The Arkansaw traveler. (Little Rock, Ark.) 1882-1???, 1888-11-03
OLD BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS
BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE.

say (from the authors point of view
the ublishers-have latterly taken to
converting, and, let us hope, enrichipg
themselves by re- issuing certain books
that were of good repute some genera
tions ago. This is proceeding which
contemporary authors mnst contem-
plate with mingled feelings. Of
course it cannot but be a relief to
them to have something else to read
than the works of one another. A
modern novelist, for example would
doubtless be in danger of literary
starvation, were he compelled to con-
fine his leisure to the perusal of the
yearly, and indeed, daily production
of his fellow novelists of the present
moment. He may respect their gen.
ious, admire their method, rejoice at
their success, or grieve over their
failure; but as to reading them-one
must draw the line somewhere. De-
string, as he does, to draw his own
inspiration from some source of Eng
lish undefiled, it is plain that, as a
measure of self-preservation, he must
exercise the severest self control in
forming the acquaintance of contem-
porary fiction. My own literary style,
let US say, is blossom ofsuch exquis-
lite sensitiveness, that it would be
criminal recklessness in me to expose
it to the contamination of the style of
my friend Robinson. When, there
fore, Robinson, or even Jones-nay,
when Brown himself, in his frank and
friendly fashion, sends me the latest
offspring of his muse, in handsome
aesthetic cloth binding, with his name
entwined with mine on the fly leaf,
/ instantly, without waiting to get
beyond the title page, write and thank
him warmly for his gift, adding that
am eagerly awaiting an opportunity
to devour production which I am
assured beforehand is-cannot but be
enchanting. But, all the while,
know-and Brown, or Jones or Rob-
inson, as the case may be, also know
(for do not they themselves act in
precisely the same way regarding my
new book?)-that the opportunity 80
eagerly awaited will never come, and
was never intended to come; that
never will and never meant to read
their rubbish; and that the above
quoted euphonistic formula has finish
ed the episode. When we meet, we
shall be dear friends as before; but
you will observe that we do not enter
into detailed discussion of one an
others performances.
In so far, then, authors may be
grateful to publishers for giving them
other meat to feed on; and yet it must
be admitted that there is an aspect to
the affair which is less flattering to
our self-esteem. For the motives of
the publishers in re- issuing those books
that were popular before we were
born-surely it is not incompatible
with the possibility that they find our
own lpcubrations inadequate or I'M
suited to the public demand. Why
should they 60 to the trouble and ex-
pense of bring out an expensive trans
lation of Balzac, in neat uniform
binding, had they not reason to sup
pose that Balzac's novels might, BY
some readers, be preferred to mine.
And does not this complete edition of
George Meredith's romances indicate
that the stories of Robinson & Co.,
excellent though they are, still leaves
something to be desired by the public?
i fear so and therefore publicly and
professionally resent their publica-
tions; though at the same time, of
course, I secretly and personally read
them, and sigh to think that ever
thought the time would come when I
might do as we'll as Meredith and
Balzac. Did / ever think so?
The case is different when you dis
cover the old, good book yourself, in
Its original binding and even the re-
issue of here and there and now and
then an isolated little masterpiece, by
some forgotten author, can be sup.
ported with equanamity. l wonder
how many living persons have seen or
heard of q book called Waterloo DAYS.
by an Englishwoman," originally
published soon after the great battle.
1t describes the experiences of q young
English woman and her friends, at
Brussels, before and