It will be seen from the foregoing facts that the book-thief hesitates at no class of book. But would he draw the line at stealing a book which deals with thieves? The late Charles Reade appears to have thought that he would not, for he has inscribed not only his name, but the following somewhat plaintive request, 'Please not to steal this book; I value it,' in a volume which Mr. Menken once possessed. The book in question is entitled 'Inventaire general de L'Histoire des Larrons,' Rouen, 1657. This singular work gives at length the stratagems, tricks, and artifices, the thefts of and assassinations by thieves, with a full account of their most memorable exploits in France. One cannot help wondering if a copy of this extraordinary book has ever been stolen from a book-collector, and of the remorse which must have overtaken the thief when he discovered the character of his prize. That indeed would be a strange irony! But the book-thief is not by any means one of the numerous penalties of modern civilization. He has an antiquity which almost makes him respectable. Hearne, in his 'Johannes Glastoniensis,' states that Sir Henry Saville once wrote a warning letter to Sir Robert Cotton, who had offered some additions to the library of the founder of the Bodleian. An appointment had been made with Sir Robert to give Bodley an opportunity of inspecting the treasures on his shelves, and it was in anticipation of this that Saville thought it his duty to warn his friend in the following terms: 'And remember I give you faire warning that if you hold any booke so deare as that you would bee loath to have him out of your sight, set him aside beforehand.' On the authority of the above extract, Gough has charged Bodley with being a suspicious character--or, in other words, a thief; but the complete letter puts a very different complexion on the extract. He tars with the same brush Dr. Moore, Bishop of Ely, Dr. Rawlinson, and his friend Umfreville. In connection with the first-named, Gough repeats an anecdote which crops up every now and then as authentic, for these half-truths have an extraordinary vitality. The anecdote runs as follows: 'A gentleman calling on a friend who had a choice library, found him unusually busy in putting his best books out of sight; upon asking his view in this, he answered, "Don't you know that the Bishop of Ely dines with me to-day?"' There can be only one inference, of course. As a matter of fact, we do not believe that there is any truth in either rumour. So far as Dr. Moore, 'the Father of Black-letter Collectors,' is concerned, there can be no doubt that he had a fairly elastic conscience in the matter of book-collecting. He is said to have collected his library by plundering those of the clergy of his diocese, justifying himself by the cynical remark, _Quid illiterati cum libris?_ We do not vouch for the truth of this anecdote, any more than for the graver charge, but probably there is some foundation for it.