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There were then a few private book collectors, such as Archbishop Parker, Dr. Dee, Captain Cox, of Coventry, Burton, and some others.

Collectors of scarce books have since been called "Butterfly Hunters;" but butterfly hunters are not to be despised, for, as Stillingfleet writes:

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Each shell, each crawling insect, holds a place,
Important in the plan of Him who framed
This scale of being."

SCARCE BOOKS.-Collecting of scarce books is, or rather, should I say, was a mania often as ruinous as the tulip, or any other mania, and is delightfully described by the reviewer of the "Reminiscences of a Literary Life," by the Rev. T. F. Dibden, 1836, in the Gentleman's Magazine.

"The evil is so mitigated, that volumes the most cherished and esteemed, such as would have turned the cheek of Cracherode pale, and kept Lord Spencer from his sleep," or his hounds, "may now be gained without solicitation, and purchased without absolute ruin to one's wife, children, or dependants. Bibliography, when soberly perused, is part and parcel of a scholar's knowledge, because a good workman should be acquainted with his tools: but as we recollect Sir Astley Cooper says, that he never knew a surgeon of eminence very particular about his instruments, or very curious in minute alterations of them; and, as Sir Joshua Reynolds observes, that it is the certain mark of an inferior painter to be over nice about

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his brushes and colours," and the same remark will hold good as to sportsmen, about their guns and fishing-tackle; So we venture to think that a too nice and delicate an interest about copies, editions, margins, bindings, toolings, starchings, and repairings, and all the other arcanas of the science that lie upon that ample territory,* perhaps may not be quite compatible with an anxious desire to be acquainted with the author who resides within them; it is like studying the wards and handle of a key, instead of putting it into the lock and opening the door; and as we firmly believe that the margin of a book, however ample, does not contain the whole pith and marrow of a book, we think a little time may occasionally be spared for a survey of the text. Besides, a lover's heart is always weak, whether he is a lover of living forms or dry paper, of fair or vellum-coloured skins, of beauty in satin or Russian leather, or on sofas or on shelves, loose in sheets or fast bound-all is the same-there is no repressing the enthusiasm of the fancy, or controlling the wilfulness of the imagination's wing."

"With that of the boke, loosen'd were the claspes;
The margent was illumin'd all with golden railles,
And bice empictured, with grasshoppers and waspes,
With butterflies and freshe pecocke tailes,

Englored with flowers, and slymy snayles,
Envyved pictures well touched and quickly,

It would have made a man hole, that had be right sickly,
To beholde how it was garnished and bounde,
Encoverede over with golde and tissue fine,
The claspes and buttons were worth a M poundes,
With balasis and carbuncles the border did shyne,
With aurum mosaicum every other lyne," &c.

"But whatever may have been the evil attending that temporary fever, which reached its acme at the Duke of Roxburgh's sale, in 1812-though some bore the cruel marks and scratches of it to the grave, though some mourned their mort

* Notwithstanding the writer's sensible remarks, about binding, tooling, &c., I apprehend there is one book which he would have grasped with due antiquarian fervor, solely for this peculiarity, and have said: "Habeo et curabo."

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Two years past, Richard Porrett, Esq., presented to the Antiquarian Society, a small pocket volume, Les Heures Royalles, Dedices ou Roy," printed at Paris, 1657; the binding of which is covered with a cloth formed of human hair, (in a conspicuous quantity,) interwoven with gold and silver thread; at the sides are several ornamental knots, and two flaming hearts, with the initials 1. F. It formerly belonged to Cosway, the acadameciap, by whom it was given to Thomas Mortimer, author of "The British Plutarch," (Mr. Porrett's maternal grandfather.) A tradition attends it, that the hair was that of King Charles I., and that the book was presented by his widow, Henrietta Maria, to her son, Charles II.

gaged lands and desecrated woods, and some saw the secluò d beauties of their cherished harem dragged forth to the public gaze-yet the evil was not unmitigated nor unattended with advantageous results.

