State Library Victoria > La Trobe Journal

No 73 Autumn 2004


Wallace Kirsop
Redmond Barry and Libraries


Anybody Familiar with the records of most of Melbourne's nineteenth-century libraries knows that Redmond Barry, far from being a figure-head in these institutions, was a President or Committee Chairman closely involved both with the defining of policy and with the supervision of operations in a quite detailed way. The documents are most extensive in the cases of the Supreme Court and the Public Library, but enough letters have survived in the University of Melbourne Archives to show the Chancellor busy calling London booksellers to account.1 On the other hand we can only guess at his influence on the early years of the Parliamentary Library when he was an appointed member of the Legislative Council.2 As for the Mechanics' Institution, later the Athenaeum, early minute-books do not support the notion that he was a ‘founder’ rather than a willing lecturer and – briefly – a committee man with a poor attendance record.3 There is, however, more than enough material to sustain a comprehensive study of Barry as a library administrator, the best remembered of his roles as a ‘cultural evangelist’ in the rapidly expanding colony. Because some aspects of this activity have already been examined4 or are the subject of research now being actively pursued,5 it is perhaps more fruitful to explore Barry's ideas, in particular in his public utterances, on what libraries are and should be.
Since there was a context for Barry's lifelong experience of the world of books, this should be summarily sketched before his writings over four decades are examined. The published versions of addresses to varied audiences on many topics do not neglect libraries altogether. They can, therefore, be treated before attention is given to the texts – speeches, prefaces and reports – that deal specifically with the function and importance of book collections made available to the public. There is a certain coherence in Barry's carefully thought out and confidently asserted position. Behind two papers on quite precise and apparently narrow topics it informs his stance at the international Conference of Librarians held in London in October 1877.6 Even more forcefully and authoritatively it is the virtual leitmotif of the long preface, drawing on earlier documents, that was provided for the 1880 printed catalogue of the Public Library of Victoria.7


As is made clear in Ann Galbally's Redmond Barry, an Anglo-Irish Australian,8 there are ample materials in the surviving Day Books in the State Library's collection and in correspondence held in various places to reconstruct the reading done by the student, barrister and judge during a substantial part of his life. Yet, to deal systematically with this ‘rigorous and wide-ranging reading programme’ (p. 15) would require a separate monograph outside the aim of a general biography covering Barry's multifarious activities. Thus we have frequent samples of the directions being taken alongside notations of formal studies at Trinity College and King's Inns in Dublin and at Lincoln's Inn in London. Encounters with libraries in Ireland (at Cork as well as in the capital) and in England are recorded, some of them as part of a rapid burst of cultural tourism that embraced Paris and Belgium on the eve of Barry's emigration in 1839. Familiarity with different types of libraries was much reinforced during the strenuous official parts of his trips to Europe in 1862–63 and to North America and Europe in 1876–77. In other words, the presiding genius of the Melbourne Public Library was – and continued to be – well aware of what such institutions could and should offer to the public.

Emer de Vattel, The Law of Nations, Dublin, MDCCXCII. Barry's own copy, heavily annotated in his hand. By kind permission of Wallace Kirsop.

Although he was neither wealthy nor single-minded enough to aspire to the status of a bibliophile in the conventional sense, Barry bought books consistently through much of his life. He did not fail to pick up Thomas Francklin's translation of Lucian from Sir Charles Nicholson's sale in Melbourne in May 1861,9 a respectable prize from the collection of a congenial acquaintance who was rich enough to indulge a taste for antiquities, art and books on a scale unmatched elsewhere in the nineteenth-century Australian colonies. Barry was perforce an opportunist, gathering volumes he wanted to read or use professionally. In this he was not unlike many of his fellow Trustees of the Public Library, where John Macgregor was alone in having an obsessive drive for acquisition on a grand scale.10 In those days a knowledge of and a feeling for books were considered more or less obligatory for members of advisory councils! Barry certainly satisfied the relevant criteria. The sad fact is, however, that, because of the apparent disappearance of all copies of the printed catalogues of the Barry dispersal sale of March 1881, expedients and laborious searches are the only keys to fuller knowledge of what he owned and not infrequently annotated.11 Given his unrivalled position in shaping libraries and the resources for intellectual culture in Victoria after the gold rush, it is still appropriate to think of a thorough investigation of Barry's involvement in print culture in the widest sense of that now fashionable term.12


