One of the foremost of the inanimate enemies of books is dust. In some libraries the atmosphere is dust-laden, to a degree which seems incredible until you witness its results in the deposits upon books, which soil your fingers, and contaminate the air you breathe, as you brush or blow it away. Peculiarly liable to dust are library rooms located in populous towns, or in business streets, and built close to the avenues of traffic. Here, the dust is driven in at the windows and doors by every breeze that blows. It is an omnipresent evil, that cannot be escaped or very largely remedied. As preventive measures, care should be taken not to build libraries too near the street, but to have ample front and side yards to isolate the books as far as may be consistent with convenient access. Where the library is already located immediately on the street, a subscription for sprinkling the thoroughfare with water, the year round, would be true economy.

In some cities, the evils of street dust are supplemented by the mischiefs of coal smoke, to an aggravated degree. Wherever soft coal is burned as the principal fuel, a black, fuliginous substance goes floating through the air, and soils every thing it touches. It penetrates into houses and public buildings, often intensified by their own interior use of the same generator of dirt, and covers the books of the library with its foul deposits. You may see, in the public libraries of some western cities, how this perpetual curse of coal smoke has penetrated the leaves of all the books, resisting all efforts to keep it out, and slowly but surely deteriorating both paper and bindings. Here, preventive measures are impossible, unless some device for consuming the coal smoke of chimneys and factories were made compulsory, or the evil somewhat mitigated by using a less dangerous fuel within the library.

But, aside from these afflictions of dust, in its most aggravated form, every library and every room in any building is subject to its persistent visitations. Wherever carpets or rugs cover the floors, there dust has an assured abiding-place, and it is diffused throughout the apartment in impalpable clouds, at every sweeping of the floors. Hence it would be wise to adopt in public libraries a floor-covering like linoleum, or some substance other than woolen, which would be measurably free from dust, while soft enough to deaden the sound of feet upon the floors. Even with this preventive precaution, there will always be dust enough, and too much for comfort, or for the health of the books. Only a thorough dusting, carried on if possible daily, can prevent an accumulation of dust, at once deleterious to the durability of the books, and to the comfort both of librarians and readers. Dust is an insidious foe, stealing on its march silently and unobserved, yet, however impalpable in the atmosphere of a library, it will settle upon the tops of every shelf of books, it will penetrate their inner leaves, it will lodge upon the bindings, soiling books and readers, and constituting a perpetual annoyance.

It is not enough to dust the tops of the books periodically; a more full and radical remedy is required, to render library books presentable. At no long intervals, there should be a thorough library cleaning, as drastic and complete as the house-cleaning which neat housewives institute twice a year, with such wholesome results. The books are to be taken down from the shelves, and subjected to a shaking-up process, which will remove more of the dust they have absorbed than any brush can reach. To do this effectually, take them, if of moderate thickness, by the half-dozen at a time from the shelf, hold them loosely on a table, their fronts downward, backs uppermost, then with a hand at either side of the little pile, strike them smartly together a few times, until the dust, which will fly from them in a very palpable cloud, ceases to fall. Then lay them on their ends, with the tops uppermost on the table, and repeat the concussion in that posture, when you will eliminate a fresh crop of dust, though not so thick as the first. After this, let each volume of the lot be brushed over at the sides and back with a soft (never stiff) brush, or else with a piece of cotton or woolen cloth, and so restored clean to the shelves. While this thorough method of cleansing will take time and pains, it will pay in the long run. It will not eliminate all the dust (which in a large collection is a physical impossibility) but it will reduce it to a minimum. Faithfully carried out, as a periodical supplement to a daily dusting of the books as they stand on the shelves, it will immensely relieve the librarian or book-owner, who can then, (and then only) feel that he has done his whole duty by his books.

Another dangerous enemy of the library book is damp, already briefly referred to. Books kept in any basement room, or near any wall, absorb moisture with avidity; both paper and bindings becoming mildewed, and often covered with blue mould. If long left in this perilous condition, sure destruction follows; the glue or paste which fastens the cover softens, the leather loses its tenacity, and the leaves slowly rot, until the worthless volumes smell to heaven. Books thus injured may be partially recovered, before the advanced stage of decomposition, by removal to a dry atmosphere, and by taking the volumes apart, drying the sheets, and rebinding—a very expensive, but necessary remedy, provided the books are deemed worth preserving.

But a true remedy is the preventive one. No library should ever be kept, even in part, in a basement story, nor should any books ever be located near the wall of a building. All walls absorb, retain, and give out moisture, and are dangerous and oft-times fatal neighbors to books. Let the shelves be located at right angles to every wall—with the end nearest to it at least twelve to eighteen inches removed, and the danger will be obviated.

A third enemy of the book is heat. Most libraries are unfortunately over-heated,—sometimes from defective means of controlling the temperature, and sometimes from carelessness or want of thought in the attendant. A high temperature is very destructive to books. It warps their covers, so that volumes unprotected by their fellows, or by a book support, tend to curl up, and stay warped until they become a nuisance. It also injures the paper of the volumes by over-heating, and weakening the tenacity of the leaves held together by the glue on the back, besides drying to an extreme the leather, till it cracks or crumbles under the heat. The upper shelves or galleries of any library are most seriously affected by over-heating, because the natural law causes the heat to rise toward the ceiling. If you put your hand on some books occupying the highest places in some library rooms, in mid-winter, when the fires are kept at their maximum, the heat of the volume will almost burn your fingers. If these books were sentient beings, and could speak, would they not say—"our sufferings are intolerable?"

The remedy is of course a preventive one; never to suffer the library to become over-heated, and to have proper ventilation on every floor, communicating with the air outside. Seventy degrees Fahrenheit is a safe and proper maximum temperature for books and librarian.

The mischief arising from gas exhalations is another serious source of danger to books. In many well-lighted libraries, the heat itself from the numerous gas-burners is sufficient to injure them, and there is besides a sulphuric acid escaping from the coal-gas fluid, in combustion, which is most deleterious to bindings. The only remedy appears to be, where libraries are open evenings, to furnish them with electric lights. This improved mode of illumination is now so perfected, and so widely diffused, that it may be reckoned a positive boon to public libraries, in saving their books from one of their worst and most destructive enemies.

Another of the potent enemies of books is fire. I refer, not to over-heating the rooms they occupy, but to the risk they continually run, in most libraries, of total destruction. The chronicle of burned libraries would make a long and melancholy record, on which there is no space here to enter. Irreparable losses of manuscripts and early printed books, and precious volumes printed in small editions, have arisen from men's neglect of building our book-repositories fire-proof. In all libraries not provided with iron or steel shelves, there is perpetual danger. Books do not burn easily, unless surrounded with combustibles, but these are furnished in nearly all libraries, by surrounding the books on three sides with wooden shelves, which need only to be ignited at any point to put the whole collection in a blaze. Then follows the usual abortive endeavor to save the library by the aid of fire engines, which flood the building, until the water spoils nearly all which the fire does not consume. The incalculable losses which the cause of learning has sustained from the burning of public, university and ecclesiastical libraries are far greater than the cost which the provision of fire-proof repositories would have entailed.

Of late years, there has been a partial reform in library construction. Some have been built fire-proof throughout, with only stone, brick, concrete and iron material, even to the floors and window casings. Many more have had iron shelves and iron stacks to hold the shelves constructed, and there are now several competing manufacturers of these invaluable safeguards to books. The first library interior constructed wholly of iron was that of the Library of Congress at Washington, which had been twice consumed, first when the Capitol was burned by the British army in 1814, and again in 1851, through a defective flue, when only 20,000 volumes were saved from the flames, out of a total of 55,000. The example of iron construction has been slowly followed, until now the large cities have most of their newly-constructed libraries approximately fire-proof, although many are exposed to fire in parts, owing to a niggardly and false economy. The lesson that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well, and that every neglect of security brings sooner or later irreparable loss, is very slowly learned. Whole hecatombs of books have been sacrificed to the spirit of commercial greed, blind or short-sighted enough not to see that secure protection to public property, though costlier at first, is far cheaper in the end. You may speak of insurance against library losses by fire, but what insurance could restore the rare and costly Shakespearean treasures of the Birmingham Free Library, or the unique and priceless manuscripts that went up in flames in the city library of Strasburg, in 1870, or the many precious and irreplaceable manuscript archives of so many of our States, burned in the conflagration of their capitols?

One would think that the civilized world had had lessons enough, ever since that seventh century burning of the Alexandrian library by the Caliph Omar, with that famous but apocryphal rhetorical dilemma, put in his mouth perhaps by some nimble-witted reporter:—"If these books agree with the Koran, they are useless, and should be burned: if not, they are pernicious, and must not be spared." But the heedless world goes carelessly on, deaf to the voice of reason, and the lessons of history, amid the holocausts of literature and the wreck of blazing libraries, uttering loud newspaper wails at each new instance of destruction, forgotten in a week, then cheerfully renewing the business of building libraries that invite the flames.

