If there be one word in our language, beyond all others teeming with
delightful associations, _Books_ is that word. At that magic name what
vivid retrospections of by-gone times, what summer days of unalloyed
happiness “when life was new,” rush on the memory! even now the spell
retains its power to charm: the beloved of my youth is the solace of my
declining years: such is the enduring nature of an early attachment to
literature.
The first book that inspired me with a taste for reading, was _Bunyan’s
Pilgrim’s Progress_; never shall I forget the intense emotion with which
I perused this pious and interesting fiction: the picturesque
descriptions and quaint moralities blended with this fine allegory,
heightened the enchantment, which to a youthful and fervid imagination,
“unsated yet with garbage,” was complete. From henceforward my bias was
determined; the passion grew with my growth, and strengthened with my
strength; and I _devoured_ all the books that fell in my way, as if
“appetite increased by what it fed on.” My next step was,--I commenced
_collector_. Smile, if you will, reader, but admire the benevolence of
creative wisdom, by which the means of happiness are so nicely adjusted
to the capacity for enjoyment: for, slender, as in those days were my
finances, I much doubt if the noble possessor of the _unique edition_ of
BOCCACCIO, marched off with his envied prize at the cost of _two
thousand four hundred pounds_, more triumphantly, than I did with my
sixpenny pamphlet, or dog’s eared volume, destined to form the nucleus
of my future library.
The moral advantages arising out of a love of books are so obvious, that
to enlarge upon such a topic might be deemed a gratuitous parade of
truisms; I shall therefore proceed to offer a few observations, as to
the best modes of deriving both pleasure and improvement from the
cultivation of this most fascinating and intellectual of all pursuits.
Lord Bacon says, with his usual discrimination, “Some books are to be
tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested;”
this short sentence comprises the whole practical wisdom of the subject,
and in like manner by an extension of the principle, the choice of a
library must be regulated. “Few books, well selected, are best,” is a
maxim useful to all, but more especially to young collectors: for let it
be remembered, that economy in our pleasures invariably tends to enlarge
the sphere of our enjoyments. Fuller remarks, “that it is a vanity to
persuade the world one hath much learning by getting a great library;”
and the supposition is equally erroneous, that a _large_ collection
necessarily implies a _good_ one. The truth is, were we to discard all
the works of a mere temporary interest, and of solemn trifling, that
incumber the fields of literature, the magnitude of numerous vast
libraries would suddenly shrink into most diminutive dimensions, for the
number of good original authors is comparatively few; study therefore
_quality_ rather than _quantity_ in the selection of your books. As
regards the _luxuries_ of the library, keep a rigid watch upon your
inclinations; for though it must not be denied that there is a rational
pleasure in seeing a favourite author _elegantly attired_, nothing is
more ridiculous than this taste pushed to the extreme; for then this
refined pursuit degenerates into a mere hobbyhorse, and once fairly
mounted, good-by to prudence and common sense! The Bibliomaniac is thus
pleasantly satirized by an old poet in the “Shyp of Fooles.”
Styll am I besy _bok assemblynge_,
For to have plenty it is a pleasaunt thynge
In my conceit, and to have them ay in hand,
_But what they mene do I not understande_!
When we survey our well-furnished bookshelves, the first thought that
suggests itself, is the _immortality of intellect_. Here repose the
living monuments of those master spirits destined to sway the empire of
mind; the historian, the philosopher, and the poet, “of imagination all
compact!” and while the deeds of mighty conquerors hurry down the stream
of oblivion, the works of these men survive to after-ages; are enshrined
in the memories of a grateful posterity, and finally stamp upon
national character the permanent impress of their genius.
Happy we, who are early taught to cherish the society of these _silent_
friends, ever ready to amuse without importunity, and instruct without
the austerity of reproof. Let us rest assured that it is “mind that
makes the body rich,” and that in the cultivation of our intellect we
secure an inexhaustible store of present gratification, and a source of
pleasurable recollections which will never fail to cheer the evening of
life.