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GARNERED FROM WRITERS OF EVERY AGE
FOR THE HELP AND BETTERMENT
OF ALL READERS.
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BY
Alexander Lreland,
AUTHOR OF
“MEMOIR AND RECOLLECTIONS OF
RALPH WALDO EMERSON ;”"
‘BIBLIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL ACCOUNT
OF THE WRITINGS OF
WILLIAM HAZLITT AND LEIGH HUNT,
AND PAPER ON CHARLES LAMB;”’
ETC., ETC.
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HOnol
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE THIRD AND
ENLARGED EDITION.
The sale, within ten months, of two editions of
“The Book-Lover’s Enchiridion” has encouraged the
compiler to prepare a third and much enlarged edition,
enriched by the addition of nearly two hundred pages
of quotations from writers of the past as well as the
present, bearing on Books, which the exigencies of space
and size compelled him to exclude in the previous
editions. In compliance with the wishes of many readers,
he has printed the volume in a larger size of type, a
change which will, no doubt, make it more generally
acceptable.
PTREBA CE,
ONE of the mottoes to this volume gives the key-note
to its contents. ‘‘ Infinite riches in a little room ”—
a line from Christopher Marlowe, the dramatist—
describes aptly what the reader will find in it. My
object has been to present, in chronological order, the
summed-up testimonies of the most notable Book- ~
Lovers on the subject of Books, and the Habit and
Love of Reading. The writers from whom I have
made selections range from Solomon and Cicero to
Carlyle, Emerson, and Ruskin. On this bead-roll of
illustrious names—
Which down the steady breeze of honour sail,
will be found those of Horace, Seneca, Plutarch,
Richard de Bury, Petrarch, Chaucer, Erasmus,
Machiavelli, Luther, Ascham, Montaigne, Bacon,
Shakespeare, Daniel, Bishop Hall, Fuller, Milton,
Baxter, Cowley, Locke, Addison, Johnson, Gibbon,
Goethe, Wordsworth, Lamb, Southey, Hazlitt, Landor,
De Quincey, Leigh Hunt, Bulwer, Macaulay, Herschel,
Carlyle, Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, John
Bright, James Russell Lowell, Ruskin, and many
others too numerous to mention,
The reader will find in the following pages the deli-
berate utterances of the wisest and most searching spirits
435762
vi PREFACE.
of our race upon the subject of Books—their steadfast
and unpresuming friendship and silent counsels—the
consolation they afford in every variety of circumstance
and fortune, and the ceaseless delights they bring us at
a trifling cost, and without any trouble or previous
arrangement. The writers of the present century have
contributed, as a matter of course, most largely to the
general store of thought on the subject to which this
volume is specially devoted. Some living authors, and
the representatives of others who have passed away,
have kindly allowed me to make use of precious matter
which, without their permission, I could not have
presented to my readers. It will be seen that I have
confined myself to no peculiar class of writers, but
welcomed every variety of thought, from whatever
quarter it may have come. Wherever I could find
a passage suitable to my purpose, I have not hesitated
to adopt it, no matter who was the author. No section
of the world’s literature (English and American
literature more especially) which was likely to contri-
bute to my subject has been left unexplored. Apostles
and philosophers, archbishops, bishops, and learned
doctors of both the churches, dissenting divines,
heretical writers of every shade of unorthodoxy, legis-
lators, historians, biographers, and men of science,
novelists, dramatists, writers on art, critics, essayists
grave and gay, and the sons and daughters of song,
have been laid under tribute to furnish material for this
garner of thought bearing upon Books.
PREFACE. vii
To some readers it may appear that my selections
from certain writers occupy too large a space when
compared with that assigned to others. I may
be permitted to say a word in explanation. It has
been with regret that I have been unable to find any
passages on the subject-matter of this volume in the
works of some authors from whom I would have
been only too glad to quote. I may mention,
among others, Fielding, Goldsmith, Scott, Dickens,
Thackeray, Browning, and Tennyson. When the
reader finds only a sentence or two—perhaps not
even a line—from writers whom we know to have
been ardent Book-Lovers, he may conclude that
they have left no recorded thoughts exactly suitable to
the object of the present volume. Beautiful passages
in the domains of reflection, emotion, description, and
imagination I could have found in abundance in she
works of many authors who have yielded me nothing
which I could add to my store; for it must be borne
in mind that I have had to confine myself strictly and
rigidly to what was applicable to my special theme,
and resolutely to reject matter of surpassing excellence
not pertinent to it, either directly or incidentally,
I may also say that I have, in the case of almost
every author, gone to the original sources for my
matter, selecting direct from the works of the writers
quoted; so that the correctness of the text may be
relied upon. In a few cases only have I adopted
passages from existing collections of extracts.
Vili PREFACE,
It is hoped that this volume will meet some of the
special needs and moods of those who are thoughtful,
reverent, and earnest—and who seek to gain from
books something more enduring than passing amuse-
ment. My object has been to bring together, from the
reading of a life-time, a body of thought, old and new,
which cannot fail to be welcome to those who find
their purest and highest enjoyment in studious contem-
plation ; who love to retire from ‘‘ the fretful stir un-
profitable, and the fever of the world,” and dwell for
a time in ‘‘the heaven revealed to meditation;” and
who feel their inner life sustained and refreshed by a
knowledge of the consolations which the most gifted
minds have ever found in Books.
If these pages should assist the young in strengthen-
ing good resolutions in the direction of self-culture
and self-help; or, in the case of those who have
passed life’s meridian, aid in beguiling or brighten-
ing hours made heavy by care or sorrow, by bringing
them into closer contact with superior souls, who in
similar—perhaps even more trying circumstances—have
sought and found solace in the companionship of
other men’s thoughts, I shall be amply rewarded, and
feel that my labour of love has not been in vain.
ALEXANDER IRELAND.
INGLEWOOD, Bowpon,
CHESHIRE,
September, 188}.
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF AUTHORS
QUOTED.
SOLOMON
SOCRATES
PEATO.. . ae ite
ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY ..
CICERO
HORACE
SENECA
St. Pau
QUINTILIAN
PEUTARCH”, .
PLiny, THE YOUNGER
GOSPEL OF ST. MATTHEW
Autus GELLIUS
FROM THE PERSIAN
HInbDvu SAYING
FROM THE PERSIAN
BisHop RICHARD DE Bury
FRANCESCO PETRARCA
Dominico MANCINI
GEOFFREY CHAUCER-.s
Tuomas A Kempis
J. Fortius RINGELBERGIUS
DESIDERIUS ERASMUS
NiccoLo MACHIAVELLI ..
ANTONIO DE GUEVARA ..
Martin LUTHER ..
RoGErR ASCHAM :
MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE..
JOSEPH SCALIGER..
B.C.
1033— 975
468— 399
427— 347
300—
ro6— 41
65— 8
Bc. A.D
58— 32
A.D.
— 65
42— II5
46— 120
6I— 105
117— 180
1287—1345
1304—1374
1328—1400
1380—1471
—1536
1467—1536
1469—1527
—1544
1483—1546
I515—1568
1537—1592
1540—1609
x CHRONOLOGICAL LIST
JouN FLorio ae a sa
Book oF COMMON Paine is ri be
JouNn LYLYE va -
Sir Puitie SIDNEY Ay ag -s
Lorp CHANDOS
Lorp Bacon ee
SAMUEL DANIEL .. ae
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE mans De
ALONZO OF ARRAGON
OLp ENGLISH SONG
A SIXTEENTH CENTURY Wee
BisHop JosEPpH HALL
JOHN FLETCHER ..
HENRY PEACHAM..
ROBERT BuRTON ..
Sir THoMAS OVERBURY..
JoHN Haves
BALTHASAR Bones ce nomen
FRANCIS OSBORNE Ae Ae as
LEo ALLATIUS .. x
GEORGE WITHER... ie
JAMES SHIRLEY ae ns
JEAN EUSEBE Mieeronaiatses
Srr WILLIAM WALLER ..
Rev. AnToNy TUCKNEY a
FRANCESCO DI RIOJA
PETER DU MOULIN A ris
Dr. JoHN EARLE.. a Ae ve
Str WiLL1AM DAVENANT
Str THomas BROwnNeE .. Ape
Dr. THomas FULLER .. ats AB
JoHN Mitton .. ac we
EARL OF CLARENDON
Sir MattTHew HALE .. ae
SAMUEL SORBIERE 5 AS
OwEN FELTHAM .. Ms
Dr. BENJAMIN WHICHCOTE
1545—1625
1549
I1553—1601
1554—1586
“—1621
1561—1629
1562—1619
1564—1616
1574—1656
15706—1625
—1640
1576—1640
1581—1613
1584—1656
1584—1659
—1659
1586—1669
1588—1667
1594—1666
1595—1658
1597—1668
1599—1670
1600—1659
1600—1684
1601—1665
1605—1668
1605—1682
1608—1661
1608—1674
1608—1674
1609—1676
1610—1670
1610—1678
1610—1683
OF AUTHORS.
EARLY ENGLISH WRITER
M. Tornarp ud :
BIsHoP JEREMY ie
Duc DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD ..
Gites MENAGE .. =
EARL OF BEDFORD ae $c
URBAN CHEVREAU a
Rev. RicHarD BAXTER..
Dr. JOHN OWEN ..
ABRAHAM COWLEY
THOMAS V. BARTHOLIN..
FRANCIS CHARPENTIER ..
HENRY VAUGHAN.. 48
JouN HAL... 5d ie 3c
Str WILLIAM TEMPLE .. 58
Dr. Isaac BARROW
CHARLES COTTON..
BisHop HuEetT
Joun Locke AG we
Dr. RoBERT SOUTH ae
Str GEORGE MACKENZIE
JOHN DE LA BRUYERE ..
PIERRE BAYLE
A SEVENTEENTH gical Orv .
Rev, JEREMY COLLIER . 2
ARCHBISHOP FENELON .. a¢
CHARLES BLOUNT 5 6
THomas Futter, M.D.. ae ;
EDMUND HALLEY
Rev. JoHN Norris OF vee ai
JONATHAN SWIFT
WILLIAM CONGREVE .. aS
Str RICHARD STEELE ..
JOSEPH ADDISON .. iy te
Dr. Isaac WaTTS = %3
Rev. Convers MIDDLETON
ALEXANDER POPE as a3
xi
1613—1667
1613—1680
1613—1692
1613—1700
1613—1701
1615—1691
1616—1683
1618—1667
1619—1680
1620—1702
1621—1695
1627—1656
1628—1698
1630—1677
1630—1687
1630—172I
1632—1704
1633—1716
1636—1691
1644—1696
1647—1706
1650—1726
165I—1715
1654—1697
1654—1734
1656—1742
1657—1711I
1667—1745
1670—1729
1671—1729
1672—1719
1674—1748
1683—1750
1688—1744
xii CHRONOLOGICAL LIST
Baron MONTESQUIEU
Lapy Mary WorTLEY Monrace
Lorp CHESTERFIELD .. A
FRANCOIS M. A. DE our Aine Ar
MatTTHEW GREEN oe
Henry FIELDING..
SAMUEL JOHNSON
Davip HuME
JEAN JACQUES Peverece
LAURENCE STERNE
Denys DIDEROT ..
WILLIAM SHENSTONE
Horace WALPOLE
OLIvER GOLDSMITH ; = :
Rev. Witt1am Dopp ... aa -
GOTTHOLD EprHRAIM LESSING
EDMUND BURKE .. we as
Dr. JoHN Moore
WILLIAM COWPER
Epwarp GIBBON...
J. G. von HERDER ae ce
Sir WILLIAM JONES .. ve %
DANIEL WYTTENBACH .. Fe 25
CouNTESS DE GENLIS .. oe
Dr. JOHN AIKIN..
RICHARD CECIL
J. WOLFGANG VON Gomae
Tomas DE YRIARTE
ELIZABETH INCHBALD .. aa
WILLIAM ROSCOE
GEORGE CRABBE ..
WILLIAM GODWIN
FRIEDRICH SCHILLER
WILLIAM COBBETT
Sir S. EGerTON BryDGES
Jean Paut F. RICHTER
Dr. JOHN FERRIAR
1689—1755
1690—1762
1694—1773
1694—1778
1696—1737
1707—1754
1709—1784
1712—1776
I712—1778
I713—1768
1713—1789
I714—1763
1717—1797
1728—1774
1729—1777
1729—1781
1729—1797
1730—1802
I173I—1800
1737—1794
1744—1803
1746—1794
1746—1820
1746—1830
1747—1822
1748—1816
1749—1832
I1750—1791
1753—1821
1753—1831
1754—1832
1750—1836
1759—1805
1762—1835
1762—1837
1763—1825
1764—1815
OF AUTHORS.
Isaac DISRAELI .. nie Bs ax
Joun Foster... ae
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ..
ROBERT SOUTHEY
CHARLES LAMB
WALTER SAVAGE Danton
Witiiam Hazvirt
Lorp BROUGHAM..
Rev. CHARLES C.. COLTON
Dr. WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING
WASHINGTON IRVING
LeicuH Hunt :
Tuomas LOvE Peieock
THOMAS DE QUINCEY
ARCHBISHOP WHATELY ..
Bryan W. PrRocTER (BARRY Cane eye
Lorp Byron ‘a Me oe a
Dr. ARNOTT ars
ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER
CHARLES KNIGHT
Lorp MaHoNn
Str JOHN HERSCHEL
Dr. ARNOLD
Jupce TALFOURD
Rev. Jutius C. Hare..
Tuomas CARLYLE
HARTLEY COLERIDGE
BisHop THIRLWALL
A. Bronson ALCOTT
Lorp Macautay..
WILLIAM CHAMBERS
JAMES CROSSLEY ..
EARL OF SHAFTESBURY..
ROBERT CHAMBERS
CHIEF JUSTICE COCKBURN
VicroRe HUGO... 36
xill
1767—1848
1770—1843
I770—1850
1772—1834
1774—1843
1775—1834
1775—1864
1778—1830
1778—1868
1780—1832
1780—1842
1783—1859
1784—1859
1785—1866
1786—1859
1787—1863
1787—1874
1788—1824
1788—1824
1788—1860
1791—1873
1791—1875
I792—1871
1795—1842
1795—1854 ©
1795—1855
I795—1881
1796—1849
1797—1875
1799 (living)
1800—1859
1800—1883
1800—1883
1801 (living)
1802—1871
1802—1880
1802 (living)
xiv CHRONOLOGICAL LIST
Lorp LytTon (E. L. BuLwer) ad be
RatpH WALDO EMERSON
RiIcHARD COBDEN ric Ae ne
Rev. FREDERICK DENISON MACE ss
SAMUEL PALMER...
Lorp BEACONSFIELD as
HENRY WADSWORTH TONGFELEOW An
Mrs. CAROLINE NorTON
GeEorGE S. HILLARD .. , oe
ELIZABETH BARRETT Becwinee oe
Rev. Ropert ARIS WILLMOTT
Dr. JoHN Hitt Burton
Dr. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE
Lorp HovucutTon (R. M. MILNEs)
Rey. THEODORE PARKER Be
Dr. JoHN Brown ds ae oe
W. M. THACKERAY 56 es
Joun BricutT .
Lorp SHERBROOKE cRdseer Lowe)
FRANCIS BENNOCH ve
Rev. GEORGE GILFILLAN ae ae
Rev. Henry WarpD BEECHER
Sara P. Parton (FANNY FERN)
ANTHONY TROLLOPE ;
Rev. FREDERICK WILLIAM Roan teat
GEORGE S. PHILLIPS (JANUARY SEARLE) ..
Joun G. SAxE :
PHILIP JAMES BAILEY ..
Sir ARTHUR HELPS
Eviza Cook
Rev. CHARLES reece:
Joun Ruskin .. 24:
James RussELL LOWELL
WALT WHITMAN.. ae me e
Marian Evans (GEORGE Ria
GEORGE Dawson..
1803—1873
1803—1882
1804—1865
r805—1872
1805—1881
r805—1881
1807—1882
1808—1877
1808 (living)
1809—1861
1809—1862
1809—1881
1809 (living)
1809 5,
1809 ;,
1810—1860
1810—1882
1811—1863
1811 (living)
TOLL,
FOTS) ys
1813—1878
1813 (living)
1814 ;,
r815—1882
1816—1853
1816— (7)
1816—
1816 (living)
1817—1875
1818 (living)
1819—1875
1819 (living)
TSEON 55
TEIGIass
1820—1881
1821—1876
CO) Pee OLeoe XV
ROBERT LEIGHTON ah a ue .. 1822—r1869
CHARLES BuxTON or es ie .. 1822—1871
J. A. LANGForRD .. = ae we -» 1823 (living)
Rev. ROBERT COLLYER.. 5¢ ar Ap OEE 9G.
JAMES Hain FRISWELL 3c re -. 1827—1878
C. KEGAN PAUL .. de an te .. 1828(living)
ALEXANDER SMITH bie : .- 1830—1867
W. H. Ranps (MaTTHEW Bacwxe) aie -—1882
FREDERIC HARRISON .. : me .. 1831 (living)
Eart Lytton (OWEN Mineorray LOS Lines
Puitip GILBERT HAMERTON .. 5th By BRY Ep
FRANK Carr (LAUNCELOT Cross) .. wen LO34) 55
FRANCES R. HAVERGAL si = .. 1836—1879
WiLiiaM BLADES.. Re ae ay ne (Living)
WILLIAM FREELAND .. #5 ote as 5
Epwin P. WHIPPLE .. Ag ey ; “3
Witiiam E. A. Axon .. a 3 Ar Ay
ANDREW LANG .. Be ae ae ae i
Rev. JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE Ae Ae >
AUSTIN DOBSON .. a5 ve At ae -.
Rospert Louis STEVENSON .. i 3 ie
CHARLES F, RICHARDSON og me ae “5
Rev. R. H. Baynes .. i, Ag ne *
Mrs. R. C, WATERSTON ws Ye ‘is ¥
Mary C. Ware .. ay ate m2 $3 a
ANONYMOUS AUTHORS.
REMARKS ON Book-BORROWERS.
PRELUDE OF MOTTOES.
SOLOMON,
He that walketh with wise men shall be wise.
ST. PAUL,
Give attendance to reading.
SENECA,
If you devote your time to study, you will avoid all the
irksomeness of this life; nor will you long for the approach of
night, being tired of the day; nor will you be a burden to
yourself, nor your society insupportable to others.
PETRARCH.
Books never pall on us. . . . They discourse with us,
they take counsel with us, and are united to us by a certain living
familiarity. It is easy to gain access to these friends, for they
are always at my service, and I admit them to my company, or
dismiss them from it, whenever I please. They are never
troublesome, but immediately answer every question I ask them.
oles MONTAIGNE,
To divert myself from a troublesome fancy, ’tis but to run to
my books. They“always receive me with the same kindness.
The sick man is not to be lamented, who has his cure in his sleeve.
In the experience and practice of this sentence, which is a very
true one, all the benefit I reap from books consists. For it is not
to be imagined to what degree I please myself, and rest content
in this consideration, that I have them by me, to divert myself
with them when I am so disposed, and to call to mind what an
ease and assistance they are to my life. ’Tis the best vzaticunz
I have yet found out for this human journey, and I very much
lament those men of understanding who are unprovided of it.
BACON.
For Friends, although your lordship be scant, yet I hope you
are not altogether destitute ; if you be, do but look upon good
. books: they are true friends, that will neither flatter nor dis-
semble: be you but true to yourself, applying that which they
teach unto the party grieved, and you shall need no other com-
fort, nor counsel. To them and to God’s holy Spirit, directing
you in the reading of them, I commend your lordship.—Lefter
to Chief fustice Coke.
MILTON.
For Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a
potencie of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose
progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a violl the purest
efficacie and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
. A good book is the precious life-blood of a master spirit,
embalm’d and treasur’d up on purpose to a life beyond life.
Sir THOMAS BROWNE.
They do most by books, who could do much without them ;
and he that chiefly owes himself unto himself, is the substantial
man.
POPE.
At this day, as much company as I have kept, and as much as
I love it, I love reading better. I would rather be employed in
reading than in the most agreeable conversation.
GIBBON.
A taste for books is the pleasure and glory of my life. Itisa
taste which I would not exchange for the wealth of the Indies. The
miseries of a vacant life are never known to a man whose hours
are insufficient for the inexhaustible pleasure of study.
WORDSWORTH.
- « + Books, we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good ;
Round which, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
CHARLES LAMB.
I must confess that I dedicate no inconsiderable portion of my
time to other people’s thoughts. I dream away my life in others’
speculations. I love to lose myself in other men’s minds. When
I am not walking, Iam reading; I cannot sit and think. Books
think forme. I have norepugnances. . . . I canread any-
thing which I call a 4004. There are things in that shape,
however, which I cannot allow for such. . . . With these
exceptions, I can read almost anything. I bless my stars fora
taste so catholic, so unexcluding.
WILLIAM HAZLITT.
Books wind into the heart. . . . We read them when
young, we remember them when old. We read there of what has
happened to others; we feel that it has happened to ourselves.
We owe everything to their authors, on this side barbarism. . .
Even here, on Salisbury Plain, with a few old authors, I can
manage to get through the summer or winter months, without
ever knowing what it is to feel ezuz. They sit with me at break-
fast; they walk out with me before dinner—and at night, by the
blazing hearth, discourse the silent hours away.
Books let us into the souls cf men, and lay open to us the
secrets of ourown. ‘They are the first and last, the most home-
felt, the most heart-felt of all our enjovments.
LEIGH HUNT.
How pleasant it is to reflect that the greatest lovers of Books
have themselves become books. . . . Thelittle body of thought
that lies before me in the shape of a book has existed thousands
of years ; nor, since the invention of printing, can anything, short
of an universal convulsion of nature, abolish it. . . . Mayl
hope to become the meanest of these existences? I should like
to remain visible in this shape. The little of myself that pleases
myself, I could wish to be accounted worth pleasing others. I
should like to survive so, were it only for the sake of those who
love me in private, knowing as I do what a treasure is the posses-
sion of a friend’s mind, when he is no more. At all events,
nothing, while I live and think, can deprive me of my value for
such treasures. I can help the appreciation of them while I last,
and love them till I die; and perhaps, if fortune turns her face
once more in kindness upon me before I go, I may chance, some
guiet day, to lay my over-beating temples on a book, and so have
the death I most envy.
CARLYLE.
It is lawful for the solitary wight to express the love he feels
for those companions so stedfast and unpresuming, that go orcome
without reluctance, and that, when his fellow-animals are proud, or
stupid, or peevish, are ever ready to cheer the languor of his soul,
and gild the barrenness of life with the treasures of bygone times.
If a Book come from the heart, it will contrive to reach
other hearts; all art and author-craft are of small account to
that. . . . In Books lies the sozZ of the whole Past Time; the
articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material
substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream. . .
All that Mankind has done, thought, gained, or been; it is bane
as in magic preservation in the pages of Books.
EMERSON.
In the highest civilization the book is still the highest delight.
He who has once known its satisfactions is provided with a
resource against calamity. Angels they are to us of entertain-
ment, sympathy, and provocation. With them many of us spend
the most of our life,—these silent guides, these tractable prophets,
historians, and singers, whose embalmed life is the highest feat of
art; who now cast their moonlight illumination over solitude,
weariness, and fallen fortunes. . . . Consider what you have in
the smallest chosen library. Acompany of the wisest and wittiest
men picked out of all civil countries, in a thousand years, have set
in best order the results of their learning and wisdom. . :
IT hold that we have never reached the best use of books until
our own thought rises to such a pitch that we cannot afford to
read much. I own this loftiness is rare, and we must long be.
thankful to our silent friends before the day comes when we can
honestly dismiss them.
RUSKIN.
Will you go and gossip with your housemaid, or your stable boy,
when you may talk with kings and queens, while this eternal court is
open to you, with its society wide as the world, multitudinous as its
days, the chosen, and the mighty, of every place and time? Into
that you may enter always; in that youmay take fellowshipand rank
according to your wish; from that, once entered intoit, youcannever
be outcast but by yourown fault ; by your aristocracy of companion-
ship there, your own inherent aristocracy will be assuredly tested,
and the motives with which youstrive to take high placein the society
of the living, measured, as to all the truth and sincerity that are in
them, by the place youdesire to take in this company of the Dead.
Lnfinite Riches tx a little room.
Indocti discant et ament meminisse periti.
(EDS OFS)
FIRES ITO
(Zz
THE
Pook-Lover’s LEnchiridion.
SOLOMON. B.C. 1033—975.
He that walketh with wise men shall be wise.—
Proverbs xiii, 20.
A word spoken in due season, how good is it !—
Proverbs xv. 23.
Apply thine heart unto instruction, and thine ears to-
the words of knowledge.—FProverds xxiii. 12.
SOCRATES. B.C. 468—399.
Employ your time in improving yourself by other
men’s writings; so you shall come easily by what
others have laboured hard-for. Prefer knowledge to.
wealth, for the one is transitory, the other perpetual.
PLATO. B.C. 427—347.
Books are the immortal sons deifying their sires.
B
b CICERO.
INSCRIPTION ON THE LIBRARY AT ALEX-
ANDRIA. FOUNDED ABOUT 300 B.C.
THE NOURISHMENT OF THE SOUL; or, according
to Diodorus, THE MEDICINE OF THE MIND.—
I, D’Israeli’s Curiosities of Literature.
CICERO. B.C. 106—4I.
Nam ceterze neque temporum sunt, neque zetatum
omnium, neque locorum; at heec studia adolescentiam
alunt, senectutem oblectant, secundas res ornant,
adversis perfugium ac solatium prebent; delectant
domi, non impediunt foris; pernoctant nobiscum,
peregrinantur, rusticantur.—Pro Archid Poetd, cap. 7.
Trans, For other occupations are not for all times,
or all ages, or all places. But these studies are the ali-
ment of youth, the comfort of old age; an adornment
of prosperity, a refuge and a solace in adversity; a
delight in our home, and no incumbrance abroad ;
companions in our long nights, in our travels, in our
country retirement. [7Z7azslated by R. R. D.]
Remember not to give up your books to anybody ;
but keep them, as you say, for me. I entertain the
strongest affection for them, as I do now disgust for
everything else.
Keep your books and do not despair of my being
able to make them mine; which, if I accomplish, I
shall exceed Croesus in riches, and look down with
contempt upon the houses and lands of all the world, —
Epistles to Atticus, vii. ix. [Heberden’s Translation. ]
HORACE—SENECA. 3
I have at all times free access to my books; they
are never occupied.—De Lef., i.
HORACE. B.C. 65—S.
Lectio, quze placuit, decies repetita placebit.—De
Arte Poet., line 365.
Trans. The reading which has pleased, will please
when repeated ten times.
O rus, quando ego te aspiciam ? quandoque licebit,
Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno et inertibus horis,
icitze jucunda oblivia vitze ?
Ducere solicitz jucu ee Shin
Trans. O country, when shall I behold thee? When
shall I be permitted to enjoy a sweet oblivion of the
anxieties of life, sometimes occupied with the writings
of the men of old, sometimes in slumbrous ease, or
tranquil abstraction? [Zvanslated by R. R. D.]
SENECA. B.C. 58—A.D. 32.
The reading of many authors, and of all kinds of
works, has in it something vague and unstable.—
we DET 2
The multitude of books distracts. —Zd. 2.
It does not matter how many, but how good, books
you have.—/d, 15.
Definite reading is profitable; miscellaneous reading
is pleasant,—/d. 45.
Leisure without study is death, and the grave of a
living man.—Zd, 82.
If you devote your time to study, you will avoid all
the irksomeness of this life; nor will you long for the
4 SENECA,
approach of night, being tired of the day; nor will
you be a burden to yourself, nor your society insup-
portable to others. —/d. 82.
Reading nourishes the mind, and, when it is wearied
with study, refreshes it, but not without study.—
Id, 84.
We ought to imitate the bees, and to separate all the
materials which we have gathered from multifarious
reading, for they keep best separate; and then, by
applying the study and ability of our own minds, to
concoct all those various contributions into one flavour.
—Id, 84.
He that is well employed in his study, though he
may seem to do nothing, yet does the greatest things
of all others. —/d. 84.
What is the use of countless books and libraries
whose owner hardly reads through their titles in. his
whole life ?>—De Trang. An. 9.
The crowd of teachers is burdensome and not in-
structive ; and it is much better to trust yourself to a
few good authors than to wander through several.—
Id, 9.
Procure a sufficient number of books, but not for
show.—d. 9.
As long as the aliments of which we have partaken
retain their own nature and float as solids in our
stomach, they are burdensome; but when they have
changed from their former state, then, and not till
then, they enter into our strength and blood. Let us
do the same with the foods which nourish our minds,
so that we do not suffer the things we have taken in
PLUTARCH—ST. MATTHEW—QUINTILIAN. 35
to remain whole and foreign. Let us digest them!
otherwise they enter our memory, but not our mind,—
Id. 84. [Translated by J. N.]
PLUTARCH. A.D. 46—120.
We ought to regard books as we do sweetmeats,
not wholly to aim at the pleasantest,, but chiefly to
respect the wholesomest ; not forbidding either, but
approving the latter most.
AuLuUS GELLIUS. ci”. I17—180 A.D.
The things which are well said do not improve the
disposition of the young so much as those which are
wickedly said corrupt them.—lVoct. Adz. 12, 2.
GOSPEL OF ST. MATTHEW.
A good man out of the good treasure of the heart
bringeth forth good things.
By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy
words thou shalt be condemned.—S¢, Matthew xii.
35 and 37.
QUINTILIAN. A.D. 42—II5.
