A BROWSE AMONG BOOKS

Southland Times, Issue 19277, 23 June 1924, Page 9

A BROWSE AMONG BOOKS

VAGABONDING IN LITERATURE. THE REALM OF ROMANCE AND REALITY. The following paper was read at a recent meeting of- the Rotary Club by Rotarian M. N. Hyndman:— To follow the educational fashion the subject of to-day’s address may be correlated with those of tecent meetings. Rotarian Tom talked of roads, the highways of intercommunication, the harbingers of commerce and general progress. Rotarian R.A. interested us with his excellent account of the Freezing Industry, which blazed a new trail to increased commerce and national wealth. To-day we shall lay a rough and ready facine track into the Happy Valley of Bookdom, a country more truly God’s own than any other, the country of the mind, the heart, and the soul. I have a correspondent whose stationery is headed “The Land of Sunshine, Fruit and Flowers.’’ Our Happy Valley is beyond comparison, even with such a place. It is the land of Romance, of Adventure, and of Ambition. A land so vast that its possibilities are unlimited; Eternity will not tax them. A land so near that a second of time may waft us from a “sea of troubles” to its sheltered stronghold, where peace and plenty abide, and milk and honey flow, for mental and spiritual needs. Every necessity is met in this land; there is meat for stark hunger, water for sheer thirst and mines of educational knowledge awaiting the seeker. Think of the infinite variety of attractions, and the all-embracing scope of the myriad books at our disposal! We may enrich our home-time with the companionship of Dickens; increase our knowledge of humanity’s needs by his humour, satire or by his pathos; with him, make the best of things (“fry, as he puts it, our mutton “when it’s underdone”), or with him spend the bounteous Christmas of Old England. Not even the thought of Do-the-boys Hall can for long dull our hearty memories of his good cheer or spoil our faith in the race of men. Squeers gave opportunity for John Browdie’s ready kindness! Ralph Nickleby’s black meanness but enhanced the generosity of the Cheeryble Bros. Or! we may travel, as men in other ages never could travel. Without much money or much leisure, in a single night we climb the Andes, roam the Indies, stand neath the shadow of the Pyramids or wander through Lotus land with Harry Franck as guide. We can sail the Main with Drake or Raleigh, go venturing with Pizzaro Cook or Scott, or in holiday mood visit the races with Nat Gould, cast a fly with Sir Izaak, or occupy the Bench with Lord Brampton. We may nod over Sartor Resartus, share the fettered captivity of Jean Vai jean, or take a course of hairraising with Edgar Allen Poe. Here is Oppenheim! Under his tutelage the social maze may be safely negotiated, or we can step off the pavement of convention with John Russell. Should the West invite! we follow the Mesa trail with Zane Grey, or in a quieter mood trace the fortunes of little Jane Eyre of the Square Chin, Clive Newcombe, or a foursquare John Halifax. With the irresistible D’Artagnan, we may ride into the midst of courtly intrigue and stupendous adventure, or lock arms with the swaggering Porthos for a midnight jollification. Sir Walter Scott’s mailed Knights “In measured lists to toss the weighty lance” await us, or old Sam Johnson at the Club. On a Sabatini’s skill we may sharpen our graces. Strum into line with the rat-tat-tat of a Kipling, shoulder a pack with Robert Service, or mount a donkey with R. •L. Stevenson. We can watch “The wordsmith, dripping gems divine into the golden chalice of a sonnet!” or rush where the red god’s call, into the clang of the fight. Trace the delicate lines of a Shelley etching; or splash the tir brush with Ridgwell Cullum. Five minutes with Hudson, John Burroughs, or Fabre and one is made conscious of the wonders of the everyday world beneath our feet, or scarce hidden in the hedgerows and grasses by the wayside. An hour with Sherlock Holmes or Dr. Thorndyke and one is counting the steps one treads on deducing the colour of a man’s hair from the umbrella left in the rack. There is gipsying to be shared with Borrow, or thoughtful browsing with Lamb, Holmes, Macaulay or Emerson. We may go word painting with Burke, or watch the magician Shakespeare, breathe the breath of life into the dry bones of history.

“iae crack of the lash And the Horses Dash, With the four in-hand” is a thing of the past, but the glamourous old coaching days, the Stand and Deliver! of Dick Turpin, or Claude Duval, who stole the purses of men and the hearts of women, are all to be relieved in the pages that are ours in such abundant wealth. From the Poles to the tropics, from east of the sun to west of the moon the whole universe of men and things is spread so that he that runneth may read, and reading, enlarge his capacity for living. Beyond the limits of grown-up conception, there is a wonder world of nonsense, laughter and gjee, the world of Fairy and of Childhood. Into this world a good Rotarian needs must often step at the insistent call of the little folks. Hans Anderson, Parson Carrol, or Edward Lear meet us there, and all the prime nonsense, of minds especially endowed to link the old and the young in a perpetual union. “'And the golden Grouse came there, And the Pobble who has no toes, And the small Olympian Bear And the Dong with the Luminous Nose. And the Blue Baboon who played the flute— And the Orient Calf from the land of Tute And the Attery Squash and the Bisky Bat All came and built on the lovely Hat Of the Quangle Wangle Quee. THE HISTORY OF THE BOOK.

