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THE PRIVATE LIBRARY
_WHAT WE DO KNOW
WHAT WE DON'T KNOW
WHAT WE OUGHT TO KNOW
ABOUT OUR BOOKS_
BY
ARTHUR L. HUMPHREYS
_Fourth Edition._
LONDON: STRANGEWAYS & SONS
SOLD BY
HATCHARDS, 187 PICCADILLY, W.
MDCCCC
_PREFACE_
_WITH all the literature published on behalf of Free
Libraries--institutions which, after all, are of doubtful good--no one
so far has written a book to assist in making THE PRIVATE LIBRARY
combine practical useful qualities with decorative effect._
_For many years I have had opportunities of inspecting and reporting
upon Collections of Books in numerous Country Houses, and I must say
that the condition of books in the greater number of them is chaotic. A
man will talk about all his possessions--his pictures, his objets d'art,
his horses, his garden, and his bicycle, but rarely will he talk about
his books; and if he does so, all his geese are swans, or just as often,
all his swans are geese. There are servants in every house qualified to
do everything except handle a book. There is no reason why the Library
should not be just as much a place of amusement as the billiard-room,
where the men are usually to be found. Books are much more amusing than
billiards, and you may learn to play in jest or work in earnest with
books just as you take to any other amusement. The whole truth is that
at present books do not get a proper share of attention, and it is with
the desire to remedy such a condition of things that I have printed this
little volume, containing things that we do know, that we don't know,
and that we ought to know about our books._
_A. L. H._
187 PICCADILLY, W.
CONTENTS
PAGE
WHAT IS A GOOD EDITION? 1
WHAT IS A FINE COPY? 5
BOOK VALUES 9
ON THE CARE OF BOOKS 15
THE ART OF READING 25
COMMON-PLACE BOOKS 38
REFERENCE BOOKS 42
BOUDOIR LIBRARIES 46
BOOKBINDING 52
BOOK HOBBIES 65
OLD COUNTRY LIBRARIES 68
WEEDING OUT 80
THE CATALOGUE 81
CLASSIFICATION OF BOOKS 87
BOOKCASES 94
MISCELLANEOUS APPLIANCES 103
THE LIBRARY ANNEXE 106
A LIBRARIAN 115
THE LIBRARY ARCHITECTURALLY 119
MUNIFICENT BOOK-BUYING 133
THE MEDICI AND THEIR FRIENDS 137
THE DUKES OF URBINO 144
PIERESC 149
MR. RUSKIN'S ADVICE 150
INDEX 153
THE PRIVATE LIBRARY.
_What is a Good Edition?_
A good edition should be a complete edition, ungarbled and unabridged.
If the author is a classic, the _format_ of the copy chosen should in
some way represent the style of the author. _Gibbon_, for instance,
should be in large octavo or quarto, with print of a size to correspond.
This is not always possible, for English editions of books often aim at
mere cheapness, and of many great authors there exist no good editions.
Thus there is no suitable edition of the classics printed in England, as
there is and for long has been in France. A good edition is not
necessarily an expensive edition, nor is it necessarily noble and
generous in print and margin. The editions known as the 'Globe'
editions of Pope and others are good editions because (1) They are
complete; (2) Each one has been taken in hand and superintended by the
most competent scholar and has notes sufficient but not pedantic; (3)
Because they are well printed on paper of fair quality by printers who
give wages liberally to careful press readers; (4) Because each work
being a work of the first or classic order, it is bound in a simple and
unaffected style, without meretricious gold or tawdry ornament. Now the
'Globe' editions are fitting in their place as types of right editions
of the cheap kind. I will now take right editions of the more liberal
and expensive kind. The 'Cambridge' _Shakespeare_, the last issue, each
play in a separate volume, is right because (1) The print, paper,
spacing, and simplicity of binding, are suited to the dignity of the
work; (2) The edition has had brought to it fulness of knowledge and
rightness of judgment; (3) Each volume is light to handle and easy to
hold, and flexible in opening.
But it would be misleading to say that these are the only examples of
right editions. In other books which I might name, excellent work has
been brought to play which in the two types already named there was not
scope for. I would like therefore to take another instance, and name the
editions of Pope's _Works_, edited by Courthope and Elwin, of Walpole's
_Letters_, edited by Peter Cunningham, and Boswell's _Johnson_, edited
by Birkbeck Hill. These editions contain excellent and workmanlike
features, such as good arrangement and good indexing, with notes and
elucidations sufficiently ample. The size too of each volume is not
extravagant as in certain _éditions de luxe_. Now in order that we may
have good editions, there are, at least, ten people who must work well
together: (1) the Author, (2) the Publisher, (3) the Printer, (4) the
Reader, (5) the Compositor, (6) the Pressman, (7) the Paper Maker, (8)
the Ink Maker, (9) the Bookbinder, (10) the Consumer.[1] When these ten
people are not working in harmony, a book is spoilt. Too often the
author, without technical knowledge of book production, insists on
certain whims and fancies of his own being carried out. Too often the
publisher aims at cheapness and nothing more.
