Part 3
SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM (1564-1616). 'Who will believe my verse' 55 'Study is like the heaven's glorious sun' 159 'How well he's read' 162 Books and Eyesight 164 Reading for Love's Sake 189 The Book of the Brain 191 Books as Spokesmen 194 Women's eyes 196 'Marriage! my years are young' 198 'The state, whereon I studied' 215 Dainties that are Bred of a Book 219 'Is not the leaf turned down' 240 Gold Clasps and a Golden Story 242 Nobler than Contents 242 'Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound' 243 'In Nature's infinite Book' 283 The Secret of Strength 288 Red Letters and Conjuring 289 'Come, and take choice' 306 'Of his gentleness, Knowing I loved my Books' 310 'Me, poor man,--my library' 316
SHEFFIELD, JOHN, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (1648-1721). The Sufficiency of Homer 127
SHERBROOKE, VISCOUNT. _See_ LOWE.
SHERIDAN, CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH. _See_ NORTON.
SHERIDAN, RICHARD BRINSLEY (1751-1816). 'Steal! to be sure they will' 91 Lydia Languish and the Circulating Library 213 A neat Rivulet of Text 249
SHERIDAN, THOMAS (1687-1738). Our Best Acquaintance 11
SHIRLEY, JAMES (1596-1666). Sweet and Happy Hours 26 A Book of Flesh and Blood 196
SKELTON, JOHN (1460 ?-1529). An Edition de luxe 241
SMITH, ALEXANDER (1830-67). The True Elysian Fields 11 Power and Gladness 32
SMITH, SYDNEY (1771-1845). A Short Cut to Fame 154 'No furniture so charming as Books' 264
SOUTH, ROBERT (1634-1716). 'He who has published an injurious Book' 80 A little Book the most excellent 120 'Much reading is like much eating' 158
SOUTHEY, ROBERT (1774-1843). My days among the Dead are passed 4 A Heavenly Delight 5 The Best of all Possible Company 5 More than Meat, Drink, and Clothing 28 A Library of Twelve 62 Reading several Books at a time 130 Homo Unius Libri 292 A Colloquy in a Library 320
SPENSER, EDMUND (1552 ?-99). One day I wrote her name 56 To his Book: of his Lady 195
STANHOPE, PHILIP DORMER, EARL OF CHESTERFIELD (1694-1773). A Consolation for the Deaf 4 Books and the World 180 The last Editions the best 235 'Tis folly to be wise 246 Genteel Ornaments 273
STEELE, SIR RICHARD (1672-1729). Exercise for the Mind 37
STEPHEN, SIR JAMES (1789-1859). Poets as Commentators 136
STERNE, LAURENCE (1713-1768). The Company of Mutes 3 Mr. Shandy's Library 314
STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS (1850-1894). Picture-Books in Winter 174
STIRLING-MAXWELL, LADY. _See_ NORTON.
SWIFT, JONATHAN (1667-1745). The Battle of the Books 63 Recipe for an Anthology 94 Cupid and the Book of Poems 194 A Standard for Language 296 'I have sometimes heard' 303
SYLVESTER, JOSUAH (1563-1618). Surcloying the Stomach 156
SYMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON (1840-93). [Greek: hupothêkê eis emauton]('Back to thy books!') 197
TAYLOR, JOHN (1580-1653). Books and Thieves 77 To the Good or Bad Reader 150 Fast and Loose 289 On _Coryat's Crudities_ 302
TEMPLE, SIR WILLIAM (1628-99). The Multiplication of Originals 59 Ancient and Modern Books 63 Books as Signposts 110
TENNYSON, ALFRED, LORD (1809-92). Poets and their Bibliographies 98 Merlin's Book 289
THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE (1811-63). Novels are Sweets 89 'There are no race of people who talk about Books' 153 A Kindly Tie 187
THOMSON, JAMES (1700-48). The Mighty Dead 161
THOMSON, RICHARD (1794-1865). The Book of Life 284
TICKLE, THOMAS (1686-1740). The Hornbook 175
TOOKE, JOHN HORNE (1736-1812). Read Few Books well 129
TRAPP, JOSEPH (1679-1747). Oxford and Cambridge: an Epigram 113
TRENCH, RICHARD CHEVENIX, ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN (1807-86). Books and Life 160
TUPPER, MARTIN FARQUHAR (1810-89). Books and Friends 12
TURNER, CHARLES TENNYSON (1808-79). On Certain Books 82
VAUGHAN, HENRY (1622-95). To his Books 13 The Book 284 To the Holy Bible 290 On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library 362
VERE, SIR AUBREY DE (1788-1846). Sacred and Profane Writers 296
VERULAM, LORD. _See_ BACON.
