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.
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