The best mode of destroying the insects which infest books and MSS. has often occupied the attention of the possessors of valuable libraries. Sir Thomas Phillips found the wood of his book-case attacked, particularly where beech had been introduced, and appeared to think that the insect was much attracted by the paste employed in binding. He recommended as preservatives against their attacks spirits of turpentine and a solution of corrosive sublimate, and also the latter substance mixed with paste. In some instances he found the produce of a single impregnated female sufficient to destroy a book. Turpentine and spirit of tar are also recommended for their destruction; but the method pursued in the collections of the British Museum is an abundant supply of camphor, with attention to keeping the rooms dry, warm, and ventilated. Mr. Macleay states it is the acari only which feed on the paste employed in binding books, and the larvæ of the Coleoptera only which pierce the boards and leaves.
The ravages of the Bookworm would be much more destructive had there not been a sort of guardian to the literary treasures in the shape of a spider, who, when examined through a microscope, resembles a knight in armour. This champion of the library follows the Worm into the book-case, discovers the pit he has digged, rushes on his victim, which is about his own size, and devours him. His repast finished, he rests for about a fortnight, and when his digestion is completed, he sets out to break another lance with the enemy.
The Death-watch, already referred to, and which must be acquitted of destroying books, is chiefly known by the noise which he makes behind the wainscoting, where he ticks like a clock or watch. How so loud a noise is produced by so small an insect has never been properly explained; and the ticking has led to many legends. The naturalist Degeer relates that one night, in the autumn of 1809, during an entomological excursion in Brittany, where travellers were scarce and accommodation bad, he sought hospitality at the house of a friend. He was from home, and Degeer found a great deal of trouble in gaining admittance; but at last the peasant who had charge of the house told Degeer that he would give him "the chamber of death," if he liked. As Degeer was much fatigued, he accepted the offer. "The bed is there," said the man, "but no one has slept in it for some time. Every night the spirit of the officer, who was surprised and killed in this room by some chouans, comes back. When the officer was dead, the peasants divided what he had about him, and the officer's watch fell to my uncle, who was delighted with the prize, and brought it home to examine it. However, he soon found out that the watch was broken, and would not go. He then placed it under his pillow, and went to sleep; he awoke in the night, and to his terror heard the ticking of a watch. In vain he sold the watch, and gave the money for masses to be said for the officer's soul, the ticking continued, and has never ceased." Degeer said that he would exorcise the chamber, and the peasant left him, after making the sign of the cross. The naturalist at once guessed the riddle, and, accustomed to the pursuit of insects, soon had a couple of Death-watches shut up in a tin case, and the ticking was reproduced.
Swift has prescribed this destructive remedy by way of ridicule:—
"A Wood-worm
That lies in old wood, like a hare in her form:
With teeth or with claws it will bite, or will scratch;
And chambermaids christen this worm a Death-watch,
Because like a watch it always cries click:
Then woe be to those in the house that are sick!