Book edges and their decoration—Embroidered books—Cloth bindings—Account books—End papers—Small metal-bound books—Books bound in tortoiseshell—Chained books—Horn books.

The projecting bosses and corners which occur in mediÆval bindings were to protect them against the friction of other books which lay upon them, a thin piece of wood dividing them. The books were piled upon each other, so that if one of the lower ones was wanted it was necessary to remove the upper ones. This caused much trouble, so that in due time it was found better to stand the books up on end on shelves.

The prone position is, however, the better one for the book, and the respective levels of the edges of the book and the edges of the boards are designed for this position. When the books were set up on end, the discrepancy between the levels of the book edges and the board edges was never rectified, and the result is that a large amount of damage has been done. When a large book is set up on end, the weight of it rests entirely upon the lower edges of the boards, and the lower edges of the book itself are up in the air above the shelf by so much as the projection of the edges of the boards beyond them. The result is that the whole of the weight of the vellum or paper of the book pulls upon the bands of the back in their weakest direction, from within and more particularly from the top, thereby pulling the back inwards. The mass of the book falls forward slantingly, until the lower edge of the front of it rests upon the shelf.

It is difficult to describe, but my sketch will show what I mean, and the truth of it can be easily seen in almost any library of old books that are kept “on end”; the edges will be found grubby from resting on the shelf, and the top of the back will be found pulled forward.

Valuable books that are kept upright should have the edges of the boards level with the edges of the leaves, and then this disastrous pull would not occur.

A remedy, however, may be found by means of a piece of wood cut the same size as the lower edge of the book so as to fit closely into the hollow between the outer edges of the boards and the lower edges of the leaves. Such a slip will neutralise the drop of the leaves, and preserve the proper form of the backs of heavy books.

But before the upright position was finally adopted for books, and their titles were put on their backs, the front edge or “forage” of the leaves was always kept outwards, in view, and on this space or long panel all sorts of devices and letterings were put.

Leaves of a book, pressed tightly together, provided too tempting a space to be ignored, to say nothing of the usefulness of giving the name or title of the book, or the device of its owner, or even a decorative design. So on fine mediÆval books and also on later books, following the earlier manner in their own way, we find all sorts of designs on book edges. It is not a subject which has attracted much attention as yet, but it probably will in time, and there is already enough known about it to show that much valuable knowledge is lying hidden up in it. For instance, if a book, otherwise likely, has the words “Rex in Æternum Vive” painted in gold on the edges, it is a positive sign that it issued from the workshop of Thomas Berthelet, printer and binder to Henry VIII.

Edge decoration of some sort seems to have been done from the tenth century onwards; at first elementary or symbolical designs were simply painted upon the edges, and not counting the mere book titles or press marks, it may be said that since the fourteenth century heraldry has played a very important part in edge decoration. In England this form of adornment for a bound book has been largely followed from that time, and there are fine examples of it in books bound for Henry VII. and the other of our Tudor sovereigns, as well as for private persons of the same period. The edges are treated as panels and the painting done upon them when pressed firmly and solidly together. The edges are generally coloured some neutral colour as a groundwork and sometimes lettering in gold is done upon them.

Henry VIII. often had the legend “Rex in Æternum Vive Nez” written in gold on the cream coloured edges of his books, and all that are so lettered are attributed to Thomas Berthelet as binder. The “Nez” is rather a puzzle, and it was suggested by Mr. J. L. Scott, of the British Museum, that it stands for the three initial letters of the phrase in the Book of Daniel, ?a????d???s?? ?sae? ????—a quite possible solution.

Queen Anne Boleyn’s copy of the New Testament has her name, “Anna Regina AngliÆ,” written in red upon its gilt edges.

For Queen Elizabeth, book edges were usually gilded, and on this gilding designs were impressed with ordinary binding tools. This is the commonest form of edge decoration, and is called “gauffring.” Gauffred edges are found in abundance in French, German and Italian work. There are fine examples of it on books bound for Henri II. of France and all his children, and on those made for Diane de Poictiers, Duchesse de Valentinois. In all these cases colour is often added to the designs on the gold. Le Gascon put some elaborately painted edges on some of his hooks; on Italian books and English books colour is sparingly used; on the other hand, in Germany and the Low Countries colour was often overdone and the result is garish.