The publications issued by Pickering in the 'forties' and 'fifties' were
models of good workmanship. Pickering published and Whittingham printed,
and it was their custom to first sit in consultation upon every new
book, and painfully hammer out each in his own mind its ideal form and
proportions. Then two Sundays at least were required to compare notes in
the little summer house in Mr. Whittingham's garden at Chiswick. Here
they would discuss size and quality of paper, the shape of the printed
page, the number of lines, the size of the type, the form and comeliness
of the title-page.[2] In all technical details the _Edinburgh_ edition
of R. L. Stevenson's works is satisfying. Here are more 'lines of
beauty' than in almost any other modern printed book. As we handle it we
feel _satisfied_ that it _is right_. Perhaps it was such a _format_ that
Mr. Ruskin had in mind when he shaped out a scheme of a Royal series of
books, which should be models of good work all round. And though it is
necessary that we have cheap editions, and that books should circulate
everywhere, we want to save the book trade from shoddy work by keeping
good models before us. That we produce the best thought in the best
form, and not in any mean, shabby dress, ought indeed to be a serious
aim of everybody engaged in the matter.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Stevens' _Who spoils our English Books?_
[2] Stevens' _Who spoils our English Books?_
_What is a Fine Copy?_
To judge of a fine copy requires some years' handling of books. To some,
the school prize, in light brown calf, represents an ideal of book
beauty; to others, a padded binding and round corners. But these are
neither beautiful nor in any way fine copies. The school prize book is
not a fine copy (1) Because it is bound in a very perishable leather;
(2) Because its margins have been trimmed away and ploughed into; (3)
Because it is received in a form which renders it impossible to stamp
one's own individuality upon it; (4) It has gaudy and meaningless
ornaments stamped down the back. The padded binding is impossible as a
fine copy because it has had applied to it a wholly incongruous method
of preservation. Books require to be clothed, but not to be upholstered.
The round corners usually adopted by the upholster binder can claim no
advantage, and they rob the book of its natural neatness and squareness
of edge. School prize bindings and padded bindings are sins against the
sanctity of common sense. What then is a fine copy? Almost, though not
entirely, essential is it that it be in the original binding as put out
by the publisher, whether it be a paper covering, or cloth, or boards.
The reason for this is that in securing a book in such a condition one
has the book _in full measure_, and there is no necessity to undo
anything which has already been done. Now, if a book be bought in a
leather binding, the chances are that it is a leather binding which in
no way suits its new owner, and he therefore has not only to sacrifice
the binding, but in rebinding it he must sacrifice some of the margins
too. The novels of Scott and Marryat in their original boards are
delightful to handle. A fine copy should be a clean copy free from
spots. When a book is spotted it is called 'foxed,' and these 'foxey'
books are for the most part books printed in the early part of this
century, when paper-makers first discovered that they could bleach their
rags, and, owing to the inefficient means used to neutralise the
bleach, the book carried the seeds of decay in itself, and when exposed
to any damp soon became discoloured with brown stains.[3] A foxed book
cannot have the fox marks removed, and such a book should be avoided.
Ink marks can be removed, and a name written upon a title-page can
generally be entirely obliterated without leaving any sign that it has
been there. Here let me beg people who give presents of books never to
write upon title-pages, but upon the fly-leaf. Many thousands of
beautiful and valuable volumes are annually ruined for ever by their
owners cutting the name from the title. A cut title-page is irreparable.
A fine copy may be a bound copy, in which case the edges must not have
been cut down, though the top edge may have been gilded, and the binding
must be appropriate and not provincial in appearance. A provincial
binding lacks finish, the board used is too thick or too thin, or not of
good quality, and the leather not properly pared down and turned in. All
such things go to spoil good books. In North's _Lives of the Norths_
there is a passage which well describes the man of judgment in books.
Dr. John North, whose life forms part of this work, is most
picturesquely described in his book-loving habits. 'He courted, as a
fond lover, all best editions, fairest characters, best bound and
preserved. If the subject were in his favour (as the Classics), he cared
not how many of them he had, even of the same edition, if he thought it
among the best, _rather better bound, squarer cut, neater covers, or
some such qualification caught him_.' And then his biographer adds, what
is so true, and especially of books, 'Continual use gives men a judgment
of things comparatively, and they come to fix on what is most proper and
easy, which no man upon cursory view would determine.'
Large paper copies are not necessarily fine copies. When a cheap
trumpery piece of book-making is printed on hand-made paper or Japanese
vellum paper the result is vulgarity, just as when a common person
attempts to swagger about in fine clothes. No, a book must show good
binding and be appropriately apparelled, or it cannot be referred to as
a fine copy. In the matter of large paper copies it is necessary to
form a separate judgment in each case. One thing is certain, that the
man who collects large paper books as large paper books is a vulgarian
and a fool. He who collects such large paper books as mature judgment
determines are appropriate, and because he sees them to have genuine
points of merit over and above small paper copies, is a book lover. In a
charming little volume, written by an American bibliophile, I read the
following passage, confirming in part the foregoing:--
'Good editions of good books, though they may often be expensive, cannot
be too highly commended. One can turn to a page in inviting letterpress
so much easier than to a page of an unattractive volume.'[4]
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Blades' _Enemies of Books_ (p. 25).