The History of Literature begins, before men learned to write. Dancing was the earliest of the arts. Man danced for joy around his camp fire, as he danced he yelled, his yells took form, caught the measure of the dance and became song. To preserve | the song men wrote, first in rude scratchings on rocks, then on baked clay tablets in Cuneiform characters, then came papyrus, parchment and paper in the wake of progress and invention. Hundreds of years before the beginning of European literature, books had been written in China, on tablets made from bamboo fibre, sometimes scratched with a sharp stylus, and sometimes painted in Indian ink. The Chinese began to print from solid blocks, soon after the birth of Christ, and they were printing from moveable type, 300 ears before the invention of printing in Europe. The Phoenicians, the busy trading people whose capital was the first commercial capital of the world, first taught the Greeks how to write, and from the Egyptians the Greeks obtained their initial idea of bookmaking. It is a remarkable fact that though the Romans were expert roadmakers, working according to scientific plans, there is in existence no treatise on the ancient art of road-making. The Scribes were the earliest booksellers. Manuscripts were borrowed, laboriously copied, and the copies sold. There were many of these booksellers in Athens in 50 B.C. and by the time of Alexander the Great, bookselling had become an established institution. The wonderful story of the Monks, and their devoted work in preserving and copying literature during the Dark Ages, cannot be passed over without at least, an admiration for the tenacity they exhibited in their labour of love.

Writers in ancient Rome depended for their livelihood on the patronage of wealthy lovers of literature. This was the case also, in the whole of Europe until the end of the 18th century. Dr. Johnson’s letter to Lord Chesterfield throws a sidelight on this aspect of the writer’s position. Johnson had completed his dictionary after years of labour and privation. He had appealed to Chesterfield without result, but when the trojan task was successfully accomplished, Chesterfield unbent to give his approbation. Here is an extract from Johnson’s letter: “Is not a patron, my Lord, one who looks

with uneoncerft on a man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached ground, encumbers him with help? The notice which you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind, blit it has been delayed till I am indifferent and cannot enjoy it, till I am solitary and cannot impart it, till I am known and do not want it.” Hazlitt, that writer of rare merit, “had to take a thrashing from Life” and, when dying, he wrote to Lord Jeffery: “For God’s sake send me £10.” At how great a cost of privation and humiliation, have many of our literary treasures been obtained! To-day, only the publisher stands between the writer and the public, and those are often bluebeards to the aspiring Writer. Conan Dolye, after’ great difficulty, sold his “Sherlock Holmes” outright for £25, with a promise of publication in a year, although he was depending on this work to endear him to the reading public. On the other hand, Lord Morley received £lO,OOO for his life of Gladstone. His publisher Was told that he was a fool to pay so much; but he made £30,000 out of it.

“That incomparable force,” the Printing Press, serves the generations as they pass in a wonderful way and caters for all tastes and purses. The latest production, “The Readers’ Library,” of 12 classic titles, in a smart cloth binding, can be sold on the English market at 6d a copy; a triumph of Press Work. It is interesting to note that one firm alone bought 1,000,000 copies, weighing over 200 tons, of the first issue. 11l at mighty work, “The Oxford Dictionary,” which is not yet completed, although between thirty and forty years have been occupied in its compilation, is another example. It is estimated that the last of the ten sumptuous volumes will Cost £50,000 to complete. , Some references to the influence of books is worth Rotarian attention. China, which was old when Marco Polo journeyed from Venice, is yet in large measure “the never changing East.” The Chinese, it has been said, still wear the pigtail on their minds, though they have largely cut it off their heads. But the changes that even one book may make is strikingly illustrated in the following passages which I cull from the London Times: “Timothy Richards, in the introduction to his Chinese translation of McKenzie’s History of the 19th Century, wrote: The barriers between all nations were being broken down by railways, steamers, telegraphs, etc. The Manchus were determined to prevent this intercourse. They were thus not opposing foreigners so much as God in his universal ruling. If this attitude were changed China might still become one of the greatest nations on earth.’ ”

