Hic sit qui nitet arte Montacuti, Aut Paini, Deromique junioris; Illic cui decus arma sunt Thuani, Aut regis breve lilium caduci.’ In CRACHERODE’S eyes, external charms such as these were scarcely less essential than the intrinsic worth of the author. ‘Large paper’ and broad pure margins are fancies which it needs not much culture or much wit to banter. But now and then, they are ridiculed by those who have just as little capacity to judge the pith and substance of books, as of taste to appreciate beauty in their outward form.[1] The solidity of those three per cents., and the plodding perseverance of their owner, were in time rewarded by the collection (1) of a library containing only four thousand five hundred volumes, but of which probably every volume—on an average of the whole—was worth, in mercantile eyes, some three pounds; (2) of seven portfolios of drawings, still more choice; (3) of a hundred portfolios of prints, many of which were almost priceless; and (4) of coins and gems—such as the cameo of a lion on sardonyx, and the intaglio of the _Discobolos_—worthy of an imperial cabinet. The ruling passion kept its strength to the last. An agent was buying prints, for addition to the store, when the Collector was dying. About four days before his death, Mr. CRACHERODE mustered strength to pay a farewell visit to the old shop at the Mews-Gate. He put a finely printed _Terence_ (from the press of FOULIS) into one pocket, and a large paper _Cebes_ into another; and then,—with a longing look at a certain choice _Homer_, in the course of which he mentally, and somewhat doubtingly, balanced its charms with those of its twin brother in Queen Square,—parted finally from the daily haunt of forty peripatetic and studious years. Clayton Mordaunt CRACHERODE died towards the close of 1799. He bequeathed the whole of his collections to the Nation, with the exception of two volumes of books. A polyglot _Bible_ was given to Shute BARRINGTON, Bishop of Durham; a princeps _Homer_ to Cyril JACKSON, Dean of Christ Church. Those justly venerated men were his two dearest friends. The next conspicuous donor to the Library of the British Museum was a contemporary of the learned recluse of Queen Square, but one whose life was passed in the thick of that worldly turmoil and conflict of which Mr. CRACHERODE had so mortal a dread. [Sidenote: THE COLLECTOR OF THE LANSDOWNE MANUSCRIPTS.] To the Collector of the ‘Lansdowne Manuscripts,’ political excitement was the congenial air in which it was indeed life to live. But he, also, was a man beloved by all who had the privilege of his intimate friendship.