[4] Ellwanger's _Story of my House_, p. 213.
_Book Values._
It would be impossible to tell all the causes which go towards
determining the value of a book and which cause it to fluctuate in
price. There is but one way to arrive at a reliable knowledge of book
values, and that is to begin stall-hunting as soon as you leave school
or college and continue until past middle age, absorbing information
from stalls, from catalogues, and from sale-rooms. The records of prices
at which books have been sold in the auction rooms, and which are
regularly issued, are useless in the hands of an inexperienced person.
To make up your mind on Monday that you are going to begin a career of
successful bargain-hunting and book-collecting is only to be defrauded
on all the other five remaining days. Experience must be bought, and an
eye for a good copy of a book, or for a bargain of any kind, only comes
after years of practice. I admit that if a man begins collecting some
particular class of books, say Angling books, he may sooner arrive at
safe judgment alone; but even here he has a pretty wide field to make
blunders in. When Gabriel Naudé wrote his pamphlet, _Avis pour dresser
une Bibliothèque_, he laid down his first rule thus:--'The first means
is to take the counsel and advice of such as are able to give it _viva
voce_.' This was written more than two hundred years ago, and still no
better advice could possibly be given to a book collector. By all means
find a man whom you can trust, and whose knowledge is ample, and stick
to him. Do not yourself bid in the auction room, or you will soon find
out your mistake. Place your list of wants and your list of commissions
in the hands of one good man whom you have reason to trust, and you will
then get your money's worth.
I have said that it is impossible to set down all the causes which
affect the prices of books, but in an old French bibliographical book,
by D. Clement,[5] the subject is gone into more minutely than it has
ever since been treated. First, there are causes which may be classed
under the heading of _Rarity_. Secondly, there are causes which must be
grouped under the head _Condition_.
According to Clement, there are two sorts of rarity in books; the one
absolute, the other conditional or contingent. There are rare editions
of very common books. There are books of almost common occurrence in
public libraries, which are rarely seen in the market. A book or an
edition of which but very few copies exist is called 'necessarily rare;'
one which is only with difficulty to be met with--however many copies
may be extant--he calls 'contingently rare.'
Under the first head he classes; (1) Books of which few copies were
printed; (2) Books which have been suppressed; (3) Books which have been
almost entirely destroyed by casual fire, or other accident; (4) Books
of which a large portion of the impression has been wasted--usually for
want of success when published; (5) Volumes of which the printing was
never completed; (6) Copies on large paper or on vellum.
Under the second head, he enumerates; (1) Books on subjects which
interest only a particular class of students; (2) Books in languages
which are little known; (3) Heretical, licentious, and libellous books;
(4) First editions of a classic author from MS.; (5) First productions
of the printing press in a particular town; (6) The productions of the
celebrated printers of the sixteenth century; (7) Books in the
vernacular language of an author who printed them in a foreign country;
(8) Books privately printed; (9) Works, the various parts of which have
been published under different titles, in different sizes, or in various
places.
Clement then analyses the degrees of rarity thus: (1) Every book, which
is no longer current in the trade, and requires some pains in the search
for it, is 'of infrequent occurrence;' (2) If there are but few copies
in the country in which we live, and those not easily met with, it is
'rare;' (3) If the copies are so dispersed that there are but few of
them, even in the neighbouring countries, so that there is increased
difficulty to procure them, it is 'very rare;' (4) If the number of
copies be but fifty or sixty, and those scattered, it is 'extremely
rare;' (5) And finally, every work of which there are not ten copies in
the world is 'excessively rare.' In all these cases, it must be supposed
that the book is a book sought for, and that the seekers are more
numerous than the sought.[6]
In the matter of _Condition_ and its effect upon price, long training is
required before all the qualities of a copy can be properly defined.
There are copies on 'vellum,' 'large paper,' 'fine paper,' 'coloured
paper.' There are 'crisp' copies, 'uncut' copies, 'tall' copies, 'ruled'
copies, and 'illustrated' copies, _cum multis aliis_.[7]
Fashion determines much as to price. As soon as it becomes a fad to
collect books relating to some particular subject, competition instantly
steps in, and prices go up. It may be well to state, for the benefit of
a very numerous and uninitiated public, that, _because a book is old, it
is not necessarily rare_. There are many thousands of people who have
most imperfect and valueless books, mostly on theology, or some
controversial abominations, and these people spend days wasting their
own and booksellers' time in seeking to sell at prices which their own
imagination alone has determined is right. Distrust the advertisements
of large paper editions. _Very_ few of them are worth purchasing, and
very few, indeed, increase in value. Fight against the first-edition
craze, which is the maddest craze that ever affected book collecting.
