immigrants, each with a gem, or bronze, or 'a brown Greek
manuscript' for sale, and all eager to play their parts in the
restoration of learning.

Towards the end of his life Petrarch became tired of carrying his books
about. When he broke up the libraries at Parma and Vaucluse he had formed
the habit of travelling with bales of manuscripts in a long cavalcade;
but he determined afterwards to offer the collection to Venice, on
condition that it should be properly housed, and should never be sold or
divided. The offer was accepted by the Republic, and the Palazzo Molina
was assigned as a home for the poet and his books. Petrarch, however, had
other plans for himself. He wished to be near Padua, where he held a
canonry; and he accordingly built himself a cottage at Arqua, among the
Euganean Hills, about ten miles from the city. A few olive-trees and a
little vine-yard sufficed for the wants of his modest household; and
there, as he wrote to his brother, broken in body but easy in his mind,
he passed his time in reading, and prepared for his end. His only regret
was that there was no monastery near in which he might see his beloved
Gerard fulfilling his religious duties. He seems to have given up his
love for fine books with other worldly vanities. He offers excuses for
the plain appearance of a volume of 'St. Augustine' which he was sending
as a present. 'One must not,' said he, 'expect perfect manuscripts from
scholars who are engaged on better things. A general does not sharpen the
soldiers' swords. Apelles did not cut out his own boards, or Polycletus
his sheets of ivory; some humble person always prepares the material on
which a higher mind is to be engaged. So is it with books: some polish
the parchment, and others copy or correct the text; others again do the
illumination, to use the common phrase; but a loftier spirit will disdain
these menial occupations.' The scholar's books are often of a rough and
neglected appearance, for abundance of anything makes the owner 'careless
and secure'; it is the invalid who is particular about every breath of
air, but the strong man loves the rough breeze. 'As to this book of the
_Confessions_, its first aspect will teach you all about it. Quite new,
quite unadorned, untouched by the corrector's fangs, it comes out of my
young servant's hands. You will notice some defects in spelling, but no
gross mistakes. In a word, you will perhaps find things in it which will
exercise but not