E. Walter Walters

“ Alas! that there should be men to whom books are merely so much paper and cloth. ‘A book,’ you tell them, ‘is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured upon purpose, to a life beyond.’ And their answer is a smile. But this is no time for repining. The great army of book-lovers swells with each passing year. From all sides come recruits, often from the most unexpected quarters, from mill and factory, mean street and slum. Yes; ’tis a great day for books, and soon Everyman will have his library, in fact as well as in name. ”

“ He has no need to probe. His gentlest touch is sufficient, more effective by far than the rough treatment of the irascible author.
Yes, for friends give me gracious authors. Give me the gentle Elia. Give me Jefferies, Goldsmith, Leigh Hunt, and De Quincey. These are the writers I would take into a garden on a summer’s afternoon. I need have no fear, whilst in such company, of the flowers being robbed of their fragrance. The song of the birds will not be silenced. The gentle whisperings of the trees will still be audible. The writers in mind are of the company who claim kinship with Nature. ”

“ 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 what of those other old friends, Hunt, Jefferies, De Quincey, Robert Louis Stevenson? But our inquiries have gone far enough. What boots it to repeat that our friends were human in life, just as surely as they are human in their books, but with a humanity that allures, charms, captivates? They do not preach to us, these old friends of ours, or make open claims to virtue; and yet we are never so conscious of goodness as when they are near. Their lightest raillery scorns a mean act. In their company meanness flees as from a pestilence.... ”

“ Walters’s whole-hearted bookish enthusiasm, I may not pretend, for, as R. L. Stevenson says, in An Apology for Idlers, ‘Books are good enough in their own way, but they are a mighty bloodless substitute for life.’ So long, however, as the reading of it be not allowed to deprive either man or woman of drinking deep at the wells of life, there are few greater joys, for young or old, than are to be found within the covers of a noble book; and to the enthusiastic book-lover, Mr. Walters’s volume should prove treasure trove indeed. ”

“ THE world of books is full of friendly voices. Where is the book-lover who has not at times felt like a sulky guest in genial, well-disposed company? Many authors who await our attentions have no other desire than to entertain, to please, to delight, ‘All authors are not preachers.’ I confess, however, that for my part I like to be ‘preached at.’ But my preacher must be of the gentle, captivating type—one who employs the beckoning finger. ”

“ I HAVE confessed that I like to feel the heart, the humanity, of an author. How natural, then, if I desire to know something about his home-life, his family, his manner of living, his favourite means of recreation. Surely such curiosity is free from censure. Of what stuff are the fine gentlemen made who tell us that we have no business with the private affairs of our great writers? Does not our curiosity spring from respect, from admiration—from love? ”

“ Judged by the books that surround me, it is dear at a penny ... Paradise Lost!
Yes, I confess that this fishing has its distressing side. One is frequently disappointed. And how heart-rending it is to find great works in a soiled and tattered condition, to discover, on drawing one’s hand from some ‘lucky-tub,’ that one holds the remains, a few pages, it may be, or the cover only, of a book that has played a part in the making of this world’s history! And how touching to find a winsome companion like the gentle Elia soiled, torn, bereft of covering, showing yellow gum and coarse stitching! ”

“ It pleased him to imagine that the lenses in his treasured spectacles, which were gold-rimmed and old-fashioned in shape, had been cut from rose-coloured pebbles, with the power of giving a rosy hue to life, and bringing all things into correct perspective.
‘Correct perspective and the right point of view,’ he remarked on a certain day, ‘are everything in life. My spectacles give me the correct vision. They bring men and affairs into proper focus, and, what is more, they give them a rose tint. Robert Louis Stevenson wore spectacles something like mine, but his were far and away more powerful. ”

“ Here is a copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost, ‘hooked’ in the deep waters of a ‘penny tub.’ It is calf-bound, mark you, and in fairish condition, though much stained with the passing of years. My heart leaps; it is very old—a first edition possibly! But no; it is anything but that, and alas! like the egg that has grown into a proverb, it is only good in parts. ”

“ The truth is, this work of restoring borrowed volumes to one’s shelves calls for a stout heart. I confess that I am wanting in the necessary qualifications. I have not the courage to speak harshly to a fellow book-lover. So firm is his hold on my affections that I am as wax in his hands. Yet book-lovers to a man agree that the borrower who never repays stands in dire need of correction. ”

“ Certainly many of us resent anything that threatens to come between us and our idols. (I have friends, book-lovers, who as strongly resent an intrusion into the sacred nook that holds themselves and a book as they would resent the invasion of a foreign power.) Thus grows upon the book-lover an ever-deepening desire for solitude, for the quiet life. Others may, if they choose, jostle for the gilded things of life. ”

