rochfort (1682–1730), who was the father of Arthur Moore Rochfort (1711–1774), M.P. for Westmeath, who was the father of Rowland Rochfort. Rowland’s father, Arthur, was the brother of Robert Rochfort, 1st Earl of Belvidere (1708–1774), aka “the wicked earl” (more on him below).

Meanwhile, the nearest dates that I can find for Judge’s immediate family are his grandfather (Charles, born ca. 1636), and the weddings of his daughters: Rebecca’s in 1779 and Jane’s (no date), but to Rowland, the brother of Lt.-Gen. George Rochfort (ca. 1739–1821).

* * * * *

I will end this ridiculously long post with a brief account of “the wicked earl” (based on the sources linked above, esp. here, here and here).

Apparently, Robert Rochfort, the 1st Earl of Belvidere, heard rumours that his young wife (Mary) had often visited—and had been having an “intrigue” with—his brother Arthur, the father of Rowland (Judge's son-in-law). According to a contemporary source: “[Arthur was] very well-bred and very well in his person and manner …[while] she is extremely handsome and has many personal accomplishments.”

As punishment, Robert had his wife locked up in the family house at Gaulstown, alone apart from her children and servants, for 31yrs. He also sued Arthur for “criminal conversation” for £2,000—a huge sum at the time; unable to pay, Arthur was thrown in a debtor’s prison where he eventually died.

Meanwhile, Mary was left so severely damaged by her long imprisonment “that she took to wandering the house and talking to portraits as if they were real people. When she was finally released after Robert’s death in 1774, Mary had become a deranged hag incapable of recognizing her own sons.”

George, the 2nd Earl of Belvedere, who freed his mother from imprisonment, demolished the Gaulstown House (where she had been imprisoned) and built a smaller house in the grounds for her. But Mary refused to stay; instead, she set sail for France, where she became a nun and lived the rest of her life as a hermit.

Given Robert’s character, if Judge allowed his daughter to marry Rowland, during the life of the wicked earl it seems very unlikely that he was at all close to Robert or the Gaulstown Rochforts—but perhaps this occurred after Robert bled to death, alone (and probably unrepentant), with his head caved in, on the grounds of his estate.

St John Broderick of the Middle Temple, 1703

This “Early Armorial” Restoration exlibris bookplate (Ginn, slide 14; see below) was created for St John Broderick of the Middle Temple, later The Honourable St John Brodrick (ca. 1685–1728), son of Alan, Baron Brodrick (ca. 1655–1728)—who outlived his son by only six months (Wikipedia pages here and here).

The short Wikipedia entry on St John Broderick characterises him as “an Anglo-Irish politician who sat in the Irish House of Commons from 1709 to 1728 and in the British House of Commons from 1721 to 1727”; since he was a parliamentarian, a few more details appear in Romney Sedgwick’s The History of Parliament: the House of Commons 1715–1754 (1970; online here).

Combining details from Wikipedia, Sedgwick and C. M. Tenison’s “Cork M.P’s, 1559–1800,” Journal of the Cork Historical and Archaeological Society, vol. 1, 2nd ser. (1895): 177 (here), the details of his life can be summarized as follows:

St. John Brodrick of Ballyanane, alias Midleton, was the eldest son, by his first wife, of Alan Brodrick, M.P., who was afterwards created Viscount Midleton. He was educated at Eton, 1698, and King’s College Cambridge, 1700, and was admitted to the Middle Temple, 1700; barrister-at-law, Ireland; Recorder of Cork, in succession to his father, 1708.

Brodrick was M.P. Castlemartyr, 1709–13 (then “of Cork”); Cork City, 1713–14 (then “of the Middle Temple”); Cork County, 1715–27; and 1727 (then Right Hon. St. John Brodrick) till his death in 1728. Brodrick was M.P. also for Beeralstown, county Devon, 1721–27; a Privy Councillor, 1724.

He married Anne, daughter of Michael Hill, of Hillsborough. She died 1752, leaving five daughters, of whom Anne married James Jeffreys, and Mary married Sir J. R. Freke, M.P. (q.v.). He died s.p. and s.p.m., 21st February, 1728.

A “Sketch Pedigree exemplifying the Brodrick M.P’s” is in Tenison here and a “Pedigree of Broderick” (that includes St. John and his daughters) can be found here

* * * * *

I found only a few references to this 1703 bookplate. It seems that Broderick owned a copy of Donne's Poems (London, 1633), now at Texas Tech University, Lubbock (here, but no photograph).

There appear to be no modern photograph or scan of St John Broderick’s bookplate online, but Egerton Castle reproduced a copy of this bookplate in his English Book-plates: Ancient and Modern (1893), 60 (above; text here); and this image was used by both Linda K. Ginn, for her 2017 lecture on “Digital Bookplates: Old Technology and New Applications” [University Libraries Workshops and Presentations, 6 (pdf online here]) and Paul Magrath in his 2021 post for the ICLR [Incorporated Council of Law Reporting for England and Wales] on “(L)ex Libris — the art of the legal bookplate” (here).

Regarding the Brodrick family motto: “a cuspide corona” can be translated as “from a spear, a crown” (i.e., one receives honour [a crown] for military exploits [a spear]). This motto can also be seen on the 1754 engraving above, taken from John Lodge, The Peerage of Ireland, vol. 3 (Dublin, 1754), pl. 29 (here).

* * * * *

I have no record, and no clear memory of when I acquired this bookplate—but I think I have had it and a one other anglo-Irish bookplate (which I blogged about here) for decades, probably since the late 80s. I have a pretty strong aversion to supporting “breakers”—biblioclasts who disassemble books for engravings, or sammelbands and nonce-volumes for individual works, especially plays—so I can only assume that I bought the collection of bookplates [1] not from the beaker themselves (to avoid encouraging this sort of thing) and [2] out of a desire to protect bookplates themselves.

