In July, 1885, Dr. Garnett, of the British Museum, gave me two worms which had been found in an old Hebrew Commentary just received from Athens.  They had doubtless had a good shaking on the journey, and one was moribund when I took charge, and joined his defunct kindred in a few days.  The other seemed hearty and lived with me for nearly eighteen months.  I treated him as well as I knew how; placed him in a small box with the choice of three sorts of old paper to eat, and very seldom disturbed him.  He evidently resented his confinement, ate very little, moved very little, and changed in appearance very little, even when dead.  This Greek worm, filled with Hebrew lore, differed in many respects from any other I have seen.  He was longer, thinner, and more delicate looking than any of his English congeners.  He was transparent, like thin ivory, and had a dark line through his body, which I took to be the intestinal canal.  He resigned his life with extreme procrastination, and died “deeply lamented” by his keeper, who had long looked forward to his final development.

The difficulty of breeding these worms is probably due to their formation.  When in a state of nature they can by expansion and contraction of the body working upon the sides of their holes, push their horny jaws against the opposing mass of paper.  But when freed from the restraint, which indeed to them is life, they CANNOT eat although surrounded with food, for they have no legs to keep them steady, and their natural, leverage is wanting.

Considering the numerous old books contained in the British Museum, the Library there is wonderfully free from the worm.  Mr. Rye, lately the Keeper of the Printed Books there, writes me “Two or three were discovered in my time, but they were weakly creatures.  One, I remember, was conveyed into the Natural History Department, and was taken into custody by Mr. Adam White who pronounced it to be Anobium pertinax.  I never heard of it after.”

The reader, who has not had an opportunity of examining old libraries, can have no idea of the dreadful havoc which these pests are capable of making.

I have now before me a fine folio volume, printed on very good unbleached paper, as thick as stout cartridge, in the year 1477, by Peter Schoeffer, of Mentz.  Unfortunately, after a period of neglect in which it suffered severely from the “worm,” it was about fifty years ago considered worth a new cover, and so again suffered severely, this time at the hands of the binder.  Thus the original state of the boards is unknown, but the damage done to the leaves can be accurately described.

The “worms” have attacked each end.  On the first leaf are 212 distinct holes, varying in size from a common pin hole to that which a stout knitting-needle would make, say, 1/16 to 1/23 inch.  These holes run mostly in lines more or less at right angles with the covers, a very few being channels along the paper affecting three or four sheets only.  The varied energy of these little pests is thus represented:—­