Books; Books -- Literary collections; Books in literature
To be strong-backed and neat-bound is the desideratum of a volume.
Magnificence comes after. This, when it can be afforded, is not to be
lavished upon all kinds of books indiscriminately. I would not dress a
set of Magazines, for instance, in full suit. The dishabille, or
half-binding (with Russia backs ever) is _our_ costume. A Shakespeare,
or a Milton (unless the first editions), it were mere foppery to trick
out in gay apparel. The possession of them confers no distinction. The
exterior of them (the things themselves being so common), strange to
say, raises no sweet emotions, no tickling sense of property in the
owner. Thomson's _Seasons_, again, looks best (I maintain it) a little
torn, and dog's-eared. How beautiful to a genuine lover of reading are
the sullied leaves, and worn out appearance, nay, the very odour (beyond
Russia), if we would not forget kind feelings in fastidiousness, of an
old 'Circulating Library' _Tom Jones_, or _Vicar of Wakefield_! How they
speak of the thousand thumbs, that have turned over their pages with
delight!--of the lone sempstress, whom they may have cheered (milliner,
or harder-working mantua-maker) after her long day's needle-toil,
running far into midnight, when she has snatched an hour, ill spared
from sleep, to steep her cares, as in some Lethean cup, in spelling out
their enchanting contents! Who would have them a whit less soiled? What
better condition could we desire to see them in?
In some respects the better a book is, the less it demands from binding.
Fielding, Smollett, Sterne, and all that class of perpetually
self-reproductive volumes--Great Nature's Stereotypes--we see them
individually perish with less regret, because we know the copies of them
to be 'eterne'. But where a book is at once both good and rare--where
the individual is almost the species, and when _that_ perishes,
We know not where is that Promethean torch
That can its light relumine--
such a book, for instance, as the _Life of the Duke of Newcastle_, by
his Duchess--no casket is rich enough, no casing sufficiently durable,
to honour and keep safe such a jewel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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