“ Richard Jefferies is pleasing, but not so pleasing as the beauties to be found in a garden. Goldsmith brings a warm glow, but see! the sun shines in the heavens. Lamb puts me in playful vein, but his tune is not so gay as the song of the birds in yonder bushes. The light touch of Leigh Hunt is delightful, but not so pleasing as the quickly shifting lights upon the tree-tops. ”

“ WHAT are the books that tempt? Are they the old, familiar volumes, old friends in old clothes—well-worn editions of the classics? Or are they those same old friends decked in rich and fanciful bindings? I am acquainted with a book-lover who confesses that he has no taste for the fanciful modern reprint. You may show him Lamb, or Hazlitt, or Hunt, or Jefferies, or Stevenson in the richest of binding, and tempt him not. He is not, he declares, to be caught that way. As well might the reader go arrayed in frills and furbelows to a masculine friend and expect to be received with decorum. ”

“ I plead, therefore, for a wider definition of the word ‘confession’—a definition that embraces those ‘gentle whisperings’ which pass between bosom friends, the confidence that springs from the very roots of the human heart.
An eminent essayist of our own day has been pleading for more autobiographies of unknown persons. If I read him aright, he wishes that more persons, however humble, however obscure, would set forth their thoughts and experiences. He believes that such writings would make better reading than much that finds its way into print. ”

“ But it is good to have old friends at one’s elbow. And if I am able to enjoy myself without them on a summer’s afternoon, it is because they, on some winter’s evening, have opened my eyes and quickened my senses. It is they, I say, who have taught me to love the beauties of Nature. I am familiar with their golden passages, and whilst seated beneath the trees can recall them at my pleasure, or, should the mood arise, read them again, and yet again. ”

“ 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, [Pg 22] 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. ”

“ The book-lovers who like to feel the humanity of an author must surely form a vast and ever-increasing company.
You know how it fares with the superior individual who bears himself as though unmoved by feelings common to the average mortal. He does [Pg 51] not inspire friendship, or admiration, or, for that matter, any feeling worth the having. Knowing the frailty of human nature, we suspect him of playing a double part. And so it is, surely, with the author who addresses us in the manner of one who is a stranger to the feelings that mould this mortal clay. We know better. ”

“ How natural, however, if the lover of books should at times overlook the greatest of figures in a company so vast! He will do well if he but keeps a warm corner or two in his heart for old friends and an open place for new ones. And if meanwhile he can manage to keep his mind fresh and active, ready to receive new ideas and eager for fresh knowledge, he may surely rest content. Happily for the makers of books we have not all the same taste. ”

“ A wise man will select his book with the utmost care. ‘He will not wish to class them all under the sacred name of friends.’ For my own part, I confess that I like to turn at times to authors of ‘humbler sorts.’ I like to dip into the volumes which booksellers label ‘Remainders.’ How frequently one finds in such books the very features that captivate—the style and matter that immediately touch a responsive chord in one’s temperament! ”

“ 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. ”

“ Where is the nature-lover who will not readily confess that when in a flowering-garden he is frequently torn between his devotion to the [Pg 29] book in his hand and the beauties that surround him? I confess that I, for one, like to mix ‘the dainties that are bred in books’ with the wondrous attractions of Nature. I am ready enough to take my favourite authors into a garden, but not so ready to give them my undivided attention. ”

“ BEDSIDE BOOKS I come to my subject in a sleepy mood. It seems a daring confession to make. But you will allow that only when one’s mind is bent on thoughts of sleep can one hope to speak fittingly of bedside books. ’Tis a subject calling for gentle, quiet thoughts. And what better state of mind? You remember Robert Louis Stevenson’s prayer, ‘Give us the quiet mind.’ How often has a similar prayer been offered! Too often are we disturbed in thought—harassed, perplexed, worried. Let us now turn our attention to books that soothe and lull to rest. ”

“ For how much better to see with the eyes of one whose vision is clear, keen, and penetrating! How good, for instance, to accompany Alexander Smith on a visit to the ‘Mermaid’ in session, and there behold the great ‘Shakespeare’s bland oval face, the light of a smile spread over it, and Ben Jonson’s truculent image, and Beaumont and Fletcher sitting together in their beautiful friendship!’ And how good to think that we may go in the company of the same gracious guide, to the famous Literary Club, and there find Burke and Johnson and Garrick and Goldsmith. ”

“ He had asked the time of day, then gone on to talk of his rose-coloured spectacles. We had much to say concerning his spectacles in the days that followed—always in a light and pleasant vein. To be tedious or heavy was, to his mind, a grievous fault, particularly in books. In life and in letters he would always look for, and never fail to find, the brightest side, the happiest passages. And he would apply the one to the other—a passage from Stevenson, or some other author, to an incident in his own or some other life—in a manner that was [Pg 114] wonderfully illuminating and helpful. ”