Reading is free, and does not exhaust itself with the
act, but may be repeated, in case you are in doubt, or
wish to impress it deeply on the memory. Let us
repeat it; and—just as we swallow our food masti-
cated and nearly fluid, in order that it may be more
easily digested—so our reading should not be delivered
to the memory in its crude state, but sweetened and
worked up by frequent repetition. —/zst, Ovat, 10, I.
8 RICHARD DE BURY,
in the voice, and in writing ; it appears to abide most
usefully and fructify most productively of advantage in
Books. For the Truth of the voice perishes with the
sound. Truth latent in the mind, is hidden wisdom
and invisible treasure; but the Truth which illuminates
Books desires to manifest itself to every disciplinable
sense, to the sight when read, to the hearing when
heard: it, moreover, in a manner commends itself to
the touch, when submitting to be transcribed, collated,
corrected and preserved. Truth confined to the mind,
though it may be the possession of a noble soul, while
it wants a companion and is not judged of, either by
the sight, or the hearing, appears to be inconsistent
with pleasure. But the Truth of the voice is open to
the hearing only, and latent to the sight (which shows
us many differences of things fixed upon by a most
subtle motion, beginning and ending as it were simul-
taneously). But the Truth written in a Book, being not
fluctuating, but permanent, shows itself openly to the
sight, passing through the spiritual ways of the eyes,
as the porches and halls of common sense and imagi-
nation; it enters the chamber of intellect, reposes
itself upon the couch of memory, and there congene-
rates the eternal Truth of the mind.
Lastly, let us consider how great a commodity of
doctrine exists in Books, how easily, how secretly,
how safely they expose the nakedness of human igno-
rance without putting it to shame. These are the
masters who instruct us without rods and ferules,
without hard words and anger, without clothes or
money. If you approach them, they are not asleep ;
if investigating you interrogate them, they conceal
RICHARD DE BURY—PETRARCH. 9
nothing ; if you mistake them, they never grumble ;
if you are ignorant, they cannot laugh at you.
You only, O Books, are liberal and independent.
You give to all who ask, and enfranchise all who
serve you assiduously. . . . Truly you are the
ears filled with most palatable grains. . . . You
are golden urns in which manna is laid up, rocks
flowing with honey, or rather indeed honeycombs ;
udders most copiously yielding the milk of life, store-
rooms ever full; the four-streamed river of Paradise,
where the human mind is fed, and the arid intellect
moistened and watered; . . ._ fruitful olives, vines
of Engaddi, fig-trees knowing no sterility; burning
lamps to be ever held in the hand.
The library, therefore, of wisdom is more precious
than all riches, and nothing that can be wished for is
worthy to be compared with it, Whosoever, therefore,
acknowledges himself to be a zealous follower of truth,
of happiness, of wisdom, of science, or even of the
faith, must of necessity make himself a Lover of Books.
~ —FPhilobiblon, a Treatise on the Love of Books: written
in Latin in 1344, and translated from the first edition,
1473, dy J. B. Inglis. (London, 1832.)
FRANCESCO PETRARCA. 1304—1374.
Books never pallon me. . . . They discourse
with us, they take counsel with us, and are united to
us by a certain living chatty familiarity. And not
only does each book inspire the sense that it belongs
to its readers, but it also suggests the name of others,
and one begets the desire of the other.—ZZzstole
de Rebus Familiaribus (Jos. Francasetti’s Edition ).
8 RICHARD DE BURY,
in the voice, and in writing ; it appears to abide most
usefully and fructify most productively of advantage in
Books. For the Truth of the voice perishes with the
sound. Truth latent in the mind, is hidden wisdom
and invisible treasure; but the Truth which illuminates
Books desires to manifest itself to every disciplinable
sense, to the sight when read, to the hearing when
heard: it, moreover, in a manner commends itself to
the touch, when submitting to be transcribed, collated,
corrected and preserved. Truth confined to the mind,
though it may be the possession of a noble soul, while
it wants a companion and is not judged of, either by
the sight, or the hearing, appears to be inconsistent
with pleasure. But the Truth of the voice is open to
the hearing only, and latent to the sight (which shows
us many differences of things fixed upon by a most
subtle motion, beginning and ending as it were simul-
taneously). But the Truth written in a Book, being not
fluctuating, but permanent, shows itself openly to the
sight, passing through the spiritual ways of the eyes,
as the porches and halls of common sense and imagi-
nation; it enters the chamber of intellect, reposes
itself upon the couch of memory, and there congene-
rates the eternal Truth of the mind.
Lastly, let us consider how great a commodity of
doctrine exists in Books, how easily, how secretly,
how safely they expose the nakedness of human igno-
rance without putting it to shame. These are the
masters who instruct us without rods and ferules,
without hard words and anger, without clothes or
money. If you approach them, they are not asleep ;
if investigating you interrogate them, they conceal
RICHARD DE BURY—PETRARCH. 9
nothing ; if you mistake them, they never grumble;
if you are ignorant, they cannot laugh at you.
You only, O Books, are liberal and independent.
You give to all who ask, and enfranchise all who
serve you assiduously. . . . Truly you are the
ears filled with most palatable grains. . . . You
are golden urns in which manna is laid up, rocks
flowing with honey, or rather indeed honeycombs ;
udders most copiously yielding the milk of life, store-
rooms ever full; the four-streamed river of Paradise,
where the human mind is fed, and the arid intellect
moistened and watered; . . ._ fruitful olives, vines
of Engaddi, fig-trees knowing no sterility; burning
lamps to be ever held in the hand.
The library, therefore, of wisdom is more precious
than all riches, and nothing that can be wished for is
worthy to be compared with it, Whosoever, therefore,
acknowledges himself to be a zealous follower of truth,
of happiness, of wisdom, of science, or even of the
faith, must of necessity make himself a Lover of Books.
* —Philobiblon, a Treatise on the Love of Books: written
in Latin in 1344, and translated from the first edition,
1473, by J. B. Inglis. (London, 1832.)
FRANCESCO PETRARCA. 1304—1374.
Books never pallon me. . . . They discourse
with us, they take counsel with us, and are united to
us by a certain living chatty familiarity. And not
only does each book inspire the sense that it belongs
to its readers, but it also suggests the name of others,
and one begets the desire of the other.—Z/zstole
de Rebus Familiaribus (Jos. Francasette’s Edition).
10 PETRARCH.
Fpistle viii, Book xvii., is devoted to shewing ‘‘how
contemptible is the lust of wealth when compared with
the noble thirst for learning.”
Joy [oguztur]: I consider Books aids to learning.
REASON: But take care lest they are rather hin-
drances ; some have been prevented from conquering
by the numbers of their soldiers, so many have found
the multitude of their books a hindrance to learning,
and abundance has bred want, as sometimes happens,
But if the many Books are at hand, they are not to be
cast aside, but to be gleaned, and the best used; and
care should be taken that those which might have
proved seasonable auxiliaries, do not become hindrances
out of season.—De Remediis utriusque Fortune,
Edition of 1613, 2. 174. [Translated by J. N.]
The friends of Petrarch apologized to him for the
length of time between their visits :
‘* Tt is impossible for us to follow your example: the
life you lead is contrary to human nature. In winter,
you sit like an owl, in the chimney corner. In summer,
you are running incessantly about the fields.”
Petrarch smiled at these observations :
‘* These people,” said he, ‘‘consider the pleasures
of the world as the supreme good, and cannot bear
the idea of renouncing them. I have FRIENDs,
whose society is extremely agreeable to me: they are
of all ages, and of every country. They have dis-
tinguished themselves both in the cabinet and in the
field, and obtained high honours for their knowledge
of the sciences. It is easy to gain access to them;
PETRARCH—MANCINI, II
for they are always at my service, and I admit them
to my company, and dismiss them from it, whenever I
please. They are never troublesome, but immediately
answer every question I ask them. Some relate to me
the events of past ages, while others reveal to me the
secrets of nature. Some teach me how to live, and
others how to die. Some, by their vivacity, drive
away my cares and exhilarate my spirits, while others
give fortitude to my mind, and teach me the important
lesson how to restrain my desires, and to depend
wholly on myself. They open to me, in short, the
various avenues of all the arts and sciences, and upon
their information I safely rely, in all emergencies. In
return for all these services, they only ask me to ac-
commodate them with a convenient chamber in some
corner of my humble habitation, where they may
repose in peace: for these friends are more delighted
by the tranquillity of retirement, than with the tumults
of society.”,—from the Introduction to Allibone’s
Critical Dictionary of English Literature.
DominicoO MANCINI (A CONTEMPORARY
OF PETRARCH).
In vain that husbandman his seed doth sow,
If he his crop not in due season mow.
A general sets his army in array
In vain, unless he fight, and win the day.
’Tis virtuous action that must praise bring forth,
Without which slow advice is little worth.
Yet they who give good counsel, praise deserve,
Though in the active part they cannot serve :
12 MANCINI—CHAUCER.
In action, learnéd counsellors their age,
Profession, or disease, forbids t’ engage.
Nor to philosophers is praise deny’d,
Whose wise instructions after-ages guide ;
Yet vainly most their age in study spend ;
No end of writing books, and to no end:
Beating their brains for strange and hidden things,
Whose knowledge, nor delight nor profit brings :
Themselves with doubt both day and night perplex,
Nor gentle reader please, or teach, but vex.
Books should to one of these four ends conduce,
For eee: piety, ie ye or use.
Then seek to ie qa fines carey dae us blest,
And having found them, lock them in thy breast.
In vain on study time away we throw,
When we forbear to act the things we know.
God, who to thee reason and knowledge lent,
Will ask how these two talents have been spent.
Libellus de quattuor Virtutibus, Paris, 1484.
Translated by Sir John Denham. Chal-
mers English Poets, vol. vii. p. 255.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 1328—1400.
A Clerke ther was of Oxenford also,
That unto meen hadde bs - 8°
For ee was ence have at his ‘sedis head
Twenty bookes, clothed in blak and reed,
Of Aristotil, and of his philosophie.
~
CHAUCER—THOMAS A KEMPIS. 13
But al though he were a philosophre,
~Yet hadde he but litul gold in cofre ;
But al that he might of his frendes hente,
On bookes and his lernyng he it spente.
Prologue to the Canterbury Tales.
And as for me, though that I konne but lyte,
On bokes for to rede I me delyte,
And to hem yeve I feyth and ful credence,
And in myn herte have hem in reverence
So hertely, that ther is game noon,
That fro my bokes maketh me to goon,
But yt be seldome on the holy day,
Save, certeynly, whan that the monethe of May
Is comen, and that I here the foules synge,
And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge,
Farwel my boke, and my devocion !
Prologue to the Legende of Goode Women.
For out of old fieldes, as men saithe,
Cometh all this new corne fro yere to yere,
And out of old bookes, in good faithe,
Cometh al this new science that men lere.
The Assembly of Foules.
Tuomas A Kemps. 1380—1471.
If thou wilt receive profit, read with humility, sim-
plicity, and faith; and seek not at any time the fame
of being learned.— Book I. chap. v.
Verily, when the day of judgment comes, we shall
not be examined what we have read, but what we have
14 RINGELBERGIUS.
done; nor how learnedly we have spoken, but how
religiously we have lived,— Book I. chap. vi.
JoacHimMus Fortius RINGELBERGIUS.
ad. 1536.
Let no one be dejected, if he is not conscious of any
great advantage in study at first. For as we know,
that the hour-hand of a timepiece moves progressively
onward, notwithstanding we cannot discern its mo-
mentary motion; and as we see trees and herbs
increase and grow to maturity, although we are not
able to perceive their hourly progress ; so do we know
that learning and study, although their transitions be
imperceptible at the moment of observation, are sure in
their advancement. Themerchant thinks himself happy
if after a ten years voyage, after a thousand dangers, he
at length improves his fortune ; and shall we, like poor-
spirited creatures, give up all hopes after the first
onset? No! let us rather adopt this as our maxim,
that whatever the mind has commanded itself to do,
it is sure of obtaining its purpose.
To those who are accustomed to spend more time in
slumber than the nature of their studies, and these our
admonitions will admit of; an alarum clock, which
might be set to any hour they chose, would be found
highly serviceable. I myself, when I have been upon
a journey, or sojourning in any place where a machine
of this kind could not be obtained, have actually slept
upon two flat pieces of wood, laid transversely upon
RINGELBERGIUS. 15
my bed, lest I should slumber too long. Nor have I
felt any inconvenience from this, for I have uniformly
found by experience, that when weary, I have slept
soundly, notwithstanding the hardness of my couch,
and when sufficiently refreshed, the hardness of my
couch has compelled me to quit it. But this to most
men would be a harsh experiment, and one which per-
haps few, however attached they may be to literary
pursuits, would care to try, I therefore recommend
the alarum in preference ; or what is infinitely better
than either, a firm resolution not to continue to
slumber after a certain hour of the morning.
Let us detach ourselves from things trifling and
insignificant, and give ourselves up to the study
of things worthy our nature and capacity. We
all value our possessions, much more ought we to
estimate our time. Yet such is the irrationality of our
conduct, that if we should happen by some mischance
to lose a portion of our property, which by industry
may be easily recovered, we fill the air with our.
lamentations ; but we not only bear the loss of time,
which can never be recovered, with equanimity, but
with manifest indications of joy and satisfaction.
He who aspires to the character of a man of
learning, has taken upon himself the performance of
nocommon task. The ocean of literature is without
limit. How then will he be able to perform a voyage,
even to a moderate distance, if he waste his time in
dalliance on the shore? Our only hope is in exertion.
16 ELRASMUS.
Let our only reward be that of industry. Unless
we are vigilant to gather the fruit of time, whilst the
autumn of life is yet with us ; we shall, at the close of
its winter, descend into the grave as the beasts which
perish, without having left a record behind us to in-
form posterity that we ever existed.—‘‘ De Ratione
Studi ;” translated by G. B. Earp, from the Edition of
Erpenius [1619], who gave it the title of ‘Liber vere
Aureus,” or “ The truly Golden Treatise.”
DESIDERIUS ERASMUS. 1467—1536.
At the first it is no great Matter how much you
Learn; but how well you learn it. And now takea
Direction how you may not only learn well, but easily
too; for the right Method of Art qualifies the Artist to
perform his Work not only well and expeditiously, but
easily too. Divide the Day into Tasks, as we read
Pliny the Second, and Pope Pius the Great did, Men
worthy to be remember’d by all Men. In the first
Part of it, which is the chief Thing of all, hear the
Master interpret, not only attentively, but with a Sort
of Greediness, not being content to follow him in his
Dissertations with a slow Pace, but striving to out-strip
him a little. Fix all his Sayings in your Memory, and
commit the most material of them to Writing, the
faithful Keeper of Words. And be sure to take Care
not to rely upon them, as that ridiculous rich Man that
Seneca speaks of did, who had form’d a Notion, that
whatsoever of Literature any of his Servants had, was
his own. By no Means have your Study furnish’d
with learned Books, and be unlearned yourself. Don’t
ERASMUS. 17
suffer what you hear to slip out of your Memory, but recite
it either with yourself, or toother Persons, Nor let this
suffice you, but set apart some certain Time for Medita-
tion ; which one Thing as St. Aurelius writes does most
notably conduce to assist both Wit and Memory. An
Engagement and combating of Wits does in an extraor-
dinary Manner both shew the Strength of Genius’s, rouzes
them, and augments them. Ifyou are in Doubt of any
Thing, don’t be asham’d to ask ; or if youhave committed
an Error, to be corrected. Avoid late and unseasonable
Studies, for they murder Wit, and are very prejudicial to
Health. The Muses love the Morning, and that isa fit
Time for Study, After you have din’d, either divert
yourself at some Exercise, or take a Walk, and discourse
merrily, and Study between whiles. As for Diet, eat
only as much as shall be sufficient to preserve Health,
and not as much or more than the Appetite may crave,
Before Supper, take a little Walk, and do the same
after Supper. A little before you go to sleep read some-
thing that is exquisite, and worth remembring ; and
contemplate upon it till you fall asleep ; and when you
awake in the Morning, call yourself to an Account for -
it. Always keep this Sentence of P/zzzy’s in your Mind,
All that time zs lost that you don’t bestow on Study,
Think upon this, that there is nothing more fleeting
than Youth, which, when once it is past, can never
be recall’d. But now I begin to be an Exhorter, when
I promis’d to be a Director. My sweet Christzan,
follow this Method, or a better, if you can; and so
farewell.—‘‘ Colloguies: Of the Method of Study ; To
Christianus of Lubeck.” [From the Latin text of
P. Scriver’s E-dition, printed by the Elzevirs, 1643.]
Cc
18 MACHIAVELLI—LUTHER,
NiccoLo MACHIAVELLI. 1469—1527.
When evening has arrived, I return home, and go
into my study. . . . I pass into the antique courts
of ancient men, where, welcomed lovingly by them, I
feed upon the food which is my own, and for which I was
born. Here, I can speak with them without show, and
can ask of them the motives of their actions; and
they respond to me by virtue of their humanity. For
hours together, the miseries of life no longer annoy
me ; I forget every vexation ; I do not fear poverty ;
and death itself does not dismay me, for I have
altogether transferred myself to those with whom I
hold converse.—Ofere dit Machiavelli, Editione Italia,
1813, vol. vill. [Zranslated by E. A.)
MarRTIN LUTHER. 1483—1546.
Every great book is an action, and every great
action is a book.
All who would study with advantage in any art what-
soever, ought to betake themselves to the reading of
some sure and certain books oftentimes over; for to
read many books produceth confusion, rather than
learning, like as those who dwell everywhere are not
anywhere at home.— Zadle Talk,
RoGER ASCHAM. 1515—1568.
Before I went into Germany, I came to Broadgate
in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble lady
Jane Grey, to whom I was exceeding much beholding.
ROGER ASCHAM. 19
_ Her parents, the duke and duchess, with all the house-
hold, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in
the park. I found her in her chamber, reading Phedo
Platonts in Greek, and that with as much delight as
some gentlemen would read a merry tale in Boccace.
After salutation, and duty done, with some other talk,
T asked her, why she would leese such pastime in the
park? Smiling, she answered me; ‘‘I wist, all their
sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I
findin Plato. Alas! good folk, they never felt what true
pleasure meant.” ‘‘And howcameyou, madam,” quoth
I, ‘‘to this deep knowledge of pleasure? and what did
chiefly allure you into it, seeing not many women, but
very few men, haveeattained thereunto?” ‘‘I will tell
you,” quoth she, ‘‘and tell you a truth, which perchance
ye will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that
ever God gave me, is, that he sent me so sharp and
severe parents, and so gentle a schoolmaster. For
when I am in presence either of father or mother ;
whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat,
drink, be merry, or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing,
or doing anything else; I must do it, as it were, in
such weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly,
as God made the world; or else I am so sharply
taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea presently sometimes
with pinches, nips, and bobs, and other ways (which
I will not name for the honour I bear them) so
without measure misordered, that I think myself in
hell, till time come that I must go to Mr. Elmer;
who teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with such
fair allurements to learning, that I think all the time
nothing whiles I am with him, And when I am called
20 ROGER ASCHAM.
from him, I fall on weeping, because whatsoever I do
else but learning, is full of grief, trouble, fear, and
whole misliking unto me. And thus my book hath
been so much my pleasure, and bringeth daily to me
more pleasure and more, that in respect of it, all other
pleasures, in very deed, be but trifles and troubles
unto me.” 4
I remember this talk gladly, both because it is so
worthy of memory, and because also it was the last
talk that ever I had, and the last time that ever I saw
that noble and worthy lady.
And I do not mean by all this my talk, that young
gentlemen should always be poring on a book, and by
using good studies should leese honest pleasure, and
haunt no good pastime: I mean nothing less. For it
is well known that I both like and love, and have
always, and do yet still use all exercises and pastimes
that be fit for my nature and ability: and beside
natural disposition, in judgment also I was never
either stoic in doctrine or anabaptist in religion, to
mislike a merry, pleasant, and playful nature, if no
outrage be committed against law, measure, and good
order. Therefore I would wish, that beside some good
time fitly appointed, and constantly kept, to increase by
reading the knowledge of the tongues and learning;
young gentlemen should use, and delight in all courtly
exercises, and gentlemanlike pastimes. And good cause
why: for the self same noble city of Athens, justly
commended of me before, did wisely, and upon great
consideration, appoint the Muses, Apollo and Pallas, to
ROGER ASCHAM. 23
be patrons of learning to their youth. For the Muses,
besides learning, were also ladies of dancing, mirth,
and minstrelsy: Apollo was god of shooting, and author
of cunning playing upon instruments ; Pallas also was
lady mistress in wars. Whereby was nothing else
meant, but that learning should be always mingled
with honest mirth and comely exercises ; and that war
also should be governed by learning and moderated
by wisdom.
Indeed books of common places be very necessary to
induce a man into an orderly general knowledge, how
to refer orderly all that he readeth, ad certa rerum
capita, and not wander in study. But to dwell in
Lpitomes, and books of common places, and not to
bind himself daily by orderly study, to read with all
diligence principally the holiest Scripture, and withal the
best doctors, and so to learn to make true difference
betwixt the authority of the one and the counsel of the
other, maketh so many seeming and sun-burnt ministers
as we have; whose learning is gotten in a summer
heat, and washed away with a Christmas snow again.
And this exercise is not more needfully done in a
great work, than wisely done in your common daily
writing either of letter or other thing else ; that is to
say, to peruse diligently, and see and spy wisely, what
is always more than needeth. For twenty to one
offend more in writing too much than too little: even
as twenty to one fall into sickness, rather by overmuch
fulness, than by any lack or emptiness. And there-
fore is he always the best English physician, that best
22 ROGER ASCHAM.
can give a purgation: that is by way of Zpzzome to cut
all over-much away. And surely men’s bodies be not
more full of ill humours, than commonly men’s minds
(if they be young, lusty, proud, like and love them-
selves well, as most men do) be full of fancies, opinions,
errors, and faults, not only in inward invention, but
also in all their utterance, either by pen or talk.
And of all other men, even those that have the
inventivest heads for all purposes, and roundest
tongues in all matters and places (except they learn
and use this good lesson of Zpztome), commit com-
monly greater faults than dull, staying, silent men
do. For quick inventors, and fair ready speakers,
being boldened with their present ability to say more,
and perchance better too, at the sudden for that
present, than any other can do, use less help of
diligence and study, than they ought to do; and so
have in them commonly less learning, and weaker
judgment for all deep considerations, than some duller
heads and slower tongues have.
In every separate kind of learning, and study
by itself, ye must follow choicely a few, and
chiefly some one, and that namely in our school of
eloquence, either for pen or talk. And as in por-
traiture and painting, wise men choose not that
workman that can only make a fair hand, or a well-
fashioned leg; but such a one as can furnish up fully
all the features of the whole body of a man, woman,
and child ; and withal is able too, by good skill, to
give to every one of these three, in their proper kind,
the right form, the true figure, the natural colour,
that is fit and due to the dignity of a man, to the
ROGER ASCHAM. 23
beauty of a woman, to the sweetness of a young babe :
even likewise do we seek such one in our school to
follow ; who is able always in all matters to teach
plainly, to delight pleasantly, and to carry away by
force of wise talk, all that shall hear or read him.
But for ignorance men cannot like, and for idleness
men will not labour, to come to any perfectness at
all. For as the worthy poets in Athens and Rome
were more careful to satisfy the judgment of one
learned, than rash in pleasing the humour of a rude
multitude; even so, if men in England now had the
like reverend regard to learning, skill, and judgment,
and durst not presume to write, except they came with
the like learning, and also did use like diligence in
searching out, not only just measure in every metre
(as every ignorant person may easily do), but also true
quantity in every foot and syllable (as only the learned
shall be able to do, and as the Greeks and Romans
were wont to do), surely then rash ignorant heads,
which now can easily reckon up fourteen syllables, and
easily stumble on every rhyme, either durst not, for
lack of such learning, or else would not, in avoiding
such labour, be so busy, as every where they be; and
shops in London should not be so full of lewd and
rude rhymes, as commonly they are. But now the
ripest of tongue be readiest to write. And many
daily in setting out books and ballads, make great
show of blossoms and buds; in whom is neither root
of learning nor fruit of wisdom at all.—7Zhe Schole-
master, Book i., Ascham’s Works, by Dr. Giles, 1864.
Vol, iii.
24 MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE,
MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE. 1537—1592.
‘The Commerce of Books is much more certain, and
much more our own. It yields all other Advantages
to the other two; but has the Constancy and Facility
of it’s Service for it’s own Share: it goes side by side
with me in my whole Course, and everywhere is
assisting tome. It comforts me in my Age and Soli-
tude ; it eases me of a troublesome Weight of Idleness,
and delivers me at all Hours from Company that I
dislike ; and it blunts the Point of Griefs, if they are
not extreme, and have not got an entire Possession of
my Soul. To divert myself from a troublesome
Fancy, ’tis but to run to my Books ; they presently fix
me to them, and drive the other out of my Thoughts ;
and do not mutiny to see that I have only recourse to
them for want of other more real, natural and lively
Conveniences ; they always receive me with the same
Kindness. , . . The sick Man is not to be la-
mented, who has his Cure in his Sleeve. In the
Experience and Practice of this Sentence, which is a
very true one, all the Benefit I reap from Books
consists ; and yet I make as little use of it almost as
those who know it not ; I enjoy it as a Miser does his
Money, in knowing that I may enjoy it when I please;
my Mind is satisfied with this Right of Possession. I
never travel without Books, either in Peace or War;
and yet sometimes I pass over several Days, and
sometimes Months, without looking into them; I will
read by and by, say I to myself, or to Morrow, or
when I please, and Time steals away without any
Inconvenience. For it is not to be imagin’d to what
~ MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE. 25
Degree I please my self, and rest content in this
Consideration, that I have them by me, to divert my self
with them when I am so dispos’d, and to call to mind
what an Ease and Assistance they are to my Life.
Tis the best Viaticum I have yet found out for this
- human Journey, and I very much lament those Men
of Understanding who are unprovided of it. And yet I
rather accept of any sort of diversion, how light soever,
because this can never fail me. When at Home, I a
little more frequent my Library, from whence I at once
survey all the whole Concerns of my Family: As I enter
it, I from thence see under my Garden, Court, and Base-
court, and into all the parts of the Building. There I
turn over now one Book, and then another, of various
Subjects without Method or Design: One while I
meditate, another I record, and dictate as I walk to
and fro, such Whimsies as these with which I here
present you. ’Tis in the third Story of a Tower, of
which the Ground-Room is my Chapel, the second
Story an Apartment with a withdrawing Room and
Closet, where I often lie to be more retired. Above
it is a great Wardrobe, which formerly was the most
useless part of the House. In that Library I pass away
most of the Days of my Life, and most of the Hours of
the Day. In the Night I am never there. There is
within it a Cabinet handsom and neat enough, with a
very convenient Fire-place for the Winter, and Windows
that afford a great deal of light, and very pleasant
Prospects. And were I not more afraid of the Trouble
than the Expence, the Trouble that frights me from all
Business, I could very easily adjoin on either Side, and
on the same Floor, a Gallery of an hundred Paces long,
26 MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE.
and twelve broad, having found Walls already rais’d
for some other design, to the requisite height. Every
Place of Retirement requires a Walk. My Thoughts
sleep if I sit still; my Fancy does not go by it self,
my legs must move it ; and all those who study without
a Book are in the same Condition. The Figure of my
Study is round, and has no more flat Wall than what
is taken up by my Table and Chairs; so that the
remaining parts of the Circle present me a View of all
my Books at once, set upon five Degrees of Shelves
round about me. It has three noble and free Prospects,
and is sixteen Paces Diameter. I am not so continually
there in Winter ; for my House is built upon an Emi-
nence, as it’s Name imports, and no part of it is so
much expos’d to the Wind and Weather as that, which
pleases me the better, for being of a painful Access,
and a little remote, as well upon the account of Exercise,
as being also there more retir’d from the Crowd. ’Tis
there that Iam in my Kingdom, as we say, and there
I endeavour to make my self an absolute Monarch, and
to sequester this one Corner from all Society, whether
Conjugal, Filial, or Civil. Elsewhere I have but
verbal Authority only, and of a confus’d Essence. That
Man, in my Opinion, is very miserable, who has not
at home, where to be by himself, where to entertain
himself alone, or to conceal himself from others. . . .
I think it much more supportable to be always alone
than never to be so. If any one shall tell me, that it
is to under-value the Muses, to make use of them only
for Sport, and to pass away the Time ; I shall tell him,
that he does not know the value of Sport and Pastime
so well as I do; I can hardly forbear to add further,
MONTAIGNE—FOHN FLORIO, — 27
that all other end is ridiculous. I live from Hand to
Mouth, and, with Reverence be it spoken, I only live
for my self; to that all my Designs do tend, and in
that terminate. I studied when young for Ostentation ;
since to make my self a little wiser; and now for my
Diversion, but never for any Profit. A vain and
prodigal Humour I had after this sort of Furniture,
not only for supplying my own needs and defects, but
moreover for Ornament and outward show; I have
since quite abandon’d it. Books have many charming
Qualities to such as know how to choose them. © But
every Good has it’s Ill; ’tis a Pleasure that is not pure
and clean, no more than others: It has it’s Inconve-
niences, and great ones too. The Mind indeed is
exercised by it, but the Body, the care of which I must
withal never neglect, remains in the mean time without
Action, grows heavy and melancholy. I know no
Excess more prejudicial to me, nor more to be avoided
in this my declining Age.—Of Three Commerces.
( Charles Cotton’s Translation, 1685.)
JOHN FLORIO. 1545—1625.
Concerning the Honour of Books.