Mr Richard was sent for by two Viceroys to explain his ideas. As a result the circulation of this book was taken up by those usually opposed to Christian literature, with great success, no fewer than six editions of the history were sold, in addition, 1,000,000 pirated copies were scattered throughout China. ’The State publishing house in Russia, which was established in 1919, and was at first mainly concerned with Socialist propaganda, is to-day under the supervision of the Commission for Popular Education. Enormous quantities of books in every field, of knowledge are now issued and eagerly bought up. The Agriculturists’ and Labourers’ Library and others form extensive and popular series and 60 printing plants are employed by the organisation. In this day of evolution and progress, when there is so much talk of young movements, it is noteworthy that the book of the old people is still the book of books. The Bible maintains it pre-eminent position as far and away the best seller of all the best sellers. Last year the sales of Bibles, New Testaments and portions numbered 8,679,384 copies. The complete Bible may now be had in 136 languages and portions in 558 languages. The remainder of this address might logically ramble on indefinitely into the midst of the men who make books, but time will only allow us to briefly consider three illustrious Samuels of literature. Samuel Richardson has'undoubtedly the strongest claim to be considered the father of the English novel. In many of the essentials of his art, he has never been surpassed. Bulwer Lytton says: “The influence of Richardson upon the fiction and poetry of Europe was not only vast at the time, but enduring still, it must endure for ever. In vain his language grows obsolete, in vain his minuteness grows wearisome, in vain the young race of novel readers leave him on the shelf. To those pages turns every genius who aspires to rise in fiction, from them can best be learned the art of extracting from the homeliest details the noblest pathos.” Richardson was known as the little printer of Fleet street. His greatest work is “Clarissa Harlowe,” issued in 1749, a novel of some 3000 pages, no copy of which will be found in the local library. Clarissa has been responsible for the shedding of oceans of tears, though sadly neglected to-day. The second Samuel that looms up is Dr. Johnson, that imposing figure, which distinguishes the mid-18th century period of literature as the age of Johnson. Boswell's biography is a wonderful work, as well as the revelation of awonderful man. Boswell’s book is “an arch of triumph through which we see his hero pass into eternal fame.” The Johnson, who sleeps in Westminster Abbey, had to fight the battle of life in a hand-to-hand encounter, room it in garrets, and live on 4id a day. He experienced the bitterest of poverty until his circumstances were relieved by a State pension of £3OO in his 53rd year. The famous Club was founded in 1764, a club that could reject a Chancellor and a Bishop in one day. From these gatherings has issued a flood of skilful argument, clear exposition, and ready epigram. Here is a pen portrait of Johnson at this time. His figure, large and well formed, his countenance of the cast of an ancient statue, his appearance rendered strange and uncouth by convulsive cramps, and by the scars of that distemper from which he suffered from babyhood. He had the use of one eye only. He walked with the struggling gait of one in fetters, but his mind soared with the easy flight of a bird on the wing. Johnson is interesting, vastly interesting as this story told by Augustine Birrell proves. At a club, of which Birrell was a member, two guests were called upon to say something. One was an Irish patriot who had languished in gaol. He told how he had demanded from the Chaplain a book and had been handed Boswell’s Johnson. He straightaway forgot both his own and his country’s woes! The second guest was Bonner, the gigantic Australian cricketer. He said that until that night, he had not heard of Dr. Johnson Thereupon somebody tittered. “Yes,” added Bonner in heightened tones, and drawing himself proudly up, “and what is more, I come from a great country where you midP ride a horse 60 miles a day and for three months never meet anybody who had! But I have heard of him now, and I can only say that, were I not Bonner, I would be Samuel Johnson.” Into the limelight now comes the third Samuel, made popular lately by the Southland Times. Samuel Pepys (peeps) of the great diary. Pepys has been likened to the barber of King Midas, who relieved his mind by communicating to a bundle of reeds the fact that his master had the ears of an ass. No other writer unreservedly stripped bare his soul and body! The diary was begun in 1660 and the last entry was made in 1669, eye trouble preventing Pepys from malting further entries. Pepys wrote the diary in a shorthand interspersed with foreign words, and it remained undeciphered until over 100 years after his death. The writer is amazingly candid, making no attempt to hide his meannesses or his infidelities. He took full measure from life and to do him justice gave it. An exemplary public servant, he served the Navy Office with great ability. Besides giving numerous intimate views of important personages, the diary describes at length the Plague and the Great Fire of London. Pepys certainly loved a good table. One entry reads: “Very merry at, before and after dinner, and the more for that my dinner was great, and most neatly dressed by our own only maid. We had a fricassee of rabbits and chickens, a leg of mutton boiled, three carps in a dish, a great dish

of a side of lamb, a dish of roasted pigeons, a dish of four lobsters, three tarts, a lamprey pie (a most rare pie), a dish of anchovies, good wine of several sorts, and all things mighty noble, and to my great content.” And he lived to tell the tale!