Until the time of Samuel Mearne, towards the end of the seventeenth century, all edge paintings were done on the edges of the leaves simply pressed solidly together, but Mearne invented a new fashion of arranging the leaves. In the case of the older manner we usually find the upper and lower edges painted as well as the fore-edge, or “forage,” but it is only the forage that can be painted in Mearne’s style, and so in all instances of this kind the upper and lower edges are left plain.

Mearne had his book forwarded, finished, and the edges gilded before beginning his painting. Then he opened the book by the upper board only, and laid it down flat on its back and kept it in that position by weights. In this position it will be found that the forage fans out into a larger panel than exists when the book is shut up. On this fanned-out panel the painting was done in water-colours with as dry a brush as possible. When the painting was finished and the book allowed to resume its normal shut position, the edge painting entirely disappeared, and the gilding on the forage looked as if nothing was behind it. So thoroughly does such a painting disappear that I have found several that were quite unknown to their owners, and I have no doubt that there are plenty of unrecognised examples in English private libraries in perfect condition and safe obscurity.

The only name I have found on any of Mearne’s forage paintings is that of “Fletcher.”

After Mearne, for about one hundred years, I know of no particular development of forage decoration, but towards the end of the eighteenth century, the same principle was revived by James Edwards of Halifax. Edwards had an artist brother, and it is likely enough that he painted the edges on his brother’s curious vellum-bound books. The designs are not so markedly heraldic as the earlier examples were, but are often biblical.

Edwards’ delicate paintings, always on small books, were copied for some considerable period, and many little books were made with such work upon them for many years. Windsor and Eton are both favourite subjects, and country houses of all sorts. Landscapes are particularly suitable for this form of painting, and many specimens are very pleasing.

All the foregoing paintings are done so as to be complete on each book, but some time ago a remarkable set of Italian books, I believe of the sixteenth century, were brought to England. The forages of these volumes were painted in such a manner that the complete design only showed when they were all arranged in proper order on a shelf with their forages outwards. In the case of sets of books bound uniformly, this manner of ornamenting them is worthy of the attention of some of our enterprising modern binders.

Although the greater number of books, both in manuscript and printed, have been bound in leather or vellum, there are still very many that have been covered in other materials.

The commonest of these materials are velvet, canvas, satin, silk, cloth, linen, and buckram. I believe that all of these, except perhaps the last three in recent times, have been more used in England than they have been in any other country.

Velvet is the most interesting, as its use is the most ancient, of any of these textile materials. It is strong and beautiful, the fur or pile being produced in a very curious manner. Two warps are used in the manufacture of the fabric, and small hollow brass wires, slightly flattened at the sides, and having a groove along the top, are inserted transversely under the raised “pile” warp at intervals as the weaving proceeds. These wires keep the thread in the form of upright loops, resembling those which can be seen on a Brussels carpet on a larger scale. The wires are then cut out by drawing a sharp specially-designed knife called a truvat along the groove at the top. The consequent separation of the warp threads which formed the rows of loops now forms the pile, each thread standing upright. It is wonderful how well velvet lasts, and what hard wear it will stand before all the pile is worn away.

Books bound in velvet are not uncommon in Dutch work; they are sometimes inlaid in differently coloured velvets, and sometimes embroidered. In France books have rarely been bound in velvet, in Italy and in Germany still more rarely.

In England, however, there has been a considerable output of velvet bindings. Examples still exist that were made in the fifteenth century for Henry VII., whose library was in all probability entirely bound in this material. Nothing earlier than Henry VII.’s books are now known of English bindings in velvet, but these are so fine that it is likely enough that earlier work of the kind was done in the case of very choice manuscripts.

Not only are Henry VII.’s books, which are still in their original covers, in marvellously good condition, but they are also among the most decorative bindings that have ever been made, here or in any other country. Fine examples may be seen in the library at Westminster Abbey, at the Record Office, and in the British Museum, and in every case their beauty and interest well repay the trouble of obtaining access to them.

These volumes all are in the same style, but they vary in detail. All I have seen are in red velvet, and have metal bosses in the centre and smaller ones in the corner.