Again and again it must be repeated, and cannot be gainsaid, that _a
first edition may be the best, but in most cases it is the worst_. In
every case, inquire and find out which is the _best_ edition as to
completeness, good paper and print, and safe editing, if such has been
necessary, and then purchase a copy of that edition. One remark
finally. The prices of _all good books_ are going up, and any one who
lays out money with care within the next ten years will have the
enjoyment of his library and a good investment as well.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] D. Clement, _Bibliothèque curieuse_.
[6] Edwards, _Memoirs of Libraries_, ii. 647-649.
[7] Edwards, ii. 659.
_On the Care of Books._
The two things most neglected in houses are the trimming of lamps and
the care of the books. The condition of many libraries in large country
houses is most lamentable. In such neglect are they that it would take
months, and in some cases years, working day and night, to restore them
to a healthy condition. For, poor things! they are really so neglected,
that their covers become like the limbs of rheumatic people. If you
touch them they seem to shriek and cry with pain. They are either
parched for lack of a proper atmosphere, or else they are sticking
together with the damp or thickly covered with dust.[8] There is nothing
else in a house like this, and why are these things so? It is because
there are so few people who understand the care of books. I once read
the following in a daily paper, and thought I recognised in it a
familiar hand, that of Mr. Andrew Lang:--
'The foes of books are careless people--first of all. They tear pages
open with their thumbs, or cut them with sharp knives which damage the
margins. It is so difficult to keep paper knives, and ivory paper knives
are the favourite pasture of some scholars, who bite the edges till the
weapon resembles a dissipated saw. To avoid this temptation some employ
mediæval daggers, or skene dhus, but the edges spoil a book. Cigarette
ashes are very bad for books, so is butter, also marmalade. Dr. Johnson
and Wordsworth are said to have been very careless with their books. Dr.
Johnson used to clean his from dust by knocking them together, as Mr.
Leighton says housemaids do. Scott was very careful; he had a number of
wooden dummies made, and, when a volume was borrowed, he put the dummy
in its place on the shelf, inscribing it with the name of the borrower.
He also defended his shelves with locked brazen wires. "Tutus clausus
ero" ("I shall be safe if shut up"), his anagram, was his motto, under
a portcullis. Borrowers, of course, are nearly the worst enemies of
books, always careless, and very apt to lose one volume out of a set.
Housemaids are seldom bibliophiles. Their favourite plan is to dust the
books in the owner's absence, and then rearrange them on fancy
principles, mostly upside down. One volume of _Grote_ will be put among
French novels, another in the centre of a collection on sports, a third
in the midst of modern histories, while others are "upstairs and
downstairs, and in my lady's chamber." The diversity of sizes, from
folio to duodecimo, makes books very difficult to arrange where room is
scanty. Modern shelves in most private houses allow no room for folios,
which have to lie, like fallen warriors, on their sides.'
All that is very true, particularly about housemaids. Indeed, I have
rarely found any woman who cared sufficiently for her books to really
fondly tend them.
The principal enemy which books have is DAMP. This means ruination, more
perhaps to the paper than to the binding, though both suffer. A fungus
growth comes on the leather, and inside there come stains and 'fox'
marks. Damp is caused (1) through lack of fires or warmth; (2) through
too many sides of a room being exposed to the elements without having
the walls battened; (3) the thaw following a frost, proper means for
warmth not being adopted during the frost. The only remedy for damp is
the trying process of opening each volume and suspending it open, after
wiping with a dry cloth each page affected. The next worst enemies are
gas and heat.
Gas alone, provided the books are not placed high up, will not be nearly
so destructive as it is generally supposed; but all atmospheres heated
too highly are destructive. Mr. Poole, a very experienced American
librarian, has reported as follows, and, I think, very rightly:--
'The burning of many gas lights doubtless has a tendency to increase the
evil by increasing the heat. Yet the deterioration of bindings goes on
in the libraries where gas is never used. This fact shows that the chief
injury arises from heat, and not merely from the sulphurous residuum of
gas combustion.'
Mr. Poole made an experiment in the upper gallery of a library, and
found that--
'While the temperature of the floor was 65° Fahr., that of the upper
gallery was found to be 142°. Such a temperature dries up the oil of the
leather, and burns out its life. Books cannot live where men cannot
live.' Similarly, Mr. Blades wrote in his little manual:
'The surest way to preserve your books is to treat them as you would
your own children, who are sure to sicken if confined in an atmosphere
which is impure, too hot, too cold, too damp, or too dry. It is just the
same with the progeny of literature.'
In London particularly dust, smoke, and soot get at books and do great
damage. To have the top edges gilded is an excellent way to prevent dust
getting into the leaves. Books which have roughly trimmed tops harbour
dust much more readily, and it is with great difficulty removed from
such. If a book is very dusty, a small brush is perhaps the best means
to adopt to remove the offending particles. Books should not be either
swung together or beaten together. The carpet in a library should not
reach to the wall, or right to the cases, but should fall short so as to
be removed when required to be cleaned. A librarian at Bath gives the
following advice:--
'Our books are taken down once a year, in the month of August, to be
dusted, and, for the last four or five years, I have adopted a simple
plan. When the books are well dusted I take about half an ounce of the
best horn glue, and, having dissolved it in the usual way, I add to it
about a pint of warm water and a teaspoonful of glycerine, and stir it
well. Then dipping a soft sponge into the solution, I wash over the
backs of the books. If the leather is much perished or decayed, it will
unduly absorb the size, and a second touch over may be necessary. The
glycerine will have the effect of preventing the glue from drying too
hard or stiffening the leather. When dry, the books may be rubbed over
with a chamois leather. The above process, I find, helps to nourish the
leather, and to restore that property which the heated air has
destroyed. It also freshens up and greatly improves the appearance of
the volumes upon the shelves. The operation must be repeated once a
year at least.'