Nothing here said should be interpreted as advice not to insure any library, in all cases where it is not provided with iron cases for the books, or a fire-proof building. On the contrary, the menaced destruction of books or manuscripts that cannot be replaced should lead to securing means in advance for replacing all the rest in case of loss by fire. And the experience of the past points the wisdom of locating every library in an isolated building, where risks of fire from other buildings are reduced to a minimum, instead of in a block whose buildings (as in most commercial structures) are lined with wood.

You will perhaps attach but small importance at first thought, to the next insidious foe to library books that I shall name—that is, wetting by rain. Yet most buildings leak at the roof, sometime, and some old buildings are subject to leaks all the time. Even under the roof of the Capitol at Washington, at every melting of a heavy snow-fall, and on occasion of violent and protracted rains, there have been leaks pouring down water into the libraries located in the old part of the building. Each of these saturated and injured its quota of books, some of which could only be restored to available use by re-binding, and even then the leaves were left water-stained in part. See to it that your library roof is water-tight, or the contents of your library will be constantly exposed to damage against which there is no insurance.

Another besetting danger to the books of our libraries arises from insects and vermin. These animated foes appear chiefly in the form of book-worms, cockroaches, and mice. The first-named is rare in American libraries, though its ravages have extended far and wide among the old European ones. This minute little insect, whose scientific name is the anobium paniceum, bores through the leaves of old volumes, making sometimes holes which deface and mutilate the text. All our public libraries, doubtless, have on their shelves old folios in vellum or leather bindings, which present upon opening the disagreeable vision of leaves eaten through (usually before they crossed the sea) by these pernicious little borers. It is comforting to add, that I have never known of any book-worm in the Congressional Library—except the human variety, which is frequently in evidence. Georgetown College library once sent me a specimen of the insect, which was found alive in one of its volumes, but the united testimony of librarians is that this pest is rare in the United States. As to remedies, the preventive one of sprinkling the shelves twice a year with a mixture of powdered camphor and snuff, or the vapor of benzine or carbolic acid, or other repellant chemicals, is resorted to abroad, but I have not heard of any similar practice in this country. I may remark in passing, that the term "book-worm" is a misnomer, since it is not a worm at all, but an insect. A more serious insect menace is the cockroach, a hungry, unclean little beast, which frequents a good many libraries, and devours bindings (especially fresh ones) to get at the paste or savory parts of the binding. The remedy for this evil, when once found to exist, is to scatter the most effective roach poison that can be found, which may arrest further ravages.

Another insect pest is the Croton bug, (Blatta Germanica) which eats into cloth bindings to get at the sizing or albumen. The late eminent entomologist, Dr. C. V. Riley, pronounced them the worst pest known in libraries, but observed that they do not attack books bound in leather, and confine their ravages to the outside of cloth-bound books, never troubling the leaves. The remedy prescribed is a powder in which pyrethrum is the chief ingredient, sprinkled about the shelves.

Among the rodents, mice are apt to be busy and mischievous infesters of libraries. They are extremely fond of paste, and being in a chronic state of hunger, they watch opportunities of getting at any library receptacle of it. They will gnaw any fresh binding, whether of cloth, board, or leather, to get at the coveted food. They will also gnaw some books, and even pamphlets, without any apparent temptation of a succulent nature. A good library cat or a series of mouse traps, skilfully baited, may rid you of this evil.

The injury that comes to library books from insufficient care in protecting them on the shelves is great and incalculable. There are to be seen in every library, volumes all twisted out of shape by the sagging or leaning, to which the end-book is subjected, and which is often shared by all its neighbors on the shelf. The inevitable result is that the book is not only spoiled in its good looks, but (which is vastly more important) it is injured in its binding, which is strained and weakened just in proportion to the length of time in which it is subjected to such risks. The plain remedy is to take care that every volume is supported upright upon the shelf, in some way. When the shelf is full, the books will support one another. But when volumes are withdrawn, or when a shelf is only partly filled with books, the unsupported volumes tumble by force of gravitation, and those next them sag and lean, or fall like a row of bricks, pushing one another over. No shelf of books can safely be left in this condition. Some one of the numerous book-supports that have been contrived should be always ready, to hold up the volumes which are liable to lean and fall.

We come now to the active human enemies of books, and these are unhappily found among some of the readers who frequent our libraries. These abuses are manifold and far-reaching. Most of them are committed through ignorance, and can be corrected by the courteous but firm interposition of the librarian, instructing the delinquent how to treat a book in hand. Others are wilful and unpardonable offences against property rights and public morals, even if not made penal offences by law. One of these is book mutilation, very widely practiced, but rarely detected until the mischief is done, and the culprit gone. I have found whole pages torn out of translations, in the volumes of Bohn's Classical Library, doubtless by students wanting the translated text as a "crib" in their study of the original tongue. Some readers will watch their opportunity, and mutilate a book by cutting out plates or a map, to please their fancy, or perhaps to make up a defective copy of the same work. Those consulting bound files of newspapers will ruthlessly despoil them by cutting out articles or correspondence, or advertisements, and carrying off the stolen extracts, to save themselves the trouble of copying. Others, bolder still, if not more unscrupulous, will deliberately carry off a library book under a coat, or in a pocket, perhaps signing a false name to a reader's ticket to hide the theft, or escape detection. Against these scandalous practices, there is no absolute safeguard in any library. Even where a police watch is kept, thefts are perpetrated, and in most libraries where no watchman is employed, the librarian and his assistants are commonly far too busy to exercise close scrutiny of all readers. As one safeguard, no rare or specially costly book should be entrusted to a reader except under the immediate eye of the librarian or assistant. Ordinary books can be replaced if carried off, and by watching the rarities, risk of theft can be reduced to a minimum.

When newspapers are given out to readers, it should always be in a part of the library where those using them are conscious of a surveillance exercised over their movements. The penalty of neglecting this may at any time be the mutilation of an important file, and it must be remembered that such damage, once done, cannot be repaired. You can replace a mutilated book usually by buying a new one, but a newspaper can almost never be replaced. Even in the city of Boston, the librarian of the Athenaeum library records the disgraceful fact, that "the temptation to avoid the trouble of copying, by cutting out articles from newspapers is too strong for the honesty of a considerable part of the public." And it was recorded by the custodian of a public library in Albany that all the plates were missing from certain books, that the poetry and best illustrations were cut from magazines before they had lain on the tables a week, and strange to say, that many of these depredations were committed by women.

It is a difficult problem how to prevent such outrages to decency, and such irreparable depredations on the books in our libraries as destroy, in great part, their value. A posted notice, reminding readers that mutilation of books or periodicals is a penal offence, will warn off many, if not all, from such acts of vandalism. If there is no law punishing the offence, agitate until you get one. Expose through the press such thefts and mutilations as are discovered. Interest readers whom you know, to be watchful of those you do not know, and to quietly report any observed violation of rules. When a culprit is detected, push the case to prompt legal hearing, and let the penalty of the law be enforced. Let it be known that the public property in books is too sacred a right to be violated with impunity. Inculcate by every means and on every opportunity the sentiment that readers who freely benefit by the books supplied should themselves feel personal concern in their cleanliness and preservation, and that the interest of the library is really the interest of all.

A daily abuse practiced by many readers in libraries, though without wrongful intent, is the piling of one book on top of another while open. This is inexcusable ill-treatment, for it subjects the open book thus burdened, to injury, besides probably soiling its pages with dust. Especially harmful is such careless treatment of large volumes of newspapers or illustrated works.

Careless use of ink is the cause of much injury to library books. As a rule (to which the very fewest exceptions should be made) pencils only should be allowed to readers, who must forego the use of ink, with the inevitable risk of dropping it upon the book to its irreparable injury. The use of ink in fountain pens is less objectionable. Tracing of maps or plates should not be allowed, unless with a soft pencil. Under no circumstances should tracing with a pen or other hard instrument be permitted to any reader. Failure to enforce this rule may result in ruin of valuable engravings or maps.

There is one class of books which demand special and watchful care at the hands of the librarian. These are the fine illustrated works, mostly in large folio, which include the engravings of the art galleries of Europe, and many other specially rare or costly publications. These should be carefully shelved in cases where they can lie on their sides, not placed upright, as in some collections, to lean over, and, sooner or later to break their backs, and necessitate rebinding. When supplied to readers, there should not be more than one volume at a time given out, to avoid the risk, always threatening, of careless handling or of opening one volume on top of another that is open. There should also be a printed notice or label affixed to the side cover of every illustrated work reading, "Never touch an engraving," or an equivalent warning. This will go far, by its plain reminder, to prevent soiling the pages by the fingers, a practice which rapidly deteriorates fine books, and if long continued, renders them unfit to be exhibited to clean-handed readers.

All plates should be stamped at some portion of their surface (it is often done on the back) with the embossing stamp of the library, as a means of identification if abstracted from the volume to which they belong.

Such books should, moreover, be consulted on a large table, or better an adjustable stand (to avoid frequent lifting or shifting of the position of the volume when inspecting the plates) and always under the eye of the librarian or an assistant not far removed. These precautions will insure far more careful treatment, and will result in handing down to a new generation of readers many a rare and precious volume, which would otherwise be destroyed or irretrievably injured in a very few years. The library treasures which cost so much to bring together should never be permitted to suffer from want of care to preserve them.

