Mundi pumice, purpuraque culti;
Et quicquid magica quasi arte freti
Faustusque Upilioque præstiterunt.
· · · · ·
Hic sit qui nitet arte Montacuti,
Aut Paini, Deromique junioris;
Illic cui decus arma sunt Thuani,
Aut regis breve lilium caduci.’
In Cracherode’s eyes, external charms such as these were scarcely less essential than the intrinsic worth of the author. ‘Large paper’ and broad pure margins are fancies which it needs not much culture or much wit to banter. But now and then, they are ridiculed by those who have just as little capacity to judge the pith and substance of books, as of taste to appreciate beauty in their outward form.[[1]]
The solidity of those three per cents., and the plodding perseverance of their owner, were in time rewarded by the collection (1) of a library containing only four thousand five hundred volumes, but of which probably every volume—on an average of the whole—was worth, in mercantile eyes, some three pounds; (2) of seven portfolios of drawings, still more choice; (3) of a hundred portfolios of prints, many of which were almost priceless; and (4) of coins and gems—such as the cameo of a lion on sardonyx, and the intaglio of the Discobolos—worthy of an imperial cabinet.