One of the handsomest, which may be taken as a type, is a copy of the indentures made between Abbot Islip and Henry VII. for the foundation of the chantry at Westminster. It is a large manuscript on vellum, and is covered in rich red velvet projecting liberally over the edges, and bound with gold fringe. In the centre is a circular silver cup-like boss, containing the royal coat of arms, France and England quarterly, with supporters of red dragon of Cadwallader and white greyhound of De Beaufort, cut out of silver and enamelled in proper colours. At each corner is a circular silver boss containing the De Beaufort device of a portcullis gilt and cut in low relief, and set on an enamelled background of the Tudor livery colours, green and white, per pale. There are clasps of cloth of gold braid, fastening with a chased silver-gilt button bearing an enamelled rose, and dependent from the lower edge of the board are five silver boxes bearing Tudor emblems in relief, each containing an impression of the great seal.

It is also recorded by Paul Hentzner that in 1598 he saw Queen Elizabeth’s library, and that many of them were bound in velvet and embroidered, a note that is fully corroborated by such of her books as now remain.

But there were also books embroidered upon canvas in the fifteenth century, one of which is now in the British Museum. It is a psalter of the fourteenth century, and is covered in fine canvas on which are delicate embroideries in the manner known as “Opus Anglicanum,” which looks like a chain stitch, but is really a cleverly managed split stitch.

This remarkable book, the earliest known example of an embroidered binding, has upon one side a beautiful representation of the Annunciation, and on the other a Crucifixion. It is supposed to have been worked by Anne de Felbrigge, a nun in the convent of Minoresses, at Brusyard, in Suffolk, and daughter of Sir Simon de Felbrigge, K.G., standard bearer to Richard II. It is considerably worn and faded, but the designs can all be made out.

The velvet books which were made in the next reign were ornamented with embroidered designs appliquÉs, and many of them are very handsome. The designs on such books were nearly always heraldic, judging from those that remain, but arabesques and floral ornamentation are often met with on satin. Queen Katharine Parr is said to have embroidered some of these books, and there is one in canvas in the British Museum, and one in canvas and one in velvet at the Bodleian, which are supposed to have been worked by the Princess Elizabeth, always with braid.

When Elizabeth came to the throne she continued her evident liking for velvet bound books, and she had them of several colours—red, green, or black. Several of these are richly embroidered, sometimes with armorial designs, sometimes floral, and sometimes arabesque. Others are decorated with brilliant enamels or gold, centrepieces, cornerpieces, and clasps, and others again have appliquÉ pieces of coloured satin, on which is gold tooling, some of which is actually put on the velvet itself.

Canvas is rarely found during Elizabeth’s reign, but it does exist, and is usually embroidered in a coarse manner with tent-stitch.

In the seventeenth century the taste for velvet bindings still remained, but not so exclusively, as there were many more bound in silk or satin, usually white. The majority of these books are small, Prayers, Bibles, Psalms, and the designs upon them are of great variety, but generally have a symbolic tendency—figures of Faith, Hope, Charity, Peace, Plenty, and numbers of biblical subjects, David and Bathsheba, Solomon and Queen of Sheba, Jacob’s Dream, Jacob wrestling with the Angel, Abraham and Isaac, and many more; and besides these there are numbers of quaint little bindings with floral designs.

The period of Nicholas Ferrar’s curious establishment at Little Gidding in Huntingdonshire was coincident with the reign of Charles I. Here were contrived most interesting Harmonies of the Scriptures, done under Ferrar’s superintendence by his nieces Mary Collet and her sisters. These ladies, moreover, bound the Harmonies themselves, and were not only the first English lady binders but also the first amateur binders, and they bound exceedingly well. Mrs. Wordsworth was another pioneer among lady binders. She covered her books in pieces of her own old dresses.

Not only did the ladies of Little Gidding bind their Harmonies, sometimes very large, in sheep skin, morocco and calf, but also in velvet, curiously ornamented. I have already mentioned that in the sixteenth century the art of gilding upon velvet was known, but it was reserved for the ladies of Little Gidding to bring it to perfection.

