It may be supposed that, from the spread of information,
all real danger from ignorance is past. Not so, good reader;
that is a consummation as yet "devoutly to be wished."
Let me relate to you a true bibliographical anecdote:
In 1877, a certain lord, who had succeeded to a fine collection
of old books, promised to send some of the most valuable
(among which were several Caxtons) to the Exhibition at
South Kensington. Thinking their outward appearance too shabby,
and not knowing the danger of his conduct, he decided
to have them rebound in the neighbouring county town.
The volumes were soon returned in a resplendent state, and,
it is said, quite to the satisfaction of his lordship,
whose pleasure, however, was sadly damped when a friend
pointed out to him that, although the discoloured edges had
all been ploughed off, and the time-stained blanks, with their
fifteenth century autographs, had been replaced by nice clean
fly-leaves, yet, looking at the result in its lowest aspect only--
that of market value--the books had been damaged to at least
the amount of L500; and, moreover, that caustic remarks
would most certainly follow upon their public exhibition.
Those poor injured volumes were never sent.
Some years ago one of the most rare books printed by Machlinia--
a thin folio--was discovered bound in sheep by a country bookbinder,
and cut down to suit the size of some quarto tracts.
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