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 different varieties of book-collecting, which offer almost as many varieties of grades of difficulty, make excellent hobbies. But in its essence the pastime of a book-collector is identical with the official work of the curator of a museum, and thus also with one branch of the duties of the librarian of any library of respectable age. In its inception every library is a literary workshop, with more or less of a garden or recreation ground attached according as its managers are influenced by the humanities or by a narrow conception of utility. As the library grows, the books and editions which have been the tools of one generation pass out of use; and it becomes largely a depository or storehouse of a stock much of which is dead. But from out of this seemingly dead stock preserved at haphazard, critics and antiquaries gradually pick out books which they find to be still alive. Of some of these the interest cannot be reproduced in its entirety by any mere reprint, and it is this salvage which forms the literary museum. Book-collectors are privileged to leap at once to this stage in their relations with books, using the dealers’ shops and catalogues as depositories from which to pick the books which will best fit with the aim or central idea of their collection. For in the modern private collection, as in the modern museum, the need for a central idea must be fully recognized. Neither the collector nor the curator can be content to keep a mere curiosity-shop. It is the collector’s business to illustrate his central idea by his choice of examples, by the care with which he describes them and the skill with which they are arranged. In all these matters many amateurs rival, if they do not outstrip, the professional curators and librarians, and not seldom their collections are made with a view to their ultimate transference to public ownership. In any case it is by the zeal of collectors that books which otherwise would have perished from neglect are discovered, cared for and preserved, and those who achieve these results certainly deserve well of the community.

Whenever a high degree of civilization has been attained book-lovers have multiplied, and to the student with his modest desire to read his favourite author in a well-written or well-printed copy there has been added a class of owners suspected of caring more for the externals of books than for the enjoyment to be obtained by reading them. But although adumbrations of it existed under the Roman empire and towards the end of the middle ages, book-collecting, as it is now understood, is essentially of modern growth. A glance through what must be regarded as the medieval text-book on the love of books, the Philobiblon, attributed to Richard de Bury (written in 1345), shows that it deals almost exclusively with the delights of literature, and Sebastian Brant’s attack on the book-fool, written a century and a half later, demonstrates nothing more than that the possession of books is a poor substitute for learning. This is so obviously true that before book-collecting in the modern sense can begin it is essential that there should be no lack of books to read, just as until cups and saucers became plentiful there was no room for the collector of old china. Even when the invention of printing had reduced the cost of books by some 80%, book-collectors did not immediately appear. There is a natural temptation to imagine that the early book-owners, whose libraries have enriched modern collectors with some of their best-known treasures, must necessarily have been collectors themselves. This is far from being the case. Hardly a book of all that Jean Grolier (1479–1565) caused to be bound so tastefully for himself and his friends reveals any antiquarian instincts in its liberal owner, who bought partly to encourage the best printers of his day, partly to provide his friends with the most recent fruits of Renaissance scholarship. In England Archbishop Cranmer, Lords Arundel and Lumley, and Henry, prince of Wales (1594–1612), in France the famous historian Jacques Auguste de Thou (1553–1617), brought together the best books of their day in all departments of learned literature, put them into handsome leather jackets, and enriched them with their coats of arms, heraldic badges or other marks of possession. But they brought their books together for use and study, to be read by themselves and by the scholars who frequented their houses, and no evidence has been produced that they appreciated what a collector might now call the points of a book other than its fine condition and literary or informational merits. Again, not a few other more or less famous men have been dubbed collectors on the score of a scanty shelf-full of volumes known to have been stamped with their arms. Collecting, as distinct both from the formation of working libraries and from casual ownership of this latter kind, may perhaps be said to have begun in England at the time of the antiquarian reaction produced by the book-massacres when the monasteries were dissolved by Henry VIII., and the university and college libraries and the parish service books were plundered and stript by the commissioners of Edward VI. To rescue good books from perishing is one of the main objects of book-collecting, and when Archbishop Parker and Sir Robert Cotton set to work to gather what they could of the scattered records of English statecraft and literature, and of the decorative art bestowed so lavishly on the books of public and private devotion, they were book-collectors in a sense and on a scale to which few of their modern imitators can pretend. Men of more slender purses, and armed with none of Archbishop Parker’s special powers, worked according to their ability on similar lines. Humphrey Dyson, an Elizabethan notary, who collected contemporary proclamations and books from the early English presses, and George Thomason (d. 1666), the bookseller who bought, stored and catalogued all the pamphlet literature of the Civil War, were mindful of the future historians of the days in which they lived. By the end of the 17th century book-collecting was in full swing all over Europe, and much of its apparatus had come into existence. In 1676 book auctions were introduced into England from Holland, and soon we can trace in priced catalogues the beginning of a taste for Caxtons, and the books prized by collectors slowly fought their way up from amid the heavy volumes of theology by which they were at first overwhelmed.

While book-collecting thus came into existence it was rather as an added grace in the formation of a fine library than as a separate pursuit. Almost all the large book-buyers of the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries bought with a public object, or were rewarded for their zeal by their treasures being thought worthy of a public resting-place. Sir Thomas Smith (d. 1577) bequeathed his books to Queens’ College, Cambridge; Archbishop Parker’s were left under severe restrictions to Corpus Christi College in the same university; Sir Thomas Bodley refounded during his lifetime the university library at Oxford, to which also Laud gave liberally and Selden bequeathed his books. The library of Archbishop Williams went to St John’s College, Cambridge; that of Archbishop Usher was bought for Trinity College, Dublin. The mathematical and scientific books of Thomas Howard, earl of Norfolk (d. 1646), were given by his grandson to the Royal Society; the heraldic collections of Ralph Sheldon (d. 1684) to Heralds’ College; the library in which Pepys took so much pleasure to Magdalene College, Cambridge. Bishop Moore’s books, including a little volume of Caxton quartos, almost all unique, were bought by George I. and presented to the university library at Cambridge. Archbishop Marsh, who had previously bought Stillingfleet’s printed books (his manuscripts went to Oxford), founded a library at Dublin. The immense accumulations of Thomas Rawlinson (d. 1725) provided materials for a series of auctions, and Harley’s printed books were sold to Osbourne the bookseller. But the trend was all towards public ownership. While Richard Rawlinson (d. 1755) allowed his brother’s books to be sold, the best of his own were bequeathed to Oxford, and the Harleian MSS. were offered to the nation at a sum far below their value. A similar offer of the great collections formed by Sir Hans Sloane, including some 50,000 printed books, together with the need for taking better care of what remained of the Cotton manuscripts, vested in trustees for public use in 1702 and partially destroyed by fire in 1731, led to the foundation of the British Museum in 1753, and this on its opening in 1757 was almost immediately enriched by George II.’s gift of the old royal library, formed by the kings and queens of England from Henry VII. to Charles II., and by Henry, prince of Wales, son of James I., who had bought the books belonging to Archbishop Cranmer and Lords Arundel and Lumley. A few notable