As you can see, I have managed to protect this one so far. But it occurred to me recently, when I was going through my ephemera, that it might be even better to post images and information about some of my ephemera here. Destruction is only a bushfire away after all and the bookplates are both very attractive—as the appearance of this one in Egerton Castle’s English Book-plates suggests.

What A Library Should Be Like, 1924

Richard Le Gallienne's “What A Library Should Be Like: Some Suggestions For Those To Whom Books and Their Heritage Are Precious” appeared in House and Garden in December 1924 (here). Le Gallienne (1866–1947) was a prolific author and poet, contributor to The Yellow Book, and one-time lover of Oscar Wilde, who married three times, living in the US before settling in Menton (near Nice), France.

It appears that Le Gallienne had a very nice library later in life. According to Wikipedia:

During the Second World War he was prevented from returning to his Menton home and lived in Monaco for the rest of the war. His house in Menton was occupied by German troops and his library was nearly sent back to Germany as bounty. Le Gallienne appealed to a German officer in Monaco, who allowed him to return to Menton to collect his books.

Although this bibliophic advice was written by a practice-what-you-preach aesthete, it seems not to have been reprinted in almost a century, and so I have transcribed it below. The full reference is: Richard Le Gallienne, “What A Library Should Be Like,” House and Garden, vol. 46 (December 1924): 58, 110, 112.

* * * * *

WHAT A LIBRARY SHOULD BE LIKE.

Some Suggestions For Those To Whom Books and Their Heritage Are Precious

JUST as there are gardens without souls, the loveless offspring of seedsmen's catalogs and newly acquired bank accounts, so is it with libraries. Neither have any more vital relation to their owners than an ice box, as little reflect their tastes, and are almost as seldom their personal concern.
  In English country houses the word library is often merely a euphemism for a combination of gunroom and smoking room. Guns, fishing rods, and pipe racks, with a copy of the Sporting Calendar, and a few old magazines, comprise its literature. We have all met such "libraries" in novels, and have wondered how the name chanced to be given to rooms where anything is to be found except a book or a reader.
  But there are libraries which do contain books in many and expensive "sets" that, in spite of them, still more drearily belie the description. These are even less often visited by friendly humanity, and their serried rows of uniform, morocco-bound volumes, frigidly enclosed behind glass doors, gleam lonely and uninviting as cabinets of minerals in a museum. Such libraries, we have been told, are bought by the yard like wall papers, irrespective of their literary contents, and have even less character than the other furnishings of the house, of which they form a regulation part. Obviously, these are not the libraries with which we have here to do.
  By a library we mean, of course, a cherished collection of books, and the room in which those books are sympathetically housed, a room that has taken on an unmistakable bookish character from their presence.

OUR library may be in the house or outside it, in a garden or in a woodland, by a stream among the rocks. It may be high up in a city garret, or it may be the warm heart of a palace. If one has a garden, there is no happier place for our library. "A library in a garden!" exclaims Mr. Edmund Gosse in one of his essays, "The phrase seems to contain the whole felicity of man!"
  The association of trees and books is, indeed, as old as the very derivations of the words "book" and "library," which are almost identical. Is not the word "book" derived from the Anglo-Saxon and German words for the beech tree (boce and buche) because the ancient Saxons and Germans did their first writing on beechen boards! And similarly the Latin word "liber" meant the inner bark of a tree used for writing on, before it meant "book," and gave us "library." When we reflect that the paper on which our books are printed is made from wood pulp, it will be seen that we arc still, in a sense, writing on the bark of trees, and the thought is worth playing with for a fanciful moment. The leaves of our books and the leaves on our garden trees should, therefore, feel at home together, being both made of the same mysterious substance, and when we bring our books into the garden it is but bringing them back to their green birthplace. And anyone who has built a library in a garden knows how at home indeed they are there. How the peace of both embrace and supplement each other, and, as we sit with our library door open on quiet summer afternoons, or on early mornings with the delicate sunlight playing tenderly like visible music on the nut-brown bindings, "while to and fro the room go the soft airs," the very stillness rarifies our minds, and the thoughts behind the words we read seem to steal out of themselves from the page, with the dews of their first utterance yet bright upon them. The low whisperings of the trees and the quiet talk of the books seem one, in a rare equilibrium of the soul. Yes! Mr. Gosse was right. A library in a garden! The phrase does contain the whole felicity of man!

YET it does not exhaust it. There are many other modes of felicity for a man who really loves his books whose library is the organic growth of years of collecting together those books and those only which sensitively express himself, and surround him like his own soul, his memories and his dreams, externalised in a companionable embodiment. Such a book lover will often indulge himself in imagining the many various libraries he might create for himself, like so many bookish castles in Spain. Sometimes he may dream of the libraries of great book lovers of the past. For example, if he is an omnivorous bibliomaniac, and never can have enough books about him, he may recall with envy the huge collection of Richard Heber, that "fiercest and strongest of all the bibliomaniacs," to whom Sir Walter Scott dedicated the sixth canto of Marmion. Heber is credited with owning at least 150,000 volumes, and for those as crazy as he the romantic thing about his "library" was that it was not all in one place. Eight houses were needed to hold it, all in different places, some in England, and some in ancient cities of Europe. Never was such a book glutton, a "hellus librorum." But think of the romantic adventure of pilgrimaging from one of his eight libraries to the other, the perpetual novelty of visiting and re-visiting his various Castles in Spain.



