The Annual Catalogue: Numb. II. (1738)

In Short

This volume is a comprehensive bibliography cataloging the books, pamphlets, and prints published in London between January 1737 and January 1738. It provides an essential reference for historians, bibliographers, and curious readers, detailing titles, prices, and the specific booksellers responsible for each work. By documenting the breadth of the era’s output—from solemn theological treatises and complex legal manuals to satirical poems and popular songbooks—it captures the diverse reading habits of the period, securing its place as an invaluable map of eighteenth-century literary history.

The Story

The narrative of this volume is one of sheer, relentless abundance. It does not follow a traditional plot, but rather unfolds as a grand, alphabetical procession of the human mind at work during a single year. The story begins with the Editor’s modest mission: to assist "Gentlemen, Ladies, and Booksellers in the Country" who live "remote from London" by providing a reliable guide to the latest intellectual offerings of the capital. The Editor acts as a quiet, precise navigator, sorting the chaos of the press into a coherent, accessible order.

As the reader moves through the pages, the story shifts from the high-minded to the mundane. One encounters a heavy focus on the law, with detailed entries for titles like Manby's Law and Practice of Fines and Recoveries and Law Quibbles, Tricks, Turns, and Evasions. These legal texts sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the religious, reflecting the serious, often contentious nature of public discourse. There are sermons for every occasion—at the Old Bailey, before the Lord Mayor, and on the death of the Queen—illustrating a society deeply preoccupied with moral instruction and the afterlife.

The arc of the catalog then widens to include the scientific and the practical. Readers of 1737 could improve their health with Anatomy epitomized, learn a trade through The Compleat English Tradesman, or refine their language with Bailey's Universal English Dictionary. The tone becomes lighter as the list reaches the sections on literature, poetry, and song. Here, the story reveals a culture that loved to be amused, with entries for burlesque operas like The Dragon of Wantley, collections of French songs, and satirical prints by Hogarth.

As the list nears its conclusion, the reader gains a sense of the interconnectedness of this society. The final section, a directory of booksellers and their locations, transforms the bibliography into a physical map of London. From "Bell-Yard, near Lincoln's-Inn" to "St Paul's Church Yard," the reader can trace the actual geography where these ideas were traded. The volume ends not with a final scene, but with a "Finis" that underscores its role as a tool—a finished record of a year that has passed, leaving behind a permanent mark of the intellectual life of the nation. It is a complete, static record of a dynamic, fleeting moment in time, where every price and every publisher is accounted for, ensuring that the legacy of these authors and their works survives long after the pamphlets themselves have crumbled.

How It Unfolds

The call to order The Editor establishes the purpose of the work, emphasizing its utility for those living far from the hub of London. He outlines a clear intention to provide accurate information regarding titles, prices, and the identity of the printers.

The legal and religious foundation The catalog opens with substantial sections dedicated to the law and divinity. These entries emphasize the weight of authority and the formal structures of the state and church that dominated the era’s intellectual life.

The expansion into the sciences Moving through the alphabet, the entries begin to reflect the practical interests of the public. Readers are introduced to medical treatises, botanical works, and manuals for trade and arithmetic.

The turn to wit and satire The middle section reveals the era’s playful side, featuring plays, mock operas, and poetry. This shift highlights how literature served as a form of social critique and escapism for the eighteenth-century reader.

The mapping of the trade The catalog concludes with a directory of booksellers and their specific locations. This beat anchors the entire list in the physical world of London, connecting abstract titles to the actual people who sold them.

The People

The figures in this volume are primarily the authors and the sellers, though they remain distant, defined by their contributions rather than their personalities. The authors, ranging from the esteemed poet Alexander Pope to the anonymous writers of political pamphlets, appear as voices in a crowded room, each attempting to capture the attention of a specific audience. They want to inform, persuade, or entertain, yet they are constantly standing in the way of one another, competing for space on the bookseller’s shelf.

The booksellers themselves—men like J. Worrall, C. Corbett, and the partners Ward and Chandler—are the true custodians of this record. They are the ones who manage the logistics of the trade, ensuring that a "new and compleat" list exists at all. They act as the gatekeepers of knowledge, and their names recur throughout the pages like a familiar chorus. They are not characters in a drama, but essential participants in the dissemination of ideas. By the end, the reader sees them not as individuals, but as a network, a collective force that bridges the gap between the writer’s manuscript and the reader’s library. They remain static in their roles, providing the stability that allows the authors’ voices to reach the public.

In Its Own Voice

Useful to all who delight in Reading, but more especially to Gentlemen, Ladies, and Booksellers in the Country; not only to let them know what Books are published, but their exact Prices.

This opening statement defines the pragmatic, service-oriented mission of the entire catalog.

Some books have no price listed in the original, and some publishers have no address listed.

This note reveals the practical limitations the editor faced while attempting to bring order to the unregulated chaos of the eighteenth-century book trade.

What It's Really About

This book is a taxonomy of the eighteenth-century mind. It explores the tension between a society deeply committed to the rule of law and the stability of religious tradition, and a culture increasingly fascinated by secular amusement, scientific inquiry, and political dissent. It asks what it means to live in an age of information, where the sheer volume of printed matter creates a need for systematic organization. Underlying the list is an argument for the importance of the book as a commodity, reflecting how ideas were valued, priced, and distributed. It is a document about the democratization of knowledge, showcasing how information moved from the center of London to the periphery, bridging distances through the quiet, efficient medium of the printed page.

Why Read It Today

Readers who love the minutiae of history will find this volume a quiet, fascinating experience. It is not a book for a single sitting, but rather a treasure for those who enjoy browsing and uncovering the "lost" titles of the past. There is a distinct pleasure in observing the wide range of human curiosity in 1737—seeing a technical manual on surgery placed next to a collection of fairy tales, or a serious political protest sitting near a book of songs.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the dense, utilitarian nature of the text. It lacks the narrative flourishes of a novel; it is a list, and it demands a patient eye. The language is tied to the rigid conventions of the time, and the focus on long-forgotten legal disputes or religious treatises may feel remote. Yet, there is something deeply grounding about it. It preserves the names of people and ideas that would otherwise be entirely erased by time. It feels like walking through an old library at midnight, where every spine represents a life, an argument, or a bit of humor that once mattered to someone. What stays with you is the realization that, despite the centuries, the human impulse to record, organize, and share knowledge remains fundamentally unchanged.