Introduction

THIS inquiry into ,the book collections, financing, and management of the library of the College of William and Mary during the first one hundred years of its existence was originally undertaken at the suggestion of a formidable mentor and beloved friend, the late Earl Gregg Swem, William and Mary’s librarian from 1920 to 1944. His name is fittingly applied to the building that now houses the research collections of the college. The findings were organized in monographic form in 1948, at which time the author benefited greatly from suggestions made by Dr. Swem, who was then very much alive, and by Drs. Ernst Posner and Arthur A. Ekirch of American University, under whom the writer was engaged in graduate studies.

A copy of the typewritten monograph was duly filed in the William and Mary library. There it reposed until May 1968, when William C. Pollard, Librarian of the Earl Gregg Swem Library, resolved to usher the text into print in partial observance of the 275th anniversary of the founding of the college. Apprised of these plans, the author, though agreeable to Mr. Pollard’s resolution, prudently scanned the monograph for the first time since he had laid it to rest in 1948. He was gratified to discover that his critical faculties had improved during the intervening twenty years. But, in the light of that discovery, he was dismayed by the jejune aspects of many passages in the text and by the general awkwardness of its literary style. Five months out of the twelve allotted to the 275th anniversary observances had already elapsed, so only a limited amount of time was left for overhauling the manuscript if it were indeed to appear in print during the anniversary year. Armed, therefore, with scissors and paste, the author hurriedly attempted to stifle some of its dissertation aroma and to insert in the text certain bits of evidence touching the subject that had surfaced since 1948.

It is an inquiry, no more, no less, for disastrous conflagrations consumed the library collections on three different occasions, in 1705, 1859, and 1862. The same conflagrations decimated the college archives. In consequence, most of the evidence offered in these pages was necessarily gleaned from collateral sources of information. The lack of any consecutive eighteenth-century records relating to the library, moreover, has frequently called into play those unnourishing caveats “perhaps” and “probably” whenever conclusions have been in order. Even so, sufficient evidence has come to light to demonstrate that the library resources assembled by the college during its first century reflected the contemporary academic dignities of that second oldest seat of higher learning in the United States.

The titles of books known to have been owned by the library are cited in the text in abbreviated bibliographical form, without imprint dates or edition designations. In some instances, a specific work, to be sure, had gone through only one edition, or else was available only in the first edition, at the time of its acquisition by the college. But in most cases the short titles or binder’s titles favored in contemporary records mentioning the resources of the library are barren of clues as to which editions of those works were on the college shelves.

At least 90 per cent of the volumes that had been assembled in the library by 1793 are not known even by title. Was there a Caxton standing among the quartos? Or, shelved with the octavos, was there a copy of that slender journal, printed at Williamsburg in 1754, which was kept by a college-licensed surveyor turned soldier, Major Washington, who later became the college’s first American-born chancellor? Even more haunting questions are stirred by the realization that a youthful Jefferson scanned those shelves, seeking and perhaps finding sources of enlightenment that molded his character and influenced his career. What sustenance, for that matter, was perhaps drawn from the accumulated volumes by other illustrious eighteenth-century matriculates at the college, Peyton Randolph, Edmund Randolph, James Monroe, or John Marshall? These questions, alas, will hover unsatisfied over any inquiry into the early history of the library.

Richmond, Virginia
September 1968