  However, I doubt whether the reader is with me in this rhapsody. Probably his dream of a library is something more sensible and static, and I dare say Montaigne's library in his old Gascon tower would be more to his taste. Indeed, who has not dreamed of that, and, well as it is known to us, it will be pertinent, and indeed practical, to quote something of his description: "'Tis in the third Story of a Tower of which the Ground-Room is my Chapel, the second Story an Apartment with a withdrawing Room and Closet, where I often lie to be more retired. Above it is a great Wardrobe, which formerly was the most useless part of the House. In that library I pass away most of the Days of my Life, and most of the Hours of the Day. In the Night I am never there. There is within it a Cabinet handsome and neat enough, with a very convenient Fire-place for the Winter, and Windows that afford a great deal of light, and very pleasant Prospects. … The Figure of my Study is round, and has no more flat Wall than what is taken up by my Table and Chairs; so that the remaining parts of the Circle present me a View of all my Books at once, set upon five Degrees of Shelves-round about me. It has three noble and free Prospects, and is sixteen Paces Diameter." Montaigne continues that only from fear of that "Trouble that frights me from all [page 111] Business," he had refrained from building on either side, "a Gallery of an hundred Paces long and twelve broad," because "every Place of Retirement requires a Walk." If we add those galleries for him in our imagination, can one conceive a library more after one's own heart! Here once more in another form is Mr. Gosse's "whole felicity of man." Perhaps some reader of this essay may have the whim—and the money—to reconstruct this old library in Montaigne's tower, not forgetting to complete it with the galleries.
  Wherever our library be situated, in a garden, in an ancestral tower, in some quaint old town with gables and belfries, or in a modern American city, the first condition of its being a real library, with the true library atmosphere, where the books can really breathe and live for us, instead of being merely stored, is that the room should not be stiff and formal. It should not be a square room, or a room we can see all at once. The one defect, to my mind, in Montaigne's library, though he himself esteemed it an advantage, was that he could see all his books at once.



  In this respect a library should be like a garden. The garden we can see all at once is not a garden but merely an horticultural exhibit. It has no surprises. And a library, similarly, should have room for surprises. It should be rambling in shape, or made to appear so. The [page 112] letter T, or better still, the letter I, with broad top and bottom, is a good ground plan. It should have two stone fireplaces, so disposed that one can only be seen at a time, roomy and hospitable, with deep angles, and there should be many alcoves, and nooks and corners, some with low windows and wide window seats. It should either be a room with low ceilings, and massive rafters of black oak, or it should be high, with galleries and winding stairways, and hidden some where in the galleries again should be other nooks, some with windows of richly dyed cathedral glass. One or two tiny rooms, with old tapestries for portieres, might be devised, suggesting secrecy and arcane mysteries; and everything, indeed, should be done to tempt the presiding genius of libraries, the nymph Quits, to make her abode there. Here and there should be bowls of roses, early violets, or drowsy wallflowers, and in some secluded corner the still statue of a goddess should come upon us with a white surprise. An old painting or two of some great dead scholar should be enshrined in hushed recesses, Erasmus, say, or Robert Burton of "The Anatomy of Melancholy"; and whatever other such objects of the sister arts are there should be un exciting, but with a quiet thrill in them, full of "whispers and of shadows."



  As for the bookshelves, they should be open, none of your forbidding glass doors, with locks and keys, behind which the books seem cold and distant as the coffined dead. Yet here and there an old Chippendale bookcase for rarities and delicate bindings, might blend its old world elegance and quaint lozenged panes, companionably among the open shelves. As for bindings, the old books will, of course, wear their old weathered coats of ribbed time-brown leather, or time-yellowed vellum. On these the morning sun and the evening lamplight fall most lovingly; and modern books, too, are best left in their original cloth which also soon take on a certain mellowness, as their different colors add variety to the whole informal, haphazard harmony. Nor should any uniformity in the heights of the volumes be aimed at. Nothing is so monotonous and un-suggestive to the eye, and so destructive of that gregariousness of all sorts and conditions of writers that counts for so much in the companionability of a library. "Sets" we must have, but these can be so disposed amid the general pattern as to give it firmness, without destroying its wayward charm.
  There is no need to speak of wall papers, for no wall space will be visible, as the library will be furnished from ceiling to floor with the most satisfactory mural decorations yet invented, namely—books; and, as to general furniture, such as tables and chairs, all that need be said is that they should be solid, simple, comfortable, and distinguished, Elizabethan and Jacobean, for preference, breathing austerity and reverie. And there should be Renaissance cabinet and writing desks with secret drawers. Which reminds me that one of those tiny hidden rooms above referred to should be accessible only by a sliding panel, the spring of which should be known only to the master of the library. And the library, too, should be provided with what one might call a postern, masked by shelves opening inward at a touch, and communicating with a private staircase, by which the master could escape intrusion at a moment's notice; for in a sense a library should be a fortress, a fortress of the soul, ready to repel attack by all enemies of quietude and dreams.
  For the essence of a library is solitude—solitude in the society of the choicest spirits of Time and Eternity. No idle creatures of a day should have entrance there.

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE

[UPDATED 9 August 2021]

Collecting 18C Books: A Workshop

On Sunday, I will be running a workshop—a BSANZ contribution to Rare Book Week—under the title “Hand-press period books from the 18th century: A workshop for collectors” (details here).

My intention is to speak mostly about opportunities for collectors, and on evaluating books, rather than [1] why you might be interested in collecting books in the first place and [2] what particular aspect of eighteenth century life and culture might be of interest to you.

Looking at the list of topics I had intended to cover, it is clear I was being wildly optimistic when I made this proposal. And so, I have decided to post here some of the links and information that I will only be able to skim over in the Workshop—concerning the basics of collecting, bibliographies, and provenance—hopefully, it will be of use for both the participants and those who were interested in the subject, but are unable attend.

If there is anything obvious I have missed, or which might be useful to participants, I will either add that information here after the workshop, or post about it separately and add a link to that post below.

* * * * *

Some useful links:

Vialibri (search engine for antiquarian books).
18C books on eBay (UK) here.
18C books on eBay (US) here.