There will always be some little doubt as to whether these magnificent gold and silver tooled velvet books were done entirely by the binders at Little Gidding, or with the assistance of their masters, Bucks of Cambridge. There is a marked similarity of general style as well as of detail, but the larger Little Gidding books appear particularly to bear the impress of more irresponsible genius than that of the orthodox university printers.

Gilding upon velvet is still practised a little in England; the service books used at the wedding of the present Prince of Wales were in red velvet with the royal monogram impressed in gold upon it.

With the eighteenth century an end came to any great output of bindings in velvet, canvas or satin; now and then an isolated specimen is found, and the era of cloth bindings began in the nineteenth century.

The main difference is that the earlier books in velvet, canvas or satin were always specially broad, but the cloth bindings were trade bindings from the beginning, with very few exceptions.

At first backs of paper bound books were strengthened by pieces of ordinary linen or calico pasted over them, the title being added on a label; but a special cloth for binding purposes was made early in the century by James Leonard Wilson, and in 1822 Pickering’s Aldine Classics bound in that material were issued. This use of a special cloth was largely helped and fostered by Mr. Archibald Leighton, who made a speciality of it. The cloth was sometimes watered and sometimes plain. Cloth soon became a favourite binding for cheap books, and in time Wilson found a way of gilding upon it, probably by the use of dried and powdered albumen.

Some of the early cloth bindings were ornamented by impressions from engraved cylinders, the pattern showing in low relief. The great pressure which was used to make this impression had so hardened the cloth as well as the boards upon which it is fixed, that many of the existing examples of the work are still in perfect condition.

Then gradually came ornamentation stamped in gold on the sides and gold lettering on the back, and of recent years designs and pictures stamped in colours upon cloth, canvas and buckram have become common. Many of these designs are excellent, and the work required for them gives employment to a large number of designers as well as colour printers and block makers. Books bound in these materials look well and last well for a time, but they are essentially short-lived if handled much.

About the middle of the nineteenth century numbers of small illustrated periodicals, landscape annuals, and the like were covered in watered silk, generally red, blue or green. These also do not last well; but if any copies that are still in a good state are found, they should be carefully preserved as they are, and not be rebound; they represent a type of binding that is by no means without charm. Perhaps the most important books which were originally issued in this form of cover were the two beautiful volumes of Rogers’ Poems and Italy. They have gilt edges and are bound with flat open backs and sawn in bands.

Buckram is generally used for large books, as it is stiff and troublesome to fold over in a small way. If a large book is properly sewn and has proper boards it may well be covered in buckram, provided it is not to be much used. The joints soon look unsightly, as the hinge movement causes the dressing, of which there is a large proportion, to powder out. Buckram is rarely ornamented; indeed, it may almost be said that a book bound in it is only intended to keep together until such time as it can be properly bound in some better material.

Art canvas is sometimes used for bindings, and it is fairly satisfactory, but has the same delicacy at the joints as buckram, and soon looks shabby.

There is now such a quantity of cheap literature that is not likely to last, or to be wanted to last, that there is a large and increasing demand for cheap binding materials other than leather. So there is an important future for specially prepared binding cloths and buckrams. The only libraries that are likely to suffer by the more general introduction of such materials are the few large ones that are obliged to keep all their books, old or new, in working order inside and outside.

Account book bindings are peculiar and very strong. They have been used for a long time in banks and business houses, and are purely utilitarian and comparatively quite modern.

Strong sound paper is an essential for account books. The sewing is done in the flexible style, but on broad flat bands of vellum or leather instead of raised bands of hemp. The ends of the bands are fixed between two boards, pairs of which form the boards of the book. The space between the edge of the back of the book where the bands leave it and their inset to the boards is not drawn close, but a narrow margin is left so that a perfectly flexible and strong leather joint is left. In small books this peculiarity is known as a French joint, and it obviates the common failing of sides falling away from otherwise sound bindings along the joint-line at the back.

The back of account book bindings looks very strong, but it is really nothing of the sort. It is only a show back, to take the lettering and cover up the real joints, which are securely laid along the edges of the boards.

