their own. There is a class of purchaser which revels in long
lines of volumes in 'full calf gilt.' You see that sort of thing in most
old-fashioned collections. And the effect is not bad in some respects.
The rows look handsome enough. They have solidity and richness. Nor do I
say that for a certain species of publication 'full calf gilt' is not a
very judicious form of binding. One likes to see the quarterlies and
higher-class monthlies done up in that style. It befits the seriousness
of their contents. But do not let everything be put into 'full calf
gilt,' solid and rich though it appears. Let us give full play to the
element of variety. Let every book have an individuality, a character,
of its own. Let us be able to identify it easily. Let it retain its
original garb, so that we may always be able to distinguish it. Surely
it is one of the greatest charms of a row of volumes that each has its
special features, and can readily be found when wanted.

It may be laid down as a general rule that the binding of a book should
have a distinct reference to the nature of its contents. It should be
appropriate to the author and to the subject. One sympathizes with
Posthumus in the play, when, apostrophizing the volume in his prison, he
says:

'O rare one!
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
As good as promise.'

Juliet, when she hears that Romeo has slain Tybalt, asks:

'Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound?'

And in a like spirit Charles Lamb, in his well-known essay, complains of
the 'things in books' clothing' which, by reason of their inappropriate
exteriors, afford so much disappointment to the reader. 'To reach down a
well-bound semblance of a volume, and hope it is some kind-hearted
play-book, then, opening what "seem its leaves," to come bolt upon a
withering population essay'--'to expect a Steele or a Farquhar, and
find--Adam Smith'--those, indeed, are doleful and dispiriting
experiences, to which the unsuspecting student ought not in enlightened
times to be subjected. If Mr. Gilbert's Mikado be right in the view that
the punishment ought to 'fit the crime,' so assuredly ought a book's
binding to fit the matter that is contained within it. It should be the
outward sign of the inward grace.

I am ready to admit that, as a rule, this is so. In general, it is quit