Until recently I never thought much about old books. Now I love them. The yellowing pages beginning to fray, delicate bindings, dedications to readers of a bygone era: these are all sources of simple delight.
Some weeks ago I found myself in need of an obscure Victorian text for my dissertation: The Confessions of a Lost Dog by Frances Power Cobbe. It's a charming novella written, as the title would suggest, from the perspective of Cobbe's real-life pet. My library doesn't own it but managed to procure a copy for me from another library.
I was ecstatic to pull a small volume from an envelope, a string substituting the spine that has long worn away. It's a beautiful little book! I suspect it may even be a first edition, since the date in the book matches the original year of publication. Instead of getting carried away with vague descriptions, I will let the photos I took speak for themselves.
Note how the year of publication (1867)
is depicted in Roman numerals
The Lost Dog -- a pomeranian
Interesting how much breeds have
been modified over the years
Held together with a string
I was so excited to stumble upon this small treasure: over a century old, new to me, borrowed from the library and featuring a blue cover.