The Private Library. Arthur Lee Humphreys
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,