7 



a temple, the worshippers in which were some themselves 

 worthy of worship. Very soon I became familiar with 

 the place where the best treasures of the language, which 

 was henceforth to be to me as my own, were unfolded to 

 me without restraint — the dainty, quaint humour of 

 Chaucer, the vigour of Marlow, the steel polish of De 

 Quincey, and the secret treasures of Blake. In revelling in 

 these one had hardly time to notice occasional rumours that 

 all was not quite as it should be in this grand institution — 

 that certain heads of departments were not always compe- 

 tent or even conscientious; that readers were not invariably 

 treated with courtesy by the chief librarian; that attendants 

 were often subject to injustice from official martinets; that 

 some of the best workers in the Library had been killed, 

 and that others were invalided by a system which was the 

 offspring of ignorance and indolence, fostered by deli- 

 berate neglect, and supported by a spirit of personal 

 jealousy, favouritism, and spite ; and, lastly, that the 

 money of the public at large was disgracefully squan- 

 dered. These are very hard words, but they will be 

 amply justified before the subject is exhausted. However, 

 I was soon rudely awakened. A pamphlet, written by 

 some persons claiming to be Polish patriots, and contain- 

 ing the filthiest libels on me, was circulated in London 

 during my summer holiday of last year. Without a pub- 

 lisher's or printer's name, it was issued from the printing- 

 presses of Messrs. Gilbert and Rivington, and although 

 such a publication was wholly illegal, and could not come 

 into the British Museum except by deliberate fraud or 

 culpable neglect, a copy was introduced by an official 

 named Naake, who abused his position to foist it into 

 the Library without check or control from his superiors. 

 On my return I obtained the conviction of the principal 

 offenders in the Central Criminal Court, but I was very 