Barry's lectures and occasional addresses, which badly need a full and precise bibliographical list, have not had a good press on the whole. Peter Ryan refers to them as ‘scholarly (and almost interminable)’,13 and Alex Castles writes dismissively of Barry's ‘inflated view of his own ability’ and ‘penchant for self-publicity’.14 It is true that we have moved so far away from the sort of discursive writing replete with quotations from classical authorities that was widespread in Barry's generation that we have difficulty in assessing it in a way that is not anachronistic. Technical scholarship in the German mode was rare in the English-speaking world even in 1880, and was hardly ever to be characteristic of the University of Melbourne. It is for lawyers to judge Barry as a jurist. In our perspective he can be seen as an old-style cultivated publicist. That he took his writing seriously is evident from his own interleaved and heavily annotated copies of the lectures in their various forms.15 A little ponderously at times, but not without humour or a capacity for sharp and direct formulation, he puts forward his ideas on a range of educational and cultural topics. On some central points, as we shall see, he was anything but conservative, and he was always attentive to practical measures for improvement.
In An Introductory Lecture on Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting, delivered at the Melbourne Mechanics' Institution, (on the 8th of September, 1847)16 he mentions the Alexandrian Library and its destruction (p. 7) before working that theme into his laudatory peroration on the achievements for the refinement of taste in ‘this land of our adoption’ by the Institution itself (p. 15):
I may appeal […] to the extent of the library, which, (though not so large as the Alexandrian, contains several useful works) […]
Insistence on ‘our adopted Country’ is a constant in the early lectures and a testimony to the commitment made by Barry and his fellows to the cultural development of the Australian colonies in association with Great Britain and within ‘the vast Empire, of which we now form no insignificant a portion’.17
The Inaugural Address delivered before the Members of the Victorian Institute, on Friday, the 21st of September 185418 is more interesting and ambitious than Ann Galbally suggests (p. 110). Barry
coped better than most public figures of his or, indeed, our own time in making a case for sophisticated scientific pursuits in Australia. At ‘a time when every effort to rivet attention on the culture of art and science should be heartily seconded’ he noted the ‘strong desire for knowledge’ demonstrated by‘the establishment of libraries’ (p. 7). The same spirit was shown in the foundation of the University of Melbourne, for which Barry's expectations were equally uncompromising.19
The symbolic importance of libraries for the advancement of civilisation is largely implicit in the Address to the Workmen employed in building the Great Hall of the Melbourne Public Library and Museum, in Melbourne, Victoria […] on Saturday, September 8, A.D. 1866,20 which traverses

Redmond Barry. List of authors cited by Gibbon in his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. This compilation exemplifies Barry's approach to collection-building. MS 12120. La Trobe Australian Manuscripts Collection.

