: Adventures Among Books by Lang Andrew - English literature History and criticism

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ADVENTURES AMONG BOOKS by Andrew Lang

Contents:

Preface Adventures Among Books Recollections of Robert Louis Stevenson Rab's Friend Oliver Wendell Holmes Mr. Morris's Poems Mrs. Radcliffe's Novels A Scottish Romanticist of 1830 The Confessions of Saint Augustine Smollett Nathaniel Hawthorne The Paradise of Poets Paris and Helen Enchanted Cigarettes Stories and Story-telling The Supernatural in Fiction An Old Scottish Psychical Researcher The Boy

"Look not thou on beauty's charming, Sit thou still when kings are arming, Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, Speak not when the people listens, Stop thine ear against the singer, From the red gold keep thy finger, Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die."

About the age of four I learned to read by a simple process. I had heard the elegy of Cock Robin till I knew it by rote, and I picked out the letters and words which compose that classic till I could read it for myself. Earlier than that, "Robinson Crusoe" had been read aloud to me, in an abbreviated form, no doubt. I remember the pictures of Robinson finding the footstep in the sand, and a dance of cannibals, and the parrot. But, somehow, I have never read "Robinson" since: it is a pleasure to come.

We left England in a year, went back to Scotland, and awoke, as it were, to know the glories of our birth. We lived in Scott's country, within four miles of Abbotsford, and, so far, we had heard nothing of it. I remember going with one of the maids into the cottage of a kinsman of hers, a carpenter; a delightful place, where there was sawdust, where our first fishing-rods were fashioned. Rummaging among the books, of course, I found some cheap periodical with verses in it. The lines began--

"The Baron of Smaylhome rose with day, He spurred his courser on, Without stop or stay, down the rocky way That leads to Brotherstone."

"The sable score of fingers four Remains on that board impressed, And for evermore that lady wore A covering on her wrist."

We did not know nor ask the poet's name. Children, probably, say very little about what is in their minds; but that unhappy knight, Sir Richard of Coldinghame, and the Priest, with his chamber in the east, and the moody Baron, and the Lady, have dwelt in our mind ever since, and hardly need to be revived by looking at "The Eve of St. John."

Soon after that we were told about Sir Walter, how great he was, how good, how, like Napoleon, his evil destiny found him at last, and he wore his heart away for honour's sake. And we were given the "Lay," and "The Lady of the Lake." It was my father who first read "Tam o' Shanter" to me, for which I confess I did not care at that time, preferring to take witches and bogies with great seriousness. It seemed as if Burns were trifling with a noble subject. But it was in a summer sunset, beside a window looking out on Ettrick and the hill of the Three Brethren's Cairn, that I first read, with the dearest of all friends, how--

"The stag at eve had drunk his fill Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney's hazel shade."

Then opened the gates of romance, and with Fitz-James we drove the chase, till--

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