All writing upon the margins of books should be prohibited—other than simple pencil corrections of the text, as to an erroneous date, name, etc., which corrections of errors should not only be permitted, but welcomed, upon due verification. The marking of passages for copying or citation should be tolerated only upon the rigid condition that every user of the book rubs out his own pencil marks before returning it. I have seen lawyers and others thoughtless enough of right and wrong to mark long passages in pen and ink in books belonging to public libraries. This is a practice to be sternly repressed, even at the cost of denying further library privileges to the offender.

Turning down leaves in a book to keep the place is one of the easily besetting sins of too many readers. Those who thus dogs-ear a volume should be taught that the vile practice weakens and wears out the leaves thus folded down, and makes the book a more easy prey to dust and disintegration. However busy I may be, I instinctively turn back every turned-down leaf I notice in any book, before using it, or handing it to another. A good safe-guard would be to provide a supply of little narrow strips of paper, in the ticket boxes at the library tables to serve as the book-markers so frequently needed by readers. For this purpose, no thick or smooth calendered paper should be used, which falls out of any loosely bound book too readily—but a thin soft paper un-sized, which will be apt to retain its place. I have lost valuable time (which I shall never see again) in trying to find the pages marked for me by a searcher who had thoughtlessly inserted bits of card-board as markers—which kept falling out by their own weight. The book-marks should be at least two inches long, and not more than half an inch wide; and rough edges are better than smooth ones, for they will adhere better to the head of the volume where placed. Better still it is, to provide paper book-marks forked at the lower end by slitting, then doubled so that the mark will go on both sides of the leaf at once. This is the only sure safe-guard against these bits of paper falling out, and thus losing the place. Never put cards, or letters, or documents, or any solid substance into a book. It weakens the binding, and if continued, often breaks the back. The fact that most of the injuries to which books are exposed are unintentional injuries does not alter the fact that they are none the less injuries to be guarded against. Wilful perpetration of the many abuses referred to may be rare, but the unconscious perpetrators should be instructed how to use books by a vigilant librarian. And they who have thus been taught to be careful of the books in a public library will learn to be more careful of their own, which is a great step in the education of any one.

It ought not to be needful to charge any one never to wet the finger to turn over the leaves of a book—a childish habit, akin to running out the tongue when writing, or moving the lips when reading to one's self. The only proper way to turn the leaf is at the upper right-hand corner, and the index-finger of the right hand will always be found competent to that duty.

Still less should it be needful to insist upon the importance to every reader of books, of coming to their perusal clean-handed. When you reflect that nine-tenths of the soiling and spoiling which books undergo comes from the dirty hands of many readers, this becomes a vital point. Fouquet, a learned book collector of France, used to keep a pile of white gloves in the ante-room of his library, and no visitor was allowed to cross the threshold, or to handle a book without putting on a pair, lest he should soil the precious volumes with naked hands. Such a refinement of care to keep books immaculate is not to be expected in this age of the world; and yet, a librarian who respects his calling is often tempted to wish that there were some means of compelling people to be more careful about books than they are.

It ought not ever to be true that an enemy to the welfare of library books is found in the librarian himself, or in any of his assistants, yet there have been those employed in the care of books who have abused their positions and the volumes entrusted to their charge, not only by neglect of care, (which is a negative injury) but by positive and continual ill treatment. This may arise from ignorance of better methods, but ignorance is a poor excuse for one credited with the intelligence of a librarian. In some libraries, books are treated with positive indignity, and are permanently injured by tightly wedging them together. Never crowd books by main force into shelves too short or too small for them. It strains the backs, and seriously injures the bindings. Every book should slip easily past its fellows on the shelf. If a volume is too tall to go in its place, it should be relegated to lower shelves for larger books, never letting its head be crowded against the shelf above it.

One should never pull books out from the shelf by their head-bands, or by pulling at the binding, but place the finger firmly on the top of the book, next to the binding, and press down while drawing out the volume. From failure to observe this simple precaution, you will find in all libraries multitudes of torn or broken bindings at the top—a wholly needless defacement and waste.

Never permit a book to be turned down on its face to keep the place. This easily besetting habit weakens the book, and frequently soils its leaves by contact with a dusty table. For the same reason, one volume should not be placed within the leaves of another to keep the place where a book-mark of paper, so easily supplied, should always be used. Books should not be turned down on the fore-edges or fronts on the library tables, as practiced in most book-stores, in order to better display the stock. The same habit prevails in many libraries, from careless inattention. When necessary, in order to better read the titles, they should never be left long in such position. This treatment weakens the back infallibly, and if long continued breaks it. Librarians, of all persons in the world, should learn, and should lead others to learn, never to treat a book with indignity, and how truly the life of a book depends upon proper treatment, as well as that of an animated being.

These things, and others of my suggestions, may seem trifles to some; but to those who consider how much success in life depends upon attention to what are called trifles—nay, how much both human taste and human happiness are promoted by care regarding trifles, they will not appear unimportant. The existence of schools to teach library science, and of manuals devoted to similar laudable aims, is an auspicious omen of the new reign of refined taste in those nobler arts of life which connect themselves with literature, and are to be hailed as authentic evidences of the onward progress of civilization.



CHAPTER 6.

THE RESTORATION AND RECLAMATION OF BOOKS.

We are now to consider carefully the restoration and the reclamation of the books of a library, whether public or private.

Nothing can be more important than the means of restoring or reclaiming library books that are lost or injured, since every such restoration will save the funds of the library or collector from replacing them with fresh or newly bought copies, and will enable it to furnish its stores with as many new books as the money thus saved represents. The cardinal thing to be kept always in view is a wise economy of means. An every-day prudence is the price of successful administration. A management which permits any of the enemies of books to destroy or damage them, thereby wasting the substance of the library without repair, is a fatally defective management, which should be changed as soon as possible.

This consideration assumes added importance when it is remembered that the means of nearly all our libraries are very limited and inadequate to the drafts upon them, year by year. A great many libraries are compelled to let their books needing rebinding accumulate, from the mere want of money to pay for reclothing the nearly worn-out volumes, thus depriving the readers for a considerable time, of the use of many coveted books. And even with those which have large means, I have never yet heard of a library that had enough, either to satisfy the eager desire of the librarian to fill up deficiencies, or to meet fully the manifold wants of readers. So much the more important, then, is it to husband every dollar that can be saved, to keep the books in such good condition that they will not need frequent rebinding, and to reduce to a minimum all the evils which beset them, menacing their safety, or injuring their condition.

To attain these great ends, the librarian who is qualified for his responsible position, must be both a preserver and a restorer of books. If not personally able to go through the mechanical processes which belong to the art of restoration, (and this is the case in all libraries except the smallest) he should at least learn all about them, so as to be able to teach them thoroughly and intelligently to an assistant. It is frequently made an excuse for the soiled and slovenly and even torn condition of books and bindings in a much used public library, that neither the librarian nor his aids have any time to look into the condition of the books, much less to repair any of the numerous damages they sustain. But it should be remembered that in most libraries, even the busiest, there are seasons of the day, or periods of very stormy weather, when the frequentation of readers is quite small. Those times should always be seized upon to take hold of volumes which have had to be laid aside as damaged, in the hurry of business. To arrest such damages at the threshold is the duty and the interest of the library. A torn leaf can be quickly mended, a slightly broken binding can be pasted or glued, turned-down leaves can be restored where they belong, a plate or map that is started can be fastened in, by devoting a few minutes at the proper time, and with the proper appliances ready at hand. Multitudes of volumes can be so treated in the course of the year, thus saving the heavy cost of rebinding. It is the proverbial stitch in time that saves nine. Never wait, in such matters, for the leisure day that never comes, but seize the golden moment as it flies, when no reader is interrupting you, and clear off at least one of the little jobs that are awaiting your attention. No one who does not know how to use the odd moments is qualified for the duties of a librarian. I have seen, in country libraries, the librarian and his lady assistant absorbed in reading newspapers, with no other readers in the room. This is a use of valuable time never to be indulged in during library hours. If they had given those moments to proper care of the books under their charge, their shelves would not have been found filled with neglected volumes, many of which had been plainly badly treated and injured, but not beyond reclamation by timely and provident care.

It is amazing how any one can expect long employment as a librarian, who takes no interest in the condition of the books under his charge. The way to build up a library, and to establish the reputation of a librarian at the same time, is to devote every energy and intelligence to the great work in hand. Convince the library directors, by incessant care of the condition of the books, that you are not only a fit, but an indispensable custodian of them. Let them see your methods of preserving and restoring, and they will be induced to give you every facility of which you stand in need. Show them how the cost of binding or re-buying many books can be saved by timely repair within the library, and then ask for another assistant to be always employed on such work at very moderate cost. Library directors and trustees are commonly intensely practical men, and quick to see into the heart of good management. They do not want a librarian who has a great reputation as a linguist, or an educator, or a book-worm, but one who knows and cares about making their funds go as far as possible, and can show them how he has saved by restoring old books, enough money to pay for a great many new ones.