Bottles of preparation are sold ready made up for this purpose. Mr.
Blades warmly echoed the sentiment that housemaids and helps are seldom
bibliophiles, and, if, peradventure, one Eve in a family can be
indoctrinated with book reverence, there may be salvation for all the
books. Mr. Blades himself had a fine library, and goes fully into the
subject of the period of dusting and its methods.[9]
'Books _must_ now and then be taken down out of their shelves, but they
should be tended lovingly and with judgment. If the dusting can be done
just outside the room, so much the better. The books removed, the shelf
should be lifted quite out of its bearings, cleansed, and wiped, and
then each volume should be taken separately and gently rubbed on back
and edges with a soft cloth. In returning the volumes to their places,
notice should be taken of the binding, and especially when the books
are in whole calf or morocco, care should be taken not to let them rub
together. The best-bound books are soonest injured, and generally
deteriorate in bad company. Certain volumes, indeed, have evil tempers,
and will scratch the faces of all their neighbours who are too familiar
with them. Such are books with metal clasps and rivets on their edges;
and such, again, are those abominable old rascals, chiefly born in the
fifteenth century, who are proud of being dressed in real boards with
brass corners, and pass their lives with fearful knobs and metal
bosses. . . . . When your books are being dusted, don't impute too much
common sense to your assistants--take their ignorance for granted.'
Mr. Blades then points out certain dangers which beset the inexperienced
handler of books. Never lift a book by one of its corners. Do not pile
books up too high. Be careful not to rub the dust _into_ instead of
_off_ the edges. If mildew or damp is discovered, carefully wipe it
away, and let the book stand open for some days in a very dry spot--but
not in front of a fire. Be careful that no grit is on the duster, or it
will surely mark your books. Do not wedge books in too tightly.
Common-sense must dictate what is right, but every volume should _fit
easily_ in its place.
Children and servants are not to be classed as friendly to books, but
little lapses on their part are much more easily tolerated than the
ignorance of the person who ought to know better. Such people insist
upon having their books bound in hideous bindings, and mutilated almost
beyond recognition by the bookbinder's plough.
I will talk about bookbinding later, but this I will say, that in no way
can a book be easier ruined than by being placed unconditionally in the
hands of a bookbinder.
It is frequently supposed that the insect, known as the bookworm, is a
great enemy to books. 'Tis true where the bookworm exists it does
irreparable damage, but fortunately it is not an insect which may be
found every day. In America, they have, I believe, greater trouble from
these boring insects. They have 'fish bugs,' 'silver fish,' and 'bustle
tails,' scientifically known as _Lepisma Saccharina_. Another is known
as 'Buffalo Bug,' or 'Carpet Bug,' or the _Anthrenus varius_ of
scientists. A third is _Blatta Australasia_, a species of cockroach.
The following maxims may be learned by heart, or if preferred, they can
be bought by experience:
Do not bite your paper knife until it has the edge of a saw.
Do not cut books except with a proper ivory paper knife.
It is ruination to a good book not to cut it right through into the
corners.
Do not turn the leaves of books down. Particularly, do not turn down the
leaves of books printed on plate paper.
If you are in the habit of lending books, do not mark them. These two
habits together constitute an act of indiscretion.
It is better to give a book than to lend it.
Never write upon a title-page or half-title. The blank fly-leaf is the
right place.
Books are neither card-racks, crumb-baskets, or receptacles for dead
leaves.
Books were not meant as cushions, nor were they meant to be toasted
before a fire.
Valets and maids appear to take kindly to the packing of everything
except books. I will therefore say that only small quantities (twelve
volumes to twenty) should be packed in a parcel. Boxes, either
wine-cases, or boxes specially made, should be used. Books being very
solid and heavy should be packed in strong cases, and the method of
packing them should be to place them upright alternately on back and
edge in layers. By this means they can be fitted tightly to the case
they are meant to travel in. Leather bound volumes should be wrapped up
singly before being packed, and the box should be carefully lined with
paper so that any roughness on the wood of the box may not damage the
volumes.
Book and parcel post volumes should have three or four thicknesses of
paper, and if bound volumes a strawboard on either side as well as
paper.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] Leighton (John), _Book-plate Annual_.
