suited with dramatic fitness to the past crimes of the victims,
and had I to execute judgment on the criminal binders of certain
precious volumes I have seen, where the untouched maiden sheets
entrusted to their care have, by barbarous treatment, lost dignity,
beauty and value, I would collect the paper shavings so ruthlessly shorn
off, and roast the perpetrator of the outrage over their slow combustion.
In olden times, before men had learned to value the relics of our printers,
there was some excuse for the sins of a binder who erred from ignorance
which was general; but in these times, when the historical and antiquarian
value of old books is freely acknowledged, no quarter should be granted
to a careless culprit.

It may be supposed that, from the spread of information,
all real danger from ignorance is past. Not so, good reader;
that is a consummation as yet "devoutly to be wished."
Let me relate to you a true bibliographical anecdote:
In 1877, a certain lord, who had succeeded to a fine collection
of old books, promised to send some of the most valuable
(among which were several Caxtons) to the Exhibition at
South Kensington. Thinking their outward appearance too shabby,
and not knowing the danger of his conduct, he decided
to have them rebound in the neighbouring county town.
The volumes were soon returned in a resplendent state, and,
it is said, quite to the satisfaction of his lordship,
whose pleasure, however, was sadly damped when a friend
pointed out to him that, although the discoloured edges had
all been ploughed off, and the time-stained blanks, with their
fifteenth century autographs, had been replaced by nice clean
fly-leaves, yet, looking at the result in its lowest aspect only--
that of market value--the books had been damaged to at least