When an account book is opened it “sets up” so that it can be easily read right down to the sewing at the back. This is of great value in many cases other than the keeping of accounts, and it is the only advantage of the common, but weak, bindings with “hollow” backs. But there is no doubt that a modified form of account book binding, with a French joint, is a style which might with advantage be studied by our modern art binders.

The study of end papers is to some extent necessary for the true judgment of the work of certain binders. For instance, Thomas Berthelet normally used white end papers, Samuel Mearne used red marbled end papers, and Roger Payne used purple or pink end papers. The Italian binder who worked for Grolier used vellum for end paper, and so on. The knowledge of such details is useful in detecting frauds, as they are apt to be under-estimated in importance by a forger.

Of all end papers the most common is marbled paper, and one of the most curious usages of it is when a beautiful and delicate French binding has a charmingly gold tooled doublure of splendid leather faced by a wretched leaf of marbled paper.

The usual marbled paper is made by means of a bed of size on which colour is sprinkled by a brush, the colour lies on the top of the size and is moved about by means of a wide-toothed comb or a pin or anything that is handy, until the resulting pattern is to the satisfaction of the operator. Then the paper is laid down in the size, and when raised up it brings all the colour with it. It is generally easy to see how the pattern has been made by looking at the paper, and it will be found that the most usual forms have been made by the use of a broad-toothed comb. I should think that the process might well have produced something better than it ever has; undoubtedly if J. M. Whistler had ever known of it we should have had some remarkable results.

Marbling is probably of Oriental origin, and was most likely first practised in Germany, so far as Europe is concerned. It was certainly understood in Nuremberg in 1599, as specimens made there are to be seen in the Album Amicorum, of J. Cellarius, of that date. It is, of course, obviously capable of endless modifications, and of late years some very delicately and prettily coloured end papers have been made.

More or less in continuation of the mediÆval fashion of covering book-bindings with richly-worked metal overlays, we find, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries particularly, numbers of small books bound in metal or with metal enrichments in the form of centrepieces and cornerpieces. Clasps occur all along, and although I hardly think that they have followed out any very marked line of development, I expect that some day a careful study will be made of them, when some such development may possibly be discovered. No student, as far as I am aware, has made any attempt to classify book clasps.

But the English, German, French, Italian, and Dutch bindings with metal enrichments are pretty well known and generally admired. The English are the finest by far, and, as far as I can ascertain, the earliest. In the reign of Henry VIII. it was the fashion for ladies to carry small books of devotion at their girdle. These little books were always ornamental, and they had a ring fixed on the lower edge of the binding so that when the book was lifted up it came right for reading. One of these belonged to one of the queens of Henry VIII.; it is a copy of the Psalms, and is bound in gold with a delicate leafy spray in high relief. On it are remains of enamel, and in the beginning is a tiny miniature of the king.

Another beautiful little golden book with a design, probably by Holbein, in black enamel, is now the property of Lord Romney.

Several small golden bindings with scriptural subjects in high relief and enamelled were made late in the sixteenth century. Most of these are now divorced from their original texts, and are only kept as specimens of enamel work, but in one instance the whole book is perfect. This is a little book of prayers that belonged to Queen Elizabeth. On one side of it is the Serpent in the Wilderness and on the other the Judgment of Solomon.

For the same queen a little copy of Christian Meditations was bound in red velvet with golden centrepieces, corners, and clasps. The enamels in this case are champlevÉ, and still perfect in colour. They are said to have been the work of George Heriot, Elizabeth’s goldsmith, who founded a hospital in Edinburgh.

James VI. of Scotland wrote the as?????? ????? for his son Henry, and the precious MS. was bound in purple velvet with golden centrepiece and clasps. The gold is cut out thin and then finished by engraving. When king of England James had some of his books bound in velvet with silver enrichments. On one of these, a little book of Christian Meditations, which is bound in purple velvet, the royal coat-of-arms is engraved on the centre oval, and on the corners are the national crests of England and Scotland, the crowned harp of Ireland, and the fleur-de-lis of France.

A beautiful little New Testament of 1643 with silver portraits of Charles I. and Queen Henrietta Maria, and cornerpieces and clasps engraved with allegorical figures, shows that metal on velvet was still a popular style, but on later bindings in England metal centrepieces fell quite out of use. Metal corners, however, were still used for some time, and clasps occasionally.

