Opening paragraphs..............................

     Step back two centuries and through the front door of George Riebau's bookbindery at 2 Blandford Street Near Manchester Square in London.  Smell the pungent aroma of leather, glue, and varnish.  Hear the murmurous drumbeat of the binder's mallet tamping gathered pages.  Books are everywhere - on shelves, on tables, even wedged into the cubbylike window frames, where they eclipse the light struggling to enter.  In this dim paper-and-leather universe of long ago, Riebau and his three apprentices stand at their benches, plying the bookbinder's craft.  Around them line the accoutrements of their trade:  needles, thread, Jaconette cloth, engraving tools, standing press, cutting boards.  The room buzzes with conversation, for Riebau is a genial man who likes to keep his workers and his customers happy.  Yet for all the chatter, the binding and selling of books appears to be the sole order of business here.  In short, George Riebau's modest establishment is the last place one would suspect as an incubator for a would-be scientist - especially in 1812.
-Alan Hirshfield,  The Electric Life of Michael Faraday