[9] _Enemies of Books._
_The Art of Reading._
First, how to read. The reason why so many people who read much know so
little, is because they read isolated books instead of reading one book
in connexion with another. The memory is trained by association, and if
you read two books in succession on one subject you know more than twice
as much as if you had read one book only. A good memory is a memory
which assimilates. Every one has a good memory for something. A good
memory rejects and sifts, and does not accept everything offered to it
like a pillar-box. Do not join reading societies, because they kill
individuality. Choose your subject, and work all round it. There is an
extensive literature on the subject of 'The Art of Reading,' 'The Best
Hundred Books,' &c. Most of it is useless and bewildering. The best
advice I have ever seen in print about reading was by Sir Herbert
Maxwell, and it appeared some years ago at the end of a _Nineteenth
Century_ article. It is as follows:
'If any young person of leisure were so much at a loss as to ask advice
as to what he should read, mine should be exceedingly simple--_Read
anything_ bearing on a definite object. Let him take up any imaginable
subject to which he feels attracted, be it the precession of the
equinoxes or postage stamps, the Athenian drama or London street cries;
let him follow it from book to book, and unconsciously his knowledge,
not of that subject only, but of many subjects, will be increased, for
the departments of the realm of knowledge are divided by no _octroi_.
He may abandon the first object of his pursuit for another; it does not
matter, one subject leads to another; he will have acquired the habit of
acquisition; he will have gained that conviction of the pricelessness of
time which makes it intolerable for a man to lie abed of a morning.'
The art of reading is a thing to learn, and with it comes the equally
valuable art of skipping.
Mr. Balfour's advice to readers is to learn the arts of skipping and
skimming, and the late Philip Gilbert Hamerton said:--'The art of
reading is to skip judiciously. The art is to skip all that does not
concern us, whilst missing nothing that we really need. No external
guidance can teach this; for nobody but ourselves can guess what the
needs of our intellect may be.'
No one knows how to skim and skip who has not first well threshed out
some subject for himself. No one can tear the heart out of a book who
has not first been through the student period. Advice is poured forth in
lengthy magazine articles, and lectures, but as far as I know there is
nothing which embodies such good sense on this subject, excepting Sir
Herbert Maxwell's advice above, as a tiny pamphlet, about two inches
square, written by Miss Lucy Soulsby, and sold for twopence. It is
rather absurdly called _Things in Books Clothing_!
Below are printed only such passages, gathered from many sources, as I
think are necessary to be known about the art of reading.
'It is true that the most absolute master of his own hours still needs
thrift if he would turn them to account, and that too many _never_ learn
this thrift, whilst others learn it late. . . . . Few intellectual men
have the art of economising the hours of study. The very necessity which
every one acknowledges of giving vast portions of life to attain
proficiency in anything, makes us prodigal where we ought to be
parsimonious, and careless where we have need of unceasing vigilance.
The best time-savers are a love of soundness in all we learn or do, and
a cheerful acceptance of inevitable limitations.'[10]
'In exchange for the varied pleasures of the fashionable life, the
intellectual life can offer you but one satisfaction, for all its
promises are reducible simply to this, that you shall come at last,
after infinite labour, into contact with some great _reality_; that you
shall know and do in such sort that you will feel yourself on firm
ground, and be recognised--probably not much applauded, but yet
recognised--as a fellow-labourer by other knowers and doers. Before you
come to this, most of your present accomplishments will be abandoned by
yourself as unsatisfactory and insufficient, but one or two of them will
be turned to better account, and will give you, after many years, a
tranquil self-respect, and, what is still rarer and better, a very deep
and earnest reverence for the greatness which is above you. Severed from
the vanities of the illusory, you will live with the realities of
knowledge as one who has quitted the painted scenery of the theatre to
listen by the eternal ocean or gaze at the granite hills.'[11]
'Reading, with me, incites to reflection instantly. I cannot separate
the origination of ideas from the reception of ideas. The consequence
is, as I read I always begin to think in various directions, and that
makes my reading slow.'[12]
'When a particular object has to be attained, reading cannot be too
special. There is an enormous waste of intelligence through a neglect of
this fact, but otherwise reading should "come by nature." When I look
through the list of The Best Hundred Books, I cannot help saying to
myself, "Here are the most admirable and varied materials for the
formation of a prig."'[13]
'Let us not be afraid of using a dictionary. _A_ dictionary? A dozen; at
all events, until Dr. Murray's huge undertaking is finished. And even
then, for no one dictionary will help us through some authors--say,
Chaucer, or Spenser, or Sir Thomas Browne. Let us use our full lexicon,
and Latin dictionary, and French dictionary, and Anglo-Saxon dictionary,
and etymological dictionary, and dictionaries of antiquity, and
biography, and geography, and concordances, anything and everything that
will throw light on the meanings and histories of words.'[14]
'To master a book, perhaps the best possible way is to write an essay
in refutation of it. You may be bound few things will escape you then.