VOLTAIRE, FRANÇOIS MARIE AROUET DE (1694-1778). Multiplication is Vexation 59 The Seat of Authority 107
WALLER, SIR WILLIAM (1597 ?-1668). The Contentment I have in my Books 2 Riding Post 146 Full Libraries and Empty Heads 149
WALPOLE, HORATIO, EARL OF ORFORD (1717-97). Lounging Books 169 Literary Upholsterers 264
WARD, JOHN WILLIAM, EARL OF DUDLEY (1781-1833). A Preference for Great Models 72
WATTS, ISAAC (1674-1748). Books to be Marked 139
WESLEY, JOHN (1703-91). 'I read only the Bible' 291 A Man of one Book 292
WHITELOCKE, BULSTRODE (1605-75). The Soul's Viaticum 368
WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF (1807-92). A Magnate in the Realm of Books 7 The Library 326
WILMOT, JOHN, EARL OF ROCHESTER (1647-80). 'Books bear him up awhile' 39
WILSON, JOHN (d. 1889). O for a Booke 171
WITHER, GEORGE (1588-1667). Mountebank Authors 78 'Good God! how many dungboats' 94 In bondage to the Bookseller 262
WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM (1770-1850). Books a substantial World 21 The Tables Turned 172 Early Reading 184
YOUNG, EDWARD (1683-1765). How Volumes Swell 93 An ignorant Book-collector 219
NOTES 369
INDEX OF AUTHORS MENTIONED IN THE TEXT AND IN THE NOTES 400
THE BOOK-LOVERS' ANTHOLOGY
GRACE BEFORE BOOKS
I own that I am disposed to say grace upon twenty other occasions in the course of the day besides my dinner. I want a form for setting out upon a pleasant walk, for a moonlight ramble, for a friendly meeting, or a solved problem. Why have we none for books, those spiritual repasts--a grace before Milton--a grace before Shakespeare--a devotional exercise proper to be said before reading the _Fairy Queen_?--but, the received ritual having prescribed these forms to the solitary ceremony of manducation, I shall confine my observations to the experience which I have had of the grace, properly so called; commending my new scheme for extension to a niche in the grand philosophical, poetical, and perchance in part heretical liturgy, now compiling by my friend Homo Humanus, for the use of a certain snug congregation of Utopian Rabelaesian Christians, no matter where assembled.--C. LAMB. _Grace before Meat._
THE DELIGHTFUL SOCIETY OF BOOKS
These friends of mine regard the pleasures of the world as the supreme good; they do not comprehend that it is possible to renounce these pleasures. They are ignorant of my resources. I have friends whose society is delightful to me; they are persons of all countries and of all ages; distinguished in war, in council, and in letters; easy to live with, always at my command. They come at my call, and return when I desire them: they are never out of humour, and they answer all my questions with readiness. Some present in review before me the events of past ages; others reveal to me the secrets of Nature: these teach me how to live, and those how to die: these dispel my melancholy by their mirth, and amuse me by their sallies of wit: and some there are who prepare my soul to suffer everything, to desire nothing, and to become thoroughly acquainted with itself. In a word, they open a door to all the arts and sciences. As a reward for such great services, they require only a corner of my little house, where they may be safely sheltered from the depredations of their enemies. In fine, I carry them with me into the fields, the silence of which suits them better than the business and tumults of cities.--PETRARCH. _Life_ by S. Dodson.
THE CONTENTMENT I HAVE IN MY BOOKS
Here is the best solitary company in the world: and in this particular chiefly excelling any other, that in my study I am sure to converse with none but wise men; but abroad it is impossible for me to avoid the society of fools. What an advantage have I by this good fellowship that, besides the help which I receive from hence, in reference to my life after this life, I can enjoy the life of so many ages before I lived!--that I can be acquainted with the passages of three or four thousand years ago, as if they were the weekly occurrences! Here, without travelling so far as Endor, I can call up the ablest spirits of those times; the learnedest philosophers, the wisest counsellors, the greatest generals, and make them serviceable to me. I can make bold with the best jewels they have in their treasury, with the same freedom that the Israelites borrowed of the Egyptians, and, without suspicion of felony, make use of them as mine own. I can here, without trespassing, go into their vineyards, and not only eat my fill of their grapes for my pleasure, but put up as much as I will in my vessel, and store it up for my profit and advantage.
