Many years since I purchased, at Messrs. Sotheby’s, a large lot of MS. leaves on vellum, some being whole sections of a book, but mostly single leaves.  Many were so mutilated by the excision of initials as to be worthless, but those with poor initials, or with none, were quite good, and when sorted out I found I had got large portions of nearly twenty different MSS., mostly Horae, showing twelve varieties of fifteenth century handwriting in Latin, French, Dutch, and German.  I had each sort bound separately, and they now form an interesting collection.

Portrait collectors have destroyed many books by abstracting the frontispiece to add to their treasures, and when once a book is made imperfect, its march to destruction is rapid.  This is why books like Atkyns’ “Origin and Growth of Printing,” 4o, 1664, have become impossible to get.

When issued, Atkyns’ pamphlet had a fine frontispiece, by Logan, containing portraits of King Charles II, attended by Archbishop Sheldon, the Duke of Albermarle, and the Earl of Clarendon.  As portraits of these celebrities (excepting, of course, the King) are extremely rare, collectors have bought up this 4o tract of Atkyns’, whenever it has been offered, and torn away the frontispiece to adorn their collection.

This is why, if you take up any sale catalogue of old books, you are certain to find here and there, appended to the description, “Wanting the title,” “Wanting two plates,” or “Wanting the last page.”

It is quite common to find in old MSS., especially fifteenth century, both vellum and paper, the blank margins of leaves cut away.  This will be from the side edge or from the foot, and the recurrence of this mutilation puzzled me for many years.  It arose from the scarcity of paper in former times, so that when a message had to be sent which required more exactitude than could be entrusted to the stupid memory of a household messenger, the Master or Chaplain went to the library, and, not having paper to use, took down an old book, and cut from its broad margins one or more slips to serve his present need.

I feel quite inclined to reckon among “enemies” those bibliomaniacs and over-careful possessors, who, being unable to carry their treasures into the next world, do all they can to hinder their usefulness in this.  What a difficulty there is to obtain admission to the curious library of old Samuel Pepys, the well-known diarist.  There it is at Magdalene College, Cambridge, in the identical book-cases provided for the books by Pepys himself; but no one can gain admission except in company of two Fellows of the College, and if a single book be lost, the whole library goes away to a neighbouring college.  However willing and anxious to oblige, it is evident that no one can use the library at the expense of the time, if not temper, of two Fellows.  Some similar restrictions are in force at the Teylerian Museum, Haarlem, where a lifelong imprisonment is inflicted upon its many treasures.