it can’t be, or perhaps their youthful vigour won’t stand it—­but my workroom must needs be dusted daily, with the delusive promise that each book and paper shall be replaced exactly where it was.  The damage done by such continued treatment is incalculable.  At certain times these observances are kept more religiously than others; but especially should the book-lover, married or single, beware of the Ides of March.  So soon as February is dead and gone, a feeling of unrest seizes the housewife’s mind.  This increases day by day, and becomes dominant towards the middle of the month, about which period sundry hints are thrown out as to whether you are likely to be absent for a day or two.  Beware! the fever called “Spring Clean” is on, and unless you stand firm, you will rue it.  Go away, if the Fates so will, but take the key of your own domain with you.

Do not misunderstand.  Not for a moment would I advocate dust and dirt; they are enemies, and should be routed; but let the necessary routing be done under your own eye.  Explain where caution must be used, and in what cases tenderness is a virtue; and if one Eve in the family can be indoctrinated with book-reverence you are a happy man; her price is above that of rubies; she will prolong your life.  Books MUST now and then be taken clean out of their shelves, but they should be tended lovingly and with judgment.  If the dusting can be done just outside the room so much the better.  The books removed, the shelf should be lifted quite out of its bearings, cleansed and wiped, and then each volume should be taken separately, and gently rubbed on back and sides with a soft cloth.  In returning the volumes to their places, notice should be taken of the binding, and especially when the books are in whole calf or morocco care should be taken not to let them rub together.  The best bound books are soonest injured, and quickly deteriorate in bad company.  Certain volumes, indeed, have evil tempers, and will scratch the faces of all their neighbours who are too familiar with them.  Such are books with metal clasps and rivets on their edges; and such, again, are those abominable old rascals, chiefly born in the fifteenth century, who are proud of being dressed in REAL boards with brass corners, and pass their lives with fearful knobs and metal bosses, mostly five in number, firmly fixed on one of their sides.  If the tendencies of such ruffians are not curbed, they will do as much mischief to their gentle neighbours as when a “collie” worries the sheep.  These evil results may always be minimized by placing a piece of millboard between the culprit and his victim.  I have seen lovely bindings sadly marked by such uncanny neighbours.