Nothing is more common in public lending libraries than to find torn leaves in some of the books. If the leaf is simply broken, without being absolutely detached, or if part is torn off, and remains on hand, the volume may be restored by a very simple process. Keep always at hand in some drawer, a few sheets of thin "onion-skin" paper, or the transparent adhesive paper supplied by the Library Bureau. Paste this on either side of the torn leaf, seeing that it laps over all the points of juncture where the tear occurred, and that the fitting of the text or reading matter is complete and perfect. The paper being transparent, there will be no difficulty in reading the torn page through it.

This little piece of restoration should always be effected immediately on discovery, both that the torn piece or fragment may be saved, and that the volume may be restored to use.

In case of absolute loss of a leaf or a part of a page, there are only three remedies known to me.

1. The book may be condemned as imperfect, and a new copy purchased.

2. The missing part may be restored from a perfect copy of the same work, by copying the portions of the text wanting, and inserting them where they belong. This can be done with a pen, and the written deficiency neatly inserted, in fac-simile of the type, or in ordinary script hand; or else the part wanting may be photographed or heliotyped by the best modern process from a duplicate copy of the book.

3. If the book is of very recent issue, the publishers may furnish a signature or sheet which would make good the deficiency, from the "imperfections" left in the bindery, after making up the edition of the work.

In most cases, the last named means of replacement will not be found available. The first, or buying a fresh copy, may entail a greater expense than the library authorities would deem proper at the time, and it might be preferred to continue the book in use, with a slight imperfection.

The second method, more or less troublesome according to circumstances, or the extent of the matter to be copied is sometimes the most economical. Of course, it is subject to the drawback of not being, when done, a bona fide or genuine copy of the book as published. This diminishes the commercial value of even the rarest book, although so fully restored as to text that the reader has it all before him, so that it supplies every requisite of a perfect copy for the purposes of a public library, or a private owner who is not a connoisseur in books.

When the corners of a book are found to be broken (as often happens by falling to the floor or severe handling) the book may be restored by a treatment which will give it new leather corners. With paste or glue well rubbed in, apply thick brown paper on the corners, which, when dry, will be as hard as desired, and ready to receive the leather. Then the sides may be covered with marbled paper or cloth, and the volume is restored.

When the back of a book becomes loose, the remedy is to take it out of the cover, re-sew it, and glue it firmly into the former back. This will of course render the back of the volume more rigid, but, in compensation, it will be more durable.

In these cases of loose or broken backs, the study should be to save the leather cover and the boards or sides of the book intact, so as to diminish by more than one-half the cost of repair. As the volume cannot be restored to a solid and safe condition without being re-sewed, it may be carefully separated from the cover by cutting the cords or bands at their junction with the boards, then slowly stripping the book out of its cover, little by little, and treating the sheets when separated as already indicated in the chapter on rebinding.

One of the most common defacements which library books undergo is marking up the margins with comments or references in pencil. Of course no thoughtful reader would be guilty of this practice, but thoughtless readers are often in the majority, and the books they read or fancy that they read, get such silly commentaries on the margins as these: "beautiful," "very sad," "perfectly splendid," "I think Becky is horrid," or, "this book ends badly." Such vile practices or defacements are not always traceable to the true offender, especially in a circulating library, where the hours are so busy as to prevent the librarian from looking through the volumes as they come in from the readers. But if detected, as they may be after a few trials of suspected parties, by giving them out books known to be clean and free from pencil marks when issued to them, the reader should be required always to rub out his own marks, as a wholesome object-lesson for the future. The same course should be pursued with any reader detected in scribbling on the margin of any book which is being read within the library. Incorrigible cases, amounting to malicious marking up of books, should be visited by severe penalties—even to the denial of further library privileges to the offender.

Not long ago, I bought at an auction sale a copy of the first edition of Tennyson's "In Memoriam," which was found on receipt to be defaced by marking dozens of verses in the margin with black lines drawn along them, absolutely with pen and ink! The owner of that book, who did the ruthless deed, never reflected that it might fall into hands where his indelible folly would be sharply denounced.

The librarian or assistant librarian who will instinctively rub out all pencil marks observed in a library book deserves well of his countrymen. It is time well spent.

The writing on book-margins is so common a practice, and so destructive of the comfort and satisfaction which readers of taste should find in their perusal of books, that no legitimate means of arresting it or repairing it should be neglected. In a public library in Massachusetts, a young woman of eighteen who was detected as having marked a library copy of "Middlemarch" with gushing effusions, was required to read the statute prescribing fine and imprisonment for such offenses, with very tearful effect, and undoubtedly with a wholesome and permanent improvement in her relations to books and libraries.

In some libraries, a warning notice is posted up like this: "Readers finding a book injured or defaced, are required to report it at once to the librarian, otherwise they will be held responsible for the damage done." This rule, while its object is highly commendable, may lead in practice to injustice to some readers. So long as the reader uses the book inside of the library walls, he should of course report such defects as meet his eye in reading, whether missing pages, plates, or maps, or serious internal soiling, torn leaves, etc. But in the case of drawing out books for home reading, the rule might embarrass any reader, however well disposed, if too strictly construed. A reader finding any serious defect in a library volume used at home, should simply place a mark or slip in the proper place with the word "damaged," or "defective" written on it. Then, on returning the book to the library, his simple statement of finding it damaged or defective when he came to read it should be accepted by the librarian as exonerating him from blame for any damage. And this gives point to the importance of examining every book, at least by cursory inspection, before it is handed out for use. A volume can be run through quickly by a practiced hand, so as to show in a moment or two any leaves started or torn, or, usually, any other important injury. If any such is found, the volume should under no circumstances be given out, but at once subjected to repair or restoration. This degree of care will not only save the books of the library from rapid deterioration, but will also save the feelings of readers, who might be anxious lest they be unjustly charged with damaging while in their hands.

The treatment of their imperfect books (which tend perpetually to accumulate) is very different in different libraries. Some libraries, where funds are ample enough to enable them to do it, condemn any book that has so much as a sentence torn out, and replace it on the shelves with a new copy. The imperfect volumes are sold for waste paper, or put into some sale of duplicate books, marked as imperfect, with note of the damage upon a slip inserted at the proper place in the book, and also in the catalogue, if sold at auction or in a printed list of duplicates offered by the library. This notice of what imperfection exists is necessary, so that no incautious purchaser may think that he is securing a perfect copy of the work.

Other libraries not blessed with means to pursue this course, do as best they can afford, supplying what is deficient when possible without much cost of time or money, or else continuing the damaged book in use "with all its imperfections on its head."

The loss of a single plate does not destroy the value of the book for readers, however to be regretted as diminishing the satisfaction to be derived from the volume. And one can sometimes pardon the loss of a part of a page in a mutilated book, especially when he is made aware of the fact that the library which welcomes him to the free enjoyment of its treasures cannot well afford to buy another.

It is disheartening to read, in an annual report of a public library of circulation in Massachusetts, that many of its popular books are so soiled and defaced, after a few readings, as to be unfit for further service; that books of poetry are despoiled by the scissors to save trouble of copying verses wanted; that plates are often abstracted, and that many magazines "seem to be taken from the library for no other reason than that private scrap-books may be enriched or restless children amused." The only remedy suggested is to examine each book before again giving it out, and, if returned defaced, to hold the borrower responsible.

The art of cleaning books that are stained or dirty, is a matter not widely known, and in this country there are few experts at it. Some of these keep closely guarded the methods they use to cleanse a book. Comparatively few libraries avail themselves of the practice of washing their soiled volumes, as the process is too expensive for most of them, and so they are accustomed to let the library books remain in use and re-issue them again and again, until they become so filthy as to be quite unfit to be seen—much less handled by any reader.

But there are often valuable or rare works which have sustained interior injury, and which it is desired to restore to a clean condition. The best method is to take the book apart as the first step. When separated into sheets, those leaves which are merely dirty should be placed in a bath composed of about four ounces of chloride of lime, dissolved in a quart of water. They should soak until all stains are removed, and the paper is restored to its proper color. Then the pages should be washed in cold water—running water is preferable—and allowed to soak about six hours. This removes all traces of the lime, which would otherwise tend to rot or injure the book. After this, the sheets are to be "sized," i. e., dipped in a bath of size and water, and laid out to dry. This process gives firmness and consistency to the paper, which would otherwise remain too soft to handle. The sheets should be pressed a few hours between glazed paste-boards, as used in printing offices. A cheap and simple size for this purpose may be made by mixing white gelatine with water, and this may be kept in a bottle, so as to be always conveniently at hand. The art of restoring and rendering fit for handling books and rare early pamphlets by sizing all the leaves is in constant use in Europe. By this means, and by piecing out margins, the most rotten paper, ready to drop apart in turning the leaves, may be restored to use, if not quite to its pristine condition.

Ink-spots or mildew stains may be wholly removed, when freshly made, by applying a solution of oxalic or citric acid, and then washing the leaf with a wet sponge. It is more effectual to follow the bath of oxalic acid by applying a solution of one part hydrochloric acid to six parts of water, after which bathe in cold water, and dry slowly. Or an infusion of hypochlorite of potash in twice its volume of water may be used instead of the preceding.

