end him a superb volume of manuscripts, containing
the poems of James the First, proceeded to re-lend this priceless
treasure to Johnson. When it was not returned--as of course it was
not--he wrote an urgent letter, and heard to his dismay that Johnson
was not only unable to find the book, but that he could not remember
having ever received it. The despairing Cradock applied to all his
friends for help; and George Steevens, who had a useful habit of
looking about him, suggested that a sealed packet, which he had
several times observed lying under Johnson's ponderous inkstand,
might possibly contain the lost manuscript. Even with this ray of
hope for guidance, it never seemed to occur to any one to storm
Johnson's fortress, and rescue the imprisoned volume; but after the
Doctor's death, two years later, Cradock made a formal application
to the executors; and Lord Harborough's property was discovered
under the inkstand, unopened, unread, and consequently, as by a happy
miracle, uninjured.

Such an incident must needs win pardon for Garrick's churlishness
in defending his possessions. "The history of book-collecting," says
a caustic critic, "is a history relieved but rarely by acts of pure
and undiluted unselfishness." This is true, but are there not virtues
so heroic that plain human nature can ill aspire to compass them?

There is something piteous in the futile efforts of reluctant lenders
to save their property from depredation. They place their reliance
upon artless devices which never yet were known to stay the
marauder's hand. They have their names and addresses engraved on
foolish little plates, which, riveted to their umbrellas, will, they
think, suffice to insure the safety of these useful articles. As well
might the border farmer have engraved his name and address on the
collars of his grazing herds, in the hope that the riever would
respect this symbol of authority. The history of book-plates is
largely the history of borrower versus lender. The orderly mind is
wont to believe that a distinctive mark, irrevocably attached to
every volume, will insure permanent possession. Mr. Gosse, for
example, has expressed a touching faith in the efficacy of the
book-plate. He has but to explain that he "makes it a rule" never
to lend a volume thus decorated, and the would-be borrower bows to
this rule as to a decree of fate. "To have a book-plate," he joyfully
observes, "gives a collector great serenity and confidence."