THE BOOKSHELVES OF FEMININE READERS.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2560, 22 June 1882, Page 4

THE BOOKSHELVES OF FEMININE READERS.

[From " The Queen."] In one of his inimitable "Spectator" papers Addison has given us a charming description of the library of a lady of quality in Queen Anne's day. As we read, the little chamber risea in tangible shape before our eyes. In the oentre a Japanese writing tV'L with a quire of gilt paper, upon which reposas a silver snuffbox, faahioned in the form ox. i' miniature volume. Bound the wills a v;-»rio-i collection of literature and poiciluiu ; ho:-.' a row of folios, finely bound and gilded, flanko" by massive looking jars of China, arranged one above another with almost architectural symmetry; there, a fasoinating pyra mid of porcelain designed as a br;ak between the quartos and the octavos, and these again bounded upon the further side h, a drlieate column of tea dishes of every description and shaie. That recess, moreover, among the shelves, whioh, in old-fashioned libraries, used to be prepared for the reception Of plays, pamphlets, and other ephemeral literature, is, in this instanoe, oharmingly oooupied by a heterogeneous oslleotion of lions. monkeys, mandarins, trees, shells, acaramouohes, and a thonsand other bewitohing extravagancies of delicate ohinaware. In the centre of all these treasures stands the tall, slight figure of the humourist him■elf, with his pale, refined features and kindly observant eyes. Invisibly we take up our position behind him, and watch the amused expression, gradually broadening into a smile, upon hit pleasing countenance as he scrutinises book-shelf after book-shelf, pausing delightedly before a set of Elzevirs, and a superb edition of all the olasjics—treasures which, in both oases, reveal themselves upon examination to be, unfortunately, dummies. There is Steele's *' Christian Horo," restin? against " The New Atlantia" —that soandalous satire of Mrs Do la Biviere Manly ; here reposes Sir Philip Sidney's " Aroadia," a noble volume, not unworthy the library of any lady; next to it the English translation of Magdeleine de Soudery's "Grand Cyrua," that many-volumed romanoe whioh poor little Mrs Pepys used to be so fond of poring over, and with stories out of which she, once upon a time, so bored her husband, that he •aw St to confide the fact to posterity in his "Diary." This has evidently been diligently (studied, and the observant Mr Spectator, by whose keen eyes no trills goes unnoticed, writes it down in his list as "The Grand Cyrus," with a pin stuck in one of the middle leaves." There also if "Sherlook upon Death," closely jostled by an anonymous volume cheerfully entitled " The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony." Jeremy Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying " is here also, but flanked upon one side by Seneca's " Morals," and upon the' other by La Ferte's "Instructions for Country Dances." Out of an obscure corner we watch him draw forth "Tales in Verse," by Mr D'Urfey, bound in red' leather, and doubled down in several places. He looks very grave over this, for, even in those days, D'Urfey was considered a •questionable author for any lady's perusal. Not far off are the "Essays" of the decorous Sir Philip Temple; then, again, " A Spelling Book " —for this, be it remembered, was some time before the publication of the first Unglish dictionary—Sir Isaac Newton's works {probably uncut), and Locke "Upon the Human Understanding" with "a paper of patohei in it"! If the shade of Addison could come gliding among such of our nineteenth century book ahelves as have been furnished exclusively by lady readers, we wonder what sort of a criticism he would be disposed to pats upon -them.

