Next came books, of which my purchases, when I was enthusiastic and had a passion for ownership and completeness in my favorite topics, had been extravagant for my means and which, by many hundreds of publisher’s gifts for review in my journals, had overflowed from both study and library into nearly every room. These, in open shelves for greater accessibility and laboriously and systematically arranged, could not be disturbed often or dusted and are a housekeeper’s abomination. I had for years collected pamphlets and bound volumes on many topics in the vague hope of some future use, but which I now realize will never be warmed up again. So, section by section, shelf by shelf, I went over them, reserving all on topics I might yet study, and after inviting colleagues and the Library to take freely what they would I shipped the residue in boxes to antiquarian and second-hand dealers and accepted with equanimity the pittance they paid. This work done in leisure hours for months, was a wrenching process because every step in it involved the frustration of activities once thought possible but which now seemed to be no longer so. Little, thus, remained outside my own quite definitely narrowed field of work which I hope yet to do, and only a few gifts and sets, along with texts studied in younger and those taught in later days in which my descendants may sometime come to feel an interest, remain. This riddance of the residue of superfluous printed matter is not unlike anti-fat regimens, which are disagreeable but strengthening.