The Enemies of Books | Page 6

of the binding. It is easily wiped off, but
not without leaving a plain mark, where the mould-spots have been.
Under the microscope a mould-spot is seen to be a miniature forest of
lovely trees, covered with a beautiful white foliage, upas trees whose
roots are embedded in the leather and destroy its texture.
Inside the book, damp encourages the growth of those ugly brown spots
which so often disfigure prints and "livres de luxe." Especially it
attacks books printed in the early part of this century, when
paper-makers had just discovered that they could bleach their rags, and
perfectly white paper, well pressed after printing, had become the
fashion. This paper from the inefficient means used to neutralise the
bleach, carried the seeds of decay in itself, and when exposed to any
damp soon became discoloured with brown stains. Dr. Dibdin's
extravagant bibliographical works are mostly so injured; and although
the Doctor's bibliography is very incorrect, and his spun-out inanities
and wearisome affectations often annoy one, yet his books are so
beautifully illustrated, and he is so full of personal anecdote and chit
chat, that it grieves the heart to see "foxey" stains common in his most
superb works.
In a perfectly dry and warm library these spots would probably remain
undeveloped, but many endowed as well as private libraries are not in
daily use, and are often injured from a false idea that a hard frost and
prolonged cold do no injury to a library so long as the weather is dry.
The fact is that books should never be allowed to get really cold, for
when a thaw comes and the weather sets in warm, the air, laden with

damp, penetrates the inmost recesses, and working its way between the
volumes and even between the leaves, deposits upon their cold surface
its moisture. The best preventative of this is a warm atmosphere during
the frost, sudden heating when the frost has gone being useless.
Our worst enemies are sometimes our real friends, and perhaps the best
way of keeping libraries entirely free from damp is to circulate our
enemy in the shape of hot water through pipes laid under the floor. The
facilities now offered for heating such pipes from the outside are so
great, the expense comparatively so small, and the direct gain in the
expulsion of damp so decided, that where it can be accomplished
without much trouble it is well worth the doing.
At the same time no system of heating should be allowed to supersede
the open grate, which supplies a ventilation to the room as useful to the
health of the books as to the health of the occupier. A coal fire is
objectionable on many grounds. It is dangerous, dirty and dusty. On the
other hand an asbestos fire, where the lumps are judiciously laid, gives
all the warmth and ventilation of a common fire without any of its
annoyances; and to any one who loves to be independent of servants,
and to know that, however deeply he may sleep over his "copy," his fire
will not fail to keep awake, an asbestos stove is invaluable.
It is a mistake also to imagine that keeping the best bound volumes in a
glass doored book-case is a preservative. The damp air will certainly
penetrate, and as the absence of ventilation will assist the formation of
mould, the books will be worse off than if they had been placed in open
shelves. If security be desirable, by all means abolish the glass and
place ornamental brass wire-work in its stead. Like the writers of old
Cookery Books who stamped special receipts with the testimony of
personal experience, I can say "probatum est."

CHAPTER III.
GAS AND HEAT.

WHAT a valuable servant is Gas, and how dreadfully we should cry
out were it to be banished from our homes; and yet no one who loves
his books should allow a single jet in his library, unless, indeed he can
afford a "sun light," which is the form in which it is used in some
public libraries, where the whole of the fumes are carried at once into
the open air.
Unfortunately, I can speak from experience of the dire effect of gas in a
confined space. Some years ago when placing the shelves round the
small room, which, by a euphemism, is called my library, I took the
precaution of making two self-acting ventilators which communicated
directly with the outer air just under the ceiling. For economy of space
as well as of temper (for lamps of all kinds are sore trials), I had a
gasalier of three lights over the table. The effect was to cause great heat
in the upper regions, and in the course of a year or two the leather
valance