Contiguous to the great dining-room is the library and museum, which may be reckoned among the chief attractions of the place. The library certainly contains a remarkably fine collection of works, including many of extreme rarity and value. There are about thirty thousand volumes in all, and the collection of ancient MSS., missals, black-letter books, and examples of early typography are especially interesting. Upon shelves reaching from floor to ceiling, in galleries and recesses, upon tables and in glass cases, and, in short, in every nook and corner, are these literary treasures displayed. A world of thought, a mighty mass of intellectual matter, is spread about, before which the haughty Aristarch himself, without any consciousness of humiliation, might have doffed “the hat which never veiled to human pride.” Every school of thought, every department of literature is represented; here are sombre-looking folios of ancient date that scholars of the old English school might well delight in, and there, dapper duodecimos of the present age to gratify the taste of the modern dilettante reader whose platonic love of literature is influenced more by the external vanities—the gold and glitter without than the solid thought within. Among these curiosities of book-craft, and especially deserving of note, is a copy of Caxton’s “Boke of Eneydos” (1490), a translation of a French novel partly based upon the Æneid of Virgil, which provoked the anger of Gavin Douglas, who savagely attacked Caxton for translating a book from the French, professing to be a translation of Virgil when it had nothing to do with it— Clepaud et Virgil in Eneados Quihilk that he sayes of French he did translait. It has nothing ado therewith, God wate, Nor na mare like than the Devil and Sanct Austin.