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BINDING.

he binding of books for several centuries has held the dignity of a fine art, quite independent of printing. This has been demonstrated by exhibitions in this country and abroad. But every collector ought to observe fitness in the binding which he procures to be executed. True fitness prevails in most old and fine bindings; seldom was a costly garb bestowed on a book unworthy of it. But in many a luxurious library we see a modern binding fit for a unique or rare book given to one that is comparatively worthless or common. Not to speak of bindings that are real works of art, many collectors go astray in dressing lumber in purple and fine linen—putting full levant morocco on blockhead histories and such stuff that perishes in the not using. It is a sad spectacle to behold a unique binding wasted on a book of no more value than a backgammon board. There are of course not a great many of us who can afford unique bindings, but those who cannot should at least observe propriety and fitness in this regard, and draw the line severely between full dress and demi-toilette, and keep a sharp eye to appropriateness of color. I have known several men who bound their books all alike. Nothing could be worse except one who should bind particular subjects in special styles, pace Mr. Ellwanger, who, in “The Story of My House,” advises the Book-Worm to “bind the poets in yellow or orange, books on nature in olive, the philosophers in blue, the French classics in red,” etc. I am curious to know what color this pleasant writer would adopt for the binding of his books by military men, such for example as “Major Walpole’s Anecdotes.” (p. 262)

mbrose Fermin Didot recommended binding the “Iliad” in red and the “Odyssey” in blue, for the Greek rhapsodists wore a scarlet cloak when they recited the former and a blue one when they recited the latter. The churchmen he would clothe in violet, cardinals in scarlet, philosophers in black

I have imagined

HOW A BIBLIOMANIAC BINDS HIS BOOKS.

’d like my favorite books to bind So that their outward dress To every bibliomaniac’s mind Their contents should express. Napoleon’s life should glare in red, John Calvin’s gloom in blue; Thus they would typify bloodshed And sour religion’s hue. The prize-ring record of the past Must be in blue and black; While any color that is fast Would do for Derby track. The Popes in scarlet well may go; In jealous green, Othello; In gray, Old Age of Cicero, And London Cries in yellow. My Walton should his gentle art In Salmon best express, And Penn and Fox the friendly heart In quiet drab confess. Statistics of the lumber trade Should be embraced in boards, While muslin for the inspired Maid A fitting garb affords. Intestine wars I’d clothe in vellum, While pig-skin Bacon grasps, And flat romances, such as “Pelham,” Should stand in calf with clasps. Blind-tooled should be blank verse and rhyme Of Homer and of Milton; But Newgate Calendar of Crime I’d lavishly dab gilt on. The edges of a sculptor’s life May fitly marbled be, But sprinkle not, for fear of strife, A Baptist history. Crimea’s warlike facts and dates Of fragrant Russia smell; The subjugated Barbary States In crushed Morocco dwell. But oh! that one I hold so dear Should be arrayed so cheap Gives me a qualm; I sadly fear My Lamb must be half-sheep.

No doubt a Book-Worm so far gone as this could invent stricter analogies and make even the binder fit the book

So we should have