architectural history in a relatively discreet exercise in boosterism. The cubic capacity of the Great Hall of the 1866 Intercolonial Exhibition is shown to be greater than that of Westminster Hall (p. 37), but Barry notes with particular pride that the London Guildhall Library has 30,000 volumes after 450 years whereas ‘the number our library collected within thirteen years is close on 45,000’ (p. 28).
Other texts deal with libraries in more practical ways as well as reinforcing the general lesson. The two pages headed The Circuit Court at Sandhurst was opened on Monday, Feb. 27th, 1860. His Honor Mr. Justice Barry presided21 accompany the presentation of works to form the nucleus of a local collection linked to the Library of the Supreme Court. Barry provides a succinct account of the history and rationale of an institution supported by the fees and gifts of the profession and outlines the advantages of having branches in provincial centres. He emphasises the need for ‘a carefully-selected supply of works of reference on many of the scientific topics, and on those relating to mechanics and the arts, which so frequently engage the attention in Courts of Justice’ (p. [1]). Civil and constitutional history as well as ‘the ancient and modern classics’ are required ‘as no department of the field of polite learning should be indifferent to the accomplished Lawyer’ (p. [1]). Above all, these local outposts will have a general benefit:
These Libraries will not merely supply a purely professional want, they will assist all those engaged in the administration of justice: their success may also operate as a powerful incentive to other persons to press onward in the diffusion of general as well as strictly professional literature, and conduce to the cultivation of pursuits which improve the understanding, purify and elevate the public taste, and illustrate the highest walks of a refined civilization (p. [2]).
Eighteen months later, in Opening of the Maryborough Circuit Court on Wednesday, July 17th, 1861, by His Honor Sir Redmond Barry22 we find an address to the Crown Prosecutor to go with a deposit of ten volumes from the Supreme Court and a progress report on the ‘branches of the parent Library in seven different Circuit Towns’ (p. [3]).
Lectures on educational subjects inspired some reflections on reading and on libraries. The wide-ranging homily contained in An Address […] before the University Forensic Society […] in 186023 recommends, apropos of several standard works, that ‘the contents of these books should be known by heart – (not learned by rote let me inform you) and be ever ready at the fingers ends’ (p. 21). He exhorts the Law students to extend their general culture and at the same time to be wary of errors and contradictions found in the professional literature:
The whole series of Nisi Prius and Practice Reports which now present a most formidable appearance on the shelves of a Library, is unsatisfactory in the highest degree for beginners (p. 32).
The important Address on the Opening of the School of Mines at Ballarat, Victoria […] on Wednesday, October 26th, A.D. 187024 defends systematic and theoretical instruction against those who ‘still hold the citadel in defence of the practical man, and contend strongly that all goes on well enough as it is’ (p. 6). The charge to the directors of the institution contains much advice that should still be heeded by those administering higher education. Amongst other things he asserts:
Liberal salaries must be provided for your masters, lecturers, and teachers; a library must be formed; collections of minerals, models, &c., must be made; other things indispensable for the course of instruction must be got together (p. 6).
He argues strongly for the development of advanced training linking theory and practice in Australia, and for thought ‘as to what the future of this country is to be’ together with the need to ‘establish the permanent prosperity of our adopted land’ (p. 18):
We are not, even in our own time, satisfied to import the discoveries of others, and to invite the man of science and the skilled artisan to direct their operations.
Various colonial inventions and discoveries in medicine and technology justify a claim that by no means excludes collaborating with others or learning from their example. Sir Roderick Murchison is thanked for his advice and ‘the donation of books which form so acceptable a contribution to our library’ (p. 19). Above all, he advocates high standards and ‘thorough and honest’ teaching (p. 20). A good library is self-evidently an integral part of this endeavour.