Since honour from the honourer proceeds,
How well do they deserve, that memorize
And leave in books for all posterities
The names of worthies and their virtuous deeds ;
When all their glory else, like water-weeds
Without their element, preséntly dies,
And all their greatness quite forgotten lies,
And when and how they flourished no man heeds !
28 FJOHN FLORIO—SIR PHILIP SIDNEY,
How poor remembrances are statues, tombs
And other monuments that men erect
To princes, which remain in closéd rooms,
Where but a few behold them, in respect
Of Books, that to the universal eye
Show how they lived ; the other where they lie !
Prefixed to the second edition of Fohn Florio’s
Translation of Montaigne’s Essays, 1613.—
[Vide Notes to D. M. Main’s Treasury of
English Sonnets, p. 248, tn reference to
this Sonnet. |
Book OF COMMON PRAYER. 1549.
Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.—Codlect
Sor Second Sunday in Advent.
Joun Ly tye [or Litty]. 1553—1601.
. . far more seemely were it for thee to have
thy Studie full of Bookes, than thy Purses full of
Mony.—Zuphues ; the Anatomy of Wit.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 1554—1586.
It is manifest that all government of action is to be
gotten by knowledge, and knowledge, best, by gather-
ing many knowledges, which is reading.
LorD Bacon. 1561-—1629.
Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for
ability. Their chief use for delight is in privateness
and retiring ; for ornament is in discourse; and for
LORD BACON. 29
ability is in the judgment and disposition of business.
. » + Read not to contradict and confute, nor to
believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and dis-
course, but to weigh and consider. Some books are
to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to
be chewed and digested ; that is, some books are to
be read only in parts ; others to be read, but not
curiously ; and some few to be read wholly, and with
diligence and attention. . . . Reading maketh a
full man; conference a ready man; and writing an
exact man; and, therefore, if a man write little, he
had need have a great memory : if he confer little, he
had need have a present wit: and if he read little,
he had need have much cunning to seem to know that
he doth not.
The images of men’s wits and knowledge remain in
books, exempted from the worry of time and capable
of perpetual renovation. Neither are they fitly to be
called images, because they generate still, and cast their
seeds in the minds of others, provoking and causing
infinite actions and opinions in succeeding ages.
We enter into a desire of knowledge sometimes from
a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite; sometimes
to entertain our minds with variety and delight ;
sometimes for ornament and reputation ; sometimes to
enable us to victory of wit and contradiction, and most
times for lucre and profession ; and seldom sincerely
to give a true account of our gift of reason, for the
benefit and use of man :—as if there were sought in
knowledge a couch whereupon to rest a searching and
restless spirit; or a terrace for a wandering and
30 LORD BACON.
variable mind to walk up and down, with a fair pros-
pect; or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise
itself upon ; or a fort or commanding ground for strife
and contention ; or a shop for profit or sale ; and not
a rich storehouse for the glory of the Creator and the
relief of man’s estate.
As the eye rejoices to receive the light, the ear to
hear sweet music; so the mind, which is the man,
rejoices to discover the secret works, the varieties and
beauties of nature. The inquiry of truth, which is the
love-making or wooing it; the knowledge of truth,
which is the presence of it ; and the belief of truth,
which is the enjoying it, js the sovereign good of our
nature. The unlearned man knows not what it is to
descend into himself or to call himself to account, or
the pleasure of that ‘‘suavissima vita indies sentire se
fieri meliorem,”” The mind of man doth wonderfully
endeavour and extremely covet that it may not be
pensile ; but that it may light upon something fixed
and immoveable, on which, as on a firmament, it may
support itself in its swift motions and disquisitions.
Aristotle endeavours to prove that in all motions ‘of
bodies there is some point quiescent; and very
elegantly expounds the fable of Atlas, who stood fixed
and bore up the heavens from falling, to be meant of
the poles of the world whereupon the conversion is
accomplished. In like manner, men do earnestly
seek to have some Atlas or axis of their cogitations
within themselves, which may, in some measure,
moderate the fluctuations and wheelings of the under-
standing, fearing it may be the falling of their heaven.
LORD BACON—SAMUEL DANIEL. 3
31
In studies whatsoever a man commandeth upon
himself let him set hours for it; but whatsoever is
agreeable to his nature, let him take no care for any
set hours, for his thoughts will fly to it of themselves.
Such letters as are written from wise men are of all
the words of men, in my judgment, the best ; for they
~ are more natural than orations, public speeches, and
more advanced than conference or present speeches,
SAMUEL DANIEL. 1562—1619.
O blessed Letters! that combine in one
All Ages past, and make one live with all.
By you we do confer with who are gone,
And the Dead-living unto Council call ;
By you th’ unborn shall have Communion
Of what we feel and what doth us befal.
Soul of the World, Knowledge without thee ;
What hath the Earth that truly glorious is ?
What Good is like to this,
To do worthy the writing, and to write
Worthy the Reading, and the World’s Delight ?
Musophilus ; containing a General Defence
of Learning.
And tho’ books, madam, cannot make this Mind,
Which we must bring apt to be set aright ;
Yet do they rectify it in that Kind,
And touch it so, as that it turns that Way
Where Judgment lies. And tho’ we cannot find
The certain Place of Truth ; yet do they stay,
And entertain us near about the same:
32 SHAKESPEARE.
And give the Soul the best Delight that may
Enchear it most, and most our Sp’rits enflame
To Thoughts of Glory, and to worthy Ends.
To the Lady Lucy, Countess of Bedford.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 1564—1616.
Me, poor man, my library
Was dukedom large enough.
Tempest, 1, 2.
Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me,
From my own library, with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
Tempest, i, 2.
Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred
in a book.
Love's Labour Lost, iv. 2.
The books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world.
Love’s Labour Lost, iv. 3.
Come, and take a choice of all my library ;
And so beguile thy sorrow.
Titus Andronicus, iv. 1.
ALONZO OF ARRAGON.
Alonzo of Arragon was wont to say in commen-
dation of Age, that Age appeared to be best in four
things: old wood best to burn; old wine to drink ;
old friends to trust ; and old authors to read.—Bacon’s:
Apophthegms, No. 101.
GUEVARA.
1s)
o>)
ANTONIO DE GUEVARA. @. 1544.
He that lives in his own fields and habitation, which
God hath given him, enjoys true peace. . . . The
very occasion of ill-doing is by his presence taken away.
He busieth not himself ina search of pleasures, but in
regulating and disposing of his family ; in the education
of his children and domestick discipline. No violent
tempestuous motions distract hisrest, but soft gales and a
silent aire, refresh and breath upon him. He doth all
things commodiously, ordereth his life discreetly, not
after the opinion of the people, but bythe rulesof his own
certain experience. He knows he must not live here
for ever, and therefore thinks frequently of dissolution
and the day of death. . . . He that livesin the country,
hath Time for his servant, and whatsoever occasions
offer themselves—if he be but a discreet observer of
his hours—he can have no cause to complaine that
they are unseasonable. Nothing will hinder him from
the pleasure of books, from devotion, or the fruition
of his friends.
More happy then, yea by much more happy than
any king, if not nearer to a divine felicitie, is that
person who lives and dwels in the country upon the
rents and profits of his own grounds, There without
danger he may act and speake as it becomes simplicity
and naked truth. He hath liberty and choice in all
his imployments. . . . In the country we can
have a harmelesse and cheerfull conversation with our
familiar friends, either in our houses or under some
shade ; whereas in publick company there are many
D
34 GUEVARA.
things spoken at randome, which bring more of weari-
nesse than of pleasure to the hearers. But the quiet
retyr’d liver, in that calme silence, reads over some
profitable histories or books of devotion, and very often
—stird up by an inward and holy joy—breaks out into
divine praises and the singing of hymnes and psalms ;
with these sacred recreations—more delightfull than
romances, and the lascivious musick of fidlers, which
only cloy and weary the ears—doth he feed his soule
and refresh his body.
The day it self—in my opinion—seems of more
length and beauty in the country, and can be better
enjoyed than any where else. There the years passe
away calmly, and one day gently drives on the other,
insomuch that a man may be sensible of a certaine
satietie and pleasure from every houre, and may be
said to feed upon Time it self, which devours all other
things. O who can never fully expresse the pleasures
and happinesse of the country-life! . . . what oblec-
tation and refreshment it is, to behold the green
shades, the beauty and majesty of the tall and ancient
groves, to be skill’d in planting and dressing of
orchards, flowres, and pot-herbs, to temper and allay
these harmlesse imployments with an innocent merry
song, to ascend sometimes to the fresh and healthfull
hils, to descend into the bosome of the valleys, and
the fragrant, deawy meadows, to heare the musick of
birds, the murmurs of bees, the falling of springs, and
the pleasant discourses of the old plough-men, where
without any impediment or trouble a man may walk,
SCALIGER—OLD SONG. 35
and—as Cato Censorius us’d to say—discourse with
the dead, that is, read the pious works of learned men,
who departing this life, left behind them their noble
thoughts for the benefit of posterity and the preserva-
tion of their own worthy names.—Zhe Praise and
Happinesse of the Countrie-Life ; written originally in
_ Spanish by Don Antonio de Guevara, Bishop of
Carthagena, and Counsellour of Estate to Charls the
Fifth Emperour of Germany. Put into English by
A, Vaughan, Silurist, 1651.
JOSEPH SCALIGER. 1540—1609.
I wish I were a skilful grammarian. No one can
understand any author, without a thorough knowledge
of grammar. Those who pretend to undervalue learned
grammarians, are arrant blockheads without any ex-
ception. From whence proceed so many dissensions
in religious matters, but from ignorance of grammar ?—
Scaligerana,
OLD ENGLISH SONG.
O for a Booke and a shadie nooke,
eyther in-a-doore or out ;
With the grene leaves whisp’ring overhede,
or the Streete cryes all about.
Where I maie Reade all at my ease,
both of the Newe and Olde;
For a jollie goode Booke whereon to looke,
is better to me than Golde.
36 SIXTEENTH CENTURY WRITER.
A SIXTEENTH CENTURY WRITER.
‘* Bookes lookt on as to their Readers or Authours,
do at the very first mention, challenge Preheminence
above the Worlds admired fine things. Books are the
Glasse of Counsell to dress ourselves by. They are
lifes best business: Vocation to these hath more
Emolument coming in, than all the other busie Termes
of life. They are Feelesse Counsellours, no delaying
Patrons, of easie Accesse, and kind Expedition, never
sending away empty any Client or Petitioner. They
are for Company, the best Friends; in doubts, Coun-
sellours; in Damp, Comforters ; Time’s Perspective ;
the home Traveller’s Ship, or Horse, the busie man’s
best Recreation, the Opiate of Idle weariness ; the
mind’s best Ordinary ; Nature’s Garden and Seed-plot
of Immortality. Time spent (needlessly) from them,
is consumed, but with them, twice gain’d. Time cap-
tivated and snatched from thee, by Incursions of busi-
ness, Thefts of Visitants, or by thy own Carelessnesse
lost, is by these, redeemed in life; they are the soul’s
Viaticum ; and against death its Cordiall. Ina true
verdict, no such Treasure as a Library.”—Fvom the
Introduction to Allibone’s Critical Dictionary of English
Literature. Name of Author not given.
JosEPH HALL. 1574—1656.
I can wonder at nothing more than how a man can
be idle; but of all others, a scholar; in so many im-
provements of reason, in such sweetness of knowledge,
in such variety of studies, in such importunity of
¥OSEPH HALL. 37
thoughts : other artizans do but practice, we still learn ;
others run still in the same gyre to weariness, to
satiety ; our choice is infinite ; other labours require
recreations ; our very labour recreates our sports ; we
can never want either somewhat to do, or somewhat
that we would do, How numberless are the volumes
_which men have written of arts, of tongues! How
endless is that volume which God hath written of the
world! wherein every creature is a letter ; every day
anew page. Who can be wearyof either of these? To
find wit in poetry; in philosophy, profoundness; in
mathematics, acuteness ; in history, wonder of events;
in oratory, sweet eloquence; in divinity, supernatural
light, and holy devotion ; as so many rich metals in their
proper mines; whom would it not ravish with delight ?
After all these, let us but open our eyes, we cannot
look beside a lesson, in this universal book of our
Maker, worth our study, worth taking out. What
creature hath not his miracle? what event doth not
challenge his observation ?
And, if, weary of foreign employment, we list to
look home into ourselves, there we find a more
private world of thoughts which set us on work
anew, more busily and not less profitably: now our
silence is vocal, our solitariness popular; and we are
shut up, to do good unto many; if once we be
cloyed with our own company, the door of conference
is open ; here interchange of discourse (besides pleasure)
benefits us ; and he is a weak companion from whom
we return not wiser. I could envy, if I could believe
that anchoret, who, secluded from the world, and pent
up in his voluntary prison walls, denied that he thought
38 FJOSEPH HALL.
the day long, whiles yet he wanted learning to vary his
thoughts. Not to be cloyed with the same conceit is diffi-
cult, above human strength ; but to a man so furnished
with all sorts of knowledge, that according to his disposi-
tions he can change his studies, I should wonder that
ever the sun should seem to pass slowly. How many
busy tongues chase away good hours in pleasant chat,
and complain of the haste of night! What ingenious
mind can be sooner weary of talking with learned
authors, the most harmless and sweetest companions ?
What a heaven lives a scholar in, that at once in one
close room can daily converse with all the glorious
martyrs and fathers? that can single out at pleasure,
either sententious Tertullian, or grave Cyprian, or
resolute Hierome, or flowing Chrysostome, or divine
Ambrose, or devout Bernard, or, (who alone is all
these) heavenly Augustine, and talk with them and
hear their wise and holy counsels, verdicts, resolutions ;
yea, (to rise higher) with courtly Esay, with learned
Paul, with all their fellow-prophets, apostles; yet
more, like another Moses, with God himself, in them
both ?
Let the world contemn us; while we have these
delights we cannot envy them; we cannot wish
ourselves other than we are. Besides, the way to
all other contentments is troublesome; the only
recompense is in the end. To delve in the mines,
to scorch in the fire for the getting, for the fining of
gold is a slavish toil; the comfort is in the wedge to
the owner, not the labourers; where our very search
of knowledge is delightsome. Study itself is our life ;
from which we would not be barred for a world.
FOSE LH MAHAL. 39
How much sweeter then is the fruit of study, the
conscience of knowledge? In comparison whereof
the soul that hath once tasted it, easily contemns all
human comforts. Go now, ye worldlings, and insult
Over our paleness, our neediness, our neglect. Ye
could not be so jocund if you were not ignorant; if you
did not want knowledge, you could not overlook him
' that hath it; for me, I am so far from emulating you,
that I profess I had as lieve be a brute beast, as an
ignorant rich man. Howisit then, that those gallants,
which have privilege of blood and birth, and better
education, do so scornfully turn off these most manly,
reasonable, noble exercises of scholarship? a hawk
becomes their fist better than a book ; no dog but is a
better company: any thing or nothing, rather than
what we ought. O minds brutishly sensual! Do they
think that God made them for disport, who even in
his paradise, would not allow pleasure without work ?
And if for business, either of body or mind: those of
the body are commonly servile, like itself. The mind
therefore, the mind only, that honourableand divine part,
is fittest to be employed of those which would reach to
the highest perfection of men, and would be more than.
the most. And what work is there of the mind but the
trade of a scholar, study? Let me therefore fasten
this problem on our school gates, and challenge
all comers, in the defence of it; that no scholar,
cannot but be truly noble. And if I make it not
good let me never be admitted further then to the
subject of our question. Thus we do well to con-
gratulate to ourselves our own happiness; if others will
come to us, it shall be our comfort, but more theirs ;
40 JOSEPH HALL.
if not, it is enough that we can joy in ourselves,
and in him in whom we are that we are.—Zfistle
to Mr. Milward.
Every day is a little life: and our whole is but a day
repeated. . . . Thosetherefore that dare lose a day,
are dangerously prodigal ; those that dare misspend it,
desperate. We can best teach others by ourselves ;
let me tell your lordship, how I would pass my days,
whether common or sacred. . . . All days are
his, who gave time a beginning and continuance; yet
some he hath made ours, not to command, but to use.
In none may we forget him; in some we must forget
all, besideshim. First, therefore, I desire to awake
at those hours, not when I will, but when I must;
pleasure is not a fit rule for rest, but health; neither
do I consult so much with the sun, as mine own
necessity, whether of body or in that of the mind. If
this vassal could well serve me waking, it should never
sleep ; but now it must be pleased, that it must be
serviceable. Now when sleep is rather driven away
than leaves me, I would ever awake with God; my
first thoughts are for him, who hath made the night for
rest, and the day for travel; and as he gives, so blesses
both. If my heart be early seasoned with his presence,
it will savour of him all day after. While my body is
dressing, not with an effeminate curiosity, nor yet with
rude neglect ; my mind addresses itself to her ensuing
task, bethinking what is to be done, and in what
order ; and marshalling (as it may) my hours with my
work ; that done, after some whiles meditation, I walk
up to my masters and companions, my books; and
GOSEPH HALE, 41
sitting down amongst them, with the best contentment,
I dare not reach forth my hand to salute any of them;
till I have first looked up to heaven, and craved favour
of him to whom all my studies are duly referred:
without whom, I can neither profit, nor labour. After
this, out of no over great variety, I call forth those
' which may best fit my occasions ; wherein I am not
too scrupulous of age; sometimes I put myself
to school, to one of those ancients, whom the
church hath honoured with the name of Fathers;
whose volumes I confess not to open, without a
sacred reverence of their holiness and gravity ;
sometimes to those later doctors, which want nothing
but age to make them classical; always to God’s
book.
That day is lost, whereof some hours are not improved
in those divine monuments : others I turn over out of
choice: these out of duty. Ere I can have sate unto
weariness, my family, having now overcome all house-
hold distractions, invites me to our common devotions ;
not without some short preparation. These heartily per-
formed, send me up with a more strong and cheerful
appetite to my former work, which I find made easy .
to me by intermission, and variety ; now therefore can
I deceive the hours with change of pleasures, that is,
of labours. One while mine eyes are busied, another
while my hand, and sometimes my mind takes the
burthen from them both ; wherein I would imitate the
skilfullest cooks, which make the best dishes with
manifold mixtures; one hour is spent in textual
divinity, another in controversy; histories relieve
them both. Now, when the mind is weary of other
42 FOSEPH HALL.
labours, it begins to undertake her own ; sometimes it
meditates and winds up for future use ; sometimes it
lays forth her conceits into present discourse ; some-
times for itself, ofter for others. Neither know I
whether it works or plays in these thoughts; I am
sure no sport hath more pleasure, no work more use :
only the decay of a weak body makes me think these
delights insensibly laborious.
Thus could I all day (as ringers use) make myself
music with changes, and complain sooner of the
day for shortness, than of the business for toil ;
were it not that this faint monitor interrupts me
still in the midst of my busy pleasures, and en-
forces me both to respite and repast; I must
yield to both; while my body and mind are joined
together in unequal couples, the better must follow the
weaker. Before my meals, therefore, and after, I let
myself loose from all thoughts ; and now, would forget
that I ever studied ; a full mind takes away the body’s
appetite no less than a full body makes a dull and un-
unwieldy mind ; company, discourse, recreations, are
now seasonable and welcome: these prepare me for a
diet, not gluttonous, but medicinal ; the palate may
not be pleased, but the stomach ; nor that for its own
sake ; neither would I think any of these comforts
worth respect in themselves but in their use, in their
end; so far as they may enable me to better things.
If I see any dish to tempt my palate, I fear a serpent
in that apple, and would please myself in a wilful
denial ; I rise capable of more, not desirous ; not now
immediately from my trencher to my book ; but after
some intermission. Moderate speed is a sure help to
SOSEPH HALL. 43
all proceedings; where those things which are
prosecuted with violence of endeavour or desire, either
succeed not, or continue not.
After my later meal, my thoughts are slight; only
my memory may be charged with her task, of recalling
what was committed to her custody in the day; and
my heart is busy in examining my hands and mouth,
and all other senses, of that day’s behaviour. And
now the evening is come, no tradesman doth more
carefully take in his wares, clear his shopboard, and
shut his windows, than I would shut up my thoughts,
and clear my mind. That student shall live miserably,
which like a camel lies down under his burden. All
this done, calling together my family, we end the day
with God.—‘‘ How a day should be spent.” In an
Epistle to My Lord Denny.
What a world of wit is here packed up together !
I know not whether this sight doth more dismay or
comfort me; it dismays me to think, that here is so
much that I cannot know; it comforts me to think
that this variety yields so good helps to know what I
should. There is no truer word than that of Solomon—
there is no end of making many books; this sight
verifies it—there is no end; indeed, it were pity there
should. God hath given to man a busy soul, the
agitation whereof cannot but through time and expe-
rience work out many hidden truths ; to suppress these
would be no other than injurious to mankind, whose
minds, like unto so many candles, should be kindled
by each other. The thoughts of our deliberation are
most accurate ; these we vent into our papers; what
44 JOHN FLETCHER.
a happiness is it, that without all offence of necromancy,
I may here call up any of the ancient worthies of
learning, whether human or divine, and confer with
them of all my doubts !—that I can at pleasure summon
whole synods of reverend fathers, and acute doctors,
from all the coasts of the earth, to give their well-
studied judgments in all points of question which I
propose! Neither can I cast my eye casually upon any
of these silent masters, but I must learn somewhat : it
-is a wantonness to complain of choice. No law binds
me to read all; but the more we can take in and
digest, the better liking must the mind’s needs be.
Blessed be God that hath set up so many clear lamps
in his church. Now, none but the wilfully blind can
plead darkness; and blessed be the memory of those
his faithful servants, that have left their blood, their
spirits, their lives, in these precious papers, and have wil-
lingly wasted themselves into these during monuments,
to give light unto others.—Occastonal Meditations.
JOHN FLETCHER. 1576—1625.
Give me
Leave to enjoy myself. That place, that does
Contain my books, the best companions, is
To me a glorious court, where hourly I
Converse with the old sages and philosophers.
And sometimes for variety, I confer
With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels ;
Calling their victories, if unjustly got,
Unto a strict account : and in my fancy,
Deface their ill-planed statues. Can I then
H. PEACHAM—ROBERT BURTON. 45
Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace
Uncertain vanities? No: be it your care
To augment a heap of wealth ; it shall be mine
To increase in Enowicdge- Lights | there tr my study !
If all ae pipes of wine were fill’d iis Rives
Made of the barks of trees, or mysteries writ
In old moth-eaten vellum, he would sip thy cellar
Quite dry, and still be thirsty. Then, for’s diet,
He eats and digests more volumes at a meal,
Than there would be larks (though the sky should fall)
Devour’d in a month in Paris.
The Elder Brother, Acti. Scene 2.
HENRY PEACHAM. d@. 1640.
Affect not, as some do, that bookish ambition, to be
stored with books, and have well-furnished libraries,
yet keep their heads empty of knowledge. To desire
to have many books, and never to use them, is like a
child that will have a candle burning by him all the
while he is sleeping. —7he Compleat Gentleman.
ROBERT BURTON. 1576—1640.
But amongst those exercises or recreations of the
mind within doors, there is none so general, so aptly
to be applied to all sorts of men, so fit and proper to
expel idleness and melancholy, as that of study.
[Here Cicero is quoted, the passage from whom is
given ante p. 2.] What so full of content, as to read,
walk, and see maps, pictures, statues, &c.
Who is he that is now wholly overcome with idleness,
or otherwise encircled in a labyrinth of worldly care,
46 ROBERT BURTON.
troubles,- and discontents, that will not be much
lightened in his mind by reading of some enticing
story, true or feigned, where as in a glass he shall
observe what our forefathers have done, the beginnings,
ruins, falls, periods of commonwealths, private men’s
actions displayed to the life, &c. Plutarch therefore
calls them, secundas mensas et bellaria, the second
course and junkets, because they were generally read
at noblemen’s feasts. Who is not earnestly affected
with a passionate speech, well penned, an eloquent
poem, or some pleasant bewitching discourse, like
that of Heliodorus (Melancthon de Heliodoro), zbz
oblectatio quedam placide fluit cum hilaritate con-
juncta? . . . To most kind of men it is an
extraordinary delight to study. For what a world of
books offers itself, in all subjects, arts, and science, to
the rival contest and capacity of the reader !
What is there so sure, what so pleasant? . .
What vast tomes are extant in law, physic, and divinity,
for profit, pleasure, practice, speculation, in verse or
prose! Their names alone are the subject of whole
volumes ; we know thousands of authors of all sorts,
many great libraries full well furnished, like so many
dishes of meat, served out for several palates ; and he
is a very block that is affected with none of them.
. Such is the excellency of these studies that
all those ornaments, and childish bubbles of wealth,
are not worthy to be compared to them; I would even
live and die with such meditations, and take more
delight, true content of mind in them, than thou hast
in all thy wealth and sport, how rich soever thou art.
And as Cardan well seconds me—‘‘ it is more honour-
ROBERT BURTON. 47
able and glorious to understand these truths, than to
govern provinces, to be beautiful, or to be young.”
The like pleasure there is in all other studies, to such
as are truly addicted to them; the like sweetness, which,
as Circe’s cup bewitcheth a student, he cannot leave off.
Julius Scaliger . . . brake out into a
peace protestation, he had rather be the author of
twelve verses in Lucan, or such an Ode in Horace, than
Emperor of Germany. . . . King James (1605),
when he came to see our University of Oxford, and
amongst other edifices now went to view that famous
Library renewed by Sir Thomas Bodley, in imitation of
Alexander, at his departure brake out into that noble
speech: ‘‘If I were not a king, I would be a University
man ; and if it were so that I must be a prisoner, if I
might have my wish, I would desire to have no other
prison than that library, and to be chained together
with so many good authors.” So sweet is the delight
of study, the more learning they have (as he that hath
a dropsy, the more he drinks, the thirstier he is) the
more they covet to learn; harsh at first learning is,
radices amare, but fructus dulces, according to
Isocrates, pleasant at last; the longer they live, the:
more they are enamoured with the Muses. Heinsius,
the keeper of the library at Leyden, in Holland, was
mewed up in it all the year long; and that which to
thy thinking should have bred loathing, caused in him
a greater liking. ‘‘I no sooner (saith he) come into
the library, but I bolt the doors to me, excluding lust,
ambition, avarice, and all such vices, whose nurse is
idleness, the mother of ignorance, and melancholy
herself ; and in the very lap of eternity amongst so
48 ROBERT BURTON.
many divine souls, I take my seat with so lofty a spirit
and sweet content, that I pity all our great ones and
rich men that know not this happiness.” s
Whosoever he is therefore that is overrun with solitari-
ness, or carried away with pleasing melancholy and
vain conceits, and for want of employment knows not
how to spend his time; or crucified with worldly care,
I can prescribe him no better remedy than this of
study . . . provided always that this malady pro-
ceed not from overmuch study; for in such case he
adds fuel to the fire, and nothing can be more per-
nicious; let him take heed he do not overstretch his
wits, and make a skeleton of himself. . . . Study
is only prescribed to those that are otherwise idle,
troubled in mind, or carried headlong with vain
thoughts and imaginations to distract their cogitations
(although variety of study, or some serious subject,
would do the former no harm), and direct their con-
tinual meditations another way. Nothing in this case
better than study. . . . Read the Scriptures,
which Hyperius holds available of itself; ‘ the mind
is erected thereby from all worldly cares, and hath
much quiet and tranquillity.” For as Austin well hath
it, ’tis sctentia scientiarum, omni melle dulcior, omni
pane suavior, omni vino hilarior: ’tis the best
nepenthe, surest cordial, sweetest alterative, presentest
diverter; for neither, as Chrysostom well adds, ‘‘those
boughs and leaves of trees which are plashed for cattle
to stand under, in the heat of the day, in summer, so
much refresh them with their acceptable shade, as the
reading of the Scripture doth recreate and comfort a
distressed soul, in sorrow and afflictior.” . . . guod
SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 49
cibus corport, lectio anime facit, saith Seneca, ‘‘as
meat is to the body, such is reading to the soul.”
. . Cardan calls a library the physic of the soul ;
‘* divine authors fortify the mind, make men bold and
constant; and (as Hyperius adds) godly conference
will not permit the mind to be tortured with absurd
_ cogitations.” Rhasis enjoins continual conference to
such melancholy men, perpetual discourse of some
history, tale, poem, news, &c., which feeds the mind
as meat and drink doth the body, and pleaseth as
much, . . ~. Saith Lipsius, ‘‘when I read Seneca,
methinks I am beyond all human fortune, on the top
of a hill above mortality.” . . . I would for these
causes wish him that is melancholy to use both human
and divine authors, voluntarily to impose some task
upon himself to divert his melancholy thoughts. .. .
Or let him demonstrate a proposition in Euclid, in his
last five books, extract a square root, or study algebra;
than which, as Clavius holds, ‘‘in all human dis-
ciplines nothing can be more excellent or pleasant, so
abstruse, and recondite, so bewitching, so miraculous,
so ravishing, so easy withal and full of delight.” — Zhe
Anatomy of Melancholy, Part ii., Sec. 2, Memb. 4.
StrR THOMAS OVERBURY. 158I1—1613.
Books are a part of man’s prerogative,
In formal ink they Thoughts and Voices hold,
That we to them our Solitude may give,
And make Time Present travel that of Old.
Our Life Fame pieceth longer at the End,
And Books it farther backward do extend.
The Wefe.
E
50 JOHN HALES.
JoHN HALES. 1584—1656.
From the order of Reading, and the matters in
Reading to be observed, we come to the method of
observation, What order we are for our best use to
keep in extring our Notes into our Paper-Books.
