The Enemies of Books | Page 7

which hung from the window, as well as the fringe which
dropped half-an-inch from each shelf to keep out the dust, was just like
tinder, and in some parts actually fell to the ground by its own weight;
while the backs of the books upon the top shelves were perished, and
crumbled away when touched, being reduced to the consistency of
Scotch snuff. This was, of course, due to the sulphur in the gas fumes,
which attack russia quickest, while calf and morocco suffer not quite so
much. I remember having a book some years ago from the top shelf in
the library of the London Institution, where gas is used, and the whole
of the back fell off in my hands, although the volume in other respects
seemed quite uninjured. Thousands more were in a similar plight.
As the paper of the volumes is uninjured, it might be objected that,
after all, gas is not so much the enemy of the book itself as of its
covering; but then, re-binding always leaves a book smaller, and often
deprives it of leaves at the beginning or end, which the binder's wisdom
has thought useless. Oh! the havoc I have seen committed by binders.
You may assume your most impressive aspect--you may write down
your instructions as if you were making your last will and
testament--you may swear you will not pay if your books are
ploughed--'tis all in vain--the creed of a binder is very short, and
comprised in a single article, and that article is the one vile word

"Shavings." But not now will I follow this depressing subject; binders,
as enemies of books, deserve, and shall have, a whole chapter to
themselves.
It is much easier to decry gas than to find a remedy. Sun lights require
especial arrangements, and are very expensive on account of the
quantity of gas consumed. The library illumination of the future
promises to be the electric light. If only steady and moderate in price, it
would be a great boon to public libraries, and perhaps the day is not far
distant when it will replace gas, even in private houses. That will,
indeed, be a day of jubilee to the literary labourer. The injury done by
gas is so generally acknowledged by the heads of our national libraries,
that it is strictly excluded from their domains, although the danger from
explosion and fire, even if the results of combustion were innocuous,
would be sufficient cause for its banishment.
The electric light has been in use for some months in the Reading
Room of the British Museum, and is a great boon to the readers. The
light is not quite equally diffused, and you must choose particular
positions if you want to work happily. There is a great objection, too, in
the humming fizz which accompanies the action of the electricity.
There is a still greater objection when small pieces of hot chalk fall on
your bald head, an annoyance which has been lately (1880) entirely
removed by placing a receptacle beneath each burner. You require also
to become accustomed to the whiteness of the light before you can
altogether forget it. But with all its faults it confers a great boon upon
students, enabling them not only to work three hours longer in the
winter-time, but restoring to them the use of foggy and dark days, in
which formerly no book-work at all could be pursued.[1]
[1] 1887. The system in use is still "Siemens," but, owing to long
experience and improvements, is not now open to the above objections.
Heat alone, without any noxious fumes, is, if continuous, very injurious
to books, and, without gas, bindings may be utterly destroyed by
desiccation, the leather losing all its natural oils by long exposure to
much heat. It is, therefore, a great pity to place books high up in a room
where heat of any kind is as it must rise to the top, and if sufficient to

be of comfort to the readers below, is certain to be hot enough above to
injure the bindings.
The surest way to preserve your books in health is to treat them as you
would your own children, who are sure to sicken if confined in an
atmosphere which is impure, too hot, too cold, too damp, or too dry. It
is just the same with the progeny of literature.
If any credence may be given to Monkish legends, books have
sometimes been preserved in this world, only to meet a desiccating fate
in the world to come. The story is probably an invention of the enemy
to throw discredit on the learning and ability of the preaching Friars, an
Order which was at constant war with the illiterate secular Clergy. It
runs thus:--"In the year 1439, two