If a leather-bound book has grease on its cover, it can be removed by scraping French chalk or magnesia over the place, and ironing with a warm (not hot) iron. A simpler method is to apply benzine to the grease spots, (which dissolves the fatty material) and then dry the spot quickly with a fine cloth. This operation may be repeated, if not effectual at the first trial. The same method of applying benzine to oily spots upon plates or engravings, will remove the stains.

Ink-stains may also be taken off from the leather covers of books bound in calf or morocco by the use of oxalic acid. Care should be taken first to try the acid on a piece of similar leather or on a discarded book of the same color. If the leather is discolored after removing the black spot, one may apply, after taking out the traces of oxalic acid by some alkali, a coloring matter similar to the tint of the leather.

Spots or stains of grease or oil are often found in books. They may be wholly removed by applying carbonate of magnesia on both sides of the leaf stained, backed by paper, and pressing with a hot iron, after which the sheets should be washed and left under pressure over night. Another method is to dilute spirits of salts with five times its bulk of water, then let the stained leaves lie in the liquid four minutes, after which they are to be washed. Still another method is to make a mixture of one pound of soap, half a pound of clay and two ounces of lime, dissolved in water to a proper consistency; apply it to the spots; fifteen minutes after, dip the leaf in a bath of warm water for half an hour, after which dry and press until smooth.

Stains left by mud on the leaves of a book (a not uncommon fate of volumes falling in a wet street) can be removed thus: spread over the spots a jelly composed of white soap and water, letting it remain about half an hour. Then dip the leaf in clear water, and remove the soap with a fine sponge dipped in warm water; all the mud stains will disappear at the same time. To remove the last traces of the soap, dip a second time in clear water, place the leaf between two sheets of blotting paper, and dry slowly in a cool and shady place.

The same process, of washing in soap and water, will remove what are doubtless the most common of all the soilings that library books undergo, namely, the soil that comes from the dirty hands and fingers of readers.

It is sometimes necessary to color the sheets that have been washed white, so as to correspond in tint with the rest of the volume, which has not needed that treatment. An infusion of cheap tobacco leaves, or a bath of brown stout will effect this.

In all these methods of removing soil from the pages of books, it is absolutely necessary to give attention to thorough washing after the chemicals are used. Otherwise there will remain an element of destruction which will sooner or later spoil the book, to restore which so much pains may have been expended.

And one can readily learn how to restore a valuable book by these methods. He should, however, first practice on the restoration of a volume of little worth—and venture upon the treatment of a precious volume only after practice has made him an expert.

To restore a fresher look to volumes whose bindings are much rubbed or "scuffed" as it is sometimes called, one may spread over their surface a little wet starch pretty thick, with a little alum added, applied with an old leather glove. With this the back of the book, and the sides and edges of the boards should be smartly rubbed, after which, with a fine rag rub off the thicker part of the starch, and the book will present a much brighter appearance, besides being rid of dust and soil.

There will remain on the volume a very slight deposit of gelatine or gluten; before it dries completely, the palm of the hand may be passed over it at all points, and the leather, which may have assumed a dull color from the starch, will resume a bright brown or other tint. If this fails to appear, a bit of flannel, impregnated with a few drops of varnish, should be rubbed over the leather, and when nearly dry, rub with a white rag slightly touched with olive oil, and a brilliant appearance will be given to the binding.

When leaves are started, or a signature becomes loose in any volume, it should be at once withdrawn from circulation, or the loss of an important part of the book may result. The remedy commonly resorted to, of patching up the book by pasting in the loose leaves, is a mere makeshift which will not last. The cause of a loose signature is generally to be found in a broken thread in the sewing, and the only permanent cure is to take the book out of its cover, and re-sew it, when it may usually be re-inserted in the same binding. This is for cloth-bound books. When bound in leather, it is best to take out the loose sheet, "overcast" it, that is, secure all the leaves by sewing, then carefully lay some paste along the outer edge or back of the sheet, insert the sheet in its place, pressing it firmly with a paper knife along the middle of the sheet, and the volume will be restored ready for use after a few days drying under weight.

On occasion of a fire next to the Mercantile Library rooms in Philadelphia, in 1877, great damage was done, from water thrown by the fire-engines, to many thousands of books. The library authorities tried various methods of restoring the volumes, and among others, drying them in ovens was resorted to. This was found, however, to dry the books so rapidly, that the bindings cracked, and in many cases came off, while many volumes were much warped. The most advantageous method that was adopted was to prepare a large number of frames on which many wires were strung horizontally across a large room. The wet books (many of which were soaked through) were suspended on these wires in such a way as to dry them by degrees, the temperature of the room being raised considerably by furnace heat.

The condition in which the books were found after the wetting varied greatly. Nearly all that were printed on soft paper were wet through, while those next to them printed on thick paper, and with solid leather bindings, were scarcely damaged at all. The water stains constituted the most serious injury to the volumes, and multitudes of fine books that were wet will always bear the marks of the stain. Some of the more costly books were restored by taking them apart, washing them thoroughly, then placing them in a heated press, and drying them, so that the water-stains were removed. All the books, however different the degree of damage from the water, retained their legibility, and were put to the same uses in the library as before the fire occurred. None were burned, the actual fire being confined to the neighboring buildings of the block in the midst of which the library was unfortunately located.

The whole number of volumes damaged was about 55,000, and the insurance, which was assessed by referees at the amount of $42,000, would nearly have replaced the books by new ones. Many of the volumes had to be rebound as the damage by wetting the glue and paste which are such important elements in binding securely, led to the falling apart of the covers.

There are multitudes of books restored by some one of the processes which have been ingeniously contrived to make an old book as good as new, or an imperfect volume perfect. The art of reproducing in facsimile, by mere manual dexterity with the pen, letters, words, and whole pages, has been carried to a high degree of perfection, notably in London. A celebrated book restorer named Harris, gained a great reputation among book lovers and librarians by his consummate skill in the reproduction of the text of black-letter rarities and early-printed books of every kind. To such perfection did he carry the art of imitating an original that in many cases one could not distinguish the original from the imitation, and even experts have announced a Harris facsimile in a Shakespeare folio to be the printed original. The art has even been extended to engravings, with such success that the famous Droeshout portrait of Shakespeare, which illustrates the title-page of the first folio of 1623, has been multiplied in pen-made facsimile, so as to deceive the most careful scrutiny.

This nice and difficult art is not widely pursued in this country, though there are some experts among New York and Philadelphia book-binders, who practice it. The British Museum Library has a corps of workers engaged in the restoration both of books and of manuscripts (as well as engravings) who are men of the highest training and skill.

The process is necessarily quite expensive, because of the time required and of the small number of competing artists in this field. It is chiefly confined to the restoration of imperfect copies of early printed and rare books, which are so frequently found in imperfect condition, often wanting title-pages or the final leaves, or parts of pages in any part of the volume.

So costly, indeed, is this skilful hand-restoration of imperfect books, that it has been a great boon to the collectors of libraries and rare works, to see the arts of photography so developed in recent years, as to reproduce with almost exact fidelity printed matter of any kind from the pages of books. The cost of such facsimiles of course varies with the locality, the work, the skill, or the competition involved. But it may be said in general that the average cost of book-page facsimiles by photographic process need not exceed one dollar a page.

An entire edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica has been printed from plates made in replica from photographs of the original text of the Edinburgh edition. The reproduction in this case can hardly be commended, as it is trying to the eyes to read, when compared with the original, presenting a somewhat blurred and irregular aspect to the eyes.

It is very difficult to lay down rules which shall be effective in checking the abuse of books which compels exercise of the means of restoration. Writing upon margins (already referred to) may sometimes be checked by putting a printed slip in every library book bearing the warning—"Never write in a library book." To this may be added—"Never turn down leaves," an equally important injunction. Indeed, a whole list of "Dont's" might be inserted, but for the chance that too many warnings might operate to warn off a reader from absorbing any of them. Thus—

"Don't soil any book Don't write on margins Don't turn down leaves Don't lay a book on its face open Don't wet fingers to turn leaves Don't fail to use the book-mark Don't read with unclean hands."

As a loose slip is liable to fall out, some such reminder should be pasted into the fly-leaf of every book, next the book-plate.

A self-respecting reader will generally heed such hints, which a moment's reflection will teach him are meant to preserve the library book clean and presentable for his own use, as well as for that of others. But there will always be some rude, boorish people who will persist in their brutal and destructive treatment of books, in the face of whatever warnings. How to deal with such unwelcome persons is an ever-present problem with the librarian. If sustained by the other library authorities, a really effectual remedy is to deny the further use of the library to any offender clearly proven to have subjected library books to damage while in his hands. Some librarians go so far as to post the names of such offenders in the library hall, stating that they are denied the privileges of the library by the authorities, for mutilating books.