The next best way may perhaps be to edit and annotate it for students,
though, if some recent hebdomadal animadversions upon certain Oxford
styles of annotation are well founded, this is questionable. The worst
way, I should think, would be to review it for a newspaper.'[15]
'Reading, and much reading, is good. But the power of diversifying the
matter infinitely in your own mind, and of applying it to every occasion
that arises is far better.'[16]
'A person once 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.'[17]
'Never read a book without pencil in hand. If you dislike disfiguring
the margins and fly-leaves of your own books, borrow a friend's; but by
all means use a pencil, if only to jot down the pages to be re-read. To
transcribe striking, beautiful, or important passages is a tremendous
aid to the memory; these will live for years, clear and vivid as day,
when the book itself has become spectral and shadowy in the night of
oblivion. A manuscript volume of such passages, well indexed, will
become in time one of the most valuable books in one's library.'[18]
'No man, it appears to me, can tell another what he ought to read. A
man's reading, to be of any value, must depend upon his power of
association, and that again depends upon his tendencies, his capacities,
his surroundings, and his opportunities.'[19]
* * * * *
I am fully convinced that the above passages condense all that is best
worth knowing upon the 'Art of Reading.'
Next in importance is what to read. Be very careful about reading books
which are recommended, because they are books of the hour. Fools step in
and say read this and that without thinking to put themselves in your
place. Because a book suits one person, it is only a rare chance that it
will suit a friend equally.
Before recommending a book to another with assurance, you must know the
book well, and the friend to whom it is recommended you must know much
better. Read the book which suggests something responsive and
sympathetic. No one can tell you this as well as you can find it for
yourself. Practice will teach you to choose a book, as practice has
taught you to choose a friend. You will almost be able to choose it in
the dark. There are affinities for books as for people, but this does
not come at once.
The proper appreciation of the great books of the world is the reward of
lifelong study. You must work up to them, and unconsciously you will
become trained to find great qualities in what the world has decided is
great. Novel reading is not a part of the intellectual life, it is a
part of the fashionable life.
Lamb says that Bridget Elia 'was tumbled early, by accident or design,
into a spacious library of good old English reading, without much
selection or prohibition, and browsed at will upon that fair and
wholesome pasturage.' And he adds, 'Had I twenty girls they should be
brought up exactly in this fashion.'
Ruskin says, 'there need be no choosing at all. Keep the modern magazine
and novel out of your girl's way; turn her loose into the old library
every wet day, and let her alone. She will find out what is good for
her.'
Mr. Ruskin notwithstanding, there will ever be a large public who will
read nothing unless it has a story in it.
Nearly all readers of books may be divided into two classes, those who
read as students towards some definite end, and those who read for
amusement. The latter class are greatly in the majority, and I have no
hesitation in saying that a love of fiction will always predominate over
a love of research, even in its light form. The student class, among
whom are many critics, usually fail to understand the position of the
fiction lovers, with the result that the fiction readers and fiction
itself get a great many jibes and taunts. To open this question would
involve a long argument, and would bring about no good. All experience
goes to prove that a very large section of the public, not being
students, loves to read the books of the hour, and great pleasure may be
got therefrom. The smaller section, trained to different habits, and
regarding books in a more serious light, put their collection of books
to different purposes, and, I know, get great pleasure therefrom. The
two classes can run parallel together, and one class should not try to
exterminate the other.[20] In country houses the books in billiard-rooms
and in the bedrooms should appropriately be fiction. Not many guests at
a house-party are in the frame of mind to take up serious books, nor are
there the opportunities given for application which such would require.
I think where the general house library is (as is very often the case)
not a living room, there is then much more reason for separating fiction
and light literature, and placing them in a very accessible position. It
will often be found advisable, as fiction accumulates, to weed out and
decide what volumes shall be bound and what rejected or placed in the
servants' library. Shelves should therefore be reserved for books which
are thus going through a period of probation.[21]
A fiction library may be made very interesting if it is so arranged as
to represent the history of France or of England, or any country. From
the boundless stores of fiction writers--in fact, from Scott alone
almost--a sequence of volumes may be arranged which, if read in proper
order, would make a very excellent romance history. Almost every
interesting episode of history has had its story woven into romance.
Thus there are, I believe, about eighteen historical romances relating
to the Monmouth rebellion alone.
'Much of love,' said Lord Bowen, 'has only been learned under the
instruction of some woman who has herself only learned it from a book.
Authoresses, indeed, have not unfrequently betrayed the key to some of
their sex's secrets. Were it not for _Northanger Abbey_ and Miss Austen,
some of the old mysteries of girlish friendship would have remained
untold, and we should never have known or understood the curiosity
which may lurk in a refined bosom at seventeen. Man would scarcely have
guessed but for _Jane Eyre_ the impression which can be made, it seems,
upon a heart by a middle-aged gentleman with the manners of a bear and
the composure of a prig. Furthermore, it is through women's novels that
we have had brought home to us most adequately what women who have
tasted it, or seen it, can best relate, the despicable egotism of a weak
man. Anzoleto in _Consuelo_, Tito in _Romola_.'[22]
It is important for every one to fix upon a time for everyday study, and
remember to read when you have a disposition so to do. Do not think that
spare moments not spent in reading are lost. Some spare time must be
kept for thinking. If you have 'nerves,' it is no good to read then;
read when the mind is quiet and receptive. This will probably be when
dressing in the morning, or at night before going to bed. Keep a small
bookcase in your dressing-room; in so doing you will learn the art of
going to bed well. Read at any time when curiosity is aroused as to any
person, place, or subject, and keep reference books at hand to answer
questions intelligently. Napoleon read all the new novels in a
travelling carriage, and pitched them out of the window as each was
finished. Active minds, to read advantageously, should seek a quiet
_sanctum_ of their own.
