This Part embraces the History of Literature, in the formation of Libraries, from the Conquest to the commencement of the reign of Henry VIII., and undoubtedly contains much that is curious and instructive. Two new characters only are introduced: Lorenzo and Narcottus. The former was intended to represent the late Sir Masterman Mark Sykes, Bart.: the latter, a William Templeman, Esq., of Hare Hatch, Berkshire. Sir Mark Sykes was not less known than respected for the suavity of his manners, the kindness of his disposition, and the liberality of his conduct on all matters connected with books and prints. A long and particular account of his library, and of many of his book-purchases, will be seen in the third volume of the Bibliographical Decameron; and at pages 321, 373 of my Literary Reminiscences. His library and his prints brought, each, pretty much the same sum: together, £60,000—an astounding result! Sir Mark is the last great bibliomaniacal Sun that has shed its golden, as well as parting, rays, upon a terribly chap-fallen British public! Mr. Templeman, represented as Narcottus, was a great Chess-player: and although Caxton's "Game at Chess" is a mere dull morality, having nothing to do with the game strictly so called, yet he would have everything in his library where the word "Chess" was introduced. In the words of the old catch, he would "add the night unto the day" in the prosecution of his darling recreation, and boasted of having once given a signal defeat to the Rev. Mr. Bowdler, after having been defeated himself by Lord Henry Seymour, the renowned chess-champions of the Isle of Wight. He said he once sat upon Phillidor's knee, who patted his cheek, and told him "there was nothing like Chess and English roast beef."

The notice of poor George Faulkner at page 199—one of the more celebrated book-binders of the day, is amplified at page 524 of the second volume of the Decameron; where the painful circumstances attending his death are slightly mentioned. He yet lives, and lives strongly, in my remembrance. Since then, indeed within a very few years, the famous Charles Lewis—of whose bibliopegistic renown the Decameronic pages have expatiated fully—has ceased to be. He was carried off suddenly by an apoplectic seizure. His eldest son—a sort of "spes altera RomÆ," in his way—very quickly followed the fate of his father. The name of Lewis will be always held high in the estimation of bibliopegistic Virtuosi. But the art of Book-binding is not deteriorating: and I am not sure whether John Clarke, of Frith Street, Soho, be not as "mighty a man" in his way as any of his predecessors. There is a solidity, strength, and squareness of workmanship about his books, which seem to convince you that they may be tossed from the summit of Snowdon to that of Cader Idris without detriment or serious injury. His gilding is first rate; both for choice of ornament and splendour of gold. Nor is his coadjutor, William Bedford, of less potent renown. He was the great adjunct of the late Charles Lewis—and imbibes the same taste and the same spirit of perseverance. Accident brought me one morning in contact with a set of the New Dugdale's Monasticon, bound in blue morocco, and most gorgeously bound and gilded, lying upon the table of Mr. James Bohn—a mountain of bibliopegistic grandeur! A sort of irrepressible awe kept you back even from turning over the coats or covers! And what a Work—deserving of pearls and precious stones in its outward garniture! "Who was the happy man to accomplish such a piece of binding?"[477] observed I. "Who but John Clarke?"—replied the Bibliopole.