hundreds of books, must be charming in its native simplicity. "There is
now," he states, evidently quoting it as a great curiosity, "there is
now, in a private library in Philadelphia, a book perforated by this
insect." Oh! lucky Philadelphians! who can boast of possessing the
oldest library in the States, but must ask leave of a private collector
if they wish to see the one wormhole in the whole city!

[1] "American Encyclopaedia of Printing": by Luther Ringwalt. 8vo.
Philadelphia, 1871.

CHAPTER VII. OTHER VERMIN.

BESIDES the worm I do not think there is any insect enemy of books worth
description. The domestic black-beetle, or cockroach, is far too modern
an introduction to our country to have done much harm, though he will
sometimes nibble the binding of books, especially if they rest upon the
floor.

Not so fortunate, however, are our American cousins, for in the "Library
Journal" for September, 1879, Mr. Weston Flint gives an account of a
dreadful little pest which commits great havoc upon the cloth bindings
of the New York libraries. It is a small black-beetle or cockroach,
called by scientists "Blatta germanica" and by others the "Croton
Bug." Unlike our household pest, whose home is the kitchen, and whose
bashfulness loves secrecy and the dark hours, this misgrown flat
species, of which it would take two to make a medium-sized English
specimen, has gained in impudence what it has lost in size, fearing
neither light nor noise, neither man nor beast. In the old English Bible
of 1551, we read in Psalm xci, 5, "Thou shalt not nede to be afraied
for eny Bugges by night." This verse falls unheeded on the ear of the
Western librarian who fears his "bugs" both night and day, for they
crawl over everything in broad sunlight, infesting and infecting each
corner and cranny of the bookshelves they choose as their home. There
is a remedy in the powder known as insecticide, which, however, is very
disagreeable upon books and shelves. It is, nevertheless, very fatal to
these pests, and affords some consolation in the fact that so soon as
a "bug" shows any signs of illness, he is devoured at once by his
voracious brethren with the same relish as if he were made of fresh
paste.

There is, too, a small silvery insect (Lepisma) which I have often
seen in the backs of neglected books, but his ravages are not of much
importance.

Nor can we reckon the Codfish as very dangerous to literature,
unless, indeed, he be of