A very admirable suggestion was made a short time since, I think by Dr.
Ernest Hart, that it should be more a custom to have bookcases in
bedrooms. Many persons, and, I believe, notably Mr. Gladstone, read
before going to bed. I think all bedrooms should have a selection of
favourite books, and I do not think that novels are nearly so suitable
as books of short essays and sketches. Few people would sit up
sufficiently long to read a novel through, and many would therefore not
begin what they knew they would be unable to finish.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] P. G. Hamerton.
[11] P. G. Hamerton.
[12] H. W. Beecher.
[13] James Payn.
[14] _Blackwood's Magazine_, February, 1896.
[15] _Blackwood's Magazine_, February, 1896.
[16] Burke.
[17] Thirlwall.
[18] _Blackwood's Magazine_, February, 1896.
[19] J. S. Blackie.
[20] H. D. Traill.
[21] See Mr. Gladstone's ideas on the subject, in _Gladstone in the
Evening of his Days_, p. 145.
[22] Bowen's lecture on _Novel Reading_.
_Common-place Books._
Very numerous methods have been suggested whereby memory may be assisted
and the assimilation of our reading proceed without indigestion. A
reader is often pictured with note-book in hand, supposed to be
memorising what he is reading. There is no doubt that note-books are
very useful, but no note-book or commonplace-book should take the place
of the natural memory--and every one has a good memory for something.
Thomas Fuller has wittily said, 'Adventure not all thy learning in one
bottom, but divide it between thy memory and thy note-books. . . . . A
commonplace-book contains many notions in garrison, whence an owner may
draw out an army into the field on competent warning.'
Every one has his and her own way of keeping a commonplace-book. Mr.
Sala, I remember, once gave a minute account of his jottings in this
way:[23] 'Todd's _Index Rerum_ was, in its day, very little else than
an alphabeted book--a forerunner of what stationers now sell in various
sizes called _Where is it?_ The simplest form of commonplace-book is a
plain quarto MS. book ruled in an ordinary way, and in this entries may
be made without being alphabeted. Do not write extracts or notes right
across the line, but make your entries thus, having the keyword clear
and easy to be seen:--
'PICUS DE MIRANDOLA.--His extraordinary gifts. His
being sought after by women. Compare with H. T.
Buckle. See also Hallam's _Literary History_, Part
I. chap. iii.'
In the matter of note-books, I am sure that it is best for every one to
make notes in the way best suited to his convenience. Many, I think,
find that taking notes while reading a book is an undesirable
interruption. To such, it may be suggested to have slips of paper about
half an inch wide, and four or five inches long, and insert these at the
pages which contain anything notable. Then, when the book is finished,
go through and transcribe or memorise such passages as are thus marked.
I think it a great mistake to attempt too rigid a system in note-books,
or too much red tape of any kind, because whenever this is done, the
time and thought, which should be given to the matter of the extract
helping to fix it upon the memory, is given instead to the secondary
matter of keeping your note-books very neat.
FOOTNOTE:
[23] 'Periodically I am addressed by two constant and somewhat exigeant
classes of correspondents: the young gentlemen who wish me to give them
a list of the works requisite to form a journalist's library; and, next,
the esteemed individuals of both sexes and all ages who want me to tell
them how to keep a commonplace-book. I have replied to both these
questions over and over again; and to give yet another list of the books
which I think would be useful to professional writers for the press
would be to outrage the patience of my non-professional patrons. The
recipe for keeping a commonplace-book may, however, it is to be hoped,
be repeated without giving offence to any one. Here it is; and pray
observe that I have had it printed in small type, in order that the
susceptibilities of readers who want to be amused and do not require to
be instructed may not be wounded:--Procure a blank book, strongly bound,
big or little, according to the largeness or smallness of your
handwriting. Let the book have an index. It will be better if the paper
of the book were ruled. When in the course of your reading you come on a
passage which strikes you as worthy of being common-placed, copy it
legibly in your commonplace-book. Say that the passage is the following,
from Bacon's _Natural History_: "So the beard is younger than the hair
of the head, and doth, for the most part, wax hoary later." At the end
of this passage inscribe a circle or an ellipse, a square or a lozenge,
just as you choose to do; and in the inscribed space write with red ink
(better still with carmine) the figure 1. Then index the passage under
letter B. "Beard younger than hair of head. 1." If you wish to be very
careful in your common-placing, you may double index the passage by
turning to letter H, and indicating the passage as "Head, hair of, older
than beard." And so you may continue to transcribe consecutively all the
passages which strike you in the course of your reading: never omitting
to number the passage and to index it as soon as numbered. That is the
system adopted by the Distressed Compiler, and he has made constant use
of it for nearly forty years.'--G. A. SALA.
_Reference Books._