ESTC.
Google Books.

Some of my posts on collecting 17C and 18C texts: Collecting Eighteenth Century Literature, Catterall and Cowley in Sydney, 1835, Bibliomania, The Evidence Accumulates, Limitless opportunities for collecting Haywood?, Little Victories and Frankenbook; Or, What Goes Around, Comes Around.

* * * * *

Basics of Collecting: as John Carter states (here) “Probably few collectors are so methodical as to put themselves through any formal education for what is, after all, a fairly sophisticated pursuit.” Instead, most collectors rely on self-education, trial and error.

Anyone prepared to self-educate will find resources online to help: you can start with Wikipedia (entry on "Book Collecting," here), or just Google three words: book, collecting, guide. If you do either of these things, you are likely to find a lot that will be of only marginal use, since relatively few book collectors focus on eighteenth century books.

Most sites and videos work on the assumption you will want to collect modern first editions—like this one or this one, at “oldscrolls” no less, which launch straight into the subject of dust jacket condition and identifying first editions based on the line of numbers that appear on the back of a title-page.

The most useful site is probably ABE Basic Guide to Book Collecting, which covers a wider range of collecting, even if its pages on Illuminated Manuscripts and Incunabula (books printed before 1500) are just as far from the mark as those on collecting Lewis Carroll and Ian Fleming. It does, however, have sections on paper types, binding styles, book formats, reference books, books on book collecting, and the care of books etc.

(Among the most useful items in ABE's list of reference books is Carter’s ABC for Book Collectors, which ABE want you to buy, but which is available free, online, here—a direct link to the DPF is here.)

* * * * *

Becoming expert in your area: most collectors specialise to a greater or lesser extent, simply because few of us have the time or financial resources not to specialise. Even if I had the money needed to collect comprehensively within a well-mapped genre (say, the gothic novel), the time needed to do so with any care and deliberation, would be greater than I have.

Even if you won the lottery, and were to simply delegate the responsibility to someone else to assemble the most complete and perfect collection of the items listed in Montagu Summers’ A Gothic Bibliography (1948; online here), I am not sure what pleasure you would gain in assembling the collection, or even whether—properly speaking—you really would be the “collector” in such a situation.

Discovering where our passion lies, in collecting, is a large part of the fun of collecting, and it is also part of the self-education I mentioned. And although, as I said at the start, I am not about to direct or dictate to someone else what they may or may not want to collect, I can offer some advice about how to proceed once it becomes clear where your interests are.

Whether a collector focuses on an individual author, or a subject, they will likely want to know what works that authors wrote, or what works were printed on that subject in the period. If you do not already know if anyone has already compiled a list of these books (a bibliography), you will find almost two thousand of these lists here. This is the American Libraries Association list of “standard bibliographies” for “Rare Materials Cataloging”—a bibliography of bibliographies, with references to a bewildering range of topics, many on eighteenth-century subjects.

Although the list is very far from complete (the entry for Australia--Bibliography lists Jonathan Wantrup's Australian rare books, 1788-1900 and Monash's supplement to Ferguson's Bibliography of Australia, but not Ferguson's Bibliography itself), it is a good place to start.

One of the most common forms of collecting is author-focused, and partly as a result, bibliographies have been compiled for a great many writers of the period. A good place to start looking for author bibliographies, is T. H. Howard-Hill’s Bibliography of British Literary Bibliographies, 2nd ed. (1988). The author bibliographies in Howard-Hill’s Bibliography of British Literary Bibliographies are a mix of enumerative and descriptive bibliographies.

(A descriptive bibliography—unlike an enumerative bibliography—describes each item in detail, rather than simply enumerate them. An example of an enumerative bibliography is the one by Summers mentioned above; an example on a descriptive bibliography, is Teerink's A bibliography of the writings of Jonathan Swift, which is online here. For a brief overview of Bibliography, see the Wikipedia page here; for an explanation of what a descriptive bibliographies usually describe, and how, see here and here.)

For a recent guide on how to find out more about both authors and subjects—a reminder that collecting is “a fairly sophisticated pursuit” that requires the collector to become an expert in their chosen topic—see Peggy Keeran and Jennifer Bowers, Literary Research and the British Eighteenth Century (2013), a Preview of which is available here.

* * * * *

Condition, Provenance and The history of your books: as Wikipedia notes, "the value of a book ultimately depends on its physical condition." Since the condition deteriorates with use, collectors have long favored books which most closely approximate "as new" condition, with the fewest physical manifestations of use.

In a modern book, this will usually mean a copy of a book with no manifestation of its history: a book, as issued in its original binding (no matter how fragile or ephemeral); with no bookplate, ownership inscriptions or annotations; a dust wrapper that has not been "clipped," without price stickers or bookseller's labels. In short, a tabula rasa: a blank slate.

Few books survive in such an un-used state, and as every year passes, fewer still will remain in that condition, so it is not surprising that—if demand is undiminished—the shrinking supply of pristine copies will continue to rise in value. Since such time-capsule books have long been the most sought after, book sellers and collectors have spent much of the last two centuries attempting to remove any trace of use from the books they have collected—and thereby removed any evidence of provenance of these books.

Two factors are changing this dynamic for eighteenth-century books: firstly, the widespread availability of a vast number of books from the eighteenth century has diminished the need for (use-value of) these books. Library administrators are reluctant to spend a lot of money to build or support large collections of eighteenth century books, when identical copies of the same books are widely available online.

Of course, in the hand-press period, most copies are not—strictly speaking—identical, but that is an argument that only likely to sway bibliographers. But the consequence of the ready availability of good reproductions eighteenth-century books online, there has been an increasing focus among librarians on what is unique about a specific copy of an eighteenth-century book, rather than what is the same about it: i.e., its imperfections, not its perfections.