In any case, great care must be taken to have the clearest proof, before proceeding to fasten the offense upon a particular individual. This involves, where the injury is not committed in the presence of any library officer, so as to be observed, but has been done while the book was drawn out, an examination of each volume before giving it out. If this rule were to be observed as to all, it would entail an expense that few libraries could afford. In a large circulating library in a city, it might require the entire time of two assistants to collate the books before re-issuing them. The circumstances of each library must determine how to deal with this matter. Probably the majority will limit the close examination of books before giving them out, to cases where there is reason to suspect wilful continued soiling, scribbling, or dog's-earing. A few such cases once detected and dealt with will have a most salutary restraining influence upon others, especially if re-enforced by frequent and judicious paragraphs in the local press, setting forth the offense and the remedy.

But all in vain will be the endeavor to abate these defacements and consequent waste of the library books, unless it is enforced by a positive law, with penal provisions, to punish offenders who mutilate or deface books that are public property. A good model of such a statute is the following, slightly abridged as to verbiage, from an act of Congress, of which we procured the enactment in the year 1878:

"Any person who steals, defaces, injures, mutilates, tears, or destroys any book, pamphlet, work of art, or manuscript, belonging to any public library, or to the United States, in the District of Columbia, shall be fined ten dollars to one hundred dollars, and punished by imprisonment from one to twelve months, for every such offense."

This act will be found in the United States Statutes at Large, Vol. 20, p. 171. It would be well if the term "periodical" were added to the list of objects to be protected, to avoid all risk of a failure to punish the mutilation of newspapers and magazines, by pleading technical points, of which lawyers are prone to avail themselves in aiding offenders to escape conviction.

It will be observed, that the word "deface," employed in this statute, actually covers the marking of margins by any reader, all such marking constituting a defacement within the meaning of the law.

While the great multitude of readers who frequent our public libraries are honest and trustworthy, there are always some who are conspicuously the reverse. It is rarely safe in a large public library to admit readers to the shelves, without the company or the surveillance of an attendant. And it is not alone the uncultivated reader who cannot be trusted; the experience of librarians is almost uniform to the effect that literary men, and special scholars, as well as the collectors of rare books, are among those who watch the opportunity to purloin what they wish to save themselves the cost of buying. Sometimes, you may find your most valuable work on coins mutilated by the abstraction of a plate, carried off by some student of numismatics. Sometimes, you may discover a fine picture or portrait abstracted from a book by some lover of art or collector of portraits. Again, you may be horrified by finding a whole sermon torn out of a volume of theology by a theological student or even a clergyman. All these things have happened, and are liable to happen again. No library is safe that is not closely watched and guarded. In the Astor library a literary man actually tore out sixty pages of the Revue de Paris, and added to the theft the fraud of plagiarism, by translating from the stolen leaves an article which he sold to Appleton's Journal as an original production!

In this case, the culprit, though detected, could not be punished, the law of New York requiring the posting in the library of the statute prohibiting mutilation or other injury to the books, and this posting had not been done. The law has since been amended, to make the penalties absolute and unconditional.

In the Astor Library, over six hundred volumes were discovered to have been mutilated, including art works, Patent office reports, magazines, newspapers, and even encyclopaedias. The books stolen from that library had been many, until several exposures and punishment of thieves inspired a wholesome dread of a similar fate.

At a meeting of the American Library Association, one member inquired whether there was any effectual way to prevent the abstraction of books. He was answered by another librarian (from Cincinnati) who replied that he knew of only one effectual method, and that was to keep a man standing over each book with a club. Of course this was a humorous paradox, not to be taken literally, but it points a moral.

Seriously, however, the evil may be greatly curtailed, (though we may be hopeless of absolute prevention) by adopting the precautions already referred to. In the Library of the British Museum, a great library of reference, from which no book is permitted to be taken under any circumstances, the evil of mutilation was much reduced by prosecuting and posting the offenders publicly. After a few years, the obnoxious practice had so far ceased, that the placards, having an unpleasant aspect, were taken down. But on renewal of such depredations and defacements of books by readers, the placards were renewed, and some of the mutilated books, suitably labelled, were posted in the great reading room before the eyes of all. The authorities of the British Museum are convinced of the salutary effects of such warnings, though books are sometimes stolen or mutilated under the liberal management which leaves several thousand volumes open for reference, without tickets.

The late Dr. Wm. F. Poole, the Chicago librarian, recorded his experience in dealing with some clergymen, who, said he, seem to have as regards books, an imperfect appreciation of the laws of meum and tuum. He had found ministers more remiss in returning books than any other class of men. He would by no means reflect on a noble and sacred profession by charging the derelictions of a few upon the many. But he had had unpleasant experiences with men of that profession, who had absolutely purloined books from the Public Library, removed the book-plates and library stamp, and covered the volumes with paper carefully pasted down inside of the covers.

A librarian in Massachusetts testified that it was common experience that clergymen and professional men gave the most trouble. Second-hand book-dealers in Boston had found a judge of the court purloining rare pamphlets, and ministers making away with pamphlet sermons under their coats. Without insisting here upon any such extenuations of such practices as the prevalence of kleptomania, it has been made abundantly manifest that theft and mutilation of books are sufficiently common to demonstrate the weakness of human nature, and the necessity of every safeguard which public libraries can provide against such abuses of their treasures.

A Boston librarian stated that the thieves or mutilators of books included school-boys, clerks, students, teachers, soldiers, physicians, lawyers, clergymen, etc. In only one case was the crime committed through want or suffering. Yet, though the offenders had been proven guilty in every instance, only two cases were known in which the penalty of the law had been enforced. Does not this bespeak laxity of public morals in Boston in regard to such abuses of library property?

The Union Theological Seminary at New York recorded its experience with ministers and theological students, to the effect that its library had lost more than a thousand volumes, taken and not returned. This of course included what were charged out, but could not be recovered.

A librarian in Auburn, N. Y., returning from vacation, found that the American Architect, an important illustrated weekly, had been mutilated in seven different volumes, and that 130 pages in all had been stolen. Fortunately, she was able to trace the reader who had been using the work, and succeeded in recovering the abstracted plates. The offender was prosecuted to conviction, and had to pay a fine of fifty dollars.

It often happens that books which disappear mysteriously from a public library re-appear quite as mysteriously. Those taking them, finding that the rules do not allow certain books to leave the library, make a law unto themselves, carry off the book wanted, keep it until read, and then return it surreptitiously, by replacing it on some shelf or table, when no one is looking. This is where no intention of stealing the book exists, and the borrower wilfully makes his own convenience override the library regulations, in the belief that he will not be found out. The Buffalo Young Men's Library reported in one year eighteen illustrated works on the fine arts, reserved from being taken out by its by-laws, as disappearing for weeks, but brought back in this underhanded manner. In other cases of such return, it is likely that the purpose was to keep the book, but that conscience or better thoughts, or fear of detection prevailed, and secured its return.

Some instances where leniency has been exercised to save book thieves from penalties may be instructive. One man who had carried off and sold two volumes from the Astor Library was traced and arrested, when he pleaded that absolute want had driven him to the act. He had a wife ill and starving at his home, and this on investigation proving true, he was pardoned and saved further misery.

In another case, a poor German had stolen a volume of the classics which he pawned for a small sum to get bread for himself, being long out of work, and in a condition bordering closely upon starvation. He was released, the book reclaimed, and the offender turned over to the agencies of public charity.

A librarian of New York gave it as his experience that some ministers are not to be trusted any more than other people. Some of them like to write their opinions on the margins of the books. He found one of the library books written on in thirty pages, recognized the hand-writing, and wrote to the reverend gentleman asking an interview. He came, admitted the fact, and said that his notes made the book more valuable. This ingenious excuse did not satisfy the librarian, who said, "others do not think so, sir; so if you will get us a new book, you may keep the more valuable one." He soon brought in a new copy, and the matter ended.

At the New York Mercantile Library, a young lady, amply able to buy all the books she could want, was discovered going out of the library with one book in her hand which she was entitled to, it being charged, and with five others hidden under her cloak, without permission.

Mr. Melvil Dewey has truly said that it is very hard to tell a library thief at sight. Well-dressed, gentlemanly, even sanctimonious looking men are among them, and the wife of a well-known college professor, detected in purloining books, begged so hard not to be exposed, that she was reluctantly pardoned, and even restored to library privileges.

A prominent lawyer of Brooklyn, of distinguished appearance and fine manners, did not steal books, but his specialty was magazines and newspapers, which he carried off frequently. Being caught at it one day, and accused by the librarian, he put on an air of dignity, declared he was insulted, and walked out. The librarian found the periodical he had taken thrown down in the entry, and he never after frequented that library.

It is curious and instructive to know the experience of some libraries regarding the theft or mutilation of books. Thus, in the public library of Woburn, Mass., a case of mutilation occurred by the cutting out of a picture from "Drake's Historic Fields and Mansions of Middlesex County." On discovery of the loss, a reward of $10 was offered for information leading to detection of the culprit. This was published in the town paper, and an article was printed calling attention to these library thefts and abuses, followed by citing the State law making such depredations a penal offense. Within a week the missing plate came back to the librarian through the mail—anonymously of course, the person who had abstracted it finding that it was rather an unsafe picture to keep or exhibit, and so choosing to make his best policy honesty, though rather tardy in coming to that wise conclusion.

This experience, and others here cited, may serve as a hint what course to pursue under similar circumstances, in the reclamation of library books.

