Our work is now finished. The author has endeavoured to deal only with what comes within the sphere of practical bookbinding.

At the present time there is a sharp dividing line drawn between what we may call the practical and artistic bookbinding. To whatever height of perfection the latter may still reach, it only begins where the practical bookbinder has completed his work faultless in every detail. A bad binding does not become a work of art when it has had its exterior artistically decorated, it rather calls forth condemnation on its bad forwarding and wasted skill in finishing.

Yet in spite of the separation of the practical from the artistic in binding, it could hardly be possible—where the two are so closely connected—that the latter should not now and then be touched upon. Should the intention of issuing a book on artistic binding in form similar to this be carried out, it would also be necessary to refer occasionally to the practical side of binding.

To-day we look in vain in the ordinary bindery for the many little extra jobs which, formerly, were the largest portion of the work in artistic binding. All the little jewel cases, card cases, cigar cases, &c., which made the winter months of the binder—as late as the sixties and seventies—the busiest and most profitable months of the year, have vanished from our workshops, as also have the mounting, &c., of embroideries and women's work. As a result, the number of those able to execute these minor works of the art binder has grown smaller. This branch of work, which at one time seemed inseparable from our trade, has partly become a separate industry in itself and has partly been drawn into other special trades where the work can be done better and cheaper by other means.

Therefore the lettering of portable articles—spectacle cases, cigar cases, purses, pocket-books—is no longer done; such things—where they are not made to stock—are made by the leather worker, this also having passed away from the binder. This continual loss of work originally ours—not marked by decades now but by still shorter intervals—should make all bookbinders reflect. The question no longer is "How to prevent it?" but the more far-reaching one: "How to face the fact?" The only possible way is for every master bookbinder—having regard to prevailing conditions—to immediately put all his skill and energy into some special branch of the trade. With this good counsel we would like to send forth this little book.

At the present time there are few small towns indeed where one day 50 cloth cases have to be turned out, to-morrow half a dozen books to be bound in half-calf extra, next day 50 fancy boxes, and then, perhaps, a few fine velvet-covered cases.

Should there really be found such conditions still existing, no workman would be found—owing to our modern system of training—able and willing to work under such conditions.

Those possessing the essentials in an art craftsman—infinite pains, neatness and exactness—are sure to make rapid progress. What is still required—an eye for colour and good taste—are easily acquired, for much of the bookbinder's work is based on experience and example.

He who sees much, especially new things, will soon be able to reproduce the things seen, and will, moreover, soon learn to distinguish between good and bad. About taste, so-called, it is not worth while arguing, as taste is mostly dictated by fashion and is often fashionable folly. The thoughtful craftsman, however, should be quite clear as to the principles determining what is to be permitted and what rejected in his own work; for the rest he may follow the lead of fashion—he must, in fact, if his work lies much in that way.

Our conclusion may, therefore, be summed up in these words:—

Let the most painstaking neatness and thoroughness be the masters of each one.

No man can do everything; he who can do something well, does most.

The End.

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INDEX.

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