The custom which hath most prevailed hitherto, was
common placing a thing at the first Orzg¢nal very plain
and szmple ; but by after-times much increased, some
augmenting the number of the Heads, others inventing
quainter forms of disposing them: till at length
Common-place-books became like unto the Roman
Breviarie or Missal, It was a great part of Clerk-
ship to know how to use them. The Vastness of the
Volumes, the multitude of Heads, the intricacy of dis-
position, the pains of committing the Heads to memory,
and last, of the labour of so often turning the Books
to enter the observations in their due places, are things
so expensive of time and industry, that although at
length the work comes to perfection, yet it is but like
the Szlver Mines in Wales, the profit will hardly quit
the pains. I have often doubted with my self, whether
or no there were any necessity of being so exactly
Methodical, First, because there hath not yet been
found a Method of that Latitude, but little reading
would furnish you with some things, which would fall
without the compass of it. Secondly, because men of
confused, dark and clowdy understandings, no beam
or light of order and method can ever rectifie ; whereas
men of clear understanding, though but in a mediocrity,
if they read good Books carefully, and note diligently,
it is impossible but they should find incredible profit,
YOHN HALES. 51
though their Notes lie never so confusedly. The
strength of our zatural memory, especially if we help
it, by revising our own Notes; the sature of things
themselves, many times ordering themselves, and ¢aztzn
non, telling us how to range them; a medtocrity of
care to see that matters lie not too Chaos-/zke, will with
- very small damage save us this great labour of being
over-superstitiously methodical, And what though perad-
venture something be lost, Hxzzs domus est, &c. It
is a sign of great poverty of Scholarshif, where every
thing that zs lost, zs miss’d ; whereas rich and well
accomplish'd learning is able to lose many things with
little or no inconvenience.
In your reading excerge, and note in your Books such,
things as you like: going on continually without any
respect unto order ; and for the avotding of confusion,
it shall be very profitable to allot some time to the
reading again of your own JVofes ; which do as much
and as oft as youcan. For by this means your Notes
shall be better fixt in your memory, and your memory
will easily supply you of things of the like nature, if
by chance you have disfersedly noted them ; that so
you may bring them together by marginal references.
But because your Notes in time must needs arise to
some bulk, that it may be too great a task, and too
great loss of time to review them, do thus, Cause a
large Judex to be fram’d according to Alphabetical
order, and Register in it your Heads, as they shall offer
themselves in the course of your reading, every Head
under his Zroper Letter. For thus, though your Notes.
lie confused in your Papers, yet are they digested in
52 RHODIGINUS—LORD CHANDOS.
your /udex, and to draw them together when you are
to make use of them, will be nothing so great pains as
it would be, to have ranged them under their several
Hleads at their first gathering. —J@tscellaneous Essays:
** Goethe's Helena.” 1828,
I thank Heaven I have still a boundless appetite for
reading. I have thoughts of lying buried alive here for
many years, forgetting all stuffabout ‘‘ reputation,” suc-
cess, and so forth, and resolutely setting myself to gain
insight by the only method not shut out from me—that
of books. Two articles (of fifty pages) in the year will
keep me living ; employment in that kind is open
enough. For the rest, I really find almost that I do
best when forgotten by men, and nothing above or
around me but the imperishable Heaven. It never
wholly seems to me that I am to die in this wilderness ;
a feeling is always dimly with me that I am to be
called out of it, and have work fit for me before I
depart, the rather as I can do ezther way, Let not soli-
250 THOMAS CARLYLE.
tude, let not silence and unparticipating isolation make
a savage of thee—these, too, have their advantages. —
Journal, Craigenputtock, September 3rd, 1832. (See
Froude’s Life of Carlyle, vol. ii., p. 309.)
No book, I believe, except the Bible, has been so
- universally read and loved by Christians of all
tongues and sects as Thomas a Kempis’ ‘‘ De Imita-
tione Christi.” It gives me pleasure to think that the ©
Christian heart of our good mother may also derive
nourishment and strength from what has already
nourished and strengthened so many. [He had sent
his mother a copy of the book in February, 1833.]—
Froude’s Life of Carlyle, vol. ii., ~. 337.
‘Visible and tangible products of the past, again, I
reckon up to the extent of three: Cities, with their
cabinets and arsenals; their tilled Fields, to either or
to both of which divisions roads with their bridges may
belong; and thirdly——Books. In which third, truly,
the last invented, lies a worth far surpassing that of the
two others. Wondrous indeed is the virtue of a true
book! Not like a dead city of stones, yearly crumbling,
yearly needing repair; more like a tilled field, but then
a spiritual field; like a spiritual tree, let me rather say,
it stands from year to year, and from age to age (we
have books that already number some hundred and
fifty human ages); and yearly comes its new produce
of leaves (commentaries, deductions, philosophical,
political systems ; or were it only sermons, pamphlets,
journalistic essays), every one of which is talismanic
and thaumaturgic, for it can persuade men. O thou
THOMAS CARLYLE. 251
who art able to write a book, which once in the two
centuries or oftener there is a man gifted to do, envy
not him whom they name city-builder, and inexpres-
sibly pity him whom they name conqueror or city-
burner! Thou, too, art a conqueror and victor; but
of the true sort, namely, over the Devil. Thou, too,
hast built what will outlast all marble and metal, and
be a wonder-bringing city of the mind, a temple and
seminary and prophetic mount, whereto all kindreds of
the earth will pilgrim.” —Sartor Resartus, 1833.
Our pious Fathers, feeling well what importance lay
in the speaking of man to men, founded churches, made
endowments, regulations ; everywhere in the civilised
world there is a Pulpit, environed with all manner of
complex dignified appurtenances and furtherances, that
therefrom a man with the tongue may, to best advan-
tage, address his fellow-men, They felt that this was
the most important thing ; that without this there was
no good thing. It isa right pious work, that of theirs ;
beautiful to behold! But now with the art of Writing,
with the art of Printing, a total change has come over
that business. The Writer of a Book, is not he a
Preacher preaching not to this parish or that, on this day
or that, but to all men in all times and places?
Certainly the Art of Writing is the most miraculous
of all things man has devised. Odin’s Ruzes were the
first form of the work of a Hero; Sooks, written
words, are still miraculous Ruzes, the latest form! In
Books lies the soz? of the whole Past Time ; the arti-
culate audible voice of the Past, when the body and
material substance of it has altogether vanished like a
252 THOMAS CARLYLE.
dream. Mighty fleets and armies, harbours and
arsenals, vast cities, high-domed, many-engined,—
they are precious, great: but what do they become?
Agamemnon, the many Agamemnons, Pericleses, and
their Greece ; allis gone now to some ruined fragments,
dumb mournful wrecks and blocks : but the Books of
Greece! There Greece, to every thinker, still very
literally lives ; can be called-up again into life. No
magic Rune is stranger than a Book. All that Man-~
kind has done, thought, gained or been : it is lying as
in magic preservation in the pages of Books. They
are the chosen possession of men.
Do not Books still accomplish mzracles as Runes
were fabled to do? They persuade men. Not the
wretchedest circulating-library novel, which foolish
girls thumb and con in remote villages, but will help to
regulate the actual practical weddings and households
of those foolish girls. So ‘* Celia” felt, so ‘‘ Clifford ”
acted: the foolish Theorem of Life, stamped into those
young brains, comes out as a solid Practice one day.
Consider whether any Aze in the wildest imagination
of Mythologist ever did such wonders as, on the actual
firm Earth, some Books have done! What built St.
Paul’s Cathedral? Look at the heart of the matter, it
was that divine Hebrew Book,—the word partly of the
man Moses, an outlaw tending his Midianitish herds,
four thousand years ago, in the wildernesses of Sinai!
It is the strangest of things, yet nothing istruer. With
the Art of Writing, of which Printing is a simple, an
inevitable and comparatively insignificant corollary, the
true reign of miracles for mankind commenced. It
related, with a wondrous new contiguity and perpetual
THOMAS CARLYLE. 253
closeness, the Past and Distant with the Present in
time and place ; all times and all places with this our
actual Here and Now. All things were altered for
men ; all modes of important work of men : teaching,
preaching, governing andallelse. . . .
Once invent Printing, you metamorphosed all Uni-
versities, or superseded them! The Teacher needed
not now to gather men personally round him, that he
might speak to them what he knew ; print it ina Book,
and all learners, far and wide, for a trifle, had it each
at his own fireside, much more effectually to learn it !
- . . If we think of it, all that a University, or
final highest School can do for us, is still but what the
first School began doing,—teach us tovead. We learn
to vead, in various languages, in various sciences ; we
learn the alphabet and letters of all manner of Books.
But the place where we are to get knowledge, even
theoretic knowledge, is the Books themselves! It
depends on what we read, after all manner of Pro-
fessors have done their best for us. The true University
of these days is a Collection of Books. .
Coleridge remarks very pertinently somewhere, that
wherever you find a sentence musically worded, of true
rhythm and melody in the words, there is something
deep and good in the meaning too. For body and
soul, word and idea, go strangely together here, as
everywhere.
I many a time say, the writers of Newspapers,
Pamphlets, Poems, Books, these ave the real working
effective Church of a modern country. Nay not only
our preaching, but even our worship, is not it too
accomplished by means of Printed Books? The noble
254 THOMAS CARLYLE.
sentiment which a gifted soul has clothed for us in
melodious words, which brings melody into our hearts,
—is not this essentially, if we will understand it, of the
nature of worship? There are many, in all countries,
who, in this confused time, have no other method of
worship. He who, in any way, shows us better than
we knew before that a lily of the fields is beautiful,
does he not show it us as an effluence of the Fountain
of all Beauty ; as the handwriting, made visible there,
of the great Maker of the Universe? He has sung for
us, made us sing with him a little verse of a sacred
Psalm. Essentially so. How much more he who
sings, who says, or in any way brings home to our
heart the noble doings, feelings, darings and endurances
ofa brother man! He has verily touched our hearts
as with a live coal from the altar. Perhaps there is no
worship more authentic. . .
On all sides, are we not driven to the conclusion
that, of the things which man can do or make here be-
low, by far the most momentous, wonderful and worthy
are the things we call Books! Those poor bits of rag-
paper with black ink on them ;—from the Daily
Newspaper to the sacred Hebrew Book, what have
they not done, what are they not doing !—For indeed,
whatever be the outward form of the thing (bits of
paper, as we say, and black ink), is it not verily, at
bottom, the highest act of man’s faculty that produces
a Book? Itis the 7hought of man ; the true thauma-
turgic virtue; by which man works all things
whatsoever. All that he does, and brings to pass, is
the vesture of a Thought. This London City, with
all its houses, palaces, steam engines, cathedrals, and
THOMAS CARLYLE. 255
huge immeasurable traffic and tumult, what is it but
a Thought, but millions of Thoughts made into One ;
—a huge immeasurable Spirit of a THOUGHT, em-
bodied in brick, in iron, smoke, dust, Palaces,
Parliaments, Hackney Coaches, Katherine Docks, and
the rest of it! Nota brick was made but some man
had to chink of the making of that brick.—The thing
we called ‘‘ bits of paper with traces of black ink,” is
the Zurest embodiment a Thought of man can have.
No wonder it is, in all ways, the activest and noblest.
If a book come from the heart, it will contrive to
reach other hearts ; all art and author-craft are of small
account to that.—Lectuves on Heroes: ‘‘ The Hero as
Man.of Letters.” 1840.
Possibly too you may have heard it said that the
course of centuries has changed all this; and that ‘‘the
true University of our days is a Collection of Books.”
And beyond doubt, all this is greatly altered by the
invention of Printing, which took place about midway
between us and the origin of Universities. Men
have not now to go in person to where a Professor is
actually speaking ; because in most cases you can get
his doctrine out of him through a book ; and can then
read it, and read it again and again, and study it.
That is an immense change, that one fact of Printed
Books. And I am not sure that I know of any Uni-
versity in which the whole of that fact has yet been
completely taken in, and the studies moulded in
complete conformity withit. . . .
It remains, however, practically a most important
truth, what I alluded to above, that the main use of
256 THOMAS CARLYLE.
Universities in the present age is that, after you have
done with all your classes, the next thing is a collec-
tion of books, a great library of good books, which
you proceed to study and to read. What the Univer-
sities can mainly do for you,—what I have found the
University did for me, is, That it taught me to read,
in various languages, in various sciences ; so that I
could go into the books which treated of these things,
and gradually penetrate into any department I wanted
to make myself master of, as I found it suit me.
Whatever you may think of these historical points,
the clearest and most imperative duty lies on every one
of you to be assiduous in your reading. Learn to be
good readers,—which is perhaps a more difficult thing
than you imagine. Learn to be discriminative in your
reading ; to read faithfully, and with your best atten-
tion, all kinds of things which you have a real interest
in, a real not an imaginary, and which you find to be
really fit for what you are engaged in. . . . The
most unhappy of all men is the man who cannot tell
what he is going to do, who has got no work cut-out
for him in the world, and does not go into it. For
work is the grand cure of all the maladies and miseries
that ever beset mankind,—honest work, which you
intend getting done. :
I do not know whether it has been sufficiently
brought home to you that there are two kinds of books.
When a man is reading on any kind of subject, in most
departments of books,—in all books, if you take it in a
wide sense,—he will find that there is a division into
good books and bad books. Everywhere a good kind
of book and a bad kind of book. Iam not to assume
THOMAS CARLYLE. 257
that you are unacquainted, or ill-acquainted with this
plain fact; but I may remind you that it is becoming a
very important consideration in our day. And we
have to cast aside altogether the idea people have,
that if they are reading any book, that if an ignorant
man is reading any book, he is doing rather better
than nothing at all. I must entirely call that in ques-
tion ; I even venture to deny that. It would be much
safer and better for many a reader, that he had no con-
cern with books at all. There is a number, a frightfully
increasing number, of books that are decidedly, to the
readers of them, not useful. But an ingenious reader
will learn, also, that a certain number of books
were written by a supremely noble kind of people,
—not a very great number of books, but still a
number fit to occupy all your reading industry, do
adhere more or less to that side of things. In short, as
I have written it down somewhere else, I conceive that
books are like men’s souls; divided into sheep and
goats. Some few are going up, and carrying us up,
heavenward; calculated, I mean, to be of priceless
advantage in teaching,—in forwarding the teaching of
all generations. Others, a frightful multitude, are
going down, down ; doing ever the more and the wider
and the wilder mischief. Keep a strict eye on that
latter class of books, my young friends !—And for the
rest, in regard to all your studies and readings here, and
to whatever you may learn, you are to remember that
the object is not particular knowledges,—not that of
getting higher and higher in technical perfections, and
all that sort of thing. There isa higher aim lying at the
rear of all that, especially among those who are intended
R
258 DR. ARNOLD.
for literary or speaking pursuits, or the sacred profes-
sion, You are ever to bear in mind that there lies
behind that the acquisition of what may be called
wisdom ;—namely, sound appreciation and just decision
as to all the objects that come round you, and the habit
of behaving with justice, candour, clear insight, and
loyal adherence to fact. Great is wisdom ; infinite
is the value of wisdom. It cannot be exaggerated ; it
is the highest achievement of man: ‘* Blessed is he
that getteth understanding.” And that, I believe, on
occasion, may be missed very easily; never more
easily than now, I sometimes think. If that is a
failure, all is failure !—However, I will not touch
further upon that matter.—Jl/uaugural Address at
Edinburgh, 2nd April, 1866, on being installed as
Rector of the University.
THos. ARNOLD. 1795—1842.
Keep your view of men and things extensive, and
depend upon it that a mixed knowledge is not a super-
ficial one. As far as it goes, the views that it gives
are true; but he who reads deeply one class of writers
only, gets views which are almost sure to be perverted,
and which are not only narrow but false. Adjust your
proposed amount of reading to your time and inclina-
tion, —this is perfectly free to every man ; but whether
that amount be large or small, let it be varied in its
kind, and widely varied. If I have a confident
opinion in any one point connected with the improve-
-ment of the human mind it is on this.
DR. ARNOLD—FUDGE TALFOURD. 259
It is a very hard thing, I suppose, to read at once pas-
sionately and critically, by no means to be cold, captious,
sneering, or scoffing ; to admire greatness and goodness
with an intense love and veneration, yet to judge all
things ; to be the slave neither of names nor of parties,
and to sacrifice even the most beautiful associations for
the sake of truth. I wouldsay, asa good general rule,
never read the works of any ordinary man, except on
scientific matters, or when they contain simple matters
of fact. Even on matters of fact, silly and ignorant
men, however honest and industrious in their particular
subject, require to be read with constant watchfulness
and suspicion ; whereas great men are always instruc-
tive, even amidst much of error on particular points.
In general, however, I hold it to be certain, that the
truth is to be found in the great men and the error in
the little ones.—Dean Stanley’s Life of Dr. Thomas
Arnold: Letter to-C. J. Vaughan, February 23, 1833.
Tuomas Noon TALFOURD. 1795—1854.
If we consider that this festival of intellect is holden
in the capital of a district containing, within narrow
confines, a population of scarcely less than two
millions of immortal beings, engrossed in a propor-
tion far beyond that of any other in the world,
in the toils of manufacture and commerce ; that it
indicates at once an unprecedented desire on the part
of the elder and wealthier labourers in this region of
industry, to share with those whom they employ and
protect, the blessings which equally sweeten the lot of
all, and the resolution of the young to win and to
260 FUDGE TALFOURD.
diffuse them ; that it exhibits literature, once the
privilege only of a cloistered few, supplying the finest
links of social union, to be expanded by those nume-
rous members of the middle class whom they are now
embracing, and who yet comprise ‘‘ two-thirds of all
the virtue that remains,” throughout that greater mass
which they are elevating, and of whose welfare they,
in turn, will be the guardians,—we feel that. this
assembly represents objects which, though intensely
local, are yet of universal concern, and cease to wonder
at that familiar interest with which strangers at once
regard them.
How important then is it, that throughout our land,
but more especially here where all the greatest of the
material instruments have their triumphant home—
almost that of the alchemist—the spiritual agencies
should be quickened into kindred activity ; that the
brief minutes of leisure and repose which may be left
us should, by the succession of those ‘‘ thoughts which
wander through eternity,” become hours of that true
time which is dialled in heaven.
The solitary leisure of the clerk, of the shopman, of
the apprentice, of the overseer, of every worker in all
departments of labour, from the highest to the lowest,
shall be gladdened, at will, by those companions to
whom the ‘‘serene creators of immortal things,” in
verse and prose, have given him perpetual introduc-
tion, and who will never weary, or betray, or forsake
him.— Speech of Justice Talfourd to the members of
the Manchester Atheneum, October 23, 1845.
HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 261
HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 1796—1849.
Books, no less than their authors, are liable to get
ragged, and to experience that neglect and contempt
which generally follows the outward and visible signs
of poverty. We do therefore most heartily commend
the man, who bestows on a tattered and shivering
volume, such decent and comely apparel, as may
protect it from the insults of the vulgar, and the more
cutting slights of the fair. But if it be a rare book,
‘¢ the lone survivor of a numerous race,” the one of its
family that has escaped the trunk-makers and pastry-
cooks, we would counsel a little extravagance in
arraying it. Let no book perish, unless it be such an
one as it is your duty to throw into the fire. There is
no such thing as a worthless book, though there are
some far worse than worthless ; no book which is not
worth preserving, if its existence may be tolerated ;
as there are some men whom it may be proper to hang,
but none who should be suffered to starve. To reprint
books that do not rise to a certain pitch of worth, is
foolish. It benefits nobody so much as it injures the
possessors of the original copies. It is like a new
coinage of Queen Anne’s farthings. That any thing is
in being, is a presumptive reason that it should remain
in being, but not that it should be multiplied.
The binding of a book should always suit its com-
plexion. Pages, venerably yellow, should not be
cased in military morocco, but in sober brown Russia,
Glossy hot pressed paper looks best in vellum. We
have sometimes seen a collection of old whitey-brown
black letter ballads, &c., so gorgeously tricked out,
262 HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
that they remind us of the pious liberality of the:
Catholics, who dress in silk and gold the images of
saints, part of whose saintship consisted in wearing
rags and hair-cloth. The costume of a volume should:
also be in keeping with its subject, and with the
character of its author. How absurd to see the works.
of William Pen, in flaming scarlet, and George Fox’s
Journal in Bishop’s purple! Theology should be
solemnly gorgeous. History should be ornamented
after the antique or gothic fashion. Works of science,
as plain as is consistent with dignity. Poetry, szmplex
munaitits.—Biographia Borealis ; or Lives of Distin-
guished Northerns: ** William Roscoe.”
CoNNoP THIRLWALL, 1797—1875.
I flatter myself that I can sympathise with your
enjoyment of a quiet day. A life of constant society
would to me be perfectly intolerable, while I was never
yet tired by what is called solitude (being indeed some
of the choicest society to one who likes a book).
Nobody can be more interested in the correctness of
Dr. ’s views on reading than: myself.
My practice is quite the reverse of his. My reading
covers a pretty large area, but at many points is very
superficial, and, therefore, I am not an impartial judge.
I cannot, however, assent to his opinion—as you state
it. But if the maxim runs, ‘‘ Better read one good
book eight times than many once,” I should need to
know something more about the many. Are they
supposed to be also good? And. if so, on the same:
BISHOP THIRLWALL, 263
or different subjects? I should quite agree that it is
better to study one good book on any subject accurately
than to hurry through many, even though equally good,
on the same subject. But if, after I had read one book
seven times, the question was whether I should give it
‘an eighth reading or should skim over the work of
another writer, though of inferior merit, on the same
subject, I should have no doubt that my knowledge of
the subject and my capacity of judging would be more
enlarged by a hasty perusal of the new book, and that
I should understand the first better than if I read it
again. I suspect that a man of one or very few books
may be familiar with their contents, but be little the
better for them for want of means of comparing
different views with one another.
A person who was a very great reader and hard
thinker told me that he never took up a book except
with the view of making himself master of some subject
which he was studying, and that while he was so
engaged he made all his reading converge to that point.
In this way he might read parts of many books, but
not a single one ‘‘from end to end.” This I take to
be an excellent method of study, but one which implies
the command of many books as well as of much
leisure.
It must, however, be remembered that szperficial
is a relative term. There is hardly a department,
however narrow, in the whole range of human
knowledge that is not absolutely unfathomable and
inexhaustible, and its chief adepts would be the first to
own or proclaim that no human life is long enough to
make any one completely master of it. This holds not
264 BISHOP THIRLWALL.
only with regard to the higher ologies—theology,
philology, physiology, geology, zoology, &c.—but
even to their minutest ramifications. Lives, I believe,
have been spent and may be spent on such pursuits as
numismatics and heraldry, which are branches of
history, and involve a great extent of historical reading ;
but I also believe that the same may be said of some
of the minutest compartments of animal and vegetable
life. The study can never be exhausted. But would
a life be well spent in the acquisition of a relatively
profound knowledge of beetles or grasses, or coins or
blazonry, to the exclusion of everything else ?
Yet I think Dr. s ae pecs leads to this,
I believe that maothatte is Pe so that the
remembrance of it may not be revived. How often
do scenes and words of more than sixty years ago
recur to my mind with the vividness of impressions of
~ yesterday !
Was it not Admiral Beaufort who was once very
nearly drowned, and while under water had a vision of
his whole past life in all its details?—Letters to a
Friend, by Connop Thirlwall, Bishop of St. David's.
[A letter from Admiral Sir Frederick Beaufort,
descriptive of the incident here referred to, was pub-
lished in Sir John Barrow’s ‘‘ Autobiography,” and is
given in the Appendix to Bishop Thirlwall’s ‘‘ Letters
toa Friend,” Enlarged Edition, 1882. The subject
is also treated in Miss Martineau’s ‘‘ Biographical
Sketches,”’]
A. B. ALCOTT. 265
A. Bronson ALcorr. J. 1799 [Living].
Good books, like good friends, are few and chosen ;
the more select the more enjoyable; and like these
are approached with diffidence, nor sought too familiarly
nor too often, having the precedence only when friends
tire. The most mannerly of companions, accessible
at all times, in all moods, they frankly declare the
author’s mind, without giving offence. Like living
friends they too have their voice and physiognomies,
and their company is prized as old acquaintances. We
seek them in our need of counsel or of amusement,
without impertinence or apology, sure of having our
claims allowed. A good book justifies our theory of
personal supremacy, keeping this fresh in the memory
and perennial. What were days without such fellow-
ship? We were alone in the world without it. Nor
does our faith falter though the secret we search for
and do not find in them will not commit itself to litera-
ture, still we take up the new issue with the old
expectation, and again and again, as we try our friends
after many failures at conversation, believing this visit
will be the favored hour and all will be told us. Nor
do I know what book I can well spare, certainly none
that has admitted me, though it he but for the moment
and by the most oblique glimpse, into the mind and
personality of its author ; though few there are that
prefer such friendly claim to one’s regard, and satisfy
expectation as he turns their leaves, Our favorites
are few ; since only what rises from the heart reaches
it, being caught and carried on the tongues of men
wheresoever love and letters journey.
266 A. B. ALCOTT.
Nor need we wonder at their scarcity or the value
we set upon them ; life, the essence of good letters as
of friendship, being its own best biographer, the artist
that portrays the persons and thoughts we are, and are
becoming. And the most that even he can do, is but:
a chance stroke or two at this fine essence housed in
the handsome dust, but too fugitive and coy to be caught
and held fast for longer than the passing glance; the
master touching ever and retouching the picture he
leaves unfinished.
‘*My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.”
: . Any library is an attraction. And there is
an indescribable delight—who has not felt it that
deserves the name of scholar—in mousing at choice
among the alcoves of antique book-shops especially,
and finding the oldest of these sometimes newest of
the new, fresher, more suggestive than the book just
published and praised in the reviews. And the
pleasure scarcely less of cutting the leaves of the new
volume, opening by preference at the end rather than
title-page, and seizing the author’s conclusions at a.
glance. Very few books repay the reading in course.
Nor can we excuse an author if his page does not tempt
us to copy passages into our common places, for quota-
tion, proverbs, meditation, or other uses. A good
book is fruitful of other books ; it perpetuates its fame
from age to age, and makes eras in the lives of its
readers.—TZadblets : ** Books.”
Next to a friend’s discourse, no morsel is more
delicious than a ripe book, a book whose flavor is as
AA BAALCOTT. 267
refreshing at the thousandth tasting as at the first.
Books when friends weary, conversation flags, or
nature fails to inspire. The best books appeal to the
deepest in us and answer the demand. A book loses
if wanting the personal element, gains when this is
insinuated, or comes to the front occasionally, blending
history with mythology.
My favorite books have a personality and com-
plexion as distinctly drawn as if the authoyr’s portrait
were framed into the paragraphs and smiled upon me ©
as I read his illustrated pages. Nor could I spare
them from my table or shelves, though I should not
open the leaves for a twelve-month ;—the sight of
them, the knowledge that they are within reach,
accessible at any moment, rewards me when I invite
their company. Borrowed books are not mine while
in hand. I covet ownership in the contents, and fancy
that he who is conversant with these is the rightful
owner, and moreover, that the true scholar owes to
scholars a catalogue of his chosen volumes, that they
may learn from whence his entertainment during leisure
moments. Next toa personal introduction, a list of
one’s favourite authors were the best admittance to his
character and manners. . . .
Without Plutarch, no library were complete. Can
we marvel at his fame, or overestimate the surpassing
merits of his writings? It seems asI read as if none
before, none since, had written lives, as if he alone
were entitled to the name of biographer, —such intimacy
of insight is his, laying open the springs of character,
and through his parallels portraying his times as no
historian had done before. . . . It is good exer-
268 A, B. ALCOTT.
cise, good medicine, the reading of his books,—good
for to-day, as in times it was preceding ours, salutary
reading for all times.
Montaigne also comes in for a large share of the
scholar’s regard. Opened anywhere, his page is
sensible, marrowy, quotable. He may be taken up,
too, and laid aside carelessly without loss, so inconse-
quent is his method, and he so careless of his wealth.
Professing nature and honesty of speech, his page has
the suggestions of the landscape, is good for striking
out in any direction, suited to any mood, sure of yielding
variety of information, wit, entertainment,—not to be
commended, to be sure, without grave abatements, to
be read with good things growing side by side with
things not such and tasting of the apple. Still, with
every abatement, his book is one of the ripest and
mellowist, and, bulky as it is, we wish there were more
of it. He seems-almost the only author whose success’
warrants in every stroke of his pen his right to guide
it; he of the men of letters, the prince of letters;
since writing of life, he omits nothing of its substance,
but tells all with a courage unprecedented. His frank-
ness is charming. So his book has indescribable
attractions, being as it were a Private Book,—his
diary self-edited, and offered with an honesty that
wins his readers, he never having done bestowing his
opulent hospitalities on him, gossiping sagely, and
casting his wisdom in sport to any who care for it.
Everywhere his page is alive and rewarding, and we
are disappointed at finding his book comes to an end
like other books. —Concord Days ; ‘* Books.”
A. B. ALCOTT. 269
One cannot celebrate books sufficiently. After
saying his best, still something better remains to be
spoken in their praise. As with friends, one finds new
beauties at every interview, and would stay long in the
presence of those choice companions. As with friends,
he may dispense with a wide acquaintance. Few and
choice, The richest minds need not large libraries.
That is a good book which is opened with expectation
and closed with profit.
An author who sets his reader on sounding the
depths of his own thoughts serves him best, and at the
same time teaches the modesty of authorship.
The more life embodied in the book, the more com-
panionable. Like a friend, the volume salutes one
pleasantly at every opening of its leaves, and entertains;
we close it with charmed memories, and come again
and again to the entertainment. The books that
charmed us in youth recall the delight ever afterwards ;
we are hardly persuaded there are any like them, any
deserving equally our affections. Fortunate if the best
fall in our way during this susceptible and forming
period of our lives.
