ou,
when on earth, practised the good they teach?' sternly demanded the
saint, who read their characters at a glance. Their faltering reply
was sufficient, and the blessed saint at once passed judgment as
follows:--'Insomuch as, seduced by a foolish vanity, and against your
vows of poverty, you have amassed this multitude of books and thereby
and therefor have neglected the duties and broken the rules of your
Order, you are now sentenced to read your books for ever and ever in
the fires of Hell.' Immediately, a roaring noise filled the air, and a
flaming chasm opened in which friars, and asses and books were suddenly
engulphed."

CHAPTER IV. DUST AND NEGLECT.

DUST upon Books to any extent points to neglect, and neglect means more
or less slow Decay.

A well-gilt top to a book is a great preventive against damage by dust,
while to leave books with rough tops and unprotected is sure to produce
stains and dirty margins.

In olden times, when few persons had private collections of books, the
collegiate and corporate libraries were of great use to students.
The librarians' duties were then no sinecure, and there was little
opportunity for dust to find a resting-place. The Nineteenth Century
and the Steam Press ushered in a new era. By degrees the libraries which
were unendowed fell behind the age, and were consequently neglected.
No new works found their way in, and the obsolete old books were left
uncared for and unvisited. I have seen many old libraries, the doors of
which remained unopened from week's end to week's end; where you inhaled
the dust of paper-decay with every breath, and could not take up a book
without sneezing; where old boxes, full of older literature, served as
preserves for the bookworm, without even an autumn "battue" to thin the
breed. Occasionally these libraries were (I speak of thirty years ago)
put even to vile uses, such as would have shocked all ideas of propriety
could our ancestors have foreseen their fate.

I recall vividly a bright summer morning many years ago, when, in search
of Caxtons, I entered the inner quadrangle of a certain wealthy College
in one of our learned Universities. The buildings around were charming
in their grey tones and shady nooks. They had a noble history, too, and
their scholarly sons were (and are) not unworthy successors of their
ancestral renown. The sun shone warmly, and most of the casements were
open. From one came curling a whiff of tobacco; from ano