on; but it never attracted
much attention, and was generally believed to have been merged in a
collection at Pisa. Grolier introduced a fashion depending for its
success on a multiplicity of details. He bought books out of large
editions just issuing from the press; but he chose out the specimen with
the best printing, and the finest paper, if vellum were not forthcoming.
The condition was perfect. Like the Count Macarthy he would have no dust
or worm-holes: he was as microscopic in his views as the most accurate
Parisian bibliophile. The binding was in the best Italian style: a
general sobriety was relieved by the brilliancy of certain effects, by
the purity of the design, perhaps above all by the perfection of the
materials. The book was an object of interest, for its contents, or for
historical or personal reasons; but it had also become an _objet d'art_,
like a gem or a figure in porcelain. Grolier preserved his dignity as a
bibliophile, and his true followers have not degenerated into collectors
of _bric-a-brac_. It is sufficient to name such men as M. Renouard, the
owner of many of Grolier's treasures, or M. Firmin-Didot 'the friend of
all good books,' or the collections of Mr. Beckford and Baron Seilliere
which have been in our own time dispersed. No doubt there is a tendency,
especially among French amateurs, to regard books as mere curiosities;
and M. Uzanne has drawn an amusing picture of the book-hunter as a
chrysalis in his library, destined to find his wings in a flight after
mosaic bindings, autographs, original water-colours, or plates in early
states.

It is possible, however, to prevent the 'book-buying disease' from
developing into a general collector's mania. With the world full of
books, we must adopt some special variety for our admiration. One person
will choose his library companions for their stateliness and splendid
raiment, another for their flavour of antiquity, or the fine company that
they kept in old times. Montaigne loved his friends on the shelf, because
they always received him kindly and 'blunted the point of his grief.' He
turned the volumes over in his round tower within any method or design;
'at one while,' he says, 'I meditate, at another time I make notes, or
dictate, as I walk up and down, such whimsies as meet you here.' He cared
little about the look of their outsides, but thought a great deal about
their readiness to divert him; 'it is the best _viaticum_ I have yet
found out f