I value books for their suggestiveness even more than
for the information they may contain, works that may
be taken in hand and laid aside, read at moments, con-
taining sentences that quicken my thoughts and prompt
to following these into their relations with life and
things. Iam stimulated and exalted by the perusal
of books of this kind, and should esteem myself
fortunate if I might add another to the few which the
world shall take to its affections.—Zadle Talk:
“* Learning.”
270 MACAULAY.
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
1800—1859.
There is scarcely any delusion which has a better
claim to be indulgently treated than that under the
influence of which a man ascribes every moral excellence
to those who have left imperishable monuments of their
genius. The causes of this error lie deep in the inmost
recesses of humannature. We are all inclined to judge
of others as we find them. ‘Our estimate of a character
always depends much on the manner in which that
character affects our own interests and passions. We
find it difficult to think well of those by whom we are
thwarted or depressed ; and we are ready to admit
every excuse for the vices of those who are useful or
agreeable to us. This is, we believe, one of those
illusions to which the whole human race is subject, and
which experience and reflection can only partially
remove. It is, in the phraseology of Bacon, one of the
zdola tribus. Hence it is that the moral character ofa
man eminent in letters or in the fine arts is treated
often by contemporaries, almost always by posterity,
with extraordinary tenderness. The world derives
pleasure and advantage from the performances of such
aman. The number of those who suffer by his per-
sonal vices is small, even in his own time, when :
compared with the number of those to whom his talents
are a source of gratification. Ina few years all those
whom he has injured disappear. But his works remain,
and are a source of delight to millions. The genius of
Sallust is still with us. But the Numidians whom he
plundered, and the unfortunate husbands who caught
MACAULAY. 275
him in their houses at unseasonable hours, are forgotten.
We suffer ourselves to be delighted by the keenness of
Clarendon’s observation, and by the sober majesty of
his style, till we forget the oppressor and the bigot in
the historian. Falstaff and Tom Jones have survived
the gamekeepers whom Shakspeare cudgelled, and the
landladies whom Fielding bilked. A great writer is
the friend and benefactor of his readers; and they
cannot but judge of him under the deluding influence
of friendship and gratitude. We all know how
unwilling we are to admit the truth of any disgraceful
story about a person whose society we like, and from
whom we have received favours; how long we struggle
against evidence, how fondly, when the facts cannot
be disputed, we cling to the hope that there may be
some explanation or some extenuating circumstance
with which we are unacquainted. Just such is the
feeling which a man of liberal education naturally
entertains towards the great minds of former ages.
The debt which he owes to them is incalculable.
They have guided him to truth. They have filled his
mind with noble and graceful images. They have
stood by him in all vicissitudes, comforters in sorrow,
nurses in sickness, companions in solitude. These
friendships are exposed to no danger from the occur-
rences by which other attachments are weakened or
dissolved. Time glides on; fortune is inconstant;
tempers are soured ; bonds which seemed indissoluble
are daily sundered by interest, by emulation, or by
caprice. But no such cause can affect the silent
converse which we hold with the highest of human
intellects. That placid intercourse is disturbed by no
272 MACAULAY.
jealousies or resentments. These are the old friends
who are never seen with new faces, who are the same
in wealth and in poverty, in glory and in obscurity.
With the dead there is no rivalry. In the dead there
is no change. Plato is never sullen. Cervantes is
never petulant. Demosthenes never comes un-
seasonably. Dante never stays too long. No differ-
ence of political opinion can alienate Cicero. No
heresy can excite the horror of Bossuet.—Cretical and
Historical Essays: *‘ Lord Bacon.”
Compare the literary acquirements of the great men
of the thirteenth century with those which will be within
the reach of many who will frequent our reading room.
As to Greek learning, the profound man of the
thirteenth century was absolutely on a par with the
superficial man of the nineteenth. In the modern
languages, there was not, six hundred years ago, a
single volume which is now read. The library of our
profound scholar must have consisted entirely of Latin
books. ' We will suppose him to have had both a large
and a choice collection. We will allow him thirty,
nay forty manuscripts, and among them a Virgil, a
Terence, a Lucan, an Ovid, a Statius, a great deal of
Livy, a great deal of Cicero. In allowing him all this,
we are dealing most liberally with him ; for it is much
more likely that his shelves were filled with treatises
on school divinity and canon law, composed by writers
whose names the world has very wisely forgotten.
But, even if we suppose him to have possessed all that
is most valuable in the literature of Rome, I say with
perfect confidence that, both in respect of intellectual
MACAULAY. 273
improvement, and in respect of intellectual pleasures,
he was far less favourably situated than a man who
now, knowing only the English language, has a book-
case filled with the best English works. Our great
man of the Middle Ages could not form any conception
of any tragedy approaching Macbeth or Lear, or of any
comedy equal to Henry the Fourth or Twelfth Night.
The best epic poem that he had read was far inferior to
the Paradise Lost; and all the tomes of his philosophers
were not worth a page of the Novum Organum.
A large part of what is best worth knowing in
ancient literature, and in the literature of France,
Italy, Germany, and Spain, has been translated into
our own tongue. It is scarcely possible that the
translation of any book of the highest class can be
equal to the original. But, though the finer touches
may be lost in the copy, the great outlines will remain.
An Englishman who never saw the frescoes in the
Vatican may yet, from engravings, form some notion of
the exquisite grace of Raphael, and of the sublimity
and energy of Michael Angelo. And so the genius of
Homer is seen in the poorest version of the Iliad ;
the genius of Cervantes is seen in the poorest version
of Don Quixote. Let it not be supposed that I wish
to dissuade any person from studying either the ancient
languages or the languages of modern Europe. Far
from it. I prize most highly those keys of knowledge;
and I think that no man who has leisure for study
ought to be content until he possesses several of them.
I always much admired a saying of the Emperor
Charles the Fifth, ‘When I learn a new language,”
S
274 MACAULAY.
he said, ‘‘I feel as if I had got a newsoul.” But I
would console those who have not time to make
themselves linguists by assuring them that, by means of
their own mother tongue, they may obtain ready access
to vast intellectual treasures, to treasures such as might
have been envied by the greatest linguists of the age of
Charles the Fifth, to treasuressurpassing those which were
possessed by Aldus, by Erasmus, and by Melancthon.
And thus I am brought back to the point from which
I started. I have been requested to invite you to fill
your glasses to the Literature of Britain; to that
literature, the brightest, the purest, the most durable
of all the glories of our country; to that literature, so
rich in precious truth and precious fiction; to that
literature which boasts of the prince of all poets and of
the prince of all philosophers ; to that literature which
has exercised an influence wider than that of our
commerce, and mightier than that of our arms; to
that literature which has taught France the principles
of liberty, and has furnished Germany with models of
art ; to that literature which forms a tie closer than
the tie of consanguinity between us and the common-
wealths of the valley of the Mississippi; to that
literature before the light of which impious and cruel
superstitions are fast taking flight on the banks of the
-Ganges ; to that literature which will, in future ages,
instruct and delight the unborn millions who will have
turned the Australasian and Caffrarian deserts into
citiesand gardens. To the Literature of Britain, then!
And, wherever British literature spreads, may it be
attended by British virtue and by British freedom !—
Speech delivered at the Opening of the Edinburgh
Philosophical Institute, November 4, 1846.
WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 275
WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 1800—1883.
I was now to have an opportunity of learning prac-
tically how far my weekly earnings as a bookseller’s
apprentice would go in defraying the cost of. board
and lodging. In short, at little above fourteen years
of age, I was thrown on my own resources. From
necessity, not less than from choice, I resolved at all
hazards to make the weekly four shillings serve for
everything. I cannot remember entertaining the
slightest despondency on the subject. . . . As
favourable for carrying out my aims at an indepen-
dent style of living, I had the good-fortune to be
installed in the dwelling of a remarkably precise and
‘honest widow, a Peebles woman, who, with two
grown-up sons, occupied the top story of a building in
the West Port. My landlady had the reputation of
being excessively parsimonious, but as her honesty was
of importance to one in my position, and as she con-
sented to let me have a bed, cook for me, and allow
me to sit by her fireside—the fire, by the way, not
being much to speak of—for the reasonable charge of
eighteenpence a week, I was thought to be lucky in
finding her disposed to receive me within her establish-
ment. To her dwelling, therefore, I repaired with my
all, consisting of a few articles of clothing and two or
three books, including a pocket Bible—the whole con-
tained in a small blue-painted box, which I carried on
my shoulder along the Grassmarket.
I made such attempts as were at all practicable,
while an apprentice, to remedy the defects of my
276 WILLIAM CHAMBERS.
education at school. Nothing in that way could be
done in the shop, for there reading was proscribed.
But allowed to take home a book for study, I gladly
availed myself of the privilege. The mornings in
summer, when light cost nothing, were my chief
reliance. Fatigued with trudging about, I was not
naturally inclined to rise, but on this and some other
points I overruled the will, and forced myself to get
up at five o’clock, and have a spell at reading until it
was time to think of moving off—my brother, when he
was with me, doing the same. In this way I made
some progress in French, with the pronunciation of
which I was already familiar from the speech of the.
French prisoners of war at Peebles. I likewise dipped
into several books of solid worth—such as Smith’s
Wealth of Nations, Locke’s Human Understanding,
Paley’s Moral Philosophy, and Blair’s Belles-Lettres—
fixing the leading facts and theories in my memory by
a note-book for the purpose. In another book, I kept
for years an accurate account of my expenses, not
allowing a single halfpenny to escape record.
In the winter of 1815-16, when the cold and cost of
candle-light would have detained me in bed, I was so
fortunate as to discover an agreeable means of spending
my mornings. . . . From this hopeful personage,
whom it was my duty to look after, I one day had a pro-
position, which he had been charged to communicate.
If I pleased, he would introduce me to his occasional
employer, the baker in Canal Street, who, he said, was
passionately fond of reading, but without leisure for its
gratification. If I would go early—very early—say five
aa
WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 277
o’clock in the morning, and read aloud to him and his
two sons, while they were preparing their batch, I
should be regularly rewarded for my trouble with
a penny roll newly drawn from the oven.
Behold me, then, quitting my lodgings in the West
Port, before five o’clock in the winter mornings, and
pursuing my way across the town to the cluster of
sunk streets below the North Bridge, of which Canal
Street was the principal. The scene of operations was
a cellar of confined dimensions, reached by a flight of
steps descending from the street, and possessing a small
back window immediately beyond the baker’s kneading
board. Seated on a folded-up sack in the sole of the
window, with a book in one hand and a penny candle
stuck in a bottle near the other, I went to work for the
amusement of the company. The baker was not
particular as to subject. All he-stipulated for was
something droll and laughable. Aware of his tastes, I
tried him first with the jocularities of Roderick Random,
which was a great success, and produced shouts of
laughter. I followed this up with other works of
Smollett, also with the novels of Fielding, and with
Gil Blas; the tricks and grotesque rogueries in this
last-mentioned work of fiction giving the baker and his
two sons unqualified satisfaction. My services as a
reader for two and a half hours every morning were
unfailingly recompensed by a donation of the antici-
pated roll, with which, after getting myself brushed
of the flour, I went on my way to shop-opening, lamp-
cleaning, and all the rest of it, at Calton Street.—
Memoir of Robert Chambers; with Autobiographic
Reminiscences of Wilham Chambers.
278 FAMES CROSSLEY.
James CrossLey. 8. 1800 [Living].
Who is not delighted to meet in a place utterly
barren and unpromising, with something akin to his
habits, and congenial to his pursuits? . . . To
know what pleasure is, we ought to meet with the
thing, which, of all others, we most want, in the place,
where, of all others, we least expect to findit. . ..
We were led into these speculations by a late visit to
the library, founded by Humphrey Cheetham, in Man-
chester ; a venerable and praiseworthy institution,
which is rendered more striking, by its presenting
somewhat of the appearance of a college, amidst the
hurry and business which are always visible in a large
manufacturing town. It is pleasing to pass from the
noise and dissonance of a crowded street, into the com-
paratively still and silent court of a spacious antique
mansion, with low-browed roofs, and narrow windows,
apparently of the architecture of the time of James
the First, where the only habitants seem to be a little
population of boys, in their grotesque liveries, according
well with their ancient domicile. To feel that there
is such a place amidst warehouses, factories, and shops,
is some satisfaction, as it shows you are not completely
immersed in trade and calculation, but that there is
still amidst wool shops, and cotton rooms, a little zoar
set apart for better things. As you enter the door
leading towards the library, from the court on the left,
you are struck with a spacious and lofty hall—whose
appearance reminds you of ancient feasts, and old
English hospitality—which is now appropriated as the
dining room of the children, who are educated by the
¥AMES CROSSLEY. 279
bounty of the founder. You proceed up a flight of
stone stairs to the library, where the books are dis-
posed in compartments, secured by wires from the
encroachments of the profane. . . .
As you pass along the two galleries, plentifully stored
with the physic of the soul, to the reading room, you
cannot but perceive, that their contents are not much
similar to those of a modern circulating library. Dapper
duodecimos give place to the venerable majesty of the
folio. If you look among the shelves, you will find,
instead of the Scotch novels, or Anastasius, Wagensal’s
Tela Ignea, or the works of Erasmus. It is not the
library of a modern dilitanti, but of an English scholar
of the old school, in which, Aquinas, and Duns. Scotus,
. may yet be seen, and by them their worthy brother
Durandus Bradwardine and Bonaventuro. . .
There is something very substantial in the appearance
of a library of this description. . . . All within it
contributes to withdraw us to the past. The mind is
left here to resign itself to its own fancies without
being recalled by some startling incongruity to the
recollections of the present; and for aught which
strikes us in the rapidity of a first impression, we
might imagine it the spot where Bacon was accus-
tomed to study, and Raleigh delighted to muse. It
is impossible to enter a large library, especially when
in appearance so antique as the one of which we are
now writing, without feeling an inward sensation of
reverence, and without catching some sparks of noble
emulation, from the mass of mind which is scattered
around you. The very dullest, and least intellectual
of the sons of earth, must be conscious of the high and
280 FAMES CROSSLEY.
lofty society into which he is intruding; a society
which no combination of living talent can ever hope to
parallel . . . We feel, as we reverence the
mighty spirits around us, that we are in some sort their
brothers ; and the very homage which we pay to their
majesty is itself the bond of our alliance. . . ,
Through a door studded with nails in the ancient
fashion, you pass into the reading-room, an antique
apartment, with oaken casements, massive chairs of
such heaviness and contexture, as utterly to defy all
muscular power, and tables of make and workmanship
truly patriarchal, one of which you are informed by
your guide, is composed of as many pieces as there are
days in a year, 365. Around are disposed dusky
looking portraits of eminent divines, who have been
born in or near Manchester, Whitaker, Nowell,
Latimer, and Bradford, of the latter of whom the
facetious Fuller saith, ‘‘He was a most holy and
mortified man, who secretly in his closet would so
weep for his sins, one would have thought he would
never have smiled again, and then appearing in public,
he would be so harmlessly pleasant, one would think
he had never wept before.” No such marks of celestial _
benignity are here visible in his countenance; he looks
truly as grim-visaged as Herod himself in the Massacre
of the Innocents. Over the fire-place, surmounted by
his coat of arms, is the portrait of Humphrey Cheetham
himself, the charitable ‘‘dealer in Manchester commo-
dities,” as he has been called, to whose beneficence
this excellent institution is owing. . . . The
windows of this room are in unison with the rest of its
structure, and though they do not absolutely ‘‘exclude
YAMES CROSSLEY. 281
the light,” yet there is a certain degree of dimness in
it, which does not ill agree with the dark pannels and
beams by which it is encased and over-hung. At the
farther end is a recess, which being almost windowed
round, is rendered a little lightsomer than the other
parts of the room. It is pleasant to sit in this
sequestered nook, the Jocus benedictus of this ancient
place, and view from thence the gallery with its shelves
of books, sinking by degrees into duskiness. . .
Still pleasanter is it to resign the mind to those
fantasies, which, in a place like this, are wont to rise
and steal upon it with a soft but potent fascination—
and to suffer the imagination to raise up its visions of
the worthies of olden time. To embody and imper-
sonate our forefathers, while we are tarrying in their
edifice, and while we are drinking ‘‘at the pure wells
of English undefiled,” to picture to ourselves the
worthies who stood and guarded at its fountain. To
create and call forth figures for our sport, like those in
the Tempest, airy and unsubstantial, clad in ruffs and
doublets, and passing by us with stiff mien and haughty
stateliness ; introducing to our eyes a succession of
‘‘maskings, mummeries, entertainments, jubilees, tilts
and tournaments, trophies, triumphs, and plays,” till
we can see the whole court of Elizabeth, and the great
master of the dance, the graceful Sir Christopher
Hatton
** Lead the brawls,
While seals and maces dance before him.”
We are transported visibly to the times when the
Euphues and the Arcadia were the light reading of
282 FAMES CROSSLEY.
maids of honour, when queens harangued universities
in Latin, and kings amused themselves by writing of
demonology and tobacco. The theological tomes
around us seem to communicate something of their
influence to us, and to dip us “‘ five fathom deep” in
the controversies of the times. We can almost join in
alacrity in the crusade against the Beast ‘‘ who had
filled the world with her abominations,” and sally out
with bishops for our leaders, and a ponderous folio for
our armour of proof.
The works around us naturally bring their authors
before our eye. We can see Hooker in his quiet
country parsonage, beholding ‘‘God’s blessings spring
out of his mother earth, and eating his own bread
in peace and privacy.” Wecan see Sidney amongst
the shades of Penshurst writing on poetry, with
all the enthusiasm of a poet, and proving, that
‘* poesie is full of virtue, breeding delightfulness, and
void of no gift that ought to be in the noble name
of learning.” Wecan see Bacon in his closet, con-
ceiving in his mighty mind the greatest birth of time,
and unbent by misfortune, and undejected by disgrace,
illuminating philosophy ‘‘ with all the weight of
matter, worth of subject, soundness of argument, life
of invention, and depth of judgment.” We can see
Selden amidst bulls, breviats, antiphoners, and monkish
manuscripts, laying up the stores of his vast learning,
and awaiting from posterity the rewards which were
denied him by a prejudiced clergy. Wecan be present
with Burton, whilst enjoying the delights of voluntary
solitariness, and walking alone in some grove, betwixt
wood and water, by a brook side, to meditate upon
¥AMES CROSSLEY. 283
some delightsome and pleasant subject, and hear him
declaring in ecstasy, ‘‘ what an incomparable delight it
is so to melancholize and build castles in the air.”
And last, though second to none of his contemporaries,
we can be witness to the lonely musings of him, ‘‘who
untamed in war, and indefatigable in literature, as
inexhaustible in ideas as exploits, after having brought
a new world to light, wrote the history of the old ina
PISO ek haf
If thy footsteps lead thee, good reader, to the
venerable place which has suggested these specu-
lations, let us advise thee to amuse thyself with
something suitable, and not incongruous with its
character. There is a fitness in all things. There are
other places for perusing the ephemeral productions of
the day, circulating libraries for novels, and commercial
rooms for newspapers. If these be the food for which
thy mind is most disposed, to such places be thy walks
confined, But go not to the library of Humphrey
Cheetham, without opening one of the ‘‘time-honoured
guests.” If classical learning be the study most grati-
fying.to thy palate, take down the Basil edition of
Horace, with the notes of eighty commentators, and
read through the commentaries on the first ode, thou
wilt find it no very easy or dispatchable matter. If
divinity be thy pursuit, let one of the compendious
folios of Caryl on Job minister to thy amusement, and
thus conduce to thy attainment of that virtue of which
Job was so eminently the possessor. If Natural
History present more attractions to thee than classical
learning or divinity, Ulysses Aldrovandus will find
thee employment enough, without resorting to the
284 EARL OF SHAFTESBURY,
latter publications of Pennant or Buffon. But should
thy thoughts, good reader, have a different direction,
and all these studies be less agreeable to thee than the
study of light reading, take with thee Pharamond to
thy corner, or that edifying and moral work, Mat.
Ingelo’s Bentivoglio and Urania; and so needest thou
have no fear of being too violently interested in thy
subject to leave off with pleasure.—Article on the
Cheetham Library, Blackwood’s Magazine, June, 1821.
EARL OF SHAFTESBURY (ANTHONY ASHLEY
Cooper). 8 1801 [Living].
I am not going to speak with disparagement of the
library of reference, but I am going to speak with
peculiar admiration and affection of the library of
circulation ; and for this reason :—because it tends to
purify and maintain that which is the very strength of
a nation, the very glory of a people ;—among all the
ordinances of God, the most merciful and the most
amicable—the domestic system of the country. And I
hope that many a husband, and many a brother,
availing himself of the opportunity offered, will carry
the book to his own fireside, and make his wife and
his children, or his mother and his sister, partake of
his studies, and tend to elevate and purify the female
mind; for, depend upon this, that a country may
stand for a time the corruption of the male sex; it
cannot stand for an instant the utter corruption of the
female sex. If the men are corrupted, I have some
hope; if the women are corrupted, I am in utter
despair. And see how it must be :—is it not the case
ROBERT CHAMBERS. 285
that for the first eight years of. life the children are
almost exclusively under the care of the mother ?
Does not the child imbibe at its mother’s knees the
first lessons of piety and of prayer? Is it not truth,
that many of the most eminent saints and servants of
God traced, not to their fathers, but to their mothers,
the first institution in religious life? And I myself
have heard many a man declare that in his after-life of
profligacy, and of sorrow, he had been recalled to a
sense of God and of eternity, by remembering in an
hour of privation and of difficulty, some holy and
happy word that fell from the lips of his blessed and
sainted mother. Therefore it is that I rejoice in this
lending library. I rejoice in the spirit you now ~
manifest, because I think that you show that you have
received my words with kindness and affection, and
that you will endeavour to do that which, be assured,
will conduce to your own honour, to your domestic
happiness, and to the security of the kingdom.—
Speech at the Inauguration of the Manchester Free
Library, September 2, 1852.
ROBERT CHAMBERS. 1802—1871.
English literature gives all who can enjoy it a fund
of pleasure, of the great amount of which we are not
apt to be quite aware till we run over a few of the
items. There are the Waverley Novels—in direct
contemplation, only the talk of an old-fashioned Scotch
gentleman, who died a few years ago—or, in a still
more gross consideration, but a few masses of printed
paper. Yet, in effect, what are they! To how many
286 ROBERT CHAMBERS.
thousands upon thousands has life been made less
painful or more delightful by these charming tales!
The world would have gone on without them, no
doubt, but it would not have gone on so agreeably.
. There would have been an infinite deal less happiness
in it during the last twenty-five years, if they had not
been written.
Thousands of other things there are in our literature,
which we feel to be amongst the most precious of our
possessions and privileges. Cowper’s Task is as good
as an estate to every reading-man in the kingdom.
There are some of Burns’s songs, the loss of which, if
it were possible, would be to me more deplorable, as
far as I am personally concerned, than the total repeal
of the Habeas Corpus Act. The blotting out of the
Vicar of Wakefield from most minds, would be more
grievous than to know that the island of Borneo had
sunk inthe sea. . . . Going back a little farther,
how does the heart leap up when we recollect the
many admirable things of Fielding and Smollett.
Parson Adams himself gilds the whole time. What-
simplicity, what true goodness !—verily, the world’s
history gives us few characters equal to him—and yet
we feel that he is natural.
There are some books usually read in youth, and
without which youth would not be what it is. Of
these are Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver. How youth
passed long ago, when there was no Crusoe to waft it
away in fancy to the Pacific, and fix it upon the lonely
doings of the shipwrecked mariner, is inconceivable ;
but we can readily suppose that it must have been
essentially different. The first reading of Crusoe is
ROBERT CHAMBERS. 287
now a feature in every man’s biography. Gulliver is
not so indispensable, but yet the having him is much to
be rejoiced in, —
The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments are not’ ours by
birth, but they have nevertheless taken their place
amongst the similar things of our own which constitute
the national literary inheritance. They bring us intoa
considerably different world from any other we are
acquainted with. The caliph, the cadi, the Moham-
medan faith, genii, enchanters, are the prominent
novelties they display to us. There is a fine want of
precise outline about everything in the book. We see
as through some prismatically-disturbing medium.
. . . Altogether, it is a glorious book, and one to
which we cannot well shew enough of respect.
Come we now to Pope, that prince of sayers of acute
and exquisite things—that most mellifluous of all the
rhetorical class of poets amongst whom he flourished.
Fashion has set him a little aside, which it can never
do with an author who has not written in some measure
according to a fashion; but he was a fine spirit and a
great poet, nevertheless, and English literature would
shew a mighty blank indeed were he taken out of it.
. «» Dryden is even better than Pope. He has
immense masculine energies. There is a lashing
strength about his verse that no other writer ap-
proaches. His works are the farewell of the sound
old English, for which the stiffened and glistered
language of the last century was the substitute, and
which there has latterly been a disposition to revive.
Dryden is also much out of view, but most undeservedly.
Few know what a treasure of thought and expression
288 ROBERT CHAMBERS.
lies in his Hind and Panther, and Fables. We are
apt, in the large attention we pay to modern literature,
to set down him and Pope in our minds as scarcely
poets at all, or at the best good versifiers; but when
we open their works, and actually read them, we cease
to wonder that our fathers and grandfathers talked of
these men as something only a little lower than the
gods. 4
A class of compositions altogether apart from all
that have yet been adverted to remains to be noticed.
These are the songs and ballads, whether of England
or of Scotland. No era can be mentioned for these
compositions : they have glimpsed forth from the
darkness of past ages, as stars come by night into the
sky, without any one being able to tell exactly when
they first became visible. No authors’ names can be
mentioned for them: they have sprung forth like the
unbidden beauty of the prairie, which no one can tell
how it became planted. Involuntary gushings they
would appear to have been of that ‘‘faculty divine”
which has resided at all times in the bosoms of the
people, and may or may not have regular professors,
as the accident of culture may direct. . . . Nor
less are the charms of the song-class of our traditionary
poetry. The ‘*Cowdenknowes” will be for ever vocal
with the sweetest of verse, and the ‘* Marion of the
Ewe-Buchts ”’ must shine as a star until all time.
“What is above written gives but the heads of the
wealth which we possess under the name of English
literature. The addition of the inferior and yet
worthy names would swell the account, like the
putting down of ciphers on the right-hand side of a
ROBERT CHAMBERS. 289
number. And is not this substantial wealth, albeit it
is not of the kind which the political economists insist
so much upon, that kind which, as they say, has an
exchangeable value? Does any man think otherwise,
let him only reflect what would be our condition if no
literature, ancient or modern, existed. The accumula-
tion of these stores of the thoughts and fancies of
eminent minds, is just like the construction of public
works in a country; and a country without a literature
is like a country in which as yet no roads have been
formed, no bridges thrown over rivers, nor any halls of
popular assembly built. But England is in both these
respects a wealthy country. It has been put by our
fathers into our hands, furnished with an amount of
physical conveniences and sources of comfort beyond
all precedent, and endowed with an intellectual in-
heritance such as ‘no other country ever had. Evils
manifold may affect it, if some will have the case to be
so; but, amidst all that troubles her, there still remain,
unsullied, intact, ever ready for the solacement of her
thinking sons, the deathless productions of her intel-
lectual great.—Chambers’s Journal: ‘* What English
Literature Gives us,”
What I would speak of now is the engrossing and
all-absorbing quality of books. . Reflection itself, of
course, possesses the same attribute, in a less degree ;
but we cannot sit down to reflect at a moment’s
notice—deeply or earnestly enough to forget what is
passing around us—and be perfectly sure of doing it,
any more than we can be sure of going to sleep when
we wish to do so, Now, a congenial book can be
ah
290 ROBERT CHAMBERS.
taken up by any lover of books, with the certainty of
its transporting the reader within a few minutes toa
region immeasurably removed from that which he
desires to quit. . . . Books are the blessed chloro-
form of the mind. We wonder how folks in trouble
did without them in old time.
It is not a very high claim that is here set forth on
behalf of Literature—that of Pass-time, and yet what
a blessed boon even that is! Conceive the hours of
inertia (a thing different from idleness) that it has mer-
cifully consumed for us! hours wherein nothing could
be done, nothing, perhaps, be thought, of our own
selves, by reason of some impending calamity.
I am writing of the obligation which we owe to
Literature, and not to Religion; yet I cannot but feel
**thankful ’—using the word in its ordinary and de-
votional sense—to many a book which is no sermon,
nor tract, nor commentary, nor anything of that kind
at all. Thus, I have cause to revere the name of
Defoe, who reached his hand down through a century
and a half to wipe away bitter tears from my childish
eyes. The going back to school was always a dreadful
woe to me, casting its black shadow far into the latter
part of my brief holidays. I have had my share of
suffering and sorrow since, like other men, but I have
seldom felt so absolutel? wretched as when, a little
boy, I was about to exchange my pleasant home-life
for the hardships and uncongenialities of school. . . .
And yet, I protest, I had but to take up Robinson
Crusoe, and in a very few minutes I was out of all
thought of the approaching calamity. . . . Ihad
travelled over a thousand leagues of sea; I was in my
ROBERT CHAMBERS, 20r
snug well-fortified cave, with the ladder upon the right
side of it, ‘‘so that neither man nor beast could get at
me,” with my half-a-dozen muskets loaded, and: my
powder distributed in separate parcels, so that not even
a thunderbolt should do me any irreparable injury.