How doth this prospect at once set off the goodness of God to me, and discover mine own weakness? His goodness in providing these helps for the improvement of mine understanding; and my weakness in needing them. What a pitiful, simple creature am I, that cannot live to any purpose, without the help of so many other men's brains! Lord, let this be the first lesson that I learn from these silent counsellors, to know my own ignorance: other knowledge puffeth up, this edifieth.--SIR W. WALLER. _Divine Meditations._
HE THAT LOVETH A BOOK WILL NEVER WANT
The calling of a scholar ... fitteth a man for all conditions and fortunes; so that he can enjoy prosperity with moderation, and sustain adversity with comfort: he that loveth a book will never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counsellor, a cheerful companion, an effectual comforter.... The reading of books, what is it but conversing with the wisest men of all ages and all countries, who thereby communicate to us their most deliberate thoughts, choicest notions, and best inventions, couched in good expression, and digested in exact method? The perusal of history, how pleasant illumination of mind, how useful direction of life, how spritely incentives to virtue doth it afford! How doth it supply the room of experience, and furnish us with prudence at the expense of others, informing us about the ways of action, and the consequences thereof by examples, without our own danger or trouble!--I. BARROW. _Of Industry in our Particular Calling as Scholars._
THE COMPANY OF MUTES
I often derive a peculiar satisfaction in conversing with the ancient and modern dead,--who yet live and speak excellently in their works.--My neighbours think me _often alone_,--and yet at such times I am in company with more than five hundred mutes--each of whom, at my pleasure, communicates his ideas to me by dumb signs--quite as intelligibly as any person living can do by uttering of words.--They always keep the distance from me which I direct,--and, with a motion of my hand, I can bring them as near to me as I please.--I lay hands on fifty of them sometimes in an evening, and handle them as I like;--they never complain of ill-usage,--and, when dismissed from my presence--though ever so abruptly--take no offence. Such convenience is not to be enjoyed--nor such liberty to be taken--with the living.--L. STERNE. _Letters._
A CONSOLATION FOR THE DEAF
I read with more pleasure than ever; perhaps, because it is the only pleasure I have left. For, since I am struck out of living company by my deafness, I have recourse to the dead, whom alone I can hear; and I have assigned them their stated hours of audience. Solid _folios_ are the people of business, with whom I converse in the morning. _Quartos_ are the easier mixed company, with whom I sit after dinner; and I pass my evenings in the light, and often frivolous, _chit-chat_ of small _octavos_ and _duodecimos_.--LORD CHESTERFIELD.
SWEET UNREPROACHING COMPANIONS
I armed her [Olivia] against the censure of the world, showed her that books were sweet unreproaching companions to the miserable, and that if they could not bring us to enjoy life, they would at least teach us to endure it.--O. GOLDSMITH. _The Vicar of Wakefield._
MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD ARE PASSED
My days among the Dead are passed; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old; My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedewed With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the Dead; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the Dead; anon My place with them will be. And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust.
R. SOUTHEY.
A HEAVENLY DELIGHT
Talk of the happiness of getting a great prize in the lottery! What is that to the opening a box of books! The joy upon lifting up the cover must be something like what we shall feel when Peter the Porter opens the door upstairs, and says, Please to walk in, sir. That I shall never be paid for my labour according to the current value of time and labour, is tolerably certain; but if any one should offer me £10,000 to forgo that labour, I should bid him and his money go to the devil, for twice the sum could not purchase me half the enjoyment. It will be a great delight to me in the next world, to take a fly and visit these old worthies, who are my only society here, and to tell them what excellent company I found them here at the lakes of Cumberland, two centuries after they had been dead and turned to dust. In plain truth, I exist more among the dead than the living, and think more about them, and, perhaps, feel more about them.--R. SOUTHEY (Letter to S. T. Coleridge).
THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE COMPANY
Coleridge is gone to Devonshire, and I was going to say I am alone, but that the sight of Shakespeare, and Spenser, and Milton, and the Bible, on my table, and Castanheda, and Barros, and Osorio at my elbow, tell me I am in the best of all possible company.--R. SOUTHEY (Letter to G. C. Bedford).