The second factor changing the singular focus on pristine copies is that there has been an increasing interest among scholars—book historians—concerning the historical ownership and use of books: for these scholars, evidence of ownership and use are highly valuable: annotations, comment, modifications, styles of rebinding, all reveal the ways in which books have been used, kept, valued. As a result, a scholar may now be just as likely to value a book for its imperfection as its perfections.

What this suggests is that a modern collector of eighteenth-century books should take into account what may be uniquely valuable about even a well-used book before either buying or dismissing it. It also suggests that they ought to preserve as much of that history as possible—and this extends to any information whatsoever, concerning the history of a book.

So, for example, a Gothic novel with a bookplate indicating that it once belonged to Montague Summers, should not have that bookplate removed; but—likewise—a Gothic novel that is bought from the sale of Montague's books, which does not have a bookplate, should have this information recorded and preserved too.

Anyone interested in how to investigate provenance, should consult David Pearson's Provenance research in book history: a handbook, "Major New Edition" (2019)—details here.

Harrap, The Myths Series, 1907–17

Between 1907 and 1917, George G. Harrap published a series of a dozen books, later titled "The Myths Series"—a series imitated by Gresham, who published at least ten volumes under the title "Myth and Legend in Literature and Art" between 1912 and 1924. (For my post on the Gresham series, see here.)

Just as with the Gresham series, I have, and have had, a number of the Harrap volumes over the years, often wondered how many titles there were in the full series and, when I went looking for an answer to this question, found very little on the subject; and so I have decided to collect here some of the information I found.

A 1919 reprint of no.2 in the series (see below) explains, in an advertisement, that "Each volume" is in "Demy 8vo, about 400 pages, with from 32 to 64 Plates and Full Index"; the price for "Cloth extra, 12s. 6d. net"; readers are also informed that a “Special Prospectus of this Important Series will be sent to any address.” Sadly, I have not found a copy of this Prospectus, but I found other printings of this advertisement online (here, for example).

The twelve volumes in the series are:

1. Hélène A. Guerber, The Myths of Greece and Rome (1907). [1909]
2. Hélène A. Guerber, Myths of the Norsemen from the Eddas and Sagas (1908). [1909; 1919]
3. Hélène A. Guerber, Myths and Legends of the Middle Ages (September 1909). [1909; 1911]
4. Maud Isabel Ebbutt, Hero-Myths and Legends of the British Race (1910). [1918]
5. T. W. Rolleston, Myths and Legends of the Celtic Race (1912, 2nd ed. rev.) [1929]
6. F. Hadland Davis, The Myths and Legends of Japan (1912). [1928]
7. Lewis Spence, The Myths of Mexico and Peru (1913). [1913]
8. Lewis Spence, The Myths of the North American Indians (1914). [1914]
9. Lewis Spence, Myths and Legends of Ancient Egypt (1915). [1925]
10. Sister Nivedita and A. Coomaraswamy, Myths of the Hindus and Buddhists (1913). [1913]
11. Lewis Spence, The Myths and Legends of Babylonia and Assyria (1916). [1920]
12. Woislav M. Petrovitch, Hero Tales and Legends of the Serbians (1917). [1921]

Harrap issued a number of similar works under related series titles. By 1909, there were nineteen volumes appeared in the "Told Through the Ages" series (advertised in no.2); in 1919 there were eleven volumes in the "Folk-Lore and Fairy Tales" series (advertised here). Four volumes more clearly related to the "Myths series" are:

13. Thomas Bulfinch, The Golden Age of Myth and Legend (1915).
14. Hélène A. Guerber, The Book of the Epic (1916).
15. Lewis Spence, Legends and Romances of Spain (1920).
16. E. T. C. Werner, Myths and Legends of China (1920).

Although they are uniformly gaudy, the Harrap volumes were not issued in a consistent series-style bindings. And not only do the bindings differ quite a bit from each other in style, each volume was offered in a variety of bindings. This is probably because they were marketed as Christmas gift books. An advertisement in The Publishers' Circular (5 October 1907): 381, explains "Our bindings are even more attractive than last year," being "The most handsome and attractive Gift-books of the 1907 Season." We get more details in The Bookman (December 1912), Christmas Supplement, p.141, which advertises no.6 as available in the following bindings: “Gilt-top, 7s. 6d. net; or Velvet Persian Yapp, 10s. 6d. net; also in choice bindings, Boxed, Full Morocco, 21s. net; Half Vellum, 15s. net; Half Morocco, 15s. net.”

In price order, these various bindings are

(a) cloth, gilt-top ("cloth extra") [in a dustwrapper]: 7s 6d
(b) full soft cowhide ("Velvet Persian Yapp"): 10s 6d
(c) "Half Morocco": 15s
(d) "Half Vellum": 15s
(e) "Full Morocco": 21s

Although I cannot find an advertisement for it, it appears likely that (narrow) quarter Morocco was also available, since my copy of no.14 is bound thus. So, we can probably add:

(f) quarter leather: [price?]

Not long after the initial release of the volumes in this series, they were re-issued in a uniform, relatively plain, binding: at first a boring blue cloth (1911–12), then an even-more boring green cloth (1916–27). [UPDATE: these reprints were also issued in more attractive leather bindings. See final image below.] I have found pictures online of most of the initial binding styles, a few in cloth with dustwrappers; plus I also have a few pictures of multiple volumes in the more boring series bindings. The selection of images below is intended to cover a range of titles and bindings.















[UPDATE: 13 August 2021. A reader of this blog sent me, and has kindly allowed me to reproduce as the final image above, a photo of the full 12 volume series in Half Morocco (a bit unevenly rubbed). These are reprint volumes, dating from 1913 to 1922 (i.e., bound ca. 1922), are a decade later than the plain blue cloth, which date from 1911–12 (i.e., ca. 1912), but earlier than than the plain green cloth set, which date from 1916–27 (i.e., ca. 1927).]

