antiquarian bookshop

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Abrege Chronologie de L'Histoire de France
Par Francois de Mezeray
Amsterdam Chez Henri Schelte 1701

Each reign is accompanied by a fine copper engraved portrait in the text of the Monarch

Each volume has the engraved armorial bookplate of The Right Hon.ble William Lord North of Carthlageand Baron Grey of of Rolleston [dated 1703]
William North, 6th Baron North and 2nd Baron Grey (22 December 1678 – 31 October 1734), known as Lord North and Grey, was an English soldier and Jacobite, and a peer for more than forty years. He had the right to sit in the House of Lords between 1698 and 1734, although he spent the last twelve years of his life overseas.

North and Grey was the first of his family to become a professional soldier, and he rose to the rank of Lieutenant General. His career faltered after the death of Queen Anne because he was known to be a Jacobite. After being arrested for his part in the Atterbury Plot, but released for lack of evidence, North and Grey took service in the army of King Philip V of Spain. He died in Madrid.

[Volumes 2-6 only]

IxxP Aesthetic

One for the misfits.

INFP: Industrial ruins offering glimpses into a post-apocalyptic world where slowly, but inevitably, wild grasses will softly bury everything until the sun will engulf the earth and the universe will implode. Getting lost in the streets of an unfamiliar town, door creaking as you enter the messiest antiquarian bookshop imaginable and are greeted with a kind smile. Wooden merry-go-rounds with hand-carved horses, hand-cranked organ playing circus tunes. Ten-page letters never sent, messages in a bottle found a hundred years later. An abandoned train station in the middle of nowhere where maybe the ghost of the porter is forever waiting for passengers he knows will not arrive. Being careful to avoid an audible click between tracks so to not ruin that well-nigh perfect transition between songs as you record a mixtape onto cassette. Modern-day hand bookbinders and watchmakers. That one good line from that awful poem you wrote in seventh grade. Everything cringeworthy about your favorite band’s first demo tape.

INTP: Home plastered with whiteboards, fridge-freezer door painted with chalkboard paint for good measure so you can deal with your brainstorms whenever you have them. Chindōgu, the Japanese art of coming up with creative solutions to minor everyday annoyances that are ultimately useless because people would be too embarrassed to use them, such as the famous noodle splash guard. Fringe sports. Like curling. Disc golf. Or robot soccer. The USS Enterprise-shaped pizza cutter. Setting Wikipedia’s Randompage as your homepage, never getting started on anything because you keep clicking the hyperlinks in the articles. Avoiding TV Tropes for the very reason. Getting unexpectedly invested in the debate when it comes to footnotes vs. endnotes. Wanting to learn Elvish but getting stuck when you can’t decide between Quenya and Sindarin. Also maybe wanting to learn stenography. Or steganography. Or how to play the contrabass balalaika.

ISTP: Blue jeans, white shirt, vintage leather jacket. Wishing the multiplayer trend in gaming would go away because you like the sense of personal responsibility found in a classic adventure but getting really competitive at Mario Kart. Cherry pit spitting. Building your own bed frame out of recycled pallets. Wearing your battle scars with pride. That one delinquent character in a highschool anime setting with the key to the forbidden rooftop. Just… sitting on rooftops. When the silence between two people isn’t awkward at all but feels natural for once. Knees grazed from skateboarding, callused fingers from playing guitar. Collecting vintage horror pulp zines. Or baseball cards. Or pocket knives. Tinkering things apart and putting them back together again to see how they work. Patching up your worn-out combat boots with shoe goo to grant them another chance at life. The rewarding view from the summit after a particularly challenging hike.

ISFP:
Those utterly perfect movie scenes. Like when Luke Skywalker gazes into Tatooine’s evening sky, Binary Sunsets is playing, and nothing fucking happens but you feel that this, this is the very moment he realizes he might just be stuck on that dead-ass planet for the rest of his life and he’s mourning the life he’ll never have, or maybe he’s actually deciding he’s indeed made for greater things, who knows, but the sheer significance is there for everyone to forever burn onto their retinas. You know the scenes. Not being intimidated by an empty canvas but excited about the unlimited possibilities contained within. Decorating your dorm room with washi tape. Meticulously consistent editing of pictures so to not disrupt the flow of your Instagram feed. The plethora of colours light shines onto a soap bubble. Bath bombs. Sidewalk chalk. Not necessarily studying but always stocking up on cute stationery. Having strong opinions on the fonts used in movie end credits (Wes Anderson has a thing for Futura, by the way). The brand of escapism embodied in a Lana Del Rey video.
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a 19th century edition of Rabelais which I bought for £1 from the Last Bookshop. Antiquarian books in foreign languages  (except Latin) are surprisingly  cheap  around here, probably marked down on the basis nobody can read that language anyway.

I haven’t found a date, but the editor. Louis Moland, appears to have been active from the 1870s through to the 1890s.

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