In treating of bookbinding as a fine art, I have alluded to the comparative state of decadence inte which it has fallen at present; but, now that I come to consider binding as a mechanical art, it is necessary to state that never was that in a higher state of perfection than at present. Much of the old binding is a marvel of strength; but it is also clumsy. The wooden boards, with leather bands, or thongs, wedged into the holes made for them with wooden wedges, give the book they cover the appearance of pieces of furniture. Petrarch found out the dangerous massiveness of these books when he dropped his own transcription of Cicero's “Epistles” upon his leg, which he injured so much as to narrowly escape amputation. In some specimens of ornamental tooling, the lines are not always straight, and they often do not join as they ought. Moreover, many books, the covers of which are marvels of artistic treatment, exhibit a certain rigidity about the joints. None of these flaws are to be found in good work of the present day, which is usually perfect from a mechanical point of view. The aim of the binder for many years has been to unite strength and elegance; and there are morocco bindings which will probably outlast the books they cover. The binder, to be successful, must have an artistic eye, and nearly all his work must be done by hand.