ne in the _Boston News Letter_ of July 7, 1712:

"A certain Person having lent two Books viz; Rushworths Collections
& Fullers Holy War & forgotten unto whom; These are desiring the
Borrower to be so kind as to return said Books unto Owner."

Or this sarcastic request in the _Connecticut Courant_.

"The gentleman who took the second volume of Bacons Abridgment from
Mr. David Balls bedroom on the 18th of November would do well to
return it to the owner whose name he will find on the 15th Page. If
he choose rather to keep it the owner wishes him to call and take
the rest of the set."

Another Connecticut man is meekly asked to "return the 3rd Vol of Don
Quixote & take the 4th instead if he chuse."

Connecticut folk seemed to be particularly given to this slipshod
fashion of promiscuous and unlicensed book-borrowing, if we can trust
the apparent proof given by Connecticut newspapers in their many
advertisements of lost books. In some notices it is darkly hinted that
"specifications of books long lent have been given" (to the sheriff
perhaps); and again, a meek suggestion that the owner wishes to read a
long missing volume and would be grateful for an opportunity to do so.
One ungallant soul advertised for "the she-person that borrowed Mr.
Thos. Browns Works from a gentleman she is well acquainted with."

There was not the redeeming excuse for non-return sometimes given by
like "desuming deadheads" nowadays, that the owner's name had been
forgotten, for the inscription "Perley Morse, His Book," or "Catey
Bradford, Her Book," or whatever the name might be, was quickly and
repeatedly written by each colonial owner as soon as the book was
acquired.

Frequently also the dates and places of residence appear. Even the very
dates of ownership and the quaint old names are interesting. Bathsheba
Spalding, Noca Emmons, Elam Noyes, Titherming Layton, Engrossed Bump,
Sally Box, Tilly Minching, Zerushaddi Key, Comfort Vine--these are a few
of the odd signatures I have found in old books.

Readers also had a pleasant habit of leaving a sign-manual on the last
page of a book, thus: "Timothy Pitkin perlegit A.D. 1765," "Cotton Smith
perlegit 1740." A clear-speaking lesson are such records to this
generation--a lesson of patience and diligence. How we venerate, with
what awe we regard the name of Timothy Pitkin, and know that he lived to
read through that vast folio--the first ever printed in