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 could not afford to bequeath their treasures to libraries, e.g. Richard Smith, the secondary of the Poultry Compter (d. 1675), at whose book-sale (1682) a dozen Caxtons sold for from 2s. to 18s. apiece, Dr Francis Bernard (d. 1698), Narcissus Luttrell (d. 1732) and Dr Richard Mead (d. 1754). At the opposite end of the scale, in the earls of Sunderland (d. 1722) and Pembroke (d. 1733), we have early examples of the attempts, seldom successful, of book-loving peers to make their libraries into permanent heirlooms. But as has been said, the drift up to 1760 was all towards public ownership, and the libraries were for the most part general in character, though the interest in typographical antiquities was already well marked.

When George III. came to the throne he found himself bookless, and the magnificent library of over 80,000 books and pamphlets and 440 manuscripts which he accumulated shows on a large scale the catholic and literary spirit of the book-lovers of his day. As befitted the library of an English king it was rich in English classics as well as in those of Greece and Rome, and the typographical first-fruits of Mainz, Rome and Venice were balanced by numerous works from the first presses of Westminster, London and Oxford. This noble library passed in 1823 to the British Museum, which had already received the much smaller but carefully chosen collection of the Rev. C. M. Cracherode (d. 1799), and in 1846 was further enriched by the wonderful library formed by Thomas Grenville, the last of its great book-loving benefactors, who died in that year, aged ninety-one. A few less wealthy men had kept up the old public-spirited tradition during George III.’s reign, Garrick bequeathing his fine collection of English plays and Sir Joseph Banks his natural history books to the British Museum, while Capell’s Shakespearian treasures enriched Trinity College, Cambridge, and those of Malone went to the Bodleian library at Oxford, the formation of these special collections, in place of the large general library with a sprinkling of rarities, being in itself worth noting. But the noble book-buyers celebrated by the Rev. Thomas Frognall Dibdin in his numerous bibliographical works kept mainly on the old lines, though with aims less patriotic than their predecessors. The duke of Roxburghe’s books were sold in 1812, and the excitement produced by the auction, more especially by the competition between Lord Spencer and the duke of Marlborough (at that time marquess of Blandford) for an edition of Boccaccio printed by Valdarfer at Venice in 1471, led to the formation of the Roxburghe Club at a commemorative dinner. In 1819 the duke of Marlborough’s books were sold, and the Boccaccio for which he had paid £2260 went to Earl Spencer (d. 1834) for £750, to pass with the rest of his rare books to Mrs Rylands in 1892, and by her gift to the John Rylands library at Manchester in 1899. The books of Sir M. M. Sykes were sold in 1824, those of J. B. Inglis in 1826 (after which he collected again) and those of George Hibbert in 1829. The 150,000 volumes brought together by Richard Heber at an expense of about £100,000 were disposed of by successive sales during the years 1834–1837 and realized not much more than half their cost. The wonderful library of William Beckford (d. 1844), especially rich in fine bindings, bequeathed to his daughter, the duchess of Hamilton, was sold in 1882, with the Hamilton manuscripts, for the most part to the German government. Their dispersal was preceded in 1881 by that of the Sunderland collection, already mentioned. The library of Brian Fairfax (d. 1749), which had passed to the earls of Jersey, was sold in 1885, that of Sir John Thorold (d. 1815) in 1884, his “Gutenberg” Bible fetching £3900 and his Mainz Psalter £4950. The great collection of manuscripts formed by Sir Thomas Phillipps (d. 1872) has furnished materials for numerous sales. The printed books of the earl of Ashburnham (d. 1878) kept the auctioneers busy in 1897 and 1898; his manuscripts were sold, some to the British government (the Stowe collection shared between the British Museum and Dublin), the German government (part of the Libri and Barrois collection, all, save one MS. of 13th century German ballads, resold to France), the Italian government (the rest of the Libri collection) Mr Yates Thompson (the MSS. known as the Appendix) and Mr J. Pierpont Morgan (the Lindau Gospels). The collections formed by Mr W. H. Miller (d. 1848, mainly English poetry), the duke of Devonshire (d. 1858) and Mr Henry Huth (d. 1878), are still intact.

Among the book-buyers of the reign of George III., John Ratcliffe, an ex-coal-merchant, and James West had devoted themselves specially to Caxtons (of which the former possessed 48 and the latter 34) and the products of other early English presses. The collections of Capell and Garrick were also small and homogeneous. Each section, moreover, of some of the great libraries that have just been enumerated might fairly be considered a collection in itself, the union of several collections in the same library being made possible by the wealth of their purchaser and the small prices fetched by most classes of books in comparison with those which are now paid. But perhaps the modern cabinet theory of book-collecting was first carried out with conspicuous skill by Henry Perkins (d. 1855), whose 865 fine manuscripts and specimens of early printing, when sold in 1870, realized nearly £26,000. If surrounded by a sufficient quantity of general literature the collection might not have seemed noticeably different from some of those already mentioned, but the growing cost of books, together with difficulties as to house-room, combined to discourage miscellaneous buying on a large scale, and what has been called the “cabinet” theory of collecting, so well carried out by Henry Perkins, became increasingly popular among book buyers, alike in France, England and the United States of America. Henri Béraldi, in his catalogue of his own collection (printed 1892), has described how in France a little band of book-loving amateurs grew up who laughed at the bibliophile de la vieille roche as they disrespectfully called their predecessors, and prided themselves on the unity and compactness of their own treasures. In place of the miscellaneous library in which every class of book claimed to be represented, and which needed a special room or gallery to house it, they aimed at small collections which should epitomize the owner’s tastes and require nothing bulkier than a neat bookcase or cabinet to hold them. The French bibliophiles whom M. Béraldi celebrated applied this theory with great success to collecting the dainty French illustrated books of the 18th century which were their especial favourites. In England Richard Fisher treated his fine examples of early book-illustration as part of his collection of engravings, etchings and woodcuts (illustrated catalogue printed 1879), and Frederick Locker (Locker-Lampson) formed in two small bookcases such a gathering of first editions of English imaginative literature that the mere catalogue of it (printed in 1886) produced the effect of a stately and picturesque procession. Some of the book-hoards of previous generations could have spared the equivalent of the Locker collection without seeming noticeably the poorer, but the compactness and unity of this small collection, in which every book appears to have been bought for a special reason and to form an integral part of the whole, gave it an artistic individuality which was a pleasant triumph for its owner, and excited so much interest among American admirers of Mr Locker’s poetry that it may be said to have set a fashion. As another example of the value of a small collection, both for delight and for historical and artistic study, mention may be made of the little roomful of manuscripts and incunabula which William Morris brought together to illustrate the history of the bookish arts in the middle ages before the Renaissance introduced new ideals. Many living collectors are working in a similar spirit, and as this spirit spreads the monotony of the old libraries, in which the same editions of the same books recurred with wearisome frequency, should be replaced by much greater individuality and variety. Moreover, if they can be grouped round some central idea cheap books may yield just as good sport to the collector as expensive ones, and the collector of quite modern works may render admirable service to posterity. The only limitation is against books specially manufactured to attract him, or artificially made rare. A quite wholesome interest in contemporary first editions was brought to nought about 1889 by the booksellers beginning to hoard copies of Browning’s Asolando and Mr Lang’s Blue Fairy Book on the day of publication, while a graceful but quite minor poet was made ridiculous by £100 being asked for a set of his privately printed opuscula. The