The first part of a book to get worn out is the binding, for some one or more of its previous owners are almost certain to have ill-treated it either by bending the covers until they crack, or by leaving the work exposed to the rain and damp. When the volume is coverless, and usually not before, it will have been re-bound, and the binder will, in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred, have trimmed the edges, that is to say, planed them smooth with a machine he has for the purpose. Sometimes he will have cut as much as half-an-inch from the top, and nearly as much from the other edges; on other occasions, he may have been more merciful; but the result is the same, the book is damaged beyond hope of redemption, and the only question is as to the extent of the injury. The term "uncut," so often seen in catalogues, is, therefore, a technical term, meaning that the edges are left in the same condition as they were when the book was originally issued. It does not mean that the leaves are "not cut open," as so many people appear to think, but simply that the binder, with a fine sense of what is due to a volume of importance, has for once kept his shears in his pocket. The value of a book which has been cut is reduced to an extent proportionate to the quantum of injury inflicted: from 50 to 75 per cent. is the usual reduction, but many works are altogether destroyed. If a scarce book is sent to be re-bound, the binder should have the clearest instructions, in writing, that he is not to trim the edges. Should he do so, notwithstanding the direction, a by no means impossible contingency, he will do it at his own risk, and can be made to suffer the consequences.
Imperfect volumes are always a source of great inconvenience to the collector. First-class bookselling firms will not allow an imperfect book to leave their hands without notice to the purchaser, and, as a consequence, they charge a higher price than would be the case if the latter exercised his own judgment. There are mutual advantages to be gained in dealing with first-class people, for, if a mistake is made on one side or the other, there is usually no difficulty in rectifying it afterwards. Fine old crusted book-worms of the John Hill Burton type prefer, however, to exercise their own discretion in these matters, looking upon that as no inconsiderable part of the pleasure to be derived from the pursuit of their favourite occupation. They do not care to pay for being taught, at least not directly, and make it part of their business to find out for themselves whether a copy offered for sale is perfect or the reverse. As each page is usually numbered, there is no difficulty in ascertaining whether any are missing; not so with the plates, for, unless there is an index to these, the loss of one or two may hardly be noticed until the book comes to be collated with another copy known to be complete. This is a risk which the book buyer has to run, though, as a matter of practice, he protects himself when the purchase is an expensive one, and the dealer a man of credit.