Gresham, Myth and Legend series, 1912–24

Between 1912 and 1924 (or, possibly, 1930), Gresham published a beautiful series of books under the title "Myth and Legend in Literature and Art."

I have, and have had, a number of these Gresham volumes over the years, and have often idly wondered how many titles there were in the full series. When I recently went looking for an answer to this question, I found it harder than I expected to locate anything on the extent of the series; and so I have decided to collect some of the information I found here.

The Gresham series (and I specify the Gresham series to distinguish it from “The Myths Series” published by Harrap from 1907 to 1917) appears to have grown by fits and starts, but this appearance is deceptive. There was a regular progression in the publication of volumes in the series (as detailed below), but it was issued in two distinctive bindings: the first six volumes were issued in matching art nouveau bindings (1912–13); the series was later extended to eight volumes, which were issued (and re-issued) in a matching art deco bindings (1915–17); later still, the series was extended to ten volumes, in the same style of deco bindings (1923–24).

In 1930, another two volumes appeared; these volumes were not issued in series-matching cloth, although they are somewhat close in style, and they only appear in some of the publisher's (seemingly later) lists of volumes in the series. So, for instance, Myths from Myths from Melanesia and Indonesia (no.12) contained a list of "Myth and Legend in Literature and Art" volumes, but it stops with no.10; however, a later edition of Myths of China and Japan (no.9) includes nos. 11 and 12.

Although almost all volumes I have seen are undated, the sequence of volumes—as published and as listed in advertisements—is:

1. Charles Squire, Celtic Myth and Legend: Poetry and Romance ([1912]) [here].
2. A. R. Hope Moncrieff, Classic Myth and Legend ([1912]).
3. Donald A. Mackenzie, Teutonic Myth and Legend (1912) [here].
4. A. R. Hope Moncrieff, Romance and Legend of Chivalry ([1913]) [here].
5. Donald A. Mackenzie, Egyptian Myth and Legend ([1913]) [here].
6. Donald A. Mackenzie, Indian Myth and Legend (1913) [here].
7. Donald A. Mackenzie, Myths of Babylonia and Assyria ([1915]) [here].
8. Donald A. Mackenzie, Myths of Crete and pre-Hellenic Europe ([1917]) [here].
9. Donald A. Mackenzie, Myths of China and Japan ([1923]) [here].
10. Donald A. Mackenzie, Myths of Pre-Columbian America ([1924]) [here].
11. Donald A. Mackenzie, Myths and Traditions of the South Sea Islands ([1930]) [here].
12. Donald A. Mackenzie, Myths from Myths from Melanesia and Indonesia ([1930]) [here].

Below are some photos of these volumes in the earlier art nouveau bindings, and the later art deco bindings. Note, the volumes in these pictures are in no particular order and, in the case if the deco bindings, are not of all volumes; however, they should be sufficient to help readers differentiate the bindings and get an idea of the style of each.

Bibliomania, The Evidence Accumulates

Fortunately, “bibliomania is not a psychological disorder recognized by the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders". However, according to Mark D. Griffiths, “taxonomic collecting” (“attempt[ing] to own an example of every type of a series of items produced”) and “the multiple purchasing of the same book” are probably either “fetishistic” or a symptom of an obsessive-compulsive disorder. While Griffiths notes that there is “very little academic research on the topic”—research reviewed in his article—he concludes that “book collecting can be compulsive.”

It is unlikely anyone who has jokingly described themselves as a bibliomaniac will disagree with this conclusion, just as it is unlikely that many of these same people are likely to agree with Freud that collecting is “a manifestation of anal-erotic impulses” or a “neurotic defence against pre-oedipal or oedipal traumas”—statements also quoted by Griffiths. In Civilisation and its Discontents (1930), 56–57, Freud argues, that “putting out fire by urinating” on it represents a “sexual act” and that controlling this desire is an achievement, a heterosexual masculine victory of culture-over-nature which is both “without a prototype” and “impossible” for women. Which tells you a great deal about Freud and his credibility, and very little about fire. And the capacity of women to urinate on it.

Returning to taxonomic collecting and purchasing multiple copies of the same book—if these are symptoms of bibliomania, then I am a bibliomaniac. In 1887, Augustine Birrell said, in relation to book collecting, that “until you have ten thousand volumes the less you say about your library the better.” But I am talking about bibliomania, not book-collecting, and by Griffiths’ definition, it is possible to be a bibliomaniac by repeatedly buying copies of only one book. Buying a dozen copies of Birrell’s Obiter Dicta, for instance, would be enough to make you a bibliomaniac.

Anyway, I was thinking about compulsive behaviour the other day when two more sets of Haywood’s Female Spectator arrived—these being my sixth and seventh set of the “Second” edition, i.e. Ab.60.5 the first London, duodecimo edition, which is not really the second London edition, and was not the first duodecimo edition. When I set out, without much premeditation, to collect Haywood taxonomically, I had not thought that I would end up with so many “duplicates” as well. Of course, very few hand-press books are genuine "duplicates" bibliographically-speaking (there are often slight differences, as I discuss here), and every book has its own history, more or less recoverable, which makes it unique (even volumes from the same set, as I discuss here).

Still, seven sets of the 1748 “Second” London edition does seem excessive, even to me. The vendor, whose outstanding collection on Hume ended up in a Japanese university, assured me that he had had a dozen copies of many of Hume's works before he parted with his collection. And David Levy assures me that his Hoyle collection also includes a significant number of “duplicates” of some items. Both collectors said I had nothing to be concerned about. But I am not sure I should be taking advice from people whose bibliomania is more advanced than my own.

