rt is composed of an intricate kind of chainwork,
which bends when the book is opened, and the sides are embossed with a
variety of devices.

On my inquiring for the library, I was told it had been destroyed during
the revolution. It had formerly been preserved in the great square tower
or keep, which is a grand feature in all the monasteries. I went to look
at the place, and leaning through a ruined arch, I looked down into the
lower story of the tower, and there I saw the melancholy remains of a
once famous library. This was a dismal spectacle for a devout lover of
old books--a sort of biblical knight errant, as I then considered
myself, who had entered on the perilous adventure of Mount Athos to
rescue from the thraldom of ignorant monks those fair vellum volumes,
with their bright illuminations and velvet dresses and jewelled clasps,
which for so many centuries had lain imprisoned in their dark monastic
dungeons. It was indeed a heart-rending sight. By the dim light which
streamed through the opening of an iron door in the wall of the ruined
tower, I saw above a hundred ancient manuscripts lying among the rubbish
which had fallen from the upper floor, which was ruinous, and had in
great part given way. Some of these manuscripts seemed quite
entire--fine large folios; but the monks said they were unapproachable,
for that floor also on which they lay was unsafe, the beams below being
rotten from the wet and rain which came in through the roof. Here was a
trap ready set and baited for a bibliographical antiquary. I peeped at
the old manuscripts, looked particularly at one or two that were lying
in the middle of the floor, and could hardly resist the temptation. I
advanced cautiously along the boards, keeping close to the wall, whilst
every now and then a dull cracking noise warned me of my danger, but I
tried each board by stamping upon it with my foot before I ventured my
weight upon it. At last, when I dared go no farther, I made them bring
me a long stick, with which I fished up two or three fine manuscripts,
and poked them along towards the door. When I had safely landed them, I
examined them more at my ease, but found that the rain had washed the
outer leaves quite clean: the pages were stuck tight together into a
solid mass, and when I attempted to open them, they broke short off in
square bits like a biscuit. Neglect and damp and exposure had destroyed
them completely. One fine volume, a large folio in double col