Het Boek. Jaargang 18

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Varia

Over het uitleenen van boeken

Il est le triste sort de chaque livre prêté;
Souvent il est perdu, toujours il est gâté.

De volgende, aardige, nog steeds actueele beschouwing over het uitlenen van boeken, komt voor in Jrg. 1826, p. 471-476 van het te Amsterdam verschenen tijdschrift ‘The English adventurer’.

E.W.

On-book-lending

The pains of book-making, the expenses of book-buying, and the losses of book-selling, are pretty generally known; as they have, each of them, been subjects of public discusion, time immemorial; it is our intention, in this article, to notice a few of the miseries of book-lending; which, though not a subject of such universal importance as these just specified, is nevertheless, a source of sufferings as severe, to those who are unfortunately acquainted with it, as any of the others can possibly be.

My profession in life naturally subjects me to an opportunity of being well acquainted with many of the miseries of book-lending; but I shall only instance a few of them.

Misery I. An acquaintance, to whom you are under certain obligations, borrows Simpsons Plea, and loses it - you are compelled to say, from your situation with him, ‘Never mind, Sir; I can easily procure another’.

Misery II. A friend begs just to borrow Elphinstone's Principles of the English Language, wich is too expensive for him to purchase for himself; he retains it upwards of a year; you begin to fear it has become naturalized in his library, and have some doubts whether or not he will remember that he only just borrowed it; you are compelled, at length, to give him a gentle hint of its being yours.

Misery III. Your hint not taken.

Misery IV. You need the book, and are under the disagreeable necessity of constructing a hint so broad that he must comprehend your meaning, though your delicacy of expression forbids him to take offence.

Misery V. Your broad-hint ineffectual.

Misery VI. You must have the book, and cannot procure another copy anywhere, it has been so long out of print; you are, at length, reduced to the formidable task of asking for Elphinstone, which he borrowed a short time ago; to your surprise he tells you it was returned long ago.

Misery VII. You know it be standing in his library, in the very room in which you are, and dare not tell him he is under a mistake.

Misery VIII. An acquaintance keeps Crab's Synonymes such a length of time that you are often incommoded for the want of it; you give him many hints, and broad hints, and are, at last compelled to make him recollect that he once borrowed it; he apologises for its having slipped his memory, but promises to send it home in the course of the day.

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Misery IX. You receive a Note instead of your Crab, stating that he has lent it to some friend or other, he forgets to whom, but hopes it will shortly be returned, when you may depend upon having it immediately. His hope is your despair.

Misery X. A particular friend, as he calls himself, wishes to borrow your Shakespeare, for the purpose of comparing the notes of your edition with those of his; you let him have the Set, 8 Volumes, under a promise of their being returned in two months, as you cannot spare them any longer: he leaves the country for the West Indies, where he expects to remain 3 or 4 years at least; he forgets, in his attention to more important matters, you and your Shakespeare; leaves the country accompanied by your books; and does not return till the expiration of 5 years: you see him soon after his arrival, and are glad to see him for your own sake; he has not forgotten that he borrowed your Theobald's Shakespeare, and heartly thanks you for it again and again, offering many excuses at the same time for having retained it so long, and promises to send it as soon as his luggage is landed.

Misery XI. You receive the expected parcel shortly afterwards - but presently discover that the 4th Volume is wanting: you write him a note to that effect; he replies, that he cannot conceive how it is possible that the 4th Volume should be missing, as he always took more care of them than of his own books; he assures you that he packed them up himself when he left the West, and conjectures that some of the rascals at the Customhouse must have stolen it: you then find that the Volume is lost and your Set broken.

Misery XII. A fellow lodger, a very trustworthy and agreeable gentleman, who has as free access to your Library as you have to his, reads an hour or two in bed every night; consequently, your books have the enviable chance of receiving the overcharged contents of the Snuffers, every now and then, during his unseasonable amusement; and though you but seldom find the snuff of the candle reduced to an impalpable powder from its having been closed unperceived in the book, yet you not unfrequently discover dark streaks and jetty surfaces, which have been expanded to a considerable extent by certain attempts of his thumb to remove the fragments of the burned candle-wick: and besides all this, you discover various dislocations which your books have experienced from having been in such awkward situations as are consequent upon books subject to bedreadings.

