His management of the university library was not in all respects satisfactory, due mostly to the fact that the staff was very inadequate to the task of the attempted reclassification of the large collection of books, and also to the crowded condition of the building. Bradshaw did not have a marked capacity for working through subordinates. "He could not," said one of his assistants, "bring himself to allow any one to answer letters for him." He used to carry large numbers of unanswered letters in his coat pockets and would sometimes take them out and show them with a certain mischievous glee and say in his droll way, "I am too wicked. What shall I do?" No one knew this failing better than himself. He once remarked to Thomas Buchanan Read, who wanted some information from him, "You had better come and get what you can by word of mouth. I offend lots of my friends by not answering their letters, or by losing them like yours." One friend, to whom he had long promised a visit and who could not get a definite answer to his invitations, sent Bradshaw two post cards on one of which was written "Yes," and on the other "No," asking him to post one or the other. Bradshaw promptly posted both, although by the next mail he wrote to say that he would come,--and he kept his promise. Bradshaw used to say that whenever he was asked to send back an interesting book he "suffered from a chronic paralysis of the will and could not return it until the fit had passed away." In matters of routine business he was, however, seldom behind time and his library accounts were always accurately kept. He was very strict about the observance of the library rules and could never tolerate seeing books mishandled. Dr. Zupitza, a great friend and admirer of Bradshaw, tells how one day he was making notes in ink from the famous manuscript of Bede's "Ecclesiastical history," in the Cambridge University Library when Bradshaw happened to notice him. "You Germans have no reverence," said the librarian as he rushed at the ink bottle and carried it away. A manuscript of that character was not to be approached with anything more dangerous than a lead pencil. Bradshaw had no personal ambition and was only too eager to give away such information as he possessed. He put his vast store of knowledge at the disposal of his large group of friends and their books were all the better for his bibliographical zeal. He himself left comparatively little finished work. "My province," he once wrote, "is to give help on certain details which most people don't care about."