Bindings entirely of silver are rare in English workmanship, but they were not unknown, as a fine specimen with a repoussÉ figure of Charity covers a Common Prayer of 1632.

Of German and Dutch workmanship many metal bindings exist, and they are of varied styles. All these bindings have solid metal backs with hinges along the sides, and usually a sort of cap projecting over the headband. Many of the later examples are not good, but are made of bad metal and coarsely worked in repoussÉ. The worst of them are probably Dutch work.

Some of the earlier German silver bindings are prettily ornamented with niello work, and others have filigree work over gilt metal, and the use of tortoiseshell with silver or gilt mounts is also found of Spanish, German, or Dutch workmanship. I should say that the best guide to determine to which of these countries the work belongs is to take the place of imprint as authoritative. The imprint on a printed book does not by any means always imply that a binding was made there, but in many doubtful cases it is undoubtedly of much value as to mere nationality; the style of the binding itself should always be the first consideration. Some Dutch bindings are made in base metal, gilt, often with open work and engraving. They are neither good to look upon nor pleasant to handle.

Italian bindings in metal are rare, and it is only in the case of very small books that it was ever used. The manner of this is usually fine filigree work over a gilt groundwork. There is one example in the Victoria and Albert Museum, which is, however, more likely to be quite an exceptional production than one in any way representing a national type. It is an exquisitely enamelled golden book cover, having on one side the Garden of Eden and on the other the Fountain of Youth; it contains a missal, and is said to have been made for Queen Henrietta Maria.

In France a few silver bindings of the sixteenth century with enamels have been made, but they are very rare, and the enamels of the basse taille style, usually badly chipped.

I believe some small metal bindings with rough enamels upon them have been made in comparatively modern times in Russia. These all have a strong Byzantine feeling and are clear survivals of the same style that was in vogue in Russia in mediÆval times, and was used not only for bindings but also for ikons and triptychs. The work is coarse and unsatisfactory.

Tortoiseshell mounted in metal has been largely used for bindings in Holland, Germany, and Spain. The backs are hinged to the sides with long snuff-box hinges, and the shell itself is sometimes beautifully inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl. Some of these covers are very small, particularly the Dutch ones, and designs are sometimes impressed upon them.

Mother-of-pearl has now and then been utilised for binding very small books. The backs and hinges are usually of silver.

The curious custom of fastening books to their shelves by means of chains was common enough in Europe in mediÆval times and became almost universal in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in churches. It was of course done as a safeguard against thieves, and as far as I know only in the case of printed books. Although printed books soon became plentiful, yet no doubt in the case of Bibles and Prayer Books it is likely enough that a considerable leakage took place. Such small books were commonly chained to the backs of the pews in private chapels throughout England, and undoubtedly the custom, though inconvenient in use, was effective enough for its purpose.

Larger books would naturally belong to important libraries, those of cathedrals and churches particularly, and of these there are still left plenty of examples still in chains.

The chains are of iron, average 3 feet long, and are clamped to the front edge of the upper board by means of a rivet; the other end of the chain is provided with a ring which runs freely to and fro along a locked metal rod. Enough play is given by the chain to allow of the book being taken off its shelf and rested on the desk close at hand which is always provided for it.

There is a certain fashion in the way of attaching these chains. In foreign books the fastening is usually found at the top of the upper board, while in the case of English books it is usually fixed on the front edge of the upper board. The books were normally kept with their forages outwards, and on these edges the titles were written or emblazoned.

The Laurentian Library at Florence has a large number of chained books kept in beautifully carved shelves.

The Church of St. Wallberg in Zutphen has several chained books. There is a legend that the devil carried off so many of the holy books that something had to be done, so the chains were blessed in due form with holy water, since when the books have been safely preserved.

Plenty of examples of chained libraries are still left in England, particularly at Hereford Cathedral, the old treasure house at Wimborne Minster and All Saints’ Church at Hereford; a complete list of them is given in Blades’ “Books in Chains,” published in London in 1892.