In the Library of the London Institution, continuous thefts of valuable editions of the classics had occurred. Putting a detective in the library, a young man of suspicious demeanor was soon identified as the thief, and was followed and arrested in the very act of selling a library book. He proved to be a young man of good family, education and previous good character; but the library had suffered such losses from his depredations, that no mercy was shown, and he received and underwent the sentence to two months imprisonment.

It may be added as an instance of methods availed of in London to trace missing books, that the librarian, knowing from the vacancies on the shelves what books had been abstracted, printed a list of them, sent it to every second-hand book-dealer in London, at the same time supplying it to the police, who circulate daily a list of missing property among all the pawn-brokers' shops in the city, and recovered all the books within twenty-four hours.

The Mercantile Library of Philadelphia missed a number of valuable books from its shelves, and on a watch being set, a physician in the most respectable rank in society was detected as the purloiner, and more than fifty volumes recovered from him.

A library at Lancaster, Pa., reported the almost incredible incident of a thief having hidden under his coat, and carried off, a Webster's Unabridged Dictionary!

In most cases of detected theft or mutilation of books, strong appeals are made by the culprit or his friends to save exposure by public prosecution. These are commonly, in the case of persons in very respectable circumstances in life, not so much to avoid paying fines imposed by law as to avoid the disgrace attached to publicity, and the consequent damage done to the character of the individual. It is probably true that in a majority of cases, such influences have been strong enough to overcome the determination of the librarian or library authorities to let the law take its course. Now, while it must be admitted that there is no rule without some valid exception that may be made, it is nevertheless to be insisted upon that due protection to public property in libraries demands the enforcement of the laws enacted to that end. The consequence of leniency to the majority of book thieves would be not only an indirect encouragement to the culprits to continue their depredations, but it would also lead to a lax and dangerous notion of the obligations of readers, and the sacredness of such property, in the public mind. Enforcement of the penalties of wrong-doing, on the other hand, tends unquestionably to deter others, both by the fear of publicity which must follow detection, and by terror of the penalty which is or may be imprisonment for a considerable term, besides the imposing of a fine.

At the Worcester, Mass., Public Library, a young man of twenty-two was detected in stealing a book, obliged to confess, and prosecuted. Much pressure was brought to bear by his family and friends, very respectable people, to save him from the penalty. The Court, however, imposed a fine of thirty dollars, and it being represented that his relatives would have to pay the amount, though innocent parties, the judge suspended the sentence until the young man should pay it in instalments from his own earnings, one of the family giving bail. The valuable lesson was in this way not lost, either to the offender or to the community; the law was enforced, and the young man perhaps saved from a life of wrong-doing, while if he had been let off scot-free, in deference to the influence exerted to that end, he might have gone from bad to worse.

At the Pratt Institute Free Library in Brooklyn, books had been disappearing from the reference department at intervals of about a week, and a watch was instituted. After some weeks' fruitless watching, a young man who came frequently to consult books was singled out as the probable offender, and the eyes of the library staff were centered upon him. The janitor watched his movements for some days, from a concealed post of observation, as the young man walked back and forth between the book stacks, and one day caught him in the act of slipping a book into his pocket, and arrested him as he was leaving the building. He had stolen a dozen books from the library, all but three of which were recovered. He claimed to be a theological student, and that he had taken the books merely for the purposes of study. Much sympathy was expressed for him by people who believed that this was his motive, and that it was some partial atonement for his offense. The grief of his relatives at his disgrace was intense. The Court sentenced him to eight years in the penitentiary, but suspended the sentence in view of the fact that it was a first offense, by a youth of twenty-one years. He was put under police surveillance for his good behavior (equivalent to being paroled) but the sentence becomes active upon any further transgression of the law on his part.

It may be gathered from these many cases of library depredations, that they are very common, that perpetual vigilance is the price of safety, that punishment in nearly all cases is wiser than pardon, and that the few exceptions made should be mostly confined to offenders who steal books under desperate necessity or actual want.



CHAPTER 7.

PAMPHLET LITERATURE.

What is a pamphlet? is a question which is by no means capable of being scientifically answered. Yet, to the librarian dealing continually with a mass of pamphlets, books, and periodicals, it becomes important to define somewhere, the boundary line between the pamphlet and the book. The dictionaries will not aid us, for they all call the pamphlet "a few sheets of printed paper stitched together, but not bound." Suppose (as often happens) that you bind your pamphlet, does it then cease to be a pamphlet, and become a book? Again, most pamphlets now published are not stitched at all, but stabbed and wired to fasten the leaves together. The origin of the word "pamphlet," is in great doubt. A plausible derivation is from two French words, "paume," and "feuillet," literally a hand-leaf; and another derives the word from a corruption of Latin—"papyrus," paper, into pampilus, or panfletus, whence pamphlet. The word is in Shakespeare:

"Comest thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devised?"

But we also find "pamphlets and bookys," in a work printed by Caxton in 1490, a hundred years before Shakespeare.

Whatever the origin, the common acceptation of the word is plain, signifying a little book, though where the pamphlet ends, and the book begins, is uncertain. The rule of the British Museum Library calls every printed publication of one hundred pages or less, a pamphlet. This is arbitrary, and so would any other rule be. As that library binds its pamphlets separately, and counts them in its aggregate of volumes, the reason for any distinction in the matter is not plain. Some of the government libraries in Europe are greatly overrated numerically by reckoning pamphlets as volumes. Thus, the Royal Library at Munich, in Bavaria, has been ranked fourth among the libraries of the world, claiming over a million volumes, but as it reckons every university thesis, or discussion of some special topic by candidates for degrees, as a volume, and has perhaps 400,000 of this prolific class of publications, it is actually not so large as some American libraries, which count their pamphlets as distinct from books in their returns.

The pamphlet, or thin book, or tract (as some prefer to call it) is reckoned by some librarians as a nuisance, and by others as a treasure. That it forms rather a troublesome asset in the wealth of a library cannot be doubted. Pamphlets taken singly, will not stand upon the shelves; they will curl up, become dogs-eared, accumulate dust, and get in the way of the books. If kept in piles, as is most frequent, it is very hard to get at any one that is wanted in the mass. Then it is objected to them, that the majority of them are worthless, that they cost altogether too much money, and time, and pains, to catalogue them, and that they are useless if not catalogued; that if kept bound, they cost the library a sum out of all proportion to their value; that they accumulate so rapidly (much faster, in fact, than books) as to outrun the means at the disposal of any library to deal with them; in short, that they cost more than they come to, if bound, and if unbound, they vex the soul of the librarian day by day.

This is one side of the pamphlet question; and it may be candidly admitted, that in most libraries, the accumulation of uncatalogued and unbound pamphlets is one of the chief among those arrears which form the skeleton in the closet of the librarian. But there is another side to the matter. It is always possible to divide your pamphlets into two classes—the important, and the insignificant. Some of them have great historical, or economic, or intellectual value; others are as nearly worthless as it is possible for any printed matter to be. Why should you treat a pamphlet upon Pears's soap, or a quack medicine, or advertising the Columbia bicycle, with the same attention which you would naturally give to an essay on international politics by Gladstone, or a review of the Cuban question by a prominent Spaniard, or a tract on Chinese immigration by Minister Seward, or the pamphlet genealogy of an American family? Take out of the mass of pamphlets, as they come in, what appear to you the more valuable, or the more liable to be called for; catalogue and bind them, or file them away, according to the use which they are likely to have: relegate the rest, assorted always by subject-matters or classes, to marked piles, or to pamphlet cases, according to your means; and the problem is approximately solved.

To condemn any pamphlet to "innocuous desuetude," or to permanent banishment from among the intellectual stores of a library, merely because it is innocent of a stiff cover, is to despoil the temple of learning and reject the good things of Providence. What great and influential publications have appeared in the world in the guise of pamphlets! Milton's immortal "Areopagitica, or Plea for Unlicenced Printing," was a pamphlet of only forty pages; Webster's speech for the Union, in reply to Hayne, was a pamphlet; every play of Shakespeare, that was printed in his life-time, was a pamphlet; Charles Sumner's discourse on "The True Grandeur of Nations" was a pamphlet; the "Crisis" and "Common Sense" of Thomas Paine, which fired the American heart in the Revolution, were pamphlets. Strike out of literature, ancient and modern, what was first published in pamphlets, and you would leave it the poorer and weaker to an incalculable degree.

Pamphlets are not only vehicles of thought and opinion, and propagandists of new ideas; they are often also store-houses of facts, repositories of history, annals of biography, records of genealogy, treasuries of statistics, chronicles of invention and discovery. They sometimes throw an unexpected light upon obscure questions where all books are silent. Being published for the most part upon some subject that was interesting the public mind when written, they reflect, as in a mirror, the social, political, and religious spirit and life of the time. As much as newspapers, they illustrate the civilization (or want of it) of an epoch, and multitudes of them, preserved in great libraries, exhibit this at those early periods when no newspapers existed as vehicles of public opinion. Many of the government libraries of Europe have been buying up for many years past, the rare, early-printed pamphlets of their respective countries, paying enormous prices for what, a century ago, they would have slighted, even as a gift.