Misery XIII. You wish to procure a taste for reading in a acquaintance for whom you have some regard, and think that by lending him Addison's Speculations, under a promise of his reading one of them every morning, either immediately before or after breakfast, he will insensibly become a lover of books; you send him your own neat edition of Addison's ephemeral papers; he reads them and admires them, and returns your books with thanks; but lo! you soon perceive, from the Coffee and Chocolate stains, the daubs from Eggs and Mustard, and the transparent spots from Butter &c. that he has read your books while at breakfast, to the great injury of the same.

Misery XIV. You have an edition of Howet's Animals, price £ 6:6:-, which your Drawing-master begs you to lend him for a day or two, just to copy a certain head which he designs for a certain piece which he is preparing for you at home; you lend it with pleasure: the good man has a Wife and four or five Children at home, which never once enter into your thoughts, when you entrust your book to his house; the wife is curious, not improperly so; and takes up the book, in the absence of the husband, to look over the plates; the children see what she is about, and crowd around her; they cannot all see equally well; a young urchin at one end of the table, who is just old enough to do mischief, hearing the exclamations made by the others, and not being able to see to his satisfaction, seizes the plate with a vigorous hand, and gets half of it just where he would have it, without the least concern for the remainder wich was left behind.

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The husband tells you, as well as he can, of the unhappy circumstance wich has happened to your book; and you indulge yourself in a few grave reflections on the ill effects of the want of family discipline.

Misery XV. You send Moore's Works, full of beautiful engravings and richly bound in Morocco, to a friend in the country, by Coach; packed in such a manner as to prevent the possibility of their receiving the least injury, however they may be thrown about by Coachman, Guard, or Porters: sent back by the cheapest conveyance, slightly folded up in the coursest brown paper, and completely spoiled both outside and in, from having had certain bloody and stinking Game laid upon them, the moistness of wich had not only spoiled the bindings, but penetrated into above one half of the engravings.

These are but a few of the miseries of booklending, yet they are amply sufficient to prove that such miseries exist; and it may not be ill-timed to recommend, in this place, a few antidotes against them, which I shall do in the humble hope of their being of some use to our respected readers.

To book-borrowers. To you, the offending party, I earnestly recommend the incumbent duties of moderation, care, and honesty: return books in a reasonable time; take care of the books you borrow; and do not keep from another a book which is not yours: by cultivating the faculty of Memory, you will be enabled to do to others as you would that they, in like circumstances, should do unto you. Set apart one particular day in the year for looking over your Library, that in case any stray volume be there, it may be immediately returned to the owner, who, possibly, has both sighed and groaned for it, in despair of ever seeing it again. And let those of you who are without a Catalogue of your books have one made without delay; for besides the many other advantages resulting from a Catalogue, it will assist you in distinguishing your own books from the books you may have belonging to other people.

To book-lenders. To you, unhappy mortals! I cannot but recommend an inexhaustible fund of patience and an illimitable resignation. Take care, however, before you lend any volume, that your name stands upon the Title page, with obtrusive legibility; you may add, if you please, some significant motto; such as - ‘the wicked borroweth, but returneth not again’. And never lend any volume without first writing down, in a memorandum book which you ought to have for the purpose, to whom lent, when, and for how long a time. I would further recommend to you, that in case any one borrow an odd volume of a work, and you see no likelihood of its being returned, send the borrower the other volumes also, or they will reproach you every time you see them - this I recommend in cases of absolute despair only, for there are different methods to be tried before a volume is given up as irrecoverable; for instance - if a borrower keeps a book belonging to you and a gentle hint proves inefficient to bring it home, let it rest quietly for awhile, and then borrow one of him more valuable than yours; which, when you have it, keep it until he asks you for it; and then, after making an exclamation relative to the faculty of memory, tell him that you have kept his Shakespeare almost as long as he has kept your Milton - but don't send it back before you see your own book safely restored; for if you do you would almost deserve to lose it for ever.

Signed L.S.