inside of a man's library, and whether
it wants dusting or not? My boys' playroom, in which is a carpenter's
bench, a lathe, and no end of litter, is never tidied--perhaps 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 fearf