The feminine bibliophile is, we imagine mora distinctively a produot of the present oentnry than of any other. We oannot certainly imagine her in the hoops and patohes of those dear " Spectator" dames; but she, like the mescaline bibliophile, will always remain an exceptional species of creature, nowise to be elevated (or possibly we should say levelled) into the literary standard of her sex. Such a girl is occasionally to be met with in a large family. From babyhood she preferred listening to stories to playing with dolls, reciting delectable histories from every description of volume (held npside down) before she had ac■quired the alphabet. At ten she might have graduated in Hans Christian Andersen, and at fonrteen she had read and reread every one of the romances of Sir Walter Scott. She had probably a favorite author—Mias IThaokeray, for instanoa, or Diokens—successive volumes of whose works she resolutely saved up her pocket money to purchase. But not pleasant story books only, every -description of printed volume has a particular tiorfc of sanotity in her eyes. It is a positive agony for this little student to watch the most dry and difficult grammar flying from one end »f the schoolroom to the other, or to •tend by and see ingenuous linguists heartlessly illustrating the margins of their dictionaries 'with zoological or ethnblogioal devloes of strange and original anatomy. In her own little bed ohamber she has caused to be erected a number of shelves, which year after year present a more and more furnished appearance, until they gradually strike out ramifications to the right and to the left, likewise laden with literature. As each one of the brothers leaves oollege, to go forth emancipated into the world, a whole flood of treasures a weeps up to the, feat of our little bibliophile. That he should bequeath his old school books to her is an understood thing. Kobody else would especially oare about the stupid things, and if t gives her pleasure, why she has a better right to them than the second-hand dealers, so the brothers argue. Perhaps also they like to watch Jher expression as she reverently dives into that boxful of treasure, which they ■o lightly relinquish to her will. Those Clarendon Press editions of Shakspere, of Bacon, and of Burke, how rapturously she draws them forth I Blow queer it is to watoh the reverent way with which she handles those textbooks of geometry, of ohemistiy, and of physics, which thoy regard with unmitigated loathing. How carefully she piols up the Greek lexicon and tho innumerable Latin class books, arranging them (not without a sigh for very ignorance) upon her topmost shelves, until such time as she shall resolutely begin to initiate herself Into the mysteries of those longed-for classic tongues. And if, by extra fortune, she stumbles upon stray volumes of Goethe or Moliere, Darwin, Huxley, Lyell or Herbert Spencer, which have been employed for examination purposes, and afterwards flung carelessly aside, how she sits down upon the floor and presently loses herself in the fascination, of their wonderful contents ? Those who are able to walk into a shop and order as many volumes as they please, can have no conception of the pure delight afforded by the contemplation of such rare and splendid windfalls.

Then there ia the fascination of the second' land bookstall. How her dignified sinters shake with laughter at, tripping daintily down the street, they discover this incorrigible damsel between a palo spectacled student and an elderly gentleman of exceedingly rusty appearance, intently pondering the difficult problem as to whether it would be, on the whole, wiser to expend four shillings upon the " tieligio Medioi," or half a crown upon Lord Chesterfield's " Letters," and one and sixpence Hpon " Vathek." " Things in books' olothing," as Eiia felicitously called them, under which category she principally understands sensational novels, ■re rigorously excluded from her shelves. But G-eorge Eliot is there (aotually upon the same shelf which supports the different editions of Shakspere) and Dickens, and Thackeray, and Charles Kingaley, with a stray volume or two of Black, Mrs Gaskell, and Charlotte Bronte.

The present writer is not without sympathy for that recognition of something which almost amounts to sanctity in the paper, printing, binding, which together with the wise or foolish utterances of an invisible scribe, combine to form that living whole—a book. We confess that it is a pleasure to us to come hunting through those motley heterogeneous hoardsjof hers—full well knowing that is our privilege to borrow any and every volume which we chance to feel a hankering after—a privilege, by the way, which is not accorded to every reader. Years ago she lent " Sartor Besartus " to an acquaintance who failed to penetrate beneath its faults into its merits. The circumstance, which gave her pain, has borne fruit in a possibly unwise reluctance to commit her treasures to the criticism of anyone who does ot read in earnest, nor with reverent humble4)ss and love.

The circulating library—that admirable institution of civilised society—is, in the case of many women, a very real obstacle to the multiplication of book shelves. And there is,

io doubt, considerable justioe in the stateuent to frequently made by sensible persons: 'lf 1 get a volume from Mudie I am bound to read it, or do without reading it, within a certain definite period. If, on the other hand, [ buy a book, I lay it upon my library Kbit ■vith the comfortable consciousness, 'Th re. that is mine, it can bo rea'l at any time, wren [amat a loss fo* other literature.' And in his way a volume which we should hive ■ageily devoured if it had rot been is occasionally allowed to He uncut for months under the unfortunate stigma of possession. This is very true, and we should be the l«s* to contradiot it. At the same time, thero will probably always remain a minority among feminine as well as among masculine readers for whom the accumulation of books, simply for their own sakes, will continue to bo a qpecioa of passion. If among those who may glares over this brief article should be <iumbsr< d some young woman not too plentifully supplied with pocket money, who if nevertheless desirous of accumulating literary treasures (by which word we would, of oourse, imply treisures of intellectual rather than monetary value), do not let her anticipate failure under any disadvantages. After all, in thip, as in every pursuit, the secret of success is to have one's heart in the desired object. " Many a little makes a micklo," says the wise old proverb j " A penny saved is a penny gained 5" and if she resolutely sets herself to the accumulation and investment of those stray coppers whioh flow away their very owners hardlji know where, she will presently find that hsr book-shelves are beginning, by almost imperceptible degree*, to present an appearance of beauty and opulence, which will be a continual souroe of satisfaction, and a continual encouragement to persevere.