occur, Lord only knows," he ejaculated with a deep sigh and lifted-up
hands, "Lord only knows what would be its ransom; and yet it was
originally secured, by skill and research, for the easy equivalent of
two-pence sterling."'

Sir Walter Scott in a footnote adds:--"This bibliomaniacal anecdote is
literally true; and David Wilson, the author need not tell his brethren
of the Roxburghe and Bannatyne Clubs, was a real personage." Mr. Blades,
whose iconoclastic temper is not moved to mercy even by this good story,
says that although it "looks like a true bibliographical anecdote," its
appearance is deceptive, and that "not a single statement is founded
on fact."[1]

Jonathan Oldbuck did not venture to estimate the sum that would ransom a
copy of the "Game of Chesse," and the world of the bibliomania has moved
even since his days, so that prices which seemed fabulous, and were
recounted with a sort of awe-struck wonder, have been surpassed in these
latter days, and the chances of any successor of "Snuffy Davy" buying a
Caxton for two groschen have been greatly reduced.

According to Mr. William Blades, our latest and best authority on the
subject, there are but ten copies known of the first edition of the
"Chesse" book.[2] There is a perfect copy in the King's Library in the
British Museum. This is what ought to be Snuffy Davy's copy. A previous
owner--R. Boys--has noted that it cost him 3_s_. The copy in the
Grenville Library has the table and last leaf supplied in facsimile. The
copy in the Public Library at Cambridge is defective to the extent of
five leaves. The Bodleian copy wants the last leaf. The Duke of
Devonshire's copy formerly belonged to Roger Wilbraham, and the first
and eighth leaves are supplied in facsimile. The exemplar belonging to