When leaves are started, or a signature becomes loose in any volume, it should be at once withdrawn from circulation, or the loss of an important part of the book may result. The remedy commonly resorted to, of patching up the book by pasting in the loose leaves, is a mere makeshift which will not last. The cause of a loose signature is generally to be found in a broken thread in the sewing, and the only permanent cure is to take the book out of its cover, and re-sew it, when it may usually be re-inserted in the same binding. This is for cloth-bound books. When bound in leather, it is best to take out the loose sheet, "overcast" it, that is, secure all the leaves by sewing, then carefully lay some paste along the outer edge or back of the sheet, insert the sheet in its place, pressing it firmly with a paper knife along the middle of the sheet, and the volume will be restored ready for use after a few days drying under weight.
On occasion of a fire next to the Mercantile Library rooms in Philadelphia, in 1877, great damage was done, from water thrown by the fire-engines, to many thousands of books. The library authorities tried various methods of restoring the volumes, and among others, drying them in ovens was resorted to. This was found, however, to dry the books so rapidly, that the bindings cracked, and in many cases came off, while many volumes were much warped. The most advantageous method that was adopted was to prepare a large number of frames on which many wires were strung horizontally across a large room. The wet books (many of which were soaked through) were suspended on these wires in such a way as to dry them by degrees, the temperature of the room being raised considerably by furnace heat.
The condition in which the books were found after the wetting varied greatly. Nearly all that were printed on soft paper were wet through, while those next to them printed on thick paper, and with solid leather bindings, were scarcely damaged at all. The water stains constituted the most serious injury to the volumes, and multitudes of fine books that were wet will always bear the marks of the stain. Some of the more costly books were restored by taking them apart, washing them thoroughly, then placing them in a heated press, and drying them, so that the water-stains were removed. All the books, however different the degree of damage from the water, retained their legibility, and were put to the same uses in the library as before the fire occurred. None were burned, the actual fire being confined to the neighboring buildings of the block in the midst of which the library was unfortunately located.
The whole number of volumes damaged was about 55,000, and the insurance, which was assessed by referees at the amount of $42,000, would nearly have replaced the books by new ones. Many of the volumes had to be rebound as the damage by wetting the glue and paste which are such important elements in binding securely, led to the falling apart of the covers.
There are multitudes of books restored by some one of the processes which have been ingeniously contrived to make an old book as good as new, or an imperfect volume perfect. The art of reproducing in facsimile, by mere manual dexterity with the pen, letters, words, and whole pages, has been carried to a high degree of perfection, notably in London. A celebrated book restorer named Harris, gained a great reputation among book lovers and librarians by his consummate skill in the reproduction of the text of black-letter rarities and early-printed books of every kind. To such perfection did he carry the art of imitating an original that in many cases one could not distinguish the original from the imitation, and even experts have announced a Harris facsimile in a Shakespeare folio to be the printed original. The art has even been extended to engravings, with such success that the famous Droeshout portrait of Shakespeare, which illustrates the title-page of the first folio of 1623, has been multiplied in pen-made facsimile, so as to deceive the most careful scrutiny.
This nice and difficult art is not widely pursued in this country, though there are some experts among New York and Philadelphia book-binders, who practice it. The British Museum Library has a corps of workers engaged in the restoration both of books and of manuscripts (as well as engravings) who are men of the highest training and skill.
The process is necessarily quite expensive, because of the time required and of the small number of competing artists in this field. It is chiefly confined to the restoration of imperfect copies of early printed and rare books, which are so frequently found in imperfect condition, often wanting title-pages or the final leaves, or parts of pages in any part of the volume.
So costly, indeed, is this skilful hand-restoration of imperfect books, that it has been a great boon to the collectors of libraries and rare works, to see the arts of photography so developed in recent years, as to reproduce with almost exact fidelity printed matter of any kind from the pages of books. The cost of such facsimiles of course varies with the locality, the work, the skill, or the competition involved. But it may be said in general that the average cost of book-page facsimiles by photographic process need not exceed one dollar a page.
An entire edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica has been printed from plates made in replica from photographs of the original text of the Edinburgh edition. The reproduction in this case can hardly be commended, as it is trying to the eyes to read, when compared with the original, presenting a somewhat blurred and irregular aspect to the eyes.
It is very difficult to lay down rules which shall be effective in checking the abuse of books which compels exercise of the means of restoration. Writing upon margins (already referred to) may sometimes be checked by putting a printed slip in every library book bearing the warning—"Never write in a library book." To this may be added—"Never turn down leaves," an equally important injunction. Indeed, a whole list of "Dont's" might be inserted, but for the chance that too many warnings might operate to warn off a reader from absorbing any of them. Thus—