The inconvenience of chains must have been considerable, and no doubt careless readers often got into trouble about them. On a notice concerning the library at King’s College, Cambridge, in 1683, readers are requested to replace the volumes “decently without entangling the chains.”

About the middle of the eighteenth century the inconvenience of chains on books was fully realised, and from that time there has been a general tendency to their removal, except in cases where their retention is advisable for antiquarian reasons.

True horn books were used in England and America, but similar constructions also existed in other countries—chiefly France, Germany, Italy, and Holland—but without horn covering.

They were for children’s use, and the alphabet and the Lord’s Prayer are the commonest letterings upon them, always beginning with a cross, giving the first line the name of the “Christ cross” or “criss cross” row. The paper for true horn books is printed only on one side, and then laid down upon a flat piece of wood. Some unused eighteenth century horn book sheets are preserved in the Bagford fragments at the British Museum. Over the printed slip a piece of horn is put, kept in place by strips of brass fastened with nails having facetted tops, but it must be noted that after about 1820 the facetted tops were often replaced by flat heads.

Like all books or objects which were originally cheap and common, horn books are now very rare, but they are so valuable that it is unluckily worth while to imitate them, and many fraudulent modern specimens are about. A horn book is, unfortunately, easy to copy, and it is sometimes a very difficult thing to say positively whether a given specimen is genuinely old or not. Modern frauds are often wrong in either the printing, the paper, the horn, or the nails, but they are often right as to the wood, which is easily made to have every proper appearance of age by means of soaking in water, rubbing with sand, staining by ammonia, and so on. Collectors should, if possible, get a properly authenticated history with every specimen offered to them.

Small plaques for teaching the alphabet seem to have existed before the invention of printing, but in printed form they were most used towards the end of the sixteenth century until the nineteenth, when their character altered, the wooden frame and its horn covering disappeared, and a degenerate production in varnished cardboard, preserving the old form in some respects, took their place. These cards are often called battledores, but this name was an old one, and originally used for true horn books. The name battledore is probably derived from the batlet, which was used for beating clothes, the horn books somewhat resembling this in shape.

Although the general run of horn books are simple, there are many instances in which they have been decorated; a certain analogy thus exists between the diptychs and the horn books. Lord Egerton of Tatton has a beautiful sixteenth century example, the back of which is ornamented with silver filigree work, and horn books backed with Dutch silver, engraved, are sometimes found. These generally have a bird or a tulip engraved upon them.

Other ornamental examples are to be found in the Birmingham Museum and in private ownership. They are very decorative, and some of them have talc instead of horn in front.

In 1851 some curious stone moulds were found at Hartley Castle by Sir George Musgrave, and one of them was undoubtedly used for casting lead “horn” books, and similar moulds have been found in Germany; the English ones may have been made about the earlier half of the sixteenth century.

But more curious devices were found on the other side of the same piece of stone: these are undoubtedly the emblems of saints’ days as shown on clog almanacks of the same period, so that the horn books may possibly have originated from the makers of cast leaden almanacks.

Horn books were also cut in ivory or bone, often with designs engraved on the back or on the handle. The lettering and devices were originally run in with heelball or some such material. They were also made of boxwood with letters burnt in, or engraved pewter, or gingerbread, and sometimes covered in paper with panel stamp impressions in blind or black ink.

Several of the later seventeenth and early eighteenth century horn books were covered with leather and stamped in blind, gold, silver, or, in Dutch examples, Dutch metal, which nearly always turns black, from panel stamps; sometimes the designs were arabesques or flowers, and at other times we find figures of saints or kings—St. George and the Dragon, mermaids, and the like—and several of Charles II. on horseback, the Duke of Cumberland, and other great people.

These same stamps are also often impressed on paper backs as well as on leather.

The late cardboard horn books either leave out the cross at the beginning or replace it by a meaningless X; they also often show additional alphabets with little wood-cut illustrations. At last the horn book form is quite lost, and at last we find folded pieces of cardboard with stamped or marbled backs, retaining only the alphabet to show that they are survivals.

WORKS TO CONSULT.

Blades, W.—Books in Chains. London, 1892.

Davenport, C.—English Embroidered Bookbindings. London, 1899.

Davenport, C.—Book Edges. (Bibliographica.)

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