Or, if not quite so secure, I was visiting my summer
plantation among my goats and corn, or shooting, in
the still astonished woods, birds of marvellous beauty ;
or lying upon my stomach upon the top of the hill,
watching through my spy-glass the savages putting to
sea, and not displeased to find myself once more alone
in my own little island. No living human being could
just then have done me such a service as dead Defoe.
Again, during that agonising period which intervened
between my proposal of marriage by letter to Jemima
Anne, and my reception of her reply, how should I
ever have kept myself alive, save for the chivalrous
aid of the Black Knight in Zvaxhoe. To him, mainly,
assisted by Rebecca, and (I am bound to say) by that
scoundrel Brian de Bois Guilbert, are my obligations
due, that I did not—through the extremities of despair
and hope, suffered during that interval—become a
drivelling idiot.
When her answer did arrive—in the negative—what
was it which preserved me from the noose, the razor,
or the stream, but Mr. Carlyle’s French Revolution.
In the woes of poor Louis Capet, I forgot my own.
» . » Who, having a grateful heart, can forget these
things, or deny the Blessedness of Books? If it were
only for the hours of weary waiting which they have
consumed for me at desolate railway stations, I pay
them grateful homage.
292 ROBERT CHAMBERS.
Nay, under far more serious circumstances, when
disappointment has lain heavy on my soul, and once
when ruin itself seemed overshadowing me and mine,
what escape have I not found from irremediable woes
in taking the hand of Samuel Johnson (kindly intro-
duced to that great man by Mr. Boswell), and hearing
him discourse with wondrous wisdom upon all things
under heaven, sometimes at a club of wits and men of
letters, and sometimes at a common tavern table, and
sometimes even in an open boat upon the Hebridean
seas.
I often think, if such be the fascination exercised
by books upon their readers, how wondrous must be
the enchantment wrought upon the Writers themselves !
What human sorrow can afflict, what prosperity dazzle
them, while they are describing the fortunes of the
offspring of their own imagination? They have only
to close their study door, and take their magic pen in
hand, and lo! they are at once transported from this
weary world of duns, and critics, and publishers, into
whatever region and time they will. Yes, truly, it is
for authors themselves, more than for any other order
of men whatever, to acknowledge the Blessedness of
Books.—Chaméers’s Journal: ‘* The Blessedness of
Books.”
My brother William and I lived in lodgings together.
Our room and bed cost three shillingsa week. . . «
The woman who kept the lodgings was a Peebles
woman, who knew and wished to be kind to us. She
was, however, of a very narrow disposition, partly the
result of poverty, I used to be in great distress for
CHIEF F¥USTICE COCKBURN. 293
want of fire. I could not afford either that or candle
myself. So I have often sat beside her kitchen fire—
if fire it could be called, which was only a little heap
of embers—reading Horace and conning my dictionary
by a light which required me to hold the books almost
close to the grate. Whata miserable winter that was!
Yet I cannot help feeling proud of my trials at that
time. My brother and I—he then between fifteen and
sixteen, I between thirteen and fourteen—had made a
resolution together that we would exercise the last
degree of self-denial. My brother actually saved
money out of his income. I remember seeing him take
five-and-twenty shillings out of a closed box which he
kept to receive his savings; and that was the spare
money of only a twelvemonth.—emoir of Robert
Chambers; with Autobiographic Reminiscences of
William Chameers.
ALEXANDER (LORD CHIEF JUSTICE)
CocKBURN. 1802—1880o.
Happy is he who, when the day’s work is done,
finds his rest, and solace, and recreation in communion
with the master minds of the present and of the past—
in study, in literature, and the enjoyment of pleasures
which are to be derived from this source. If I might
address to the younger portion of the community a few
words of advice and exhortation—trusting to one who
has been as hard a worker as the hardest workers
amongst you—I would say there is no rest, no recrea-
tion, no refreshment to the wearied and jaded body
and mind, worn by work and toil, equal to the intel-
294 VICTOR HUGO.
lectual pleasures to which I have just been referring.
Let them bear in mind that the time will come when
the pleasures that now allure them and draw them away
from intellectual pursuits will come to an end. Old
age will take the place of bodily vigour. Let them
again trust to one who is advancing fast in declining
years—there is no enjoyment to equal the enjoyment
of the great intellectual treasures which are always at
hand and always at your disposal. . . . With the
prolonged cultivation of the intellect in continued
study, together with the continued worship and admi-
ration of all that is pure and holy, sublime and beautiful
in nature, in letters, and in art, the mind may be made
to preserve its energy and vigour long after old age has
crept upon us. . « . Happy those who take to
study and find in knowledge, in learning, and in those
invaluable and priceless treasures, which the great
geniuses, who have thought and written for us, have
left us, as an_undying inheritance, a lasting, a pure, an
unmixed pleasure.—Address to the members of the
Manchester Atheneum, January 22, 1875.
Victor Huco. 4&. 1802 [Living].
Tu viens d’incendier la Bibliotheque ?
—Oui.
J'ai mis le feu la.
—Mais c’est un crime inoui,
Crime commis par toi contre toi-méme, infame !
Mais tu viens de tuer le rayon de ton ame!
C’est ton propre*flambeau que tu viens de souffler !
- Ce que ta rage impie et folle ose briiler,
VICTOR HUGO. 295
C’est ton bien, ton trésor, ta dot, ton héritage !
Le livre, hostile au maitre, est 4 ton avantage.
Le livre a toujours pris fait et cause pour toi.
Une bibliothéque est un acte de foi
Des générations ténébreuses encore
Qui rendent dans la nuit témoignage a l’aurore.
Quoi! dans ce vénérable amas des vérités,
Dans ces chefs-d’ceuvre pleins de foudre et de clartés,
Dans ce tombeau des temps devenu répertoire,
Dans les siécles, dans ’homme antique, dans Vhistoire,
Dans le passé, lecon qu’épelle l’avenir,
Dans ce qui commenca pour ne jamais finir,
Dans les poétes! quoi, dans ce gouffre des bibles,
Dans le divin monceau des Eschyles terribles,
Des Homéres, des Jobs, debout sur horizon,
Dans Moliére, Voltaire et Kant, dans la raison,
Tu jettes, misérable, une torche enflammée !
De tout l’esprit humain tu fais de la fumée !
As-tu donc oublié que ton libérateur,
C’est le livre? le livre est la sur la hauteur ;
Il luit ; parce qu’il brille et quw’il les illumine,
Il détruit l’échafaud, Ja guerre, la famine ;
Il parle ; plus d’esclave et plus de paria.
Ouvre un livre. Platon, Milton, Beccaria.
Lis ces prophetes, Dante, ou Shakspeare, ou Corneille ;,
L’ame immense qu’ils ont en eux, en toi s’éveille ;
Ebloui, tu te sens le méme homme qu’eux tous ;
Tu deviens en lisant grave, pensif et doux ;
Tu sens dans ton esprit tous ces grands hommes croitre $
Ils t’enseignent ainsi que l’aube éclaire un cloitre ;
A mesure qu’il plonge en ton cceur plus avant,
Leur chaud rayon t’apaise et te fait plus vivant ;
296 VICTOR HUGO,
Ton 4me interrogée est préte a leur répondre ;
Tu te reconnais bon, puis meilleur ; tu sens fondre
Comme la neige au feu, ton orgueil, tes fureurs,
Le mal, les préjugés, les rois, les empereurs !
Car la science en l’homme arrive la premiere.
Puis vient la liberté. Toute cette lumieére,
C’est a toi, comprends donc, et c’est toi qui l’éteins !
Les buts révés par toi sont par le livre atteints,
Le livre en ta pensée entre, il défait en elle
Les liens que l’erreur a la vérité méle,
Car tout conscience est un noeud gordien.
Tl est ton médecin, ton guide, ton gardien.
Ta haine, il la guérit ; ta démence, il te l’dte.
Voila ce que tu perds, hélas, et par ta faute!
Le livre est ta richesse a toi! c’est le savoir,
Le droit, la vérité, la vertu, le devoir,
Le progrés, la raison dissipant tout délire.
Et tu détruis cela, toi!
—Je ne sais pas lire.
LD’ Année Terrible. Juin, viii. : ‘A Qui
La Faute?”
[To Miss Mathilde Blind, the accomplished translator
of Strauss’s ‘* The Old Faith and the New,” author of
‘*The Prophecy of St. Oran, and other Poems,” and
“‘George Eliot,” in the Eminent Women Series, the
compiler is indebted for the following spirited rendering
of Victor Hugo’s indignant remonstrance. The lines
here translated constitute an occurrence in one of the
twelve divisions (Juin) of ‘‘ L’Année Terrible,” 1871.
VICTOR HUGO. 207
The remonstrance is supposed to be addressed to a
Communist, whose incendiary rage has just destroyed
a Parisian Library. After having been eloquently
reproached for quenching the light of reason in his
own soul, and destroying his own heritage, the
Communist replies in that epigrammatic ending so
characteristic of Victor Hugo, and so crushingly
unanswerable: ‘*I cannot read,”’]
Translation.
Tis you then burned the library ?
I did,
I brought the fire.
—O most unheard-of crime,
Crime, wretch, which you upon yourself commit!
Why, you have quenched the light of your own soul !
Tis your own torch which you have just put out !
That which your impious madness has dared burn,
Was your own treasure, fortune, heritage !
“The Book (the master’s bugbear) is your gain !
The Book has ever taken side with you.
A Library implies an act of faith
Which generations still in darkness hid
Sign in their night in witness of the dawn.
What! miscreant, you fling your flaming torch
Into this pile of venerable truths,
These master-works that thunder forth and lighten,
Into this tomb become time’s inventory,
Into the ages, the antique man, the past
Which still spells out the future—history
Which having once begun will never end,
298 VICTOR HUGO.
Into the poets! Into this mine of Bibles
And all this heap divine—dread Aischylus,
Homer, and Job upright against th’ horizon,
Moliére, Voltaire and Kant you set on fire !
Thus turning human reason into smoke !
Have you forgotten that your liberator
Is this same Book? The Book that’s set on high
And shines; because it lightens and illumes;
It undermines the gallows, war and famine;
It speaks; the Slave and Pariah disappear.
Open a Book. Plato, Beccaria, Milton,
Those prophets, Dante, Shakspeare or Corneille,
Shall not their great souls waken yours in you?
Dazzled you feel the same as each of them;
Reading you grow more gentle, pensive, grave;
Within your heart you feel these great men grow;
They teach you as the dawn lights up a cloister,
And as their warm beams penetrate your heart
You are appeased and thrill with stronger life;
Your soul interrogated answers theirs ;
You feel you’re good, then better ;—as snow in fire
Then melt away your pride, your prejudice,
Evil and rage and Kings and Emperors!
For Science, see you, first lays hold of men,
Then Liberty, and all this flood of light,
Mark me, ’tis you who have extinguished it !
The goal you dreamt of by the Book was reached ;
The Book enters your thoughts and there unties
The bonds wherein truth was by error held,
For each man’s conscience is a Gordian knot.
The Book is your physician, guardian, guide :
It heals your hate, and cures your frenzied mood.
LORD LYTTON. 299
See what you lose by your own fault, alas !
_ Why, know the Book’s your wealth! The Book means
truth,
Knowledge and Duty, Virtue, Progress, Right,
And Reason scattering hence delicious dreams.
And you destroy this, you!
T cannot read.
Lorp Lyrron (E. L. BULWER). 1803—1873.
**T say, then, that books, taken indiscriminately,
are no cure to the diseases and afflictions of the mind.
There is a world of science necessary in the taking
them. I have known some people in great sorrow fly
to a novel, or the last light book in fashion. One
might as well take a rose-draught for the plague!
Light reading does not do when the heart is really
heavy. I am told that Goethe, when he lost his son,
took to study a science that was new to him. Ah!
Goethe was a physician who knew what he was about.
In a great grief like that, you cannot tickle and divert
the mind ; you must wrench it away, abstract, absorb—
bury it in an abyss, hurry it into a labyrinth. There-
fore, for the irremediable sorrews of middle life and
old age, I recommend a strict chronic course of science
and hard reasoning—Counter-irritation. Bring the
brain to act upon the heart! If science is too much
against the grain (for we have not all got mathematical
heads, ) something in the reach of the humblest under-
standing, but sufficiently searching to the highest—a
new language—Greek, Arabic, Scandinavian, Chinese,
or Welsh! For the loss of fortune, the dose should
be applied less directly to the understanding—I would
300 LORD LYTTON.
administer something elegant and cordial. For as the
heart is crushed and lacerated by a loss in the affections,
so itis rather the head that aches and suffers by the
loss of money. Here we find the higher class of poets
a very valuable remedy. For observe that poets of
the grander and more comprehensive kind of genius
have in them two separate men, quite distinct from
each other—the imaginative man, and the practical,
circumstantial man; and it is the happy mixture of
these that suits diseases of the mind, half imaginative
and half practical. There is Homer, now lost with
the gods, now at home with the homeliest, the very
‘poet of circumstance,’ as Gray has finely called him ;
and yet with imagination enough to seduce and coax
the dullest into forgetting, for a while, that little spot
on his desk which his banker’s book can cover. There
is Virgil, far below him, indeed—
‘Virgil the wise,
Whose verse walks highest, but not flies,’
as Cowley expresses it. But Virgil still has genius
enough to be two men—to lead you into the fields, not
only to listen to the pastoral reed, and to hear the bees
hum, but to note how you can make the most of the
glebe and the vineyard. There is Horace, charming
man of the world, who will condole with you feelingly
on the loss of your fortune, and by no means under-
value the good things of this life; but who will yet
show you that a man may be happy with a w/e modicum
or parva rura. There is Shakspeare, who, above all
poets, is the mysterious dual of hard sense and empy-
real fancy—and a great many more, whom I need not
LORD LYTTON. 301
name ; but who, if you take to them gently and quietly,
will not, like your mere philosopher, your unreasonable
stoic, tell you that you have lost nothing ; but who will
insensibly steal you out of this world, with its losses
and crosses, and slip you into another world, before
you know where you are !—a world where you are just
as welcome, though you carry no more earth of your
lost acres with you than covers the sole of your shoe.
Then, for hypochondria and satiety, what is better than
a brisk alterative course of travels,—especially early,
out-of-the-way, marvellous, legendary travels! How
they freshen up the spirits! How they take you out
of the humdrum yawning state you are in. See, with
Herodotus, young Greece spring up into life; or note
with him how already the wondrous old Orient world
is crumbling into giant decay; or go with Carpini and
Rubruquis to Tartary, meet ‘the carts of Zagathai
laden with houses, and think that a great city is
travelling towards you.’ Gaze on that vast wild em-
pire of the Tartar, where the descendants of Jenghis
‘multiply and disperse over the immense waste desert,
which is as boundless as the ocean.’ Sail with the
early northern discoverers, and penetrate to the heart
of winter, among sea-serpents and bears, and tusked
morses, with the faces of men. Then, what think you
of Columbus, and the stern soul of Cortes, and the
kingdom of Mexico, and the strange gold city of the
Peruvians with that audacious brute, Pizarro? and the
Polynesians, just for all the world like the ancient
Britons ? and the American Indians, and the South-
Sea Islanders? how petulant, and young, and adven-
turous, and frisky your hypochondriac must get upon
302 LORD LYTTON.
a regimen like that! Then, for that vice of the mind
which I call sectarianism—not in the religious sense of
the word, but little, narrow prejudices, that make you
hate your next-door neighbour, because he has his eggs
roasted when you have yours boiled; and gossiping
and prying into people’s affairs, and backbiting, and
thinking heaven and earth are coming together, if
some broom touch a cobweb that you have let grow
over the window-sill of your brains—what like a large
and generous, mildly aperient (I beg your pardon, my
dear) course of history! Howit clears away all the fumes
of the head !—better than the hellebore with which the
old leeches of the middle ages purged the cerebellum.
There, amidst all that great whirl and sturméad (storm-
bath), as the Germans say, of kingdoms and empires,
and races and ages, how your mind enlarges beyond
that little, feverish animosity to John Styles ; or that
unfortunate prepossession of yours, that all the world
is interested in your grievances against Tom Stokes
and his wife !
**T can only touch, you see, on a few ingredients in
this magnificent pharmacy—its resources are boundless,
but require the nicest discretion. I remember to have
cured a disconsolate widower, who obstinately refused
every other medicament, by a strict course of geology.
I dipped him deep into gneiss and mica schist. Amidst
the first strata, I suffered the watery action to expend
itself upon cooling crystallised masses; and, by the
time I had got him into the tertiary period, amongst
the transition chalks of Maestricht, and the conchi-
ferous marls of Gosau, he was ready for a new wife.
Kitty, my dear ! it is no laughing matter. I made no
LORD LYTTON. 303
less notable a cure of a young scholar at Cambridge,
who was meant for the church, when he suddenly
caught a cold fit of freethinking, with great shiverings,
from wading out of his depth in Spinosa. None of
the divines, whom I first tried, did him the least good
in that state; so I turned over a new leaf, and doctored
him gently upon the chapters of faith in Abraham
Tucker’s book, (you should read it, Sisty ;) then I threw
in strong doses of Fichte; after that I put him on the
Scotch metaphysicians, with plunge-baths into certain
German transcendentalists ; and having convinced him
that faith is not an unphilosophical state of mind, and
that he might believe without compromising his under-
standing—for he was mightily conceited on that score—
I threw in my divines, which he was now fit to digest ;
and his theological constitution, since then, has become
so robust, that he has eaten up two livings and a
deanery! In fact, I have a plan for a library, that,
instead of heading its compartments, ‘ Philology,
Natural Science, Poetry,’ &c., one shall head them
according to the diseases for which they are severally
good, bodily and mental—up from a dire calamity, or
the pangs of the gout, down to a fit of the spleen or a
slight catarrh; for which last your light reading comes
in with a whey-posset and barley-water. But,” con-
tinued my father, more gravely, ‘‘when some one
sorrow, that is yet reparable, gets hold of your mind
like a monomania—when you think, because heaven
has denied you this or that, on which you had set your
heart, that all your life must be a blank—oh ! then diet
yourself well on biography—the biography of good
and great men. See how little a space one sorrow
304 LORD LYTTON.
really makes in life. See scarce a page, perhaps, given
to some grief similar to your own; and how trium-
phantly the life sails on beyond it! You thought the
wing was broken !—Tut—tut—it was but a bruised
feather! See what life leaves behind it when all is
done !—a summary of positive facts far out of the
region of sorrow and suffering, linking themselves
with the being of the world. Yes, biography is the
medicine here! Roland, you said you would try my
prescription—here it is,’—and my father took up a
book, and reached it to the Captain.
My uncle looked over it—‘‘ Life of the Reverend
Robert Hall.” ‘‘ Brother, he was a Dissenter, and
thank heaven! I am a church-and-state man, to the
back-bone!”
** Robert Hall was a brave man, and a true soldier
under the Great Commander,” said my father, artfully.
The Captain mechanically carried his forefinger to
his forehead in military fashion, and saluted the book
respectfully.
‘‘T have another copy for you, Pisistratus—that is
mine which I have lent Roland. This, which I bought
for you to-day, you will keep.”
‘‘Thank you, sir,” said I, listlessly, not seeing what
great good the ‘‘ Life of Robert Hall” could do me,
or why the same medicine should suit the old weather-
‘beaten uncle, and the nephew yet in his teens.
‘*T have said nothing,” resumed my father, slightly
bowing his broad temples, ‘‘ of the Book of Books, for
that is the /iguum vite, the cardinal medicine for all.
These are but the subsidiaries.” —7Zhe Caxtons: ‘‘A
Family Picture,”
LORD LYTTON. 305
Laws die, Books never.
Richelieu. Acti., Scene 2.
Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold
The arch-enchanter’s wand !
Take away the sword—
States can be saved without it.
Richelieu. Act ii,, Scene 2.
Ye ever-living and imperial Souls,
Who rule us from the page in which ye breathe,
What were our wanderings if without your goals?
As air and light, the glory ye dispense,
Becomes our being—who of us can tell
What he had been, had Cadmus never taught
The art that fixes into form the thought—
Had Plato never spoken from his cell,
Or his high harp blind Homer never strung ?—
Kinder all earth hath grown since genial Shakspeare
sung !
The Wise
(Minstrel or Sage) owt of their books are clay ;
But zz their books, as from their graves, they rise,
Angels—that, side by side, upon our way,
Walk with and warn us!
Hark! the world so loud
And ¢hey, the movers of the world, so still!
We call some books immoral! Do they live ?
If so, believe me, TIME hath made them pure.
U
306 RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
In Books, the veriest wicked rest in peace—
God wills that nothing evil should endure ;
The grosser parts fly off and leave the whole,
As the dust leaves the disembodied soul !
All books grow homilies by time ; they are
Temples, at once, and Landmarks. In them, we
Who éu¢ for them, upon that inch of ground
Wecall ‘‘ THE PRESENT,” from the cell could see
No daylight trembling on the dungeon bar ;
Turn, as we list, the globe’s great axle round,
Traverse all space, and number every star,
And feel the Near less household than the Far !
There is no Past, so long as Books shall live !
A disinterr’d Pompeii wakes again
For him who seeks yon well.
The Souls of Books.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 1803—1882.
But it is not less true that there are books which are
of that importance in a man’s private experience, as
to verify for him the fables of Cornelius Agrippa, of
Michael Scott, or of the old Orpheus of Thrace,—
books which take rank in our life with parents and
lovers and passionate experiences, so medicinal, so
stringent, so revolutionary, so authoritative,—books
which are the work and the proof of faculties so com-
prehensive, so nearly equal to the world which they
paint, that, though one shuts them with meaner ones,
he feels his exclusion from them to accuse his way of
living,
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 307
Consider what you have in the smallest chosen
library. A company of the wisest and wittiest men
that could be picked out of all civil countries, in a
thousand years, have set in best order the results of
their learning and wisdom. The men themselves were
hid and inaccessible, solitary, impatient of interruption,
fenced by etiquette; but the thought which they did
not uncover to their bosom friend is here written out
in transparent words to us, the strangers of another
age. We owe to books those general benefits which
come from high intellectual action. . Thus, I think, we
often owe to them the perception of immortality.
They impart sympathetic activity to the moral power.
Go with mean people, and you think life is mean,
Then read Plutarch, and the world is a proud place,
peopled with men of positive quality, with heroes and
demigods standing around us, who will not let us
sleep. Then they address the imagination: only
poetry inspires poetry. They become the organic
culture of the time. College education is the reading
of certain books which the common sense of all scholars
agrees will represent the science already accumulated.
If you know that,—for instance, in geometry, if you
have read Euclid and Laplace,—your opinion has some
value ; if you do not know these, you are not entitled
to give any opinion on the subject. Whenever any
sceptic or bigot claims to be heard on the questions of
intellect and morals, we ask if he is familiar with the
books of Plato, where all his pert objections have once
for all been disposed of. If not, he has no right to
our time. Let him go and find himself answered
there.
308 RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
Meantime the colleges, whilst they provide us with
libraries, furnish no professor of books ; and, I think,
no chair isso much wanted. Im a library we are sur-
rounded by many hundreds of dear friends, but they
are imprisoned by an enchanter in these paper and
leathern boxes; and though they know us, and have
been waiting two, ten, or twenty centuries for us,—
some of them,—and are eager to give us a sign, and
unbosom themselves, it is the law of their limbo that
they must not speak until spoken to; and as the
enchanter has dressed them, like battalions of infantry,
in coat and jacket of one cut, by the thousand and ten
thousand, your chance of hitting on the right one is to
be computed by the arithmetical rule of Permutation
and Combination,—not a choice out of three caskets,
but out of half a million caskets all alike. But it
happens, in our experience, that in this lottery there
are at least fifty or a hundred blanks to a prize. It
seems, then, as if some charitable soul, after losing
a great deal of time among the false books, and
alighting upon a few true ones which made him happy
and wise, would do a right act in naming those which
have been bridges or ships to carry him safely over
dark morasses and barren oceans, into the heart of
sacred cities, into palaces and temples. This would be
best done by those great masters of books who from
time to time appear,—the Fabricii, the Seldens, Mag-
liabecchis, Scaligers, Mirandolas, Bayles, Johnsons,
whose eyes sweep the whole horizon of learning. But
private readers, reading purely for love of the book,
would serve us by leaving each the shortest note of
what he found.—Society and Solitude.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 309
In the highest civilization the book is still the highest
delight. He who has once known its satisfactions is
provided with a resource against calamity. Like
Plato’s disciple who has perceived a truth, ‘‘he is
preserved from harm until another period.” . . .
We find in Southey’s ‘‘Common-place Book”? this
said of the Earl of Strafford: ‘‘I learned one rule of
him,” says Sir G. Radcliffe, ‘‘which I think worthy to
be remembered. When he met with a well-penned
oration or tract upon any subject, he framed a speech
upon the same argument, inventing and disposing what
seemed fit to be said upon that subject, before he read
the book ; then, reading, compared his own with the
author’s, and noted his own defects and the author’s
art and fulness; whereby he drew all that ran in the
author more strictly, and might better judge of his own
wants to supply them.” . . .
Original power is usually accompanied with assimi-
lating power, and we value in Coleridge his excellent
knowledge and quotations perhaps as much, possibly
more, than his original suggestions. If an author
give us just distinctions, inspiring lessons, or imagina-
tive poetry, it is not so important to us whose they
are. If we are fired and guided by these, we know
him as a benefactor, and shall return to him as long as
he serves us so well. We may like well to know what
is Plato’s, and what is Montesquieu’s or Goethe’s part,
and what thought was always dear to the writer
himself ; but the worth of the sentences consists in
their radiancy and equal aptitude to all intelligence.
They fit all our facts like a charm, We respect our-
selves the more that we know them.
3r0 RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
Next to the originator of a good sentence is the first
quoter of it. Many will read the book before one
thinks of quoting a passage. As soon as he has done
this, that line will be quoted east and west. Then
there are great ways of borrowing. Genius borrows
nobly. When Shakspeare is charged with debts to
his authors, Landor replies: ‘* Yet he was more
original than his originals. He breathed upon dead
bodies and brought them into life.” And we must
thank Karl Ottfried Miiller for the just remark,
‘*Poesy, drawing within its circle all that is glorious
and inspiring, gave itself but little concern as to where
its flowers originally grew.” So Voltaire usually
imitated, but with such superiority that Dubuc said:
*‘ He is like the false Amphitryon; although the
stranger, it is always he who has the air of being
master of the house.”’ Wordsworth, as soon as he
heard a good thing, caught it up, meditated upon
it, and very soon reproduced it in his conversation and
writing. If De Quincey said, ‘‘ That is what I told
you,” he replied, ‘‘No; that is mine—mine, and not
yours.” On the whole, we like the valor of it. ’T is
on Marmontel’s principle, ‘‘I pounce on what is mine,
wherever I find it ;” and on Bacon’s broader rule, ‘* I
take all knowledge to be my province.” It betrays
the consciousness that truth is the property of no
individual, but is the treasure of all men. And
inasmuch as any writer has ascended to a just view of
man’s condition, he has adopted this tone. In so far
as the receiver’s aim is on life, and not on literature,
will be his indifference to the source. The nobler the
truth or sentiment, the less imports the question of
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 311
authorship. It never troubles the simple seeker from
whom he derived such or such asentiment. Whoever
expresses to us a just thought makes ridiculous the
pains of the critic who should tell him where such a
word had been said before. ‘‘It is no more according
to Plato than according to me.” Truth is always
present: it only needs to lift the iron lids of the mind’s
eye to read its-oracles. But the moment there is the
purpose of display, the fraud is exposed. In fact, it is
as difficult to appropriate the thoughts of others, as it
is to invent. Always some steep transition, some
sudden alteration of temperature, of point of view,
betrays the foreign interpolation. .
We are as much informed of a eae genius by
what he selects as by what he originates. We read
the quotation with his eyes, and find a new and fervent
sense ; as a passage from one of the poets, well recited,
borrows new interest from the rendering. As the
journals say, ‘‘the italics are ours.” The profit of books
is according to the sensibility of the reader. The pro-
foundest thought or passion sleeps as in a mine, until an
equal mind and heart findsand publishesit,. . . .
In hours of high mental activity we sometimes do
the book too much honor, reading out of it better
things than the author wrote,—reading, as we say,
between the lines. You have had the like experience
in conversation : the wit was in what you heard, not
in what the speakers said. Our best thought came
from others. We heard in their words a deeper sense
than the speakers put into them, and could express
ourselves in other people’s phrases to finer purpose
than they knew. . . .
312 RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
We cannot overstate our debt to the Past, but the
moment has the supreme claim. The Past is for us:
but the sole terms on which it can become ours are its
subordination to the Present. Only an inventor knows
how to borrow, and every man is or should be an
inventor. We must not tamper with the organic
motion of the soul, ’T is certain that thought has its
own proper motion, and the hints which flash from it,
the words overheard at unawares by the free mind, are
trustworthy and fertile, when obeyed, and not per-
verted to low and selfish account. This vast memory
is only raw material. The divine gift is ever the
instant life, which receives and uses and creates, and
can well bury the old in the omnipotency with which
Nature decomposes all her harvest for recomposition.—
Letters and Social Aims: ** Quotation and Originality.”
‘*¢ Literature is the record of the best thoughts.
Every attainment and discipline which increases a
man’s acquaintance with the invisible world, lifts his
being. Every thing that gives him a new perception
of beauty, multiplies his pure enjoyments. A river of
thought is always running out of the invisible world
into the mind of man. Shall not they who received
the largest streams spread abroad the healing waters? *
**Homer and Plato and Pindar and Shakspere serve
many more than have heard their names. Thought is
the most volatile of all things. It can not be con-
tained in any cup, though you shut the lid never so
tight. Once brought into the world, it runs over the
vessel which received it into all minds that love it.
The very language we speak thinks for us by the subtle
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 313
distinctions which already are marked for us by its
words, and every one of them is the contribution of
the wit of one and another sagacious man in all the
centuries of time. Consider that it is our own state of
mind at any time that makes our estimate of life and
the world. . . . Now, if you can kindle the
imagination by a new thought, by heroic histories, by
uplifting poetry, instantly you expand,—are cheered,
inspired, and become wise, and even prophetic. Music
works this miracle for those who have a good ear;
what omniscience has music! so absolutely impersonal,
and yet every sufferer feels his secret sorrow reached.
Yet to a scholar the book is as good or better. There
is no hour of vexation which, on a little reflection,
will not find diversion and relief in the library. His
companions are few; at the moment he has none;
but, year by year, these silent friends supply their
place. Many times the reading of a book has made
the fortune of the man,—has decided his way of life.
It makes friends. ’Tis the tie between men to have
been delighted with the same book. Every one of usis
always in search of his friend ; and when, unexpectedly,
he finds a stranger enjoying the rare poet or thinker who
is dear to his own solitude, it is like finding a brother.
‘*In books I have the history or the energy of the
past. Angels they are to us of entertainment, sym-
pathy, and provocation. With them many of us spend
the most of our life, —these silent guides, these tractable
prophets, historians, and singers, whose embalmed life
is the highest feat of art; who now cast their moon-
light illumination over solitude, weariness, and fallen
fortunes. You say ’tis a languid pleasure. Yes; but
314 RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
its tractableness, coming and going like a dog at your
bidding, compensates the quietness, and contrast with
the slowness of fortune, and the inaccessibleness of
persons. You meet with a man of science, a good
thinker or good wit ; but you do not know how to
draw out of him that which he knows. But the book
is a sure friend, always ready at your first leisure,
opens to the very page you desire, and shuts at your
first fatigue, as possibly your professor might not.
‘*Tt is a tie between men to have read the same
book; and it is a disadvantage not to have read the |
book your mates have read, or not to have read it at
the same time, so that it may take the place in your
culture it does in theirs, and you shall understand
their allusions to it, and not give it more or less
emphasis than they do. . . .
*‘In saying these things for books, I do not for
a moment forget that they are secondary, mere means,
and only used in the off-hours, only in the pause, and,
as it were, the sleep, or passive state, of the mind.
The intellect reserves, all its rights. Instantly, when
the mind itself wakes, all books, all past acts are
forgotten, huddled aside as impertinent in the august
presence of the creator. Their costliest benefit is that
they set us free from ourselves; for they wake the
imagination and the sentiment, and in their inspira-
tions we dispense with books. Let me add, then,
read proudly,—put the duty of being read invariably on
the author. If heis not read, whose faultis it? Iam
quite ready to be charmed, but I shall not make believe
I am charmed.”—Address on the Dedication of the
free Library in Concord, May, 1873.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 315
“Let us not forget the genial miraculous force we
have known to proceed from a book. We go musing
into the vault of day and night; no constellation shines,
no muse descends, the stars are white points, the roses
brick-colored dust, the frogs pipe, mice peep, and
wagons creak along the road. We return to the house
and take up Plutarch or Augustine, and read a few
sentences or pages, and lo! the air swims with life;
the front of heaven is full of fiery shapes; secrets
of magnanimity and grandeur invite us on every hand;
life is made up of them. Such is our debt toa book.” —
The Dial, 1840: ‘* Thoughts on Modern Literature.”
*“Whenever I have to do with young men and
women, he said, I always wish to know what their
books are; I wish to defend them from bad ; I wish
to introduce them to good; I wish to speak of the
immense benefit which a good mind derives from
reading, probably much more to a good mind from
reading than from conversation. It is of first im-
portance, of course, to select a friend; for a young
man should find a friend a little older than himself,
or whose mind is a little older than his own, in order
to wake up his genius. That service is performed
oftener for us by books. I think, if a very active
mind, if a young man of ability, should give you his
honest experience, you would find that he owed more
impulse to books than to living minds. The great
masters of thought, the Platos,—not only those that we
call sacred writers, but those that we call profanes,—
have acted on the mind with more energy than any com-
panions, I think that every remarkable person whom
316 RICHARD COBDEN.
you meet will testify to something like that, that the fast-
opening mind has found more inspiration in his book
than inhis friend. We takethe book under great advan-
tages. Weread it when we arealone. Weread it with
an attention not distracted. And, perhaps, we find there
our own thought, a little better, a little maturer, than it
is in ourselves.” —Addvess to the Students (coloured) of
Howard University, Washington, January, 1872.
RICHARD COBDEN. 1804—1865.
Gentlemen, I exhort you to maintain this and kindred
institutions on every ground, public and private. I
have had many changes, I have seen many phases of
society, probably as many as most. I do not say this
egotistically, because I am merely now going to eluci-
date a thought. I have seen many phases of society,
I have had many excited means of occupation, and of
gratification; but I tell you honestly and conscientiously,
that if I want to look back to that which has given me
the purest satisfaction of mind, it is in those pursuits
which are accessible to every member of the Athenzeum.
I have not found the greatest enjoyment in the exciting
plaudits of a public meeting; I have not found the
greatest pleasure or interest in intercourse, sometimes
with men of elevated sphere abroad, where others
would think probably that you were privileged to meet
such men; I come back to you conscientiously to declare
that the purest pleasures I have ever known are those
accessible to you all; it is in the calm intercourse with
intelligent minds, and in the communion with the
departed great, through books, by our own firesides.—
Address to the members of the Manchester Atheneum,
November 18, 1847.
Ff. D. MAURICE. 317
FREDERICK DENISON MAURICE. 1805—1872.
Sir Walter Scott has also kindled a healthy desire
among us for real histories, not merely historical novels.
The demand has been met by many authors, whose
patient industry as well as their power of exhibiting
acts, and the sources of acts, surely promise that they
shall live, Charles Lamb said, in one of his exquisite
essays, that there were some histories written in the
last age which cannot be called books at all. They
were merely the pasteboard covers ‘‘ History of Eng-
land,” or ‘‘ History of the World,” which careful
librarians put into their shelves when their books are
absent. Some of the historians that our age has pro-
duced are books in the truest sense of the word. They
illustrate great periods in our own annals, and in the
annals of other countries. They show what a divine
discipline has been at work to form men: they teach
us that there is such a discipline at work to form us into
men. ‘That is the test to which I have urged that all
books must at last be brought: if they do not bear it
their doom is fixed. They may be light or heavy, the
penny sheet, or the vast folio; they may speak of
things seen or unseen ; of Science or Art; of what has
been, or what is to be; they may amuse us, weary us,
flatter us, or scorn us; if they do not assist to make us
better or more substantial men, they are only providing
fuel for a fire larger and more utterly destructive than
that which consumed the library of the Ptolemies.—
The Friendship of Books, and other Lectures, by the
Rev. &. D. Maurice. On Books: An Address delivered
to the Leicester Literary and Philosophical Society,
November, 1865.
318 SAMUEL PALMER.
SAMUEL PALMER (ARTIST). 1805—1881.
p]
‘‘ There is nothing like poetry,” said Charles James
Fox, who might often be found engrossed by Virgil’s
Eclogues in the intervals of a very different career.
I think we may extend his remark, and say, ‘‘ There is
nothing like books.” Of all things sold incomparably
the cheapest ; of all pleasures the least palling: they
take up little room, keep quiet when they are not
wanted, and, when taken up, bring us face to face
with the choicest men who have ever lived, at their
choicest moments. As my walking companion in the
country I was so un-English as, on the whole, to prefer
my pocket Milton, which I carried for twenty years, to
the not unbeloved bull-terrier ‘‘Trimmer,” who accom-
panied me for five: for Milton never fidgeted, frightened
horses, ran after sheep, or got run over by a goods-
van.—Memoir of Samuel Palmer, the artist, by A. A.
Palmer, 1882.
LoRD BEACONSFIELD (BENJAMIN DISRAELI),
1805—1881.
The idea that human happiness is dependent on the
cultivation of the mind, and on the discovery of truth,
is, next to the conviction of our immortality, the idea
the most full of consolation to man; for the cultivation
of the mind has no limits, and truth is the only thing
that is eternal. Indeed, when you consider what a
man is who knows only what is passing under his own
eyes, and what the condition of the same man must be
LORD BEACONSFIELD. 319
who belongs to an institution like the one which has
assembled us together to-night, is it—ought it to
be—a matter of surprise that, from that moment to the
present, you have had a general feeling throughout the
civilised world in favour of the diffusion of knowledge?
A man who knows nothing but the history of the
passing hour, who knows nothing of the history of the
past, but that a certain person whose brain was as
vacant as his own occupied the same house as himself,
who in a moment of despondency or of gloom has no
hope in the morrow because he has read nothing that
has taught him that the morrow has any changes—
that man, compared with him who has read the most
ordinary abridgment of history, or the most common
philosophical speculation, is as distinct and different
an animal as if he had fallen from some other planet,
was influenced by a different organization, working for
a different end, and hoping for a different result. It
is knowledge that equalizes the social condition of
man—that gives to all, however different their political
position, passions which are in common, and enjoy-
ments which are universal. Knowledge is like the
mystic ladder in the patriarch’s dream. Its base rests
on the primeval earth—its crest is lost in the shadowy
splendour of the empyrean; while the great authors
who for traditionary ages have held the chain of
science and philosophy, of poesy and erudition, are
the angels ascending and descending the sacred scale,
and maintaining, as it were, the communication between
man and heaven.— Speech to the members of the Man-
chester Atheneum, October 23, 1844.
320 BEACONS FIELD—LONGFELLOW.
An Author may influence the fortunes of the world
to as great an extent as a statesman or a warrior; and
the deeds and performances by which this influence is
created and exercised, may rank in their interest and
importance with the decisions of great Congresses, or
the skilful valour of a memorable field. M. de Voltaire
was certainly a greater Frenchman than Cardinal Flury,
the Prime Minister of France in histime. His actions
were more important; and it is certainly not too much
to maintain that the exploits of Homer, Aristotle,
Dante, or my Lord Bacon were as considerable events
as anything that occurred at Actium, Lepanto, or
Blenheim. A Book may be as great a thing as a
Battle, and there are systems of Philosophy that have
produced as great revolutions as any that have disturbed
the social and political existence of our centuries.
Memoir of Lsaac Disraeli, by his Son, Benjamin
Disraeli (Lord Beaconsfield). Prefixed to posthumous
Edition of ** Curiosities of Literature.”
H. W. LONGFELLOW. 1807—1882.
O precious evenings ! all too swiftly sped,
Leaving us heirs to amplest heritages
Of all the best thoughts of the greatest sages,
And giving tongues unto the silent dead!
Sonnet to Mrs. Fanny Kemble.
[The following touching sonnet is the last emanation
from the pen of a poet whose writings will always be
loved and admired for their purity, tenderness, and
simplicity] :—
LONGFELLOW. 321
My Books.
Sadly as some old medizeval knight
Gazed at the arms he could no longer wield,
The sword two-handed and the shining shield
Suspended in the hall, and full in sight,
While secret longings for the lost delight
Of tourney or adventure in the field
Came over him, and tears but half concealed
Trembled and fell upon his beard of white,
So I behold these books upon their shelf,
My ornaments and arms of other days ;
Not wholly useless, though no longer used,
For they remind me of my other self,
Younger and stronger, and the pleasant ways,
In which I walked, now clouded and confused.
December, 1881.
GEORGE S. HILLARD (AMERICAN JURIST AND
AvuTHOoR). 6. 1808 [Living].
In books, be it remembered, we have the best
products of the best minds. We should any of us
esteem it a great privilege to pass an evening with
Shakspeare or Bacon, were such a thing possible.
But, were we admitted to the presence of one of these
illustrious men, we might find him touched with in-
firmity or oppressed with weariness, or darkened
with the shadow of a recent trouble, or absorbed by
intrusive and tyrannous thoughts. To us the oracle
might be dumb, and the light eclipsed. But, when
V
322 GEORGE S. HILLARD.
we take down one of these volumes, we run no such
risk. Here we have their best thoughts embalmed in
their best words; immortal flowers of poetry, wet
with Castalian dews, and the golden fruit of Wisdom
that had long ripened on the bough before it was
gathered. Here we find the growth of the choicest
seasons of the mind, when mortal cares were forgotten,
and mortal weaknesses were subdued; and the soul,
stripped of its vanities and its passions, gave forth its
highest emanations of truth and beauty. We may be
sure that Shakspeare never out-talked his Hamlet,
nor Bacon his Essays. Great writers are indeed best
known through their books. How little, for instance,
do we know of the life of Shakspeare; but how much
do we know of him !
For the knowledge that comes from books, I would
claim no more than it is fairly entitled to. Iam well
aware that there is no inevitable connection between
intellectual cultivation, on the one hand, and individual
virtue or social well-being, on the other. ‘‘ The tree
of knowledge is not the tree of life.” I admit that
genius and learning are sometimes found in combina-
tion with gross vices, and not unfrequently with
contemptible weaknesses ; and that a community at
once cultivated and corrupt is no impossible monster.
But it is no over-statement to say, that, other things
being equal, the man who has the greatest amount of
intellectual resources is in the least danger from inferior
temptations,—if for no other reason, because he has
fewer idle moments. The ruin of most men dates
from some vacant hour. Occupation is the armour of
the soul; and the train of Idleness is borne up by all
GEORGE S. HILLARD. — 323
the vices. I remember a satirical poem, in which the
Devil is represented as fishing for men, and adapting
his baits to the taste and temperament of his prey; but
the idler, he said, pleased him most, because he bit the
naked hook. To a young man away from home,
friendless and forlorn in a great city, the hours of peril
are those between sunset and bed time; for the moon
and the stars see more of evil in a single hour than the
sun in his whole day’s circuit. The poet’s visions of
evening are all compact of tender and soothing images.
It brings the wanderer to his home, the child to his
mother’s arms, the ox to his stall, and the weary
labourer to his rest. But to the gentle-hearted youth
who is thrown upon the rocks of a pitiless city, and
stands ‘‘ homeless among a thousand homes,” the
approach of evening brings with it an aching sense of
loneliness and desolation, which comes down upon the
spirit like darkness upon the earth. In this mood his
best impulses become a snare to him; and he is led
astray because he is social, affectionate, sympathetic,
and warm-hearted. If there be a young man thus cir-
cumstanced within the sound of my voice, let me say
to him that books are the friends of the friendless, and
that a library is the home of the homeless. A taste for
reading will always carry you into the best possible
society, and enable you to converse with men who will
instruct you by their wisdom, and charm you by their
wit ; who will soothe you when fretted, refresh you
when weary, counsel you when perplexed, and
sympathise with you at all times.—Address before the
Mercantile Library Association of Boston, 1850.
324 CAROLINE NORTON.
Mrs. Norton (C. E. S. STIRLING-
MAXWELL). 1808—1877.
Zo My Books.
Silent companions of the lonely hour,
Friends, who can never alter or forsake,
Who for inconstant roving have no power,
And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take,
Let me return to You ; this turmoil ending
Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought,
And, o’er your old familiar pages bending,
Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought :
Till, haply meeting there, from time to time,
Fancies, the audible echo of my own,
*T will be like hearing in a foreign clime
My native language spoke in friendly tone,
And with a sort of welcome I shall dwell
On these, my unripe musings, told so well.
ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT. 1809—1862.
An affecting instance of the tenderness and the
compensations of Learning is furnished by the old age
of Usher, when no spectacles could help his failing
sight, and a book was dark except beneath the strongest
light of the window. Hopeful and resigned he con-
tinued his task, following the sun from rgom to room
through the house he lived in, until the shadows of
the trees disappeared from the grass, and the day was
gone. How strange and delightful must have been
his feelings, when the sunbeam fell brilliantly upon
some half-remembered passage, and thought after
ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT. 325
thought shone out from the misty words, like the
features of a familiar landscape in a clearing fog.
Pleasant it would be for us, in our gloomier hours. of
time and sadness, if we might imitate that Indian bird
which, enjoying the sunshine all the day, secures a
faint reflection of it in the night, by sticking glow-
worms in the walls of its nest. And something of this
light is obtained from the books read in youth, to be
remembered in age—
** And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves.”
Coleridge said that the scenes of his childhood were
so deeply written on his mind, that when upon a still,
shining day of summer he shut his eyes, the river Otter
ran murmuring down the room, with the soft tints of
its waters, the crossing plank, the willows on the
margin, and the coloured sands of its bed. What
lover of books does not know the sweeter memories
that haunt his solitude !—Pleasures, Objects, and Ad-
vantages of Literature.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
1809—1861.
Or else I sate on in my chamber green,
And lived my life, and thought my thoughts,
and prayed
My prayers without the vicar; read my books,
Without considering whether they were fit
Todo me good. Mark, there. We get no good
By being ungenerous, even to a book,
And calculating profits,;—so much help
326 ELIZABETH B,. BROWNING.
By so much reading. It is rather when
We gloriously forget ourselves and plunge
Soul-forward, headlong, into a book’s profound,
Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth—
’Tis then we get the right good from a book.
Books, books, books !
I had found the secret of a garret-room
Piled high with cases in my father’s name,
Piled high, packed large,—where, creeping in
and out
Among the giant fossils of my past,
Like some small nimble mouse between the
ribs
Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there
At this or that box, pulling through the gap,
In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy,
The first book first. And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning’s dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books! At last because the time was ripe,
I chanced upon the poets.
Aurora Leigh.
*JoHN HiLL BuRTON. 1809—1881.
As to collectors, it is quite true that they do not in
general read their books successively straight through,
and the practice of desultory reading, as it is some-
times termed, must be treated as part of their case,
and if a failing, one cognate with their habit of col-
lecting. They are notoriously addicted to the practice:
YOHN HILL BURTON. 327
of standing arrested on some round of a ladder, where,
having mounted up-for some certain book, they have
by wayward chance fallen upon another, in which,
at the first opening, has come up a passage which
fascinates the finder as the eye of the Ancient Mariner
fascinated the wedding-guest, and compels him to stand
there, poised on his uneasy perch, and read. Perad-
venture the matter so perused suggests another passage
in some other volume which it will be satisfactory
and interesting to find, and so another and another
search is made, while the hours pass by unnoticed, and
the day seems all too short for the pursuit which is a
luxury and an enjoyment, at the same time that it fills
the mind with varied knowledge and wisdom.—7ze
Book-Hunter : ** The Desultory Reader, or Bohemian
of Literature.”
To every man of our Saxon race endowed with full
health and strength, there is committed, as if it were
the price he pays for these blessings, the custody of a
restless demon, for which he is doomed to find ceaseless
excitement, either in honest work, or some less profit-
able or more mischievous occupation. Countless have
been the projects devised by the wit of man to open up
for this fiend fields of exertion great enough for the
absorption of its tireless energies, and none of them is
more hopeful than the great world of books, if the
demon is docile enough to be coaxed into it. Then
will its erratic restlessness be sobered by the immensity
of the sphere of exertion, and the consciousness that,
however vehemently and however long it may struggle,
the resources set before it will not be exhausted when
328 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES,
the life to which it is attached shall have faded away ;
and hence, instead of dreading the languor of inaction,
it will have to summon all its resources of promptness
and activity to get over any considerable portion of the
ground within the short space allotted to the life of
man.—Zhe Book-Hunter: ‘* The Collector and the
Scholar.”
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
-6, 1809 [Living].
Society is a strong solution of books. It draws the
virtue out of what is best worth reading, as hot water
draws the strength of tea-leaves. If I were a prince,
I would hire or buy a private literary teapot, in which
I would steep all the leaves of new books that promised
well. The infusion would do for me without the vege-
table fibre. You understand me; I would have a
person whose sole business should be to read day and
night, and talk to me whenever I wanted him to. I
know the man I would have: a quick-witted, out-
spoken, incisive fellow ; knows history, or at any rate
has a shelf full of books about it, which he can use
handily, and the same of all useful arts and sciences ;
knows all the common plots of plays and novels, and
the stock company of characters that are continually
coming on in newcostume; can give you a criticism of an
octavo in an epithet and a wink, and you can depend
on it; cares for nobody except for the virtue there is
in what he says; delights in taking off big-wigs and
professional gowns, and.in the disembalming and un-
bandaging of all literary mummies. Yet he is as
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 329
tender and reverential to all that bears the mark of
genius—that is, of a new influx of truth or beauty—
as a nun over her missal. In short, he is one of those
men that know everything except how to make a
living. Him would I keep on the square next my
own royal compartment on life’s chessboard. To him
I would push up another pawn, in the shape of a comely
and wise young woman, whom he would, of course,
take—to wife. For all contingencies I would liberally
provide. In a word, I would, in the plebeian, but
expressive phrase, ‘‘ put him through” all the material
part of life; see him sheltered, warmed, fed, button-
mended, and all that, just to be able to lay on his talk
when I liked—with the privilege of shutting it off at
will.
I believe in reading, in a large proportion, by subjects
rather than by authors. Some books must be read
tasting, as it were, every word. Tennyson will bear
that as Milton would, as Gray would—for they tasted
every word themselves as Ude or Caréme would taste
a potage meant fora king oraqueen. But once become
familiar with a subject, so as to know what you wish
to learn about it, and you can read a page as a flash of
lightning reads it.
- I like books, I was born and bred among them, and
have the easy feeling, when I get into their presence,
that a stable-boy has among horses. I don’t think I
undervalue them either as companions or as instructors.
But I can’t help remembering that the world’s great
men have not commonly been great scholars, nor its
330 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
great scholars great men. The Hebrew patriarchs:
had small libraries, I think, if any; yet they represent
to our imaginations a very complete idea of manhood,
and I think, if we could ask in Abraham to dine with
us men of letters next Saturday, we should feel
honoured by his company.
What I wanted to say about books is this: that
there are times in which every active mind feels itself
above any-and all human books,
You talk about reading Shakspeare, using him as:
an expression for the highest intellect, and you wonder
that any common person should be so presumptuous as.
to suppose his thought can rise above the text which
lies before him. But think a moment. A child’s
reading of Shakspeare is one thing, and Coleridge’s
or Schlegel’s reading of him is another. The satura-
tion-point of each mind differs from that of every other.
But I think it is as true for the small mind which can
only take up a little as for the great one which takes
up much, that the suggested trains of thought and
feeling ought always to rise above—not the author,
but the reader’s mental version of the author, whoever
he may be.
I think most readers of Shakspeare sometimes find
themselves thrown into exalted mental conditions like
those produced by music, Then they may drop the
book, to pass at once into the region of thought with-
out words. We may happen to be very dull folks, you
and I, and probably are, unless there is some particular
reason to suppose the contrary. But we get glimpses
now and then of a sphere of spiritual possibilities,
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 331
where we, dull as we are now, may sail in vast circles
round the largest compass of earthly intelligences.
I always believed in life rather than in books. I
suppose every day of earth, with its hundred thousand
deaths and something more of births,—with its loves
and hates, its triumphs and defeats, its pangs and
blisses, has more of humanity in it than all the books
that were ever written, put together. I believe the
flowers growing at this moment send up more fragrance
to heaven than was ever exhaled from all the essences
ever distilled.
. ° . .
Books are the zegative pictures of thought, and the
more sensitive the mind that receives their images, the
more nicely the finest lines are reproduced.—7Zzke
Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, by Oliver Wendell
Holmes, M.D.
Truth is tough. It will not break, like a bubble,
atatouch; nay, you may kick it about all day, likea
football, and it will be round and fullat evening. Does
not Mr. Bryant say, that Truth gets well if she is run
over by a locomotive, while Error dies of lockjaw if she
scratches her finger? I never heard that a mathema-
tician was alarmed for the safety of a demonstrated
proposition.. I think, generally, that fear of open
discussion implies feebleness of inward conviction,
and great sensitiveness to the expression of individual
opinion is a mark of weakness. —Zhe Professor at the
Breakfast-Table.
The first thing, naturally, when one enters a scholar’s.
study or library, is to look at his books. One gets a
332 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
notion very speedily of his tastes and the range of his
pursuits by a glance round his book-shelves.
Of course, you know there are many fine houses
where the library is a part of the upholstery, so to
speak, Books in handsome binding kept locked under
plate-glass in showy dwarf book-cases are as important
to stylish establishments as servants in livery, who sit
with folded arms, are to stylish equipages. I suppose
those wonderful statues with the folded arms do some-
times change their attitude, and I suppose those books
with the gilded backs do sometimes get opened, but it
is nobody’s business whether they do or not, and it is
not best to ask too many questions.
This sort of thing is common enough, but there is
another case that may prove deceptive if you undertake
to judge from appearances. Once in a while you will
come on a house where you will find a family of readers
and almost nolibrary. Some of the most indefatigable
devourers of literature have very few books. They
belong to book clubs, they haunt the public libraries,
they borrow of friends, and somehow or other get hold
of everything they want, scoop out all it holds for
them, and have done with it. When / want a book,
it is as a tiger wants a sheep. I must have it with one
spring, and, if I miss it, goaway defeated and hungry.
And my experience with public libraries is that the
first volume of the book I inquire for is out, unless I
happen to want the second, when ¢/at is out.
.
Yes,—he said,—I have a kind of notion of the way
in which a library ought to be put together—no, I
don’t mean that, I mean ought to grow. I don’t pre-
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 333
tend to say that mine is a model, but it serves my turn
well enough, and it represents me pretty accurately.
A scholar must shape his own shell, secre¢e it, one
might almost say, for secretion is only separation, you
know, of certain elements derived from the materials
of the world about us. Anda scholar’s study, with the
books lining its walls, is his shell.
I’ve told you that I take an interest in pretty much
everything, and don’t mean to fence out any human
interests from the private grounds of my intelligence.
Then, again, there is a subject, perhaps I may say there
is more than one, that I want to exhaust, to know to
the very bottom. And besides, of course I must have
my literary havem, my pare aux cerfs, where my
favorites await my moments of leisure and pleasure,—
my scarce and precious editions, my luxurious typo-
graphical masterpieces; my Delilahs, that take my
head in their lap: the pleasant story-tellers and the
like; the books I love because they are fair to look
upon, prized by collectors, endeared by old associations,
secret treasures that nobody else knows anything about ;
books, in short, that I like for insufficient reasons it
may be, but peremptorily, and mean to like and to love
and to cherish till death us do part.
Every library should try to be complete on some-
thing, ifit were only on the history of pin-heads, I
don’t mean that I buy all the trashy compilations on
my special subjects, but I try to have all the works of
any real importance relating to them, old as well as
new.— Zhe Poet at the Breakfast-Tadle.
334 WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
WILLIAM Ewart GLADSTONE.
b, 1809 [Living].
Be slow to stir enquiries which you do not mean parti-
cularly to pursue to their properend. Be not afraid to
suspend your judgment, or feel and admit to yourself
how narrow are the bounds of knowledge. Do not
too readily assume that to us have been opened royal
roads’to truth, which were heretofore hidden from the
whole family of man; for the opening of such roads
would not be so much favour as caprice. If it is bad
to yield a blind submission to authority, it is not less
an error to deny to it its reasonable weight. Eschewing
a servile adherence to the past, regard with reverence
and gratitude, and accept its accumulations in inward
as well as outward things, as the patrimony which it
is your part in life both to preserve and to improve.—
Speech at Distribution of Prizes to the Pupils of Liver-
pool College, 1872.
One who is now beginning at any rate to descend
the hill of life naturally looks backwards as well as
forwards, and we must be becoming conscious that the
early part of this century has witnessed, in this and
other countries, what will be remembered in future
times as a splendid literary age. The elder among us
have lived in the lifetime of many great men who have
passed to their rest; the younger have heard them
familiarly spoken of, and still have their works in
their hands, as I trust they will continue to be in the
hands of all generations. I am afraid we cannot hope
that literature—it would be contrary to all the ex-
perience of former times were we to hope—should be
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE. 335
equably sustained at that extraordinary high level
which belongs, roughly speaking, to the first fifty
years after the Peace of 1815. That was a great
period in England, in Germany, in France, and in
Italy. I think we can hardly hope that it should
continue on a perfect level at so high an elevation.
Undoubtedly the cultivation of literature will ever be
dear to the people of this country; but we must
remember what is literature, and what is not. In the
first place, we should be all agreed that dook-making is
not literature. The business of book-making, I have
no doubt, may thrive, and will be continued upon
a constantly extending scale from year to year. But
that we may put aside. For my own part, if I am to
look a little forward, what I anticipate for the re-
mainder of the century is an age, not so much of
literature proper—not so much of great, permanent,
and splendid additions to those works in which beauty
is embodied as an essential condition of production,—
but I rather look forward to an age of research! This
is an age of great research, in science, in history, in all
the branches of enquiry that throw light upon the
former condition, whether of our race, or of the world
which it inhabits ; and it may be hoped that, even if
the remaining years of the century be not so brilliant
as some of its former periods, in the production of
works, great in themselves, and immortal, still they
may add largely to the knowledge of mankind. And
if they make such additions to the knowledge of man-
kind, they will be preparing materials of a new tone
and of new splendour in the realm of literature. There
is a sunrise anda sunset. There is a transition from
336 WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE.
the light of the sun to the gentler light of the moon.
There is a rest in Nature which seems necessary in
all her great operations. And so with all the great
operations of the human mind. But do not let us.
despond if we seem to see a diminished efficacy in the
production of what is essentially and immortally great.
Our sun is hidden only fora moment. He is like the
day-star of Milton, which
** Anon repairs his drooping head
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.”
Speech at the Royal Academy Dinner, 1877.