The knowledge of many valuable works was more widely diffused, their contents were more accurately examined; the metropolitan booksellers, when the sun was in Taurus, left the forsaken town, and ransacked the provincial libraries. The continent of Europe did not escape their eagle eyes. Old and unknown editions of our own poets and early writers were brought to light, by which errors were rectified, that no learning could have detected, and no ingenuity could have supplied. In the drama, what an interesting discovery was the single copy of Shakspeare, of the original Hamlet-the rough sketch of Shakspeare's mind. How much light was thrown upon the text of the same poet, and what erroneous readings were at once swept aside, by the acuteness of Farmer, in perceiving the line of the poet's reading, and by his diligence in following it through books of great rarity and difficult of access.

What would not that accomplished critic give, from whom we are led soon to expect an edition of Skelton, a poet of Henry VIII.'s reign, and his tutor, and who is the only person who could give such a one as would dissipate much of the difficulty that now surrounds the author's text, and bring the long-lost reading to light; what would he not give, or what "hyperborean deserts" would he not travel, to attain the original editions, irreparably lost, of that singular writer, and without which it is not possible to restore his works to genuine forin. In such respects as these, it is only the blockhead and the scorner that would sneer at the value placed by scholars on volumes which time and misuse have rendered valuable and rare. The fact is, they cannot be too eagerly sought for, too diligently examined, and too carefully preserved."

By these glorious treasures one generation profits by the genius and researches of another; and, as Ensor finely observes : "Those who do not apply the labours of others to their own minds, display an intermittent light and feeble rays; they are like scattered pieces of half-kindled wood, which smoke a little and are soon extinguished; approach them, and the fire sparkles, add more, and a flame ascends: amass many, the heat becomes intense, and equal to elaborate the most resisting substances, and perform mutations altogether amazing."

The first book auction, I believe, was the sale of Dr. Seaman's library, 1676; the catalogue has the following announcement: "Reader, it hath not been usual here in England to make sale of books by way of auction, or who will give most for them, but

it having been practised in other countries-to the advantage of both buyers and sellers-it was therefore conceived (for the encouragement of learning) to publish the sale of these books in this manner of way."

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"It is to the general and intelligent spirit of research, which characterised so strongly the age of Elizabeth, that we owe, in a great measure, the preservation of our vast stores of early manuscripts." Gentleman's Magazine.

The following are a few beautiful thoughts on reading and literature:

Literature is the map, by which we may survey the sense of mankind.

says:

Lord Chesterfield "Books point out the operations of the mind, the sentiments of the heart, and the influence of the passions, and so far they are of use. 99 Voltaire says: "Reading aggrandises the soul, and an enlightened friend affords consolation." Bacon says: "Read not to contradict, nor confute, nor to believe, nor to take for granted, but to weigh and con

sider." Davenant says: "Books are the assembled souls of all that man holds wise." Fuller says: "Some men live like moths in libraries, not being better for books, but the books the worse for them-which they only soile with their fingers." Volney says: "The ancients searched for truth, the moderns pretend they possess it." "It is by study we become cotemporary of ages past, and citizens of every country."

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Libraries of the 15th, 16th, and 17th Centuries.

284,000 vols., 16,000 MSS., 1440. 200,000 66 25,000

Vienna Imperial,

Oxford Bodleian,

66 1480.

Dresden Royal,

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M. De Bonald states, that "Europe, which at present possesses libraries filled with philosophical works, and which reckons up almost as many philosophers as writers, poor in the midst of so much riches, and uncertain—with the aid of all its guides which road it should follow. Europe, the centre and focus of all the lights of the world, has yet its philosophy in expectation."

This is but a poor prospect, for as philosophy itself is not yet a perfect science, we have long to wait.

To enter into a criticism of the vast body of literature of this century, can hardly be expected in a work of this nature; even if it had not already been done, in various publications, by critics of great talents, erudition, and research; men, to whom the writer feels conscious he could not have rendered any other assistance than fill their inkstands, or nib their

pens.

But, occasionally, there comes in some fallen fruit, similar to what is gathered by hand in large orchards: some of them may be rather blighted, and not arrived at perfection; some of them grew at the extremity of branches, which could not be reached when the bulk were gathered; these in time fell, ripe and perfect, from their own gravity; these, as they taught one of nature's principles to a Newton, so do they exhibit to us the habits, and customs, and principles of our fore

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