Worthy books Are not companions--they are solitudes; We lose ourselves in them and all our cares.
P. J. BAILEY. _Festus._
THE FELLOWSHIP OF BOOKS
What were days without such fellowship? We were alone in the world without it. Nor does our faith falter though the secret we search for and do not find in them will not commit itself to literature, still we take up the new issue with the old expectation, and again and again, as we try our friends after many failures at conversation, believing this visit will be the favoured hour and all will be told us....
One must be rich in thought and character to owe nothing to books, though preparation is necessary to profitable reading; and the less reading is better than more;--book-struck men are of all readers least wise, however knowing or learned.--A. B. ALCOTT. _Tablets._
A COMPANY OF THE WISEST AND THE WITTIEST
There are books which are of that importance in a man's private experience, as to verify for him the fables of Cornelius Agrippa, of Michael Scott, or of the old Orpheus of Thrace,--books which take rank in our life with parents and lovers and passionate experiences, so medicinal, so stringent, so revolutionary, so authoritative,--books which are the work and the proof of faculties so comprehensive, so nearly equal to the world which they paint, that, though one shuts them with meaner ones, he feels his exclusion from them to accuse his way of living.
Consider what you have in the smallest chosen library. A company of the wisest and wittiest men that could be picked out of all civil countries, in a thousand years, have set in best order the results of their learning and wisdom. The men themselves were hid and inaccessible, solitary, impatient of interruption, fenced by etiquette; but the thought which they did not uncover to their bosom friend is here written out in transparent words to us, the strangers of another age.--R. W. EMERSON. _Books._
We should choose our books as we would our companions, for their sterling and intrinsic merit.--C. C. COLTON. _Lacon._
A MAGNATE IN THE REALM OF BOOKS
One, with his beard scarce silvered, bore A ready credence in his looks, A lettered magnate, lording o'er An ever-widening realm of books. In him brain-currents, near and far, Converged as in a Leyden jar; The old, dead authors thronged him round about, And Elzevir's grey ghosts from leathern graves looked out.
He knew each living pundit well, Could weigh the gifts of him or her, And well the market value tell Of poet and philosopher. But if he lost, the scenes behind, Somewhat of reverence vague and blind, Finding the actors human at the best, No readier lips than his the good he saw confessed.
His boyhood fancies not outgrown, He loved himself the singer's art; Tenderly, gently, by his own He knew and judged an author's heart. No Rhadamanthine brow of doom Bowed the dazed pedant from his room; And bards, whose name is legion, if denied, Bore off alike intact their verses and their pride.
Pleasant it was to roam about The lettered world as he had done, And see the lords of song without Their singing robes and garlands on. With Wordsworth paddle Rydal mere, Taste rugged Elliott's home-brewed beer, And with the ears of Rogers, at fourscore, Hear Garrick's buskined tread and Walpole's wit once more.
J. G. WHITTIER. _The Tent on the Beach._
CHOOSE an author as you choose a friend.--W. DILLON, EARL OF ROSCOMMON. _Essay on Translated Verse._
MY BOOKS
All round the room my silent servants wait,-- My friends in every season, bright and dim; Angels and seraphim Come down and murmur to me, sweet and low, And spirits of the skies all come and go Early and late; From the old world's divine and distant date, From the sublimer few, Down to the poet who but yester-eve Sang sweet and made us grieve, All come, assembling here in order due. And here I dwell with Poesy, my mate, With Erato and all her vernal sighs, Great Clio with her victories elate, Or pale Urania's deep and starry eyes. Oh friends, whom chance and change can never harm, Whom Death the tyrant cannot doom to die, Within whose folding soft eternal charm I love to lie, And meditate upon your verse that flows, And fertilizes whereso'er it goes....
B. W. PROCTER. _An Autobiographical Fragment._
TO MY BOOKS
Silent companions of the lonely hour, Friends who can never alter or forsake, Who for inconstant roving have no power, And all neglect, perforce, must calmly take,-- Let me return to _you_, this turmoil ending, Which worldly cares have in my spirit wrought, And, o'er your old familiar pages bending, Refresh my mind with many a tranquil thought; Till, haply meeting there, from time to time, Fancies, the audible echo of my own, 'Twill be like hearing in a foreign clime My native language spoke in friendly tone, And with a sort of welcome I shall dwell On these, my unripe musings, told so well.