It was in Ballarat a year earlier that Barry was called upon to open one of the new general libraries springing up in country Victoria. Address on the Opening of the Free Public Library of Ballarat East, […] on Friday, 1st January, 186925 is one of his most interesting lectures. After the conventional compliments he starts with what for him is unchallengeable:
For there is perhaps no feature of society of the age in which we live more strongly marked than the great desire for knowledge of every kind which pervades all classes (p. 6).
He is concerned to defend the right of all to gratify the ‘appetite for knowledge’ and argues, citing Cranmer, for merit to govern access to education and, by analogy, for free public admission to libraries. The arguments of opponents, surprising in ‘this land of wide equality’ (p. 10), are rebutted, and he quotes with satisfaction the praise received from the Mercantile Library Association of San Francisco after receipt of the printed catalogue of the Melbourne Public Library. He is even loath to be prescriptive about what people should read, allowing for relaxation alongside instruction, and trusting their judgment and common sense. However, the institution has a higher purpose than ‘entering into sentimental opposition with a gin-palace’ (p. 16). It must put its readers in touch with their traditions and the multiple sources of their culture across the ages. He rejects the ‘trite saying, that Australia has no history’ because it ‘disregards the principles which should make the history of man embrace all common to humanity, and dwarfs it to the dimensions of a parish register’. He asks whether we are ‘to be divorced from all that connects us with the countries from which we have come?’ (pp. 16–17) and then proceeds to demolish the misunderstandings implicit and explicit in the position that dates Australian culture from the first European settlement. Even though he makes no room for the nature of the pre-existing Aboriginal civilisation, he does recognise that Victorians have many origins other than British ones. It is, therefore, a broad heritage that has been given to us:
And where can the testimony of these virtues be preserved more suitably than in Public Libraries, free of access to all who esteem such recollections, who desire that their minds may be refreshed and their principles confirmed by intercourse with the great exemplars, […] (p. 19).
In the present, libraries have an essential educative function. In the future, where Barry foresees'a confederation like the ‘Dominion of Canada’ (p. 22), the Ballarat example will be emulated elsewhere. Such institutions will be indispensable in a world where one ‘must ever continue a patient and untiring student’ (p. 23). The whole text demonstrates the strength of the faith of the ‘cultural evangelist’.
The preface to the 1880 Catalogue has to be seen as a statement urbi et orbi of Barry's pride in his stewardship of the Melbourne Public Library. Printed catalogues were not just for the use of staff and readers, but opportunities to advertise a library's holdings and achievements to the learned world. The text produced is a composite of earlier addresses – to Major-General

Photograph of the Illuminated Address sent to King Frederick William of Prussia] [ca. 1856-ca. 1861] Albumen silver photograph. H4678. La Trobe Picture Collection.

Macarthur in 1856 and to Sir Henry Barkly in 1859 and 186126 – and prefaces – to the 1861 catalogue and 1865 supplemental volume – as well as a narrative of the years between 1865 and 1880, supported by various tables and documents. It deserves closer study than it has often received and invites more questions than can be answered here. That it is explicitly Barry's work is indicated by the title-page statement ‘Preface by the President’. Indeed, it is not hard to recognise a number of his characteristic preoccupations extending down to all sorts of details of library management.
There are recurrent themes, for example in the address to Macarthur the insistence on the Library's ‘liberal principles’ – ‘all persons being free to enter who observe the decencies of dress and manners’ (p. viii) – and their enshrinement in the brief statement of ‘regulations for the conduct of visitors’ of 1880 (p. lxiv). Similarly, and aided by Barry's exceptional presiding role in two other institutions, there was the concern to avoid unnecessary duplication in the Public Library, the University, the Supreme Court and the Parliament.27 Then there was the careful enunciation of the Public Library's own collecting policy, which naturally reflected the multiculturalism avant la lettre expressed in Barry's Ballarat lecture. ‘Amsterdam, Berlin, Brussels, London, Paris, and Vienna’ (p. xxix) were the hunting-grounds alongside Melbourne itself. Since it was a ‘Public Library of reference, consultation, and research’ (p. xxx) of a universal character and catering for ‘persons differing in nationality, quality of education, and habit of thought’, there was no intention of restricting purchases to books in English. The emphasis was on standard authors in the best editions and expensive works of a serious nature out of reach of private purses. On the other hand the exclusions embraced - along with the bulk of fiction, juvenile literature and

Charles Rudd, photographer. The “Barry Hall” Melb[ourne] Public Library. [1892–1900] Photograph on printing paper. H39357/114. La Trobe Picture Collection.

