There is a remedy in the powder known as insecticide, which, however, is very disagreeable upon books and shelves.

It is, nevertheless, very fatal to these pests, and affords some consolation in the fact that so soon as a "bug" shows any signs of illness, he is devoured at once by his voracious brethren with the same relish as if he were made of fresh paste.
There is, too, a small silvery insect (Lepisma) which I have often seen in the backs of neglected books, but his ravages are not of much importance.
Nor can we reckon the Codfish as very dangerous to literature, unless, indeed, he be of the Roman obedience, like that wonderful Ichthiobibliophage (pardon me, Professor Owen) who, in the year 1626, swallowed three Puritanical treatises of John Frith, the Protestant martyr.

No wonder, after such a meal, he was soon caught, and became famous in the annals of literature.

The following is the title of a little book issued upon the occasion: "Vox Piscis, or the Book-Fish containing Three Treatises, which were found in the belly of a Cod-Fish in Cambridge Market on Midsummer Eve, AD 1626." Lowndes says (see under "Tracey,") "great was the consternation at Cambridge upon the publication of this work." Rats and mice, however, are occasionally very destructive, as the following anecdote will show: Two centuries ago, the library of the Dean and Chapter of Westminster was kept in the Chapter House, and repairs having become necessary in that building, a scaffolding was erected inside, the books being left on their shelves.

One of the holes made in the wall for a scaffold-pole was selected by a pair of rats for their family residence.