Having gone online to self-diagnose, I found the Wikipedia entry on Bibliomania, and passed from that to the article by Griffiths, which I have been quoting from (“In Excess. Hooked and Booked. A brief look at bibliomania,” Psychology Today, 17 September 2013). Having read Griffiths’ essay, it appears that I now have to decide which diagnosis is worse, an obsessive-compulsive disorder or a paraphilia.

The Book-Lover's Library Series, 1886–1902

"The Book-Lover’s Library" (BLL) was published in London by Elliot Stock. The series was edited by Henry Benjamin Wheatley (1838–1917), Vice-President and President of the Bibliographical Society, 1908–10, 1911–13. There appear to have been 26 volumes in the series, published between 1886 and 1902, all of them aimed at "the Bibliographer and all Book-Loving Readers." Since I am a Bibliographer and Book-Loving Reader, I have a hand-full of them (above), and I have read them all.

Volumes in the BLL series were issued (as advertised in 1902, below [NB "was first published"]) in three printing and binding styles: (A) on antique paper, with rough edges, in cloth, bevelled [178x110mm] (B) on hand-made paper, Roxburgh half morocco, with gilt top [185x110mm; 250 copies "for sale in England" thus] (C) on large, hand-made paper (by Van Gelder), bound in Roxburgh half morocco [220x178mm; 50 copies "for sale in England"]. In 1902 the prices in the UK were A: 4s 6d; B: 7s 6d; C: £1 1s; the prices in the US (ca. 1892) were A: $1.25; B: $2.50. As you can see in my first picture, at left, binding B dosen't age well.

My Checklist of the 26 volumes in the BLL series is below, numbered in the order that they I think they were released. I haven't been able to find a full list online, and the few claims I have seen about the number of volumes in the series both disagree about the total number of volumes and don't list the individual volumes. So, for instance, the British Library has a catalogue entry for the series, which claims that there were 28 volumes, but notes that their set "includes more than one edition of certain Works"—which are not named.

In 2010, a lot of 32 volumes was sold at auction (lot 347, here) as a "complete set," but only "some" of titles are mentioned in the catalogue entry for the lot, so it is not clear which volumes I exclude that the auctioneer believed had belonged to the series. However, the photograph that accompanies this lot (above) suggests why there might be some confusion about the number of volumes in this series (i.e., why the auctioneer might have been wrong that there were 32 volumes in the series). As you can see, partly visible, at the left of the photo, is W. Davenport Adams, Byways in Book-Land (1888).

If you look here you can see that Byways in Book-Land is not a part of the BLL series, although the paper, binding and price matches those in the BLL (i.e., it "is another of Mr. Stock's dainty little volumes, ever tempting in their cool green covers … [with] clear type and wide margins" as a reviewer states in The Reliquary 3 (1889): 59). Elliot Stock was famous for this type of book, it was his house style, rather than the distinguishing feature of volumes in the BLL series alone. Stock issued many dainty little bookish volumes, which cannot be differentiated from titles in the BLL by their appearance alone. Below, for instance, is J. Rogers Rees' Diversions of a Bookworm (1886) and The Pleasures of a Book-Worm (1886).

Volumes in the BLL series can only be established as belonging to the series if they appear in one of the publisher's lists of volumes in the BLL or if the text "The Book-Lover's Library" appears on the page facing their title-page. I have compiled the list below from four publisher's lists, two printed at the back of volumes from the series, and two leaflets from the publisher that I have otherwise acquired. The four lists (illustrated after the checklist) are:

1892a = A list of 14 titles printed in the back of Books Condemned to be Burnt (1892).
1892b = A list of 16 titles on a ca. 1892 leaflet advertising in the BLL series.
1902 = A list of 25 titles printed in the back of How to Make an Index (1902)
1910 = A list three reprints from the BLL on a ca. 1910 leaflet for "The 'How To' Series."

(The 'How To' series was comprised of J. D. Stewart, How to Use a Library (1910) and reprints of BLL nos.1, 11, 26). I have provided a code to show the order in which titles appear in the three main lists: 1892a and 1892b have the newest volumes, first; 1902 has the oldest volumes first.

* * * * *

01 Henry B. Wheatley, How to Form a Library (1886 on IA here; 2nd ed. 1886 on IA here; 3rd ed. 1887 on IA here; "Popular Edition" 1902 on IA here; 1886, New York 2nd edition on HT here; 1887, New York 3rd edition on HT here) [1892a.14; 1892b.16; 1902.01]

02 W. C. Hazlitt, Old Cookery Books and Ancient Cuisine (1886 on IA here; rpr. "Popular Edition" 1902 on IA here) [1892a.13; 1892b.15; 1902.02]

03 G. L. Gomme, Literature of Local Institutions (1886 on IA here) [1892a.12; 1892b.14; 1902.03]

04 H. Trueman Wood, Modern Methods of Illustrating Books (1886 on IA here; 1887 edition [=2nd ed.; author's name omitted] on IA here; 3rd ed. 1890 [author's name omitted] on IA here; 1887 New York edition on IA here) [1892a.11; 1892b.13; 1902.05]

05 Henry B. Wheatley, The Dedications of Books to Patron and Friend (1887 on IA here; 1887 New York edition on IA here) [1892a.10; 1892b.12; 1902.06]

06 W. C. Hazlitt, Gleanings in Old Garden Literature (1887 on IA here) [1892a.09; 1892b.11; 1902.07]

07 Frederick Saunders, The Story of Some Famous Books (1887 on IA here; 2nd. ed. 1888 on IA here; 1887 New York edition on IA here) [1892a.08; 1892b.10; 1902.08]

08 William Blades, The Enemies of Books (1888 on IA here; Popular Edition, 1902 on HT here) [1892a.07; 1892b.09; 1902.09]

09 W.A. Clouston, The Book of Noodles (1888 on IA here; Popular Edition, 1903 on IA here; 1888 New York edition on IA here) [1892a.06; 1892b.08; 1902.10]