ephemera – ‘such, also, as are regarded as mere literary curiosities, or are recommended by their rarity alone, or by their sumptuous binding, or costly manuscripts’ (pp. xxx-xxxi). It is not an accident that illuminated manuscripts and incunabula did not make their appearance till a generation later.28 The relentlessly serious programme was consciously pursued by seeking contacts with and gifts from libraries and societies across the civilised world. A wide-ranging research library – and the State Library of Victoria was to be preeminent in that role in Australia till the 1950s – needed to establish itself as a partner in the Republic of Letters, a task Barry pursued through his visits to the Northern Hemisphere as well as through correspondence.
There was a peculiar appropriateness in Barry's attendance at the London Conference of Librarians in 1877 during his last overseas trip. Archibald Michie, the Victorian Agent-General and a former Trustee, also attended, as did W. S. Jevons, who had worked in Sydney in the 1850s. Otherwise, with the possible exception of ‘W. G. Parsons, New Zealand Library Agent’, there was nobody familiar with libraries south of the Equator. On the other hand, there were many distinguished representatives of the library and book worlds of Europe and North America, for example Léopold Delisle, Melvil Dewey, William Blades, Charles A. Cutter, Richard Garnett, Mark Pattison, Bernard Quaritch and Justin Winsor, who had just moved from the Boston Public Library to Harvard. Barry's papers were not major ones, but they were on practical topics of considerable interest to him and highly relevant to his general view of libraries. In his various appendices he was able to present some of his favourite statistical information on the advances of Victorian institutions.
Barry was elected one of ten Vice-Presidents under the Presidency of John Winter Jones, Librarian of the British Museum. He was an active participant in the discussions held during the Conference and fairly generously summarised, if not transcribed verbatim in the Transactions. On the morning of Wednesday 3 October he explained at some length how the Melbourne Public Library catalogue was organised and how the collections were arranged on the shelves (pp. 157b–158a). Running counter to new fashions he declared:
Cards – ingeniously contrived and useful as they undoubtedly are – we consider to be expensive and superfluous.
At the exchange of views on ‘Age – Qualification’ on the morning of Friday 5 October it was reported:
Sir Redmond Barry, V.P., said that at Melbourne they admitted everyone over fourteen. If it were necessary to deprive people of seven years' reading, it would be better to strike off the seven years at the other end, and disqualify people at sixty-three. That view of his was a very unprejudiced one, as such a rule would exclude himself (p. 170a).
Later, when the topic moved to access to shelves, the Melbourne delegate spoke first:
Sir Redmond Barry, V.P., thought that everyone had the right to go to the shelves and choose his books for himself. Shelf-access was allowed in the Melbourne Public Library (p. 172a).
Melvil Dewey did not agree, but did envisage granting‘access to all special students or others who might really need it’ (p. 173b). The last speech – a lengthy one – was by Eiríkr Magnússon, Assistant Librarian in the Cambridge University Library.29 He ended contemptuously:
On the whole, therefore, free access to the shelves of a library was a thing not to be encouraged. Sir Redmond Barry had said that he looked upon it as a right which belonged to the public. It was that, in the same sense that it was the idler's right to stroll about for no
purpose and doing nothing. It could hardly be said to amount to anything but dangerous gratification of a popular fancy (p. 174b).
After that Barry was no doubt happy to have commendation from J. D. Mullins, Librarian of the Free Libraries in Birmingham, for his system of institutional lending (p. 175b).


Is it surprising that Barry returned home impenitent? With recourse to the esprit d'escalier allowed by later submission of conference papers, he added an appendix, and included it in the reprint (pp. 207 and 5 respectively):
During the discussions at the Conference the term ‘free’ has been considered objectionable as applied to libraries in England.
Freedom is so inherent in our constitution that we are content to enjoy it without a prominent use of the word.
Our Library is free in every sense.
Persons of both sexes and all nations above fourteen years of age are admitted free without letter of recommendation, guarantee, payment, signature of name or address, or ticket of admission. The enjoyment of the use of the Library is free. Each reader may enter at 10 a.m. and remain till 10 p.m., may take from any shelf any book, except Patents, 3800 volumes, those on medicine and surgery, and large books with plates, without being asked a question or having asked a question, except to enquire for an author.
However one characterises Barry's politics or his behaviour as a judge, it is illuminating to have such a clear reaffirmation of his liberality in relation to libraries. Here is the core of his belief in the public's right to indulge an appetite for knowledge.