When Thomas Carlyle undertook to write the life of Oliver Cromwell, and to resurrect from the dust-bins of two centuries, the letters and speeches of the great Protector, he found his richest quarry in a collection of pamphlets in the British Museum Library. An indefatigable patriot and bookseller, named Thomason, had carefully gathered and kept every pamphlet, book, periodical, or broadside that appeared from the British press, during the whole time from A. D. 1649 to 1660, the period of the interregnum in the English monarchy, represented by Cromwell and the Commonwealth. This vast collection, numbering over 20,000 pamphlets, bound in 2,000 volumes, after escaping the perils of fire, and of both hostile armies, was finally purchased by the King, and afterward presented to the British Museum Library. Its completeness is one great source of its value, furnishing, as it does, to the historical student of that exceedingly interesting revolution, the most precious memorials of the spirit of the times, many of which have been utterly lost, except the single copy preserved in this collection.

Several great European libraries number as many pamphlets as books in their collections. The printed catalogue of the British Museum Library is widely sought by historical students, because of the enormous amount of pamphlet literature it contains, that is described nowhere else. And the Librarian of the Boston Athenaeum said that some readers found the great interest in his catalogue of that collection lay in its early American pamphlets.

As another instance of the value to the historical stores of a public library of this ephemeral literature, it may be noted that the great collection of printed matter, mostly of a fugitive character, relating to the French Revolutionary period, gathered by the late M. de La Bedoyere, amounted to 15,000 volumes and pamphlets. Fifty years of the life of the wealthy and enthusiastic collector, besides a very large sum of money, were spent in amassing this collection. With an avidity almost incredible, he ransacked every book-store, quay, and private shelf that might contribute a fresh morsel to his stores; and when Paris was exhausted, had his agents and purveyors busy in executing his orders all over Europe. Rival collectors, and particularly M. Deschiens, who had been a contemporary in the Revolution, and had laid aside everything that appeared in his day, only contributed at their decease, to swell the precious stores of M. de La Bedoyere. This vast collection, so precious for the history of France at its most memorable period, contained several thousands of volumes of newspapers and ephemeral journals, and was acquired in the year 1863, for the National Library of France, where it will ever remain a monument to the enlightened and far-sighted spirit of its projector.

In like manner, the late Peter Force, Mayor of Washington City, and historiographer of the "American Archives," devoted forty years to amassing an extensive collection of Americana, or books, pamphlets, newspapers, manuscripts, and maps, relating to the discovery, history, topography, natural history, and biography of America. He carried off at auction sales, from all competitors, six great collections of early American pamphlets, formed by Ebenezer Hazard, William Duane, Oliver Wolcott, etc., representing the copious literature of all schools of political opinion. He sedulously laid aside and preserved every pamphlet that appeared at the capital or elsewhere, on which he could lay hands, and his rich historical collection, purchased by the government in 1866, thirty-three years ago, now forms an invaluable portion of the Congressional Library.

Of the multitudinous literature of pamphlets it is not necessary to speak at length. Suffice it to say that the library which neglects the acquisition and proper preservation and binding of these publications is far behind its duty, both to those of its own generation, and to those which are to follow. The pamphlet literature of every period often furnishes the most precious material to illustrate the history and development of that period. The new ideas, the critical sagacity, the political controversies, the mechanical and industrial development, the religious thought, and the social character of many epochs, find their best expression in the pamphlets that swarmed from the press while those agencies were operating. The fact that multitudes of these productions are anonymous, does not detract from their value as materials for students.

Pamphlets, from their peculiar style of publication, and the difficulty of preserving them, tend to disappear more quickly than any class of publications except newspapers, and broad-sides, and hand-bills. They are far less likely to be preserved in the hands of private holders than even reviews and magazines. It is the common experience of librarians that a pamphlet is far more difficult to procure than a book. Multitudes of pamphlets are annually lost to the world, from the want of any preserving hand to gather them and deposit them permanently in some library. So much the more important is it that the custodians of all our public libraries should form as complete collections as possible of all pamphlets, at least, that appear in their own city or neighborhood. How to do this is a problem not unattended with difficulty. Pamphlets are rarely furnished for sale in the same manner as books, and when they are, book-sellers treat them with such indignity that they are commonly thrust aside as waste paper, almost as soon as they have appeared from the press. If all the writers of pamphlets would take pains to present them to the public libraries of the country, and especially to those in their own neighborhood, they would at once enrich these collections, and provide for the perpetuity of their own thought. A vigilant librarian should invite and collect from private libraries all the pamphlets which their owners will part with. It would also be a wise practice to engage the printing-offices where these fugitive leaves of literature are put in type, to lay aside one copy of each for the library making the collection.

Our local libraries should each and all make it a settled object to preserve not only full sets of the reports of all societies, corporations, charity organizations, churches, railroads, etc., in their own neighborhood, but all catalogues of educational institutions, all sermons or memorial addresses, and in short, every fugitive publication which helps to a knowledge of the people or the region in which the library is situated.

The binding of pamphlets is a mooted point in all libraries. While the British Museum and the Library of Congress treat the pamphlets as a book, binding all separately, this is deemed in some quarters too vexatious and troublesome, as well as needlessly expensive. It must be considered, however, that the crowding together of a heterogenous mass of a dozen or twenty pamphlets, by different authors, and on various subjects, into a single cover, is just as objectionable as binding books on unrelated subjects together. Much time is consumed in finding the pamphlet wanted, among the dozen or more that precede or follow it, and, if valuable or much sought-for pamphlets are thus bound, many readers may be kept waiting for some of them, while one reader engrosses the volume containing all. Besides, if separately bound, a single pamphlet can be far more easily replaced in case of loss than can a whole volume of them. Pamphlets may be lightly bound in paste-board, stitched, with cloth backs, at a small cost; and the compensating advantage of being able to classify them like books upon the shelves, should weigh materially in the decision of the question. If many are bound together, they should invariably be assorted into classes, and those only on the same general topic should be embraced in the same cover. The long series of annual reports of societies and institutions, corporations, annual catalogues, etc., need not be bound separately, but should be bound in chronological series, with five to ten years in a volume, according to thickness. So may several pamphlets, by the same writer, if preferred, be bound together. Libraries which acquire many bound volumes of pamphlets should divide them into series, and number them throughout with strict reference to the catalogue. There will thus be accumulated a constantly increasing series of theological, political, agricultural, medical, educational, scientific, and other pamphlets, while the remaining mass, which cannot be thus classified, may be designated in a consecutive series of volumes, as "Miscellaneous Pamphlets." When catalogued, the title-page or beginning of each pamphlet in the volume, should be marked by a thin slip of unsized paper, projected above the top of the book, to facilitate quick reference in finding each one without turning many leaves to get at the titles. In all cases, the contents of each volume of pamphlets should be briefed in numerical order upon the fly-leaf of the volume, and its corresponding number, or sequence in the volumes written in pencil on the title page of each pamphlet, to correspond with the figures of this brief list. Then the catalogue of each should indicate its exact location, thus: Wilkeson (Samuel) How our National Debt may become a National Blessing, 21 pp. 8vo. Phila., 1863 [Miscellaneous pamphlets, v. 347:3], meaning that this is the third pamphlet bound in vol. 347.

The only objection to separate binding of each pamphlet, is the increased expense. The advantage of distinct treatment may or may not outweigh this, according to the importance of the pamphlet, the circumstances of the library, and the funds at its command. If bound substantially in good half-leather, with leather corners, the cost is reckoned at 1s. 4d. each, in London. Here, they cost about thirty cents with cloth sides, which may be reduced by the use of marble or Manila paper, to twenty cents each. Black roan is perhaps the best leather for pamphlets, as it brings out the lettering on the backs more distinctly—always a cardinal point in a library.

But there is a more economical method, which dispenses with leather entirely. As no patent is claimed for the invention, or rather the modification of well-known methods, it may be briefly described. The thinnest tar-board is used for the sides, which, i. e., the boards, are cut down to nearly the size of the pamphlet to be bound. The latter is prepared for the boards by adding two or more waste leaves to the front and back, and backing it with a strip of common muslin, which is firmly pasted the full length of the back, and overlaps the sides to the width of an inch or more. The pamphlet has to be stitched through, or stabbed and fastened with wire, in the manner commonly practiced with thin books; after which it is ready to receive the boards. These are glued to a strip of book muslin, which constitutes the ultimate back of the book, being turned in neatly at each end, so as to form, with the boards, a skeleton cover, into which the pamphlet is inserted, and held in its place by the inner strip of muslin before described, which is pasted or glued to the inside of the boards. The boards are then covered with marbled paper, turned in at each edge, and the waste leaves pasted smoothly down to the boards on the inside. The only remaining process is the lettering, which is done by printing the titles in bronze upon glazed colored paper, which is pasted lengthwise on the back. A small font of type, with a hand-press, will suffice for this, and a stabbing machine, with a small pair of binding shears, constitutes the only other apparatus required. The cost of binding pamphlets in this style varies from seven to twelve cents each, according to the material employed, and the amount of labor paid for. The advantages of the method are too obvious to all acquainted with books to require exemplification.