10 Edward Smith, Foreign Visitors in England (1889 on IA here; 1889 New York edition on HT here) [1892a.05; 1892b.07; 1902.04]

11 Henry B. Wheatley, How to Catalogue a Library (1889 on IA here; 2nd ed., 1889 on IA here; 1889 New York edition on HT here) [1892a.04; 1892b.06; 1902.11]

12 John Pendleton, Newspaper Reporting in the Olden Time and To-day (1890 on IA here; 1890 New York edition on HT here) [1892a.03; 1892b.05; 1902.12]

13 W. C. Hazlitt, Studies in Jocular Literature (1890 on IA here; Popular Edition, 1904 on IA here) [1892a.02; 1892b.04; 1902.13]

14 L. A. Wheatley, The Story of the "Imitatio Christi" (1891 on IA here) [1892a.01; 1892b.03; 1902.14]

15 J. A. Farrer, Books Condemned to be Burnt (1892 on IA here; Popular Edition, 1904 on IA here) [1892b.02; 1902.15]

16 William Blades, Books in Chains (1892 on IA here; 1892 New York edition on HT here) [1892b.01; 1902.16]

17 Henry B. Wheatley, Literary Blunders (1893 on IA here) [1902.17]

18 Gleeson White, Book-Song. An anthology of poems of books and bookmen from modern authors (1893 on IA [ex GB] here) [1902.18]

19 R. B. Marston, Walton and Some Earlier Writers on Fish and Fishing (1894 on IA here; Popular Edition, 1903 on IA here) [1902.19]

20 P. H. Ditchfield, Books Fatal to their Authors (1895 on IA here; 1895 New York edition on IA here) [1902.20]

21 William Roberts, ed., Book-Verse. An anthology of poems of books and bookmen from the earliest times to recent years (1896 on IA here; undated New York edition on HT here) [1902.21]

22 James E. Matthew, The Literature of Music (1896 on IA here) [1902.22]

23 Frederick G. Kitton, The Novels of Charles Dickens (1897 on IA here) [1902.23]

24 John Lawler, Book Auctions in England in the Seventeenth Century (1898 on IA here) [1902.25]

25 Frederick G. Kitton, The Minor Writings of Charles Dickens (1900 on IA here) [1902.24]

26 Henry B. Wheatley, How to Make an Index (1902 on IA here; 1902 New York edition on HT here)

* * * * *

[UPDATE 2022.03.05 I am indebted to Jerry Morris: his blog post "About Elliot Stock, Henry B. Wheatley, and The Book Lover's Library Series" (29 March 2017; here) does exactly what you'd expect it to do with such a title. In his post Jerry mentions an excellent article on the BLL series: Claude A. Prance, "The Book Lover's Library," The Private Library, Series 3, vol. 4, no.3 (Autumn 1983): 132–39. Prance lists 34 editions of the 26 titles in the BLL (including four reprints and four Popular editions). Prompted by some very welcome feedback, I have now added links to as many editions of the BLL titles that I can locate on the Internet Archive (IA) and Hathi Trust (HT); where more than one copy was available, I favoured the one which best shows the original binding and endpapers. I now list 52 editions above (including seven London reprints and seven Popular Editions—three more of each than Prance lists—plus twelve New York editions—which Prance only mentions in passing [p.133: "Apparently the green cloth issue could be bought in the U.S.A. for $1.25"). It is likely that there were more New York editions than I have located online, but I trust that the listing of London editions is complete. However, if a reader finds an edition online that I have not listed above, please let me know, and I will add it.

Literary Tattoos of Eighteenth-Century Authors

After considerable searching I can only find literary tattoos based on the works of three British authors other than Eliza Haywood (covered here): and they are Alexander Pope, Mary Wollstonecraft and Jane Austen.

Including Austen is a bit of a stretch, though she is usually included in the "long eighteenth century." But, without her, I'd only have Pope, Wollstonecraft and the Marquis de Sade. An odd mix, though not uninteresting. I am sure I will find others and, when I do, I will add them below.

[UPDATE 18 July 2012: added all the missing links and five new finds: more Pope, Wollstonecraft and Austen]

(My post on literary tattoos in general is here.)

Alexander Pope (1688–1744)

An Essay on Criticism (1711), 2.325
  "To err is human; to forgive divine."

[see here for Lee Annee's tattoo]

Eloisa to Abelard (1717), ll. 207–10:
  "How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
  The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
  Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
  Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd."

[see here for Trent's tattoo]

[see here for Crissy's profile page with links to three other images]

[see here]

[see here]

[see here]

An Essay on Man Epistle IV (1733-34): 193.
  "Act well your part, there all the honour lies"

[see here for Chanel-Deann's tattoo]

Marquis de Sade (1740–1814)

Portrait

[see here]

[For a discussion of the portrait which this tattoos is based on, see here.]

[see here]

Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797)

Portrait

[see here]

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), Ch.3.
"Taught from their infancy that beauty is woman's sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and, roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adore its prison."

[see here]

Jane Austen (1775–1817)

Portrait

[see here]

[see here]

[see here for Patricia's tattoo]

Signature

[see here]

Pride and Prejudice (1813), vol.1, ch.11, Elizabeth to Miss Bingley:
"Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me."

[see here for more photos]

Pride and Prejudice (1813), vol.2, ch.9 (ch.34), Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth:
"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

[see here]

Pride and Prejudice (1813), vol.3, ch.18 (ch.60), Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth:
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

[see here for Mardy's tattoo]

Other

[see here for Patricia's tattoo]

[see here]

[UPDATED 13 December 2012]

[UPDATE: 2 July 2016: After my pictures have disappeared again, I have decided to give up on external hosts for large versions (1000px) of my image files, and will stick with the smaller images (500px) that Blogger is prepared to host.]