Ian Morrison was kind enough to make available to me an uncatalogued dossier of correspondence relating to library matters held in Special Collections of the University of Melbourne Library. There are several exchanges between Barry and the London bookseller Guillaume during a ten-year period beginning in 1854 as well as letters from other suppliers.


See Patrick Gregory, Speaking Volumes: The Victorian Parliamentary Library 1851–2001, Melbourne, Victorian Parliamentary Library, 2001, pp. 1–2, 5, 33, 155. Barry was a member of the first Library Committee during his relatively brief period – November 1851–June 1852 – as an official nominee. The sparseness of the Library's earliest records stands in the way of defining and describing Barry's role any further.


In the Second Annual Report of the Melbourne Mechanics' Institution. Session ending 31st May, 1841 (Melbourne, printed by Arden and Strode, Gazette Office, 1841 – copy at the Melbourne Athenaeum, not recorded by Ferguson) Barry is listed as a member of the Committee of Management (p. [2]). The first Minute Book of the institution shows that Barry was admitted as a member on 2 April 1840 (p. 3) and elected to the Committee of Management on 1 June of the same year (p. 26). By 17 December 1841 he was ‘deemed to have vacated Office’ – no doubt because of his frequent absences from meetings. At the election on 4 January 1842 he was ‘disqualified’. At later dates his ordinary membership seems to have been spasmodic. I am grateful to Lisa Sukkel for allowing me to work on the Athenaeum's early archives.


See, for example, David McVilly, ‘A History of the State Library of Victoria, 1853–1974’, M.A. thesis, Monash University, 1976; Richard Overell, ‘The Melbourne Public Library and the Guillaumes: The Relations between a Colonial Library and its London Book Supplier 1854–1865’ in Frank Upward & Jean P. Whyte, eds, Peopling a Profession: Papers from the Fourth Forum on Australian Library History, Monash University 25 and 26 September 1989, Melbourne, Ancora Press, 1991, pp. 33–63; Early Book Purchases in the Melbourne Public Library: Redmond Barry's Instructions to the Agent-General December 3rd 1853, with an introduction by Richard Overell, Monash University, Ancora Press, 1997.


Sue Reynolds, in particular, is engaged on a thesis on the Supreme Court Library in the Barry years up to 1880.


See Edward B. Nicholson & Henry R. Tedder, eds, Transactions and Proceedings of the Conference of Librarians held in London October, 1877, London, Trübner and Co.; Strassburg, Karl I. Trübner, 1878. Barry's papers ‘On Binding’ and ‘On Lending Books’, pp. 119–23 and 134–35, are backed up by appendices, pp. 194, 194–95, 198, 199, 207. See also the reset offprint Two Papers read by Sir Redmond Barry, at the Conference of Librarians, held at the London Institution, October, 1877: On Binding, and on Lending Libraries, London, G. Norman and Son, Printers, [1878] (Ferguson no. 6742).


‘Preface to Catalogue of 1880’ in The Catalogue of the Public Library of Victoria, Melbourne, 1880, 2 volumes, I, pp. [v]-xxxviii, with various appendices, pp. xxxix-lxiv.


Carlton, Melbourne University Press, 1995.


The two quarto volumes (London, T. Cadell, 1780) were lot 315 in the May 2003 sale of Australian Book Auctions. They were subsequently acquired with their Nicholson and Barry bookplates by the State Library of Victoria.


