[My library is] in the third story of a Tower, of which the Ground-room is my Chappel, the second story an Apartment with a withdrawing Room and Closet, where I often lie to be more retired. Above it is a great Wardrobe, which formerly was the most useless part of the House. I there pass away both the most of the Days of my Life, and most of the Hours of those Days. In the Night I am never there. There is within it a Cabinet handsome and neat enough, with a Fire-place very commodiously contriv'd, and Light very finely fitted. And was I not more afraid of the Trouble than the Expence, the Trouble that frights me from all Business, I could very easily adjoyn on either side, and on the same Floor, a Gallery of an hundred paces long, and twelve broad, having found Walls already rais'd for some other Design, to the requisite height. Every place of retirement requires a Walk. My Thoughts sleep if I sit still; my Fancy does not go by itself, as when my Legs move it: and all those who study without a Book are in the same Condition. The figure of my Study is round, and has no more flat Wall than what is taken up by my Table, and my Chairs; so that the remaining parts of the Circle present me a view of all my books at once, set up upon five degrees of Shelves round about me. It has three noble and free Prospects, and is sixteen paces[546] Diameter. I am not so continually there in Winter; for my House is built upon an Eminence, as its Name imports, and no part of it is so much expos'd to the Wind and Weather as that, which pleases me the better, for being of a painful access, and a little remote, as well upon the account of Exercise, as being also there more retir'd from the Crowd. 'Tis there that I am in my Kingdom, as we say, and there I endeavour to make myself an absolute Monarch, and so sequester this one Corner from all Society both Conjugal, Filial, and Civil[547]. The notices of libraries which I have collected have brought me to the end of the sixteenth century, by which time most of the appliances in use in the Middle Ages had been given up. I hope that I have not exhausted the patience of my readers by presenting too long a series of illustrations extracted from manuscripts. I love, as I look at them, to picture to myself the medieval man of letters, laboriously penning voluminous treatises in the writing room of a monastery, or in his own study, with his scanty collection of books within his reach, on shelves, or in a chest, or lying on a table. We sometimes call the ages dark in which he lived, but the mechanical ingenuity displayed in the devices by which his studies were assisted might put to shame the cabinet-makers of our own day.