I have a friend, a book-lover, who confesses that he acquired this love of his after having passed through the most painful experiences. Often he stumbled, often he fell, seemingly never to rise again. But, happily, he has reached safe ground at last. He is now the contented owner of a rich storehouse of books. But he confesses that he is not boisterously happy. He doubts not that others laugh more heartily than he; that many have lighter hearts. But he, be it remembered, has passed through deep sorrow, has lost friends, home, wealth—all that men hold most dear. Without his books and all they have taught him his lot would be that of a wanderer in a wilderness. ‘My books,’ he says, ‘are my inseparable comforters—my friends, companions, teachers, consolers, creators, amusers.’ But he makes no claim to being a student, or an authority on books. He does not burn the proverbial midnight oil. There is nothing of the book-worm about him. He is simply a book-lover, and being such, enjoys the very best that books can give.
I confess that I envy the pleasure derived by this friend of mine from the little ‘crackling’ sound caused by the opening of a new book. It is the sweetest music in his ears—an overture composed of the most pleasing notes. And with what relish he enters into the entertainment that follows! With what zest he reads aloud the choice passages! The four walls of his library must, I fancy, have peculiar knowledge of ‘the dainties that are bred in books.’ They are his only audience. When friends are with him, it is they who must do the reading, whilst he plays the better part.
How many a tale such as this might be told! How full of eccentricities is the lover of books, aye, and how full, too, of whims and fads and fancies! Each one is for a particular type of binding. In no two cases can you find tastes exactly alike. One is for plain cloth, plainly lettered, another is for calf or russia, another for parchment. And each one has his own views as regards size. Some cry out for books that can be handled with ease; others maintain that the size of a book should suit the nature of its contents. And thus the battle wages, quite a long and wordy affair, before any question arises as regards the actual contents of a book. But are not these views concerning the make-up of a book healthy and desirable? I seem to remember having read of men held in high repute who had marked preferences as regards the get-up of a book. Did not Charles Lamb maintain that to be strong-backed and neat-bound is the desideratum of a volume? ‘Magnificence comes after. This, when it can be afforded, is not lavished upon all kinds of books indiscriminately. I would not dress a set of magazines, for instance, in full suit. The deshabille or half-binding (with russia backs) is our costume. A Shakespeare or a Milton (unless the first editions) it were mere foppery to trick out in gay apparel.’
And what of the ‘inside’ of books? What of their contents? For my own part, I confess that, when pressed for a list of my favourite authors, I am at a loss for an answer, or, at least, for a satisfactory answer. The question is so pointed, the answer resting quietly in my mind so wide, so shadowy, so needful of explanation. So much depends upon one’s mood and environment. I require the opportunity to say why certain books appeal to me in certain moods and leave me untouched at other times. I desire to show that certain books, in order to be enjoyed to the full, must be read in certain seasons and under certain conditions. I wish to hold forth upon, say, ‘Books and Gardens,’ ‘Unknown Books,’ and so forth, and on the peculiarities of certain authors, giving reasons why I like or dislike their works. I wish to confess, to bare my heart. And that is too lengthy a process to cram in a direct answer to a direct question. Only this much can I confess ‘off-hand’: The books that please me most are the books that speak to the heart. Such volumes are my most highly treasured possessions.
II
BOOKS AND GARDENS
The mind relaxing into needful sport,
Should turn to writers of an abler sort,
Whose wit well-managed, and whose classic style
Give truth a lustre and make wisdom smile.
Cowper.