We do not get the most out of a book unless we own it; we cannot take a personal interest in borrowed books, and, although it pleases Mr. Augustine Birrell to think of the thousands of thumbs that have turned over its pages with delight, it is difficult really to know a library book with its soiled pages, battered cover and the date when it must be returned impending like the Day of Judgment.
There is the same difference between a book that you own and a library book that there is between a home and a hotel; the one is stamped with the individuality of its owner, the other is common property. It is pleasant to have a feeling of proprietorship in the great men of the past and to speak of my Homer or my Shakespeare. How close it brings us to a man when we possess a book with his autograph or book-plate in it, or which, better still, he has read and marked. If for instance, we owned Lowell’s Don Quixote with the notes written on its margin in repeated readings from which he drew the material for his famous address, what an inspiration it would be.
The books that you skim you may borrow. If you buy them they will take up room on your shelves that may be more profitably employed; but the books that you wish to read again and again, to ponder over and to study you must own.
You may have a library full of books, but what you really are is determined by that part of them which you have read and laid to heart. Yet the unconscious tuition of books has a real value, we learn to love them by having them about us. Merely to surround ourselves with great books and with the portraits of those who have written them has a refining influence as constant as it is unnoticed. That the essay of Emerson or the poem of Longfellow is where you can lay your hand on it, that the kindly faces of the writers look down on you from the wall, associations such as these sweeten and elevate life.
Although there is a luxurious beauty about an elegant edition that is not to be lightly esteemed, there is a satisfaction in knowing that we can derive as much food for thought from a cheap Shakespeare as from a first folio. The truest book-lovers are those who love the thoughts that the books contain. Complete editions of standard authors are the best to own. The print should be large and the books easy to hold and to open. If edited at all, the work should be done by a competent scholar. It takes a great deal of editing to spoil a classic, but nowadays there is too much editing, too much thinking is done for us.
Dr. Johnson thought that books that you may carry to the fire and hold readily in your hand are the most useful.
The durability of the letter as well as the spirit of a book is nowadays too often disregarded. Publishers recognize how much a striking exterior has to do with the sale of a book and pay more attention to making it attractive than durable. In former times men had more respect for books. The vellum bound volumes of three hundred years ago will be in good condition long after the books of to-day have come to pieces and been thrown away.
If it be true that the degree of civilization of a people may be measured by its respect for its dead, it is no less true that the refinement of a household may be estimated by its care for its books. Some men of letters, however, have been remarkable for their ill-treatment of books. The poet Young turned down the leaf where there was a passage that interested him, so that many of his books would not shut. Voltaire noted his likes and dislikes in books with little regard to whether they belonged to him or not, while Coleridge said you might as well turn a bear into a tulip garden as let Wordsworth loose in your library; and in his Literary Reminiscences DeQuincey records a story which makes every book-lover shudder, that Wordsworth cut pages of Burke with a knife that had been used to butter toast.
Mr. Spofford gives some admirable directions for the care of books. One should never draw books out from the shelf by their head-bands, or by pulling at the binding, but by placing the finger firmly on the top of the book, next to the binding and pressing down while drawing out the volume. Do not wedge books tightly together; do not pile them on top of each other; do not lay open books down upon their faces, or place weights upon open books. Books should be kept dry, but not too warm; if moist they mildew, if too warm they warp. No sensible person would press plants in any book of value. Do not mark the place by cards or letters. It weakens the binding. Use thin paper. Do not touch the engravings in books. Remember that even clean hands may soil dusty books. Those who follow the injunction of the Prayer Book to read and mark should be sure that they do so in their own books only. The suggestion not to wet the fingers in turning the leaf would seem needless did not observation show that there are persons with whom this clownish custom still obtains.
A private library should be a growth. It marks the stages of progress of the mind of its owner; no other property that a man leaves behind him shows what he really was so fully as his books.
There are few hobbies a man can adopt from which as much enjoyment and instruction may be derived as from the gradual acquisition of a lot of books on some subject of special interest. Emerson’s advice “buy in the line of your genius” is weighty and should be heeded. A man of moderate means may gradually get together a more complete collection on his specialty than the richest man could secure at short notice, and his satisfaction in the growth of such a library can never be experienced by the wealthy book collector who employs others to do the work for him. All that is needed is steady attention to buying such books, as opportunity presents itself. Many of the rarest and most valuable works cannot be procured on demand and must be bought when found, or the chance of securing them is gone, perhaps forever.
The gathering of such a collection may be made an education in itself, and instead of leaving his books to be scattered at his death, as has been the fate of so many libraries, a prudent man would provide that they should be kept together and given to a permanent library. Many an institution would be glad to add to a good private collection on a particular subject its own books on the subject and make a memorial alcove to the donor which would prove a far more sensible monument than a shaft in the cemetery. Now that men have learned to respect books public libraries are as nearly immortal as any human institution can be. A great library is the only human institution that can take all knowledge for its province. Such libraries are mines from which knowledge may be quarried, and where the ideas of the past may be adapted to the needs of the present.
In a collection of books on the same subject each adds value to the other. Many libraries are an ill-assembled throng as useless as the vast army of Darius.
There is such a thing as an embarrassment of riches. If you have too many books about you, you may be bewildered so that you do not read to advantage. “Successful work,” said Lowell, “is the result of a due proportion between the task and the instrument. Southey, whose literary industry was so remarkable within the range of his own library, said ‘that he never should have accomplished anything, if his energies had been buried under the vast stores of the British Museum.’”
As a workshop the public library may supplement, but it can rarely take the place of the private library. DeQuincey said that for mere purposes of study your own library is far preferable to the Bodleian or the Vatican, and Emerson thought that the best of the Harvard University library was in his study at home. That was the best for his own use, because when a man is working in a special line of thought he accumulates in time a collection of books on that subject that is more complete than any but the largest library can supply, and he can work with more facility with books that are familiar to him and ready to his hand. Emerson’s books, however, would have been of little use to a Civil Engineer or to an American Historian, while a public library must provide for the needs of all students in whatever lines of research. But Emerson was under constant indebtedness to the Harvard library, in fact, that noble collection of books has played no small part in the literary development of Boston as well as of the great University. “The true University of these days,” said Carlyle, “is a collection of books, and all education is to teach us how to read.”
Read in order that you may know more, be more, do more: books will help you to accomplish all these things and these things make up the sum of life, here and hereafter.