- About Bookbinding -

THE LIBRARY.

That place that does contain my books,

My books, the best companions, is to me,

A glorious court, where hourly I converse

With the old sages and philosophers;

And sometimes, for variety I confer

With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels.

BEAUMONT AND FLET CHER .

The bard of every age and clime,

Of genius fruitful and of soul sublime,

Who from the glowing mint of fancy pours

No spurious metal, fused from common ores,

But gold to matchless purity refined,

And stamped with all the Godhead in his mind.

JUVENAL.

Books, we know,

Are a substantial world, both pure and good;

Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,

Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

WORDSWORTH.

QUAINT LINES ON A BOOK-WORM.

The Bokeworme sitteth in his celle ,

He studyethe all alone,

And burnethe oute the oile,

'Till ye midnight hour is gone

Then gethe he downe upon his bedde,

Ne mo watch will he a-keepe,

He layethe his heade on ye pillowe,

And eke he tryes to sleepe.

Then swyfte there cometh a vision grimme,

And greetythe him sleepynge fair,

And straighte he dreameth of grislie dreames,

And dreades fellowne and rayre.

Wherefore, if cravest life to eld

Ne rede longe uppe at night,

But go to bed at Curfew bell

And ryse wythe mornynge's lyte.

BALLADE OF THE BOOK-HUNTER.

In torrid heats of late July,

In March, beneath the bitter bise,

He book-hunts while the loungers fly,­

He book-hunts, though December freeze;

In breeches baggy at the knees,

And heedless of the public jeers,

For these, for these, he hoards his fees,

Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs.

No dismal stall escapes his eye,

He turns o'er tomes of low degrees,

There soiled romanticists may lie,

Or Restoration comedies;

Each tract that flutters in the breeze

For him is charged with hopes and fears,

In mouldy novels fancy sees

Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs.

With restless eyes that peer and spy,

Sad eyes that heed not skies nor trees,

In dismal nooks he loves to pry,

Whose motto evermore is Spes!

But ah! the fabled treasure flees;

Grown rarer with the fleeting years,

In rich men's shelves they take their ease,

­Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs!

Prince, all the things that tease and please,­

Fame, hope, wealth, kisses, jeers and tears,

What are they but such toys as these­

Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs?

ANDREW LANG.

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