See Wallace Kirsop, ‘“The Finest Private Library in Australia”: John Macgregor's Collection’, The La Trobe Journal, no. 69, Autumn 2002, pp. 30–38.


See Wallace Kirsop, ‘In Search of Redmond Barry's Private Library’, La Trobe Library Journal, no. 26, October 1980, pp. 25–33; Trevor Mills, ‘A Melbourne Book-stall in 1841’, La Trobe Library Journal, no. 30, October 1982, p. 45; Wallace Kirsop, Buying Law Books in Nineteenth-Century Melbourne, Melbourne, Centre for the Book, Monash University, in association with Legal Resource Centre, University of Melbourne, 2003, pp. 12–13. Anything Barry owned is likely to bear some marks of his use. Cf. The Statutes of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, vol. XV: A.D. 1839–1841, 2-3 Victoria - 5 Victoria, London, Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1841, p. 781 (Rare Book Collection, Legal Resource Centre, University of Melbourne).


As a contribution to this a pamphlet, Redmond Barry's Library: A Provisional Checklist of Surviving Volumes, is being prepared for publication late in 2004.


Redmond Barry: A Colonial Life 1813–1880, 2nd edition, Carlton, Melbourne University Press, 1980, p. 20. 14. Annotated Bibliography of Printed Materials on Australian Law 1788–1900, North Ryde, The Law Book Company Limited, 1994, p. 48.


The State Library holds three vellum- or morocco-bound volumes of ‘Lectures and Addresses‘ from Barry's personal collection. Two of them were purchased from E. W. Cole for £2/5/0d on 1 February 1885.


Melbourne, printed at the ‘Gazette’ Office, 1847 (Ferguson no. 4468aa).


Melbourne, printed at the ‘Gazette’ Office, 1847 (Ferguson no. 4468aa).


Quoted from the 1860 re-edition of the Address of His Honor Mr Justice Barry […] On the opening of the Circuit Court, at Portland, on June the 14th, 1852, p. 51.


Melbourne, Lucas Brothers, printers, 1854 (Ferguson no. 6734).


Proceedings on the occasion of the inauguration of the University of Melbourne, on Friday, the 13th of April, 1855, Melbourne, John Ferres, Government Printer, 1855 (Ferguson no. 17570).


Melbourne, printed by Wilson & Mackinnon, 1866 (Ferguson no. 6737).


[No colophon] (Castles no. 267; not in Ferguson).


[No colophon] (Castles no. 270; not in Ferguson).


Melbourne, Lucas, printer, [1860] (Ferguson no. 6736).


Melbourne, Mason, Firth & M'Cutcheon, general printers, 1870 (Ferguson no. 6739).


Melbourne, H. T. Dwight, 1869 (address on the wrapper; the title-page, followed by Ferguson no. 3678, has Ballarat, printed at “The Star” Office).


Separate contemporary - and unrecorded - printings of all three are included in the second volume of Barry's nonce collection of his Lectures and Addresses.


Catalogue, pp. xxix-xxx. Patrick Gregory (Speaking Volumes, p. 33) is sceptical about the effectiveness of this as far as the Parliamentary Library was concerned and notes that institution's ‘exclusivity and isolationism’.


See Brian Hubber, ‘“Of the Numerous Opportunities”: The Origins of the Collection of Medieval Manuscripts at the State Library of Victoria’, La Trobe Library Journal, nos 51 & 52, 1993, pp. 3–11, and Wallace Kirsop, ‘The Brief but Brilliant Career of Frederick Bennett, Antiquarian Bookseller’, La Trobe Library Journal, no. 55, Autumn 1995, pp. 10–17.


On Magnússon, collaborator of William Morris, and his at times prickly personality see David McKitterick, Cambridge University Library: A History, vol. 2: The Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1986, pp. 714, 733–34, 741, 755, 759, 760, 762, and Fiona MacCarthy, William Morris: A Life for Our Time, London, Faber and Faber, 1994, passim.