It was said of Socrates that he called down philo-
sophy from heaven. But the enterprise of certain
enlightened publishers has taught them to work for
the million, and that is a very important fact. When
I was a boy I used to be fond of looking into a book-
seller’s shop, but there was nothing to be seen there
that was accessible to the working man of that day.
Take a Shakspeare, for example. I remember very
well that I gave £2. 16s. od. for my first copy; but
you can get an admirable copy for 3s. Those books are
accessible now which formerly were quite inaccessible.
We may be told that you want amusement, but that
does not include improvement. There are a set of
worthless books written now and at times which you
should avoid ; which profess to give amusement; but
in reading the works of such authors as Shakspeare
and Scott there is the greatest possible amusement in
its best form. Do you suppose when you see men
engaged in study that they dislike it? No. There is
LORD HOUGHTON. 337
labour no doubt of a certain kind—mental labour, but
it is so associated with interest all along that it is
forgotten in the light it carries in its performance, and
no people know that better than the working classes,
I want you to understand that multitudes of books are
constantly being prepared and placed within reach of
the population at large, for the most part executed by
writers of a high stamp having subjects of the greatest
interest, and which enable you, at a moderate price,
not to get cheap literature which is secondary in its
quality, but to go straight into the very heart—if I mayso
say, into the sanctuary of the temple of literature—and
become acquainted with the greatest and best works
that men of our country have produced. It is not to
be supposed that working-men, on coming home from
labour, are to study Euclid and works of that character ;
and it is not to be desired unless in the case of very
special gifts; but what is to be desired is that some
effort should be made by men of all classes, and
perhaps by none more than the labouring class, to lift
ourselves above the level of what is purely frivolous,
and to endeavour to find our amusement in making
ourselves acquainted with things of real interest and
beauty.— Speech in ad of the Backley Institute and
Reading Room, 1878.
Lorp HoucuTon (RICHARD MOoNCKTON
MiLNEs). 6. 1809 [Living].
I think it impossible to overrate the political utility
of such an institution as this. Think what a book is—
what each one of these volumes is, It is a portion of
WwW
338 LORD HOUGHTON,
the eternal mind, caught in its process through the
world, stamped in an instant, and preserved for
eternity. Think what it is; that enormous amount of
human sympathy and intelligence that is contained in
these volumes; and think what it is that this sympathy
should be communicated to the masses of the people.
Compare the state o: the man who is really well
acquainted with the whole past of literature upon the
subject on which he is speaking, and with which his
mind is embued, with that of the solitary artisan, upon
whom, perhaps, the light of genius has dawned in
some great truth—in some noble aspiration—in some
high idea—resting there, unable to accomplish itself,
unable to realise its meaning, and probably ending in
nothing but discontent or despair. Compare the state
of that man, such as he would be without books, with
what that man may be with books. So that it is only
books that can save him from the most exaggerated
conclusions, from the falsest doctrines, and all those
evils which may damage and even destroy the masses
of mankind. It is only, remember, what lies in these
books that makes all the difference between the wildest
socialism* that ever passed into the mind of a man in
this hall, and the deductions and careful processes of
the mind of the student who will sit at these tables—
who will learn humility by seeing what others have
taught before him; and who will gain from the
sympathy of ages, intelligence and sense for himself.—
Speech at the Inauguration of the Manchester Free
Library, September 2, 1852.
* The building in which the Free Library was first located
was previously a Socialist Hall.
THEODORE PARKER. 339
THEODORE PARKER. 1810—1860.
The pleasures of the intellect not creative, but only
recipient, have never been fully appreciated. What a
joy is there inca good book, writ by some great master
of thought, who breaks into beauty, as in summer the
meadow into grass and dandelions and violets, with
geraniums, and manifold sweetness. As an amuse-
ment, that of reading is worth all the rest. What
pleasure in science, in literature, in poetry, for any man
who will but open his eye and his heart to take it in.
What delight an audience of men who never speak,
take in some great orator, who looks into their faces,
and speaks into their hearts, and then rains a meteoric
shower of stars, falling from his heaven of genius before
their eyes; or, far better still, with a whole day of sun-
light warms his audience, so that every manly and
womanly excellence in them buds and blossoms with
fragrance, one day to bear most luscious fruit before
God, fruit for mortality, fruit for eternity not less. I
once knewa hard-working man, a farmer and mechanic,
who in the winter-nights rose a great while before day,
and out of the darkness coaxed him at least two hours
of hard study, and then when the morning peeped over
the eastern hills, he yoked his oxen and went forth to
his daily work, or in his shop he laboured all day long;
and when the night came, he read aloud some simple
book to his family; but when they were snugly laid
away in their sleep, the great-minded mechanic took
to his hard study anew; and so, year out and year in,
he went on, neither rich nor much honoured, hardly
entreated by daily work, and yet he probably had a
340 DR. YOHN BROWN.
happiness in his heart and mind which the whole
county might have been proud to share.
I fear we do not know what a power of immediate
pleasure and permanent profit is to be had in a good
book. The books which help you most are those which
make you think themost. The hardest way of learning
is by easy reading; every man: that tries it finds it so.
But a great book that comes from a great thinker,—
it is a ship of thought, deep freighted with truth, with
beauty too. It sails the ocean, driven by the winds of
heaven, breaking the level sea of life into beauty where
it goes, leaving behind it a train of sparkling loveliness,
widening as the ship goes on. And what treasures it
brings to every land, scattering the seeds of truth,
justice, love, and piety, to bless the world in ages yet
to come.—Lessons from The World of Matter and The
World of Man.
JoHN Brown. 1810—1882.
If our young medical student would take our advice,
and for an hour or two twice a week take up a volume of
Shakspeare, Cervantes, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Cowper,
Montaigne, Addison, Defoe, Goldsmith, Fielding,
Scott, Charles Lamb, Macaulay, Jeffrey, Sydney
Smith, Helps, Thackeray, &c., not to mention
authors on deeper and more sacred subjects—they
would have happier and healthier minds, and make
none the worse doctors. If they, by good fortune—
for the tide has set in strong against the “tere
humaniores—have come off with some Greek or
Latin, we would supplicate for an ode of Horace, a
couple of pages of Cicero or of Pliny once a month
DR. JOHN BROWN. 341
and a page of Xenophon. French and German should
be mastered either before or during the first years of
study. They will never afterwards be acquired so
easily or so thoroughly, and the want of them may be
bitterly felt when too late.
But one main help, we are persuaded, is to be found
in studying, and by this we do not mean the mere
reading, but the digging into and through, the
energizing upon, and mastering such books as we
have mentioned at the close of this paper.* These
are not, of course, the only works we would re-
commend to those who wish to understand thoroughly,
and to make up their minds, on these great subjects as
wholes; but we all know too well that our Art is long,
broad, and deep,—and Time, opportunity, and our
little hour, brief and uncertain, therefore, we would
recommend those books as a sort of game of the mind, a
mental exercise—like cricket, a gymnastic, a clearing of
the eyes of their mind as with euphrasy, a strengthening
their power over particulars, a getting fresh, strong
*z, Arnauld’s Port-Royal Logic; translated by T. S.
Baynes.—2. Thomson’s Outlines of the Necessary Laws of
Thought.—3. Descartes on the Method of Rightly Conducting
the Reason, and Seeking Truth in the Sciences.—4. Coleridge’s
Essay on Method.— 5. Whately’s Logic and Rhetoric; new and
cheap edition.—6. Mill’s Logic; new and cheap edition.—7.
Dugald Stewart’s Outlines.—8. Sir John Herschel’s Preliminary
Dissertation.—g. Quarterly Review, vol. Ixviii.; Article upon
Whewell’s Philosophy of Inductive Sciences.—10. Isaac Taylor’s
Elements of Thought.—11. Sir William Hamilton’s edition of
Reid ; Dissertations ; and Lectures.—r12. Professor Fraser’s
Rational Philosophy.—13. Locke on the Conduct of the Under-
standing.
342 DR. JOHN BROWN.
views of worn out, old things, and, above all, a learning
the right use of their reason, and by knowing their own
ignorance and weakness, finding true knowledge and
strength, Taking up a book like Arnauld, and reading:
a chapter of his lively, manly sense, is like throwing
your manuals, and scalpels, and microscopes, and
natural (most unnatural) orders out of your hand and
head, and taking a game with the Grange Club, or a
run to the top of Arthur Seat. Exertion quickens your
pulse, expands your lungs, makes your blood warmer
and redder, fills your mouth with the pure waters of
relish, strengthens and supples your legs ; and though.
on your way to the top you may encounter rocks, and
baffling dédrzs, and gusts of fierce winds rushing out
upon you from behind corners, just as you will find in
Arnauld, and all truly serious and honest books of the
kind, difficulties and puzzles, winds of doctrine, and
deceitful mists; still you are rewarded at the top by the
wide view. You see, as from a tower, the end of all.
You look into the perfections and relations of things.
You see the clouds, the bright lights, and the ever-
lasting hills on the far horizon. You come down the
hill a happier, a better, and a hungrier man, and of a
better mind. But, as we said, you must eat the book, ~
you must crush it, and cut it with your teeth and
swallow it; just as you must walk up, and. not be
carried up the hill, much less imagine you are there,
or look upon a picture of what you would see were
you up, however accurately or artistically done ; no—
you yourself must do both.— Hore Subsecive: ‘* With
Brains, Sirl” by John Brown, M.D., Author of
‘* Rab and His Friends.”
W. M. THACKERAY—FYOHN BRIGHT. 343
W. M. THACKERAY. 1811—1863.
Novels are sweets. All people with healthy literary}
appetites love them—almost all women; a vast number
of clever, hard-headed men, judges, bishops, chan-
cellors, mathematicians, are notorious novel-readers,
as well as young boys and sweet girls, and their kind,
tender mothers,— Roundabout Papers.
Joun Bricut. 48, 1811 [Living].
What is a great love of books? Itis something like
a personal introduction to the great and good men of
all past times. Books, it is true, are silent as you see
them on their shelves; but, silent as they are, when I
enter a library I feel as if almost the dead were present,
and I know if I put questions to these books they will
answer me with all the faithfulness and fulness which
has been left in them by the great men who have left
the books with us. Have none of us,.or may I not
say are there any of us who have not, felt some of this
feeling when in a great library—I don’t mean a library
quite so big as that in the British Museum or the
Bodleian Library at Oxford, where books are so many
that they seem rather to overwhelm one—but libraries
that are not absolutely unapproachable in their mag-
nitude? When you are within their walls, and see
these shelves, these thousands of volumes, and consider
for a moment who they are that wrote them, who has
gathered them together, for whom they are intended,
how much wisdom they contain, what they tell the
future ages, it is impossible not to feel something of
344 SOHN BRIGHT.
solemnity and tranquillity when you are spending time
in rooms like these ; and if you come to houses of less
note you find libraries that are of great estimation and
which in a less degree are able to afford mental aliment
to those who are connected with them; and I am
bound to say—and if anyone cares very much for any-
thing else they will not blame me—I say to them, you
may have in a house costly pictures and costly orna-
ments, and a great variety of decoration, yet, so far as
my judgment goes, I would prefer to have one com-
fortable room well stocked with books to all you can
give me in the way of decoration which the highest art
.can supply. The only subject of lamentation is—one
feels that always, I think, in the presence of a library—
that life is too short, and I am afraid I must say also
that our industry is so far deficient that we seem to
have no hope of a full enjoyment of the ample repast
that is spread before us. In the houses of the humble
a little library in my opinion is a most precious pos-
RESSION Ait ts tid. 2%
Some twenty years ago I was in Sutherlandshire,
on the Elmsdale river, engaged in the healthful
occupation of endeavouring to get some salmon
out of it. In the course of the day, walking down
the river, I entered the cottage of a shepherd.
There was no one at home, I think, but the shepherd’s
wife or mother, I forget which, but she was an elderly
woman, matronly, very kind and very courteous to us.
Whilst I was in the house I saw upon the window-sill
a small and very thin volume, and I took the liberty of
going up toit, and taking it in my hand, I found, to
my surprise and delight, that it was an edition which I
¥OHN BRIGHT. 345
had never met with before—an edition of ‘‘ Paradise
Regained”’—the work of a poet unsurpassed in any
country or in any age, and a poem as to which I
believe great authorities admit that if ‘‘ Paradise Lost ”
did not exist ‘‘ Paradise Regained” would be the finest
poem in our language. I said I was surprised and
delighted down in this remote country, in this solitary
house, in this humble abode of the shepherd, I found
this volume which seemed to me to transfigure the
cottage. I feltasifthat humble dwelling was illumined,
as it was, indeed, by the genius of Milton, and, I may
say, I took the liberty of asking how the volume came
there, and who it was that read it. I learned that the
good woman of the house had a son who had been
brought up for the ministry, and I think at the time I
was there he was then engaged in his labours as a
Presbyterian minister in the colony of Canada. Now
whenever I think of some of the rivers of Scotland,
when I think of the river Elmsdale, if I turn, as
my mind does, to that cottage, I always see, and shall
never forget, that small, thin volume which I found
on the window-sill, and the finding of which seemed to
me to lift the dwellers in that cottage to a somewhat
higher sphere. . . . My own impression is that
there is no greater blessing that can be given to an
artisan’s family than a love of books. The home
influence of such a possession is one which will guard
them from many temptations and from many evils.
How common it is—in all classes too common—but
how common it is amongst what are termed the
working classes—I have seen it many times in my
district—where even an industrious and careful parent
346 FOHN BRIGHT.
has found that his son or his daughter has been to him:
a source of great trouble and pain. No doubt, if it
were possible, even in one of these homes, to have one
single person who was a lover of books, and knew how
to spend an evening usefully with a book, and who
could occasionally read something from the book to
the rest of the family, perhaps to his aged parents,
how great would be the blessing to the family, how
great a safeguard would be afforded; and then to the
men themselves, when they come—as in the case
which I have mentioned—to the feebleness of age, and
when they can no longer work, and when the sands of
life are as it were ebbing out, what can be more advan-
tageous, what more a blessing, than in these years of
feebleness—may be sometimes of suffering—it must be
often of solitude—if there be the power to derive
instruction and amusement and refreshment from books
which our great library will offer to every one? To
the young especially this is of great importance, for if
there be no seed-time, there will certainly be no harvest,
and the youth of life is the seed-time of life. I see in
this great meeting a number of young men. It is im-
possible for anybody to confer upon them a greater
blessing than to stimulate them to a firm belief that to
them now, and to them during all their lives, it may be
a priceless gain that they should associate themselves
constantly with this library, and draw from it any books
they like. The more they read the more in all proba-
bility they will like and wish to read. What can be
better than that the fair poetic page, the great instruc-
tions of history, the gains of science—all these are
laid before us, and of these we may freely partake.
LORD SHERBROOKE. 347
I spoke of the library in the beginning of my observa-
tions as a fountain of refreshment and instruction and
wisdom. Of it may be said that he who drinks shall
still thirst, and thirsting for knowledge and still drinking,
we may hope that he will grow to a greater mental and
moral standard, more useful as a citizen, and more noble
as a man.— Speech at opening of Birmingham New
Free Library, June 1, 1882.
LORD SHERBROOKE (ROBERT LOWE).
6, 1811 [Living].
Cultivate above all things a taste forreading. There
is no pleasure so cheap, so innocent, and so remunera-
tive as the real, hearty pleasure and taste for reading.
It does not come to everyone naturally. Some people
take to it naturally, and others do not; but I advise
you to cultivate it, and endeavour to promote it in
your minds, In order to do that you should read what
amuses you and pleases you. You should not begin
with difficult works, because, if you do, you will find
the pursuit dry and tiresome. I would even say to
you read novels, read frivolous books, read anything
that will amuse you and give you a taste for reading.
On this point all persons could put themselves on an
equality, Some persons would say they would rather
spend their time in society; but it must be remembered
that if they had cultivated a taste for reading before-
hand they would be in a position to choose their society,
whereas, if they had not, the probabilities were that they
would have to mix with people inferior to themselves,
348 FRANCIS BENNOCH.
and who would pull them down rather than assist
them forward. Having got the habit of reading, then
is the time to consider how to turn it to the best
advantage; and here you have an almost boundless
field. Whatever may be said of other languages, I
hold that the English language is the richest in the
world in all the noblest efforts of the human intellect.
Our historians and orators might rank with those of
any nation and clime, and: there is hardly any subject
which you could not find fully and properly treated.
Therefore I advise you, in the first instance, to give your
minds very much to the study of English, and of the
admirable works to be found in that language.—
Speech to the Students of the Croydon Science and Art
Schools, 1869.
Francis BENNocH. 4%. 1812 [Living].
My Books.
I love my books as drinkers love their wine ;
The more I drink, the more they seem divine ;
With joy elate my soul in love runs o’er,
And each fresh draught is sweeter than before !
Books bring me friends where’er on earth I be,
Solace of solitude,—bonds of society !
I love my books! they are companions dear,
Sterling in worth, in friendship most sincere ;
Here talk I with the wise in ages gone,
And with the nobly gifted of our own:
If love, joy, laughter, sorrow please my mind,
Love, joy, grief, laughter in my books I find.
Lhe Storm and other Poems.
GEORGE GILFILLAN. 349
GEORGE GILFILLAN. 1813—1878.
Let us compare the different ways in which Crabbe
and Foster (certainly a prose poet) deal with a library.
Crabbe describes minutely and successfully the outer
features of the volumes, their colours, clasps, the stub-
born ridges of their bindings, the illustrations which
adorn them, so well that you feel yourself among them,
and they become sensible to touch almost as to sight.
But there he stops, and sadly fails, we think, in bringing
out the living and moral interest which gathers around
a multitude of books, or even around a single volume.
This Foster has amply done. The speaking silence of
a number of books, where, though it were the wide
Bodleian or Vatican, not one whisper could be heard,
and yet where, as in an antechamber, so many great
spirits are waiting to deliver their messages — their
churchyard stillness continuing even when their readers
are moving to their pages, in joy or agony, as to the
sound of martial instruments—their awaking, as from
deep slumber, to speak with miraculous organ, like
the shell which has only to be lifted, and ‘‘ pleased it
remembers its august abodes, and murmurs as the
ocean murmurs there ”—their power of drawing tears,
kindling blushes, awakening laughter, calming or
quickening the motions of the life’s-blood, lulling to
repose, or rousing to restlessness—the meaning which
radiates from their quiet “countenances—the tale of
shame or glory which their title-pages tell—the me-
mories suggested by the character of their authors,
and of the readers who have throughout successive
centuries perused them—the thrilling thoughts excited
350 GEORGE GILFILLAN.
by the sight of names and notes inscribed on their
margins or blank pages by hands long since mouldered
in the dust, or by those dear to us as our life’s-blood,
who had been snatched from our sides—the aspects of
gaiety or of gloom connected with the bindings and
the age of volumes—the effects of sunshine playing
as if on a congregation of happy faces, making the
duskiest shine, and the gloomiest be glad—or of
shadow suffusing a sombre air over all—the joy of
the proprietor of a large library, who feels that Nebu-
chadnezzar watching great Babylon, or Napoleon re-
viewing his legions, will not stand comparison with
himself seated amid the broad maps, and rich prints,
and numerous volumes which his wealth has enabled
him to collect, and his wisdom entitled him to enjoy—
all such hieroglyphics of interest and meaning has
Foster included and interpreted in one gloomy but
noble meditation, and his introduction to Doddridge
is the true ‘*Poem on the Library.” — Gallery of
Literary Portraits: ** George Crabbe.”
We admire John Foster’s very long and very
characteristic Preface to Doddridge’s ‘‘ Rise and Pro-
gress,” particularly its introduction, wherein he muses
on a library in a peculiar and most impressive style,
spreading the genius and the gloom of his mind over
the place, where a silent people have fixed their abode,
filling the populous solitude of books with his reveries,
and weaving a cobweb of melancholy cogitation over
the crowded shelves. Books talk to him, as he sits
pensive and alone: they tell him the history of those
who read and those who wrote them ; names inscribed
GEORGE GILFILLAN, 351
‘centuries ago upon their margins or blank pages suggest
strange surmises as to the fate of those who bore them;
and the vices or virtues, the weal or the wo, of their
deceased authors, seem to cluster round, or to flash
out, from the dumb volumes, and to stir the leaves with
*¢ airs from heaven or blasts from hell.” It is the day-
dream of a strange but holy soul. And turning round
from his books, how closely does he grapple in a series
of interrogations with the hearts and consciences of his
readers! It is like a spirit talking to us of eternity,
over the mouth of the grave, and by the light of a
waning moon, How strict yet tender the questionings!
—Gallery of Literary Portraits: ‘* John Foster.”
Let us read good works often over. Some skip from
volume to volume, touching on all points, resting on
none. We hold, on the contrary, that, if a book be
worth reading once, it is worth reading twice, and that
if it stands a second reading, it may stand a third.
This, indeed, is one great test of the excellence of
books. ~Many books require to be read more than
-once, in order to be seen in their proper colours and
latent glories, and dim discovered truths will by and
by disclose themselves, The writings of Foster, the
essayist, and William Hazlitt belong to this class.
Their mood of thinking and writing is, at first sight,
very peculiar, and almost repulsive; but then there is
such a vast fund of original and acute remark in their
writings that you can refer to them again and again,
and have no more fear of exhausting their riches than
of emptying the ocean. Again, let us read thought-
fully ; this isa great secret in the right use of books.
352 HENRY WARD BEECHER:
Not lazily, to mumble, like the dogs in the siege of
Corinth, as dead bones, the words of the author,—not
slavishly to assent to his every word, and cry Amen to
to his every conclusion,—not to read him as an officer
his general’s orders,—but to read him with suspicion,
with inquiry, with a free exercise of your own faculties,
with the admiration of intelligence, and not with the
wonder of ignorance,—that is the proper and profitable
way of reading the great authors of your native tongue.
Address to the Members of a Literary Institute.
How still and peaceful is a Library! It seems quiet
as the grave, tranquil as heaven, -a cool collection
of the thoughts of the men of all times. And yet,
approach and open the pages, and you find them full
of dissension and disputes, alive with abuse and detrac-
tion—a huge, many-volumed satire upon man, written
by himself. . . . What a broad thing is a library
—all shades of opinion reflected on its catholic bosom
as the sunbeams and shadows of a summer’s day
upon the ample mirror of a lake. Jean Paul was
always melancholy in a large library, because it
reminded him of his ignorance.— Sketches, Literary
and Theological.
Henry WarD BEECHER. 6, 1813 [Living].
We form judgments of men from little things about
their houses, of which the owner, perhaps, never thinks
In earlier years when travelling in the West, where.
taverns were scarce, and in some places unknown, and
every settler’s house was a house of entertainment, it
HENRY WARD BEECHER. 353
was a matter of some importance and some experience
to select wisely where you should put up. And we
always looked for flowers. If there were no trees for
shade, no patch of flowers in the yard, we were sus-
picious of the place. But no matter how rude the
cabin, or rough the surroundings, if we saw that the
window held a little trough for flowers, and that some
vines twined about strings let down from the eaves, we
were confident that there was some taste and carefulness
in the log cabin. Inanewcountry, where people have
to tug for a living, no one will take the trouble to rear
flowers unless the love of them is pretty strong; and
this taste, blossoming out of plain and uncultivated
people, is itself a clump of harebells growing out of
the seams of a rock. We were seldom misled. A
patch of flowers came to signify kind people, clean
beds, and good bread. But in other states of society
other signs are more significant. Flowers about a rich
man’s house may signify only that he has a good
gardener, or that he has refined neighbours, and does
what he sees them do.
But men are not accustomed to buy dooks unless
they want them. If on visiting the dwelling of a
man in slender means we find that he contents himself
with cheap carpets and very plain furniture in order
that he may purchase books, he rises at once in our
esteem. Books are not made for furniture, but there
is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house.
The plainest row of books that cloth or paper ever
covered is more significant of refinement than the most
elaborately carved étagere or sideboard. Give us a
house furnished with books rather than furniture.
x
354 HENRY WARD BEECHER.
Both, if you can, but books at any rate! To spend
several days in a friend’s house, and hunger for some-
thing to read, while you are treading on costly carpets,
and sitting on luxuriant chairs, and sleeping upon
down, is as if one were bribing your body for the sake
of cheating your mind. Is it not pitiable to see a man
growing rich, augmenting the comforts of home, and
lavishing money on ostentatious upholstery, upon the
table,. upon everything but what the soul needs? We
know of many, and many a rich man’s house, where it
would not be safe to ask for the commonest English
Classics. A few garish Annuals on the table, a few
pictorial monstrosities together with the stock re-
ligious books of his ‘‘ persuasion,” and that is all!
No poets, no essayists, no historians, no travels or
biographies,—no select fiction or curious legendary
lore. But the wall paper cost three dollars a roll, and
the carpet cost four dollars a yard!
Books are the windows through which the soul looks
out. A home without books is like a room without
windows. No man hasa right to bring up his children
without surrounding them with books, if he has the
means to buy them. It is a wrong to his family. He
cheats them! Children learn to read by being in the
presence of books, The love of knowledge comes
with reading and grows upon it. And the love of
knowledge, in a young mind, is almost a warrant
against the inferior excitement of passions and vices.
Let us pity these poor rich men who live barrenly in
great bookless houses! Let us congratulate the poor
that, in our day, books are so cheap that a man may
€very year add a hundred volumes to his library for the
“ FANNY FERN.” 355
price which his tobacco and his beer would cost him.
Among the earliest ambitions to be excited in clerks,
workmen, journeymen, and, indeed, among all that
are struggling up in life from nothing to something, is
that of forming and continually adding to a library
of good books. A little library, growing larger every
year, is an honourable part of a man’s history. It is
a man’s duty tohave books. A library is not a luxury,
but one of the necessaries of life.—Szrmons.
SaRA P, PARTON (FANNY FERN). 4. 1814
[ Living].
Oh! but books are such safe company! They keep
your Secrets well; ¢zey never boast that they made
your eyes glisten, or your cheek flush, or your heart
throb. You may take up your favourite Author, and
love him at a distance just as warmly as you like, for
all the sweet fancies and glowing thoughts that have
winged: your lonely hours so fleetly and so sweetly.
_ Then you may close the book, and lean your cheek
against the cover, as if it were the face of a dear friend;
shut your eyes and soliloquise to your heart’s content,
without fear of misconstruction, even though you should
exclaim in the fulness of your enthusiasm, ‘‘ What an
adorable soul that man has!” You may put the volume
under your pillow, and let your eye and the first ray of
morning light fall on it together, and nothing shall
rob you of that delicious pleasure. You may have
a thousand petty, provoking, irritating annoyances
through the day, and you shall come back again to
356 ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
your dear old book, and forget them all in dream-
land. It shall be a friend that shall be always at
hand; that shall never try you by caprice, or pain
you by forgetfulness, or wound you by distrust.—
Fern Leaves.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 1815—1882.
Now, my young friends, to whom I am addressing
myself, with reference to this habit of reading, I make
bold to tell you that it is your pass to the greatest, the
purest, and the most. perfect pleasures that God has
prepared for his creatures. Other pleasures may be
more ecstatic. When a young man looks into a girl’s
eye for love, and finds it there, nothing may afford him
greater joy for the moment; when a father sees a son
return after a long absence, it may be a great pleasure
for the moment; but the habit of reading is the only
enjoyment I know, in which there is noalloy. It lasts
when all other pleasures fade. It will be there to
support you when all other recreations are gone. It
will be present to you when the energies of your body
have fallen away from you. It will last you until your
death. It will make your hours pleasant to you as
long as you live. But, my friends, you cannot acquire
that habit in your age. You cannot acquire it in
middle age; you must do it now, when you are
young. You must learn to read and to like reading
now, or you cannot do so when you are old.—Speech
at the Opening of the Art Exhibition at the Bolton
Mechanics’ Institution, Dec. 7, 1868.
“ YA4NUARY SEARLE.” 357
GEORGE SEARLE PHILLIPS (JANUARY SEARLE).
b, about 1816 [Living?].
Books are our household gods; and we cannot prize
them too highly. They are the only gods in all the
Mythologies that are ever beautiful and unchangeable ;
for they betray no man, and love their lovers, I
confess myself an Idolator of this literary religion,
and am grateful for the blessed ministry of books, It
is a kind of heathenism which needs no missionary
funds, no Bible even, to abolish it ; for the Bible itself
caps the peak of this new Olympus, and crowns it
with sublimity and glory. Amongst the many things
we have to be thankful for, as the result of modern
discoveries, surely this of printed books is the highest
of all; and I for one, am so sensible of its merits that
I never think of the name of Gutenberg without
feelings of veneration and homage.
I no longer wonder, with this and other instances
before me, why in the old days of reverence and
worship, the saints and benefactors of mankind were
_ exalted into a kind of demi-gods, and had worship
rendered to their tombs and memories ; for this is the
most natural, as well as the most touching, of all human >
generosities, and springs from the profoundest depths
of man’s nature. Who does not love John Gutenberg?
—the man that with his leaden types has made the
invisible thoughts and imaginations of the Soul visible
and readable to all and by all, and secured for the
worthy a double immortality? The birth of this person
was an era in the world’s history second to none save
that of the Advent of Christ. The dawn of printing
358 “ Y4NUARY SEARLE.”
was the outburst of a new revelation, which, in its
ultimate unfoldings and consequences, are alike incon-
ceivable and immeasurable. ;
I sometimes amuse myself by comparing the con-
dition of the people before the time of Gutenberg,
with their present condition ; that I may fix the idea
of the value and blessedness of books more vividly in
my mind. It is an occupation not without profit, and
makes me grateful and contented with my lot. In
these reading days one can hardly conceive how our
good forefathers managed to kill their superfluous time,
or how at least they could be satisfied to kill it as they
did.