Close by my side stands a shelf upon which are stored a number of volumes from his library. They are typical of his treasured collection, some of the best of the world’s best books, each volume showing signs of much reading and meditation, each page bearing marginal notes—original observations and thoughts from other sources, showing how one great writer differed from others, or, in the main, was of like opinion with his contemporaries. Many of the observations seem to me to be remarkably fresh and interesting—quite simple, it is true, but of the type of simplicity that captivates.
I shall hope to set down some of these, together with the passages to which they refer. Here is one example, which will serve to convey an idea of my friend’s manner of commenting upon an author’s words. The passage in point reads thus: ‘When thou hast been compelled by circumstances to be disturbed in a manner, quickly return to thyself, and do not remain out of tune longer than the compulsion lasts; for thou wilt have more mastery over the harmony by continually recurring to it.’ By the side of this, written in lead pencil, are the following words: ‘Might not human life be compared to an orchestra, composed of all kinds of instruments? I mean that each of our natures is, so to say, an instrument, some more pleasing and, seemingly, more useful than others; but of equal value when played in accord with the combined orchestra. And if we, at any time, drop out of him, is it not because we have failed to give our attention to the Great Conductor of all?’
They tell me that towards the end he referred repeatedly to the help he had derived from keeping his spiritual vision clear, his faith unclouded. So far as I can gather, his closing words were these: ‘Faith kept in lively exercise can make roses spring out of the midst of thorns, and change the briers of the wilderness into the fruit-trees of Paradise.’
XIV
FAREWELL
I HAVE attained my desire: I have introduced you to a true book-lover. And if you wonder why I have chosen a life shadowed by sorrow, I answer that love comes that way. ’Tis no new teaching, that which shows how sorrow and tribulation are the paths by which men travel to perfection. We start upon life’s journey with a glad cry; but many fall from the ranks some distance from the ‘first milestone,’ and fortunate are the fallen ones who find an open book by the wayside.
It was thus the love of books came to my friend of the rose-coloured spectacles. Shadows fell across his path, and he fell from the ranks; but out of the shadows came sweet voices, telling of gentle fancies and strength-giving realities. This was the road (need I hesitate in confessing it?) upon which I, too, came by the love of books.
Oh! how much we book-lovers owe to ‘those little sheets of paper that teach us, comfort us, open their hearts to us as brothers.... We ought to (and surely do) reverence books, to look upon them as good and mighty things. Whether they are about religion or politics, farming, trade, or medicine, they are messages of the Teacher of all truth.’
More cannot be said. And so farewell, fellow book-lover. May you find upon the way many wise and friendly books.
But wait! I hear as though voiced in clear tones the beautiful passage to be found in the little book-friend whose name is on so many lips. Let me follow the pleasing example of my friend of the rose-coloured spectacles. Let me echo the brief passage before I take leave of you: ‘It is scarcely farewell, for my road is ubiquitous, eternal; there are green ways in Paradise and golden streets in the beautiful City of God. Nevertheless my heart is heavy; for, viewed by the light of the waning year, roadmending seems a great and wonderful work which I have poorly conceived of and meanly performed: yet I have learnt to understand dimly the truths of the three paradoxes—the blessing of a curse, the voice of silence, the companionship of solitude—and so take my leave of this stretch of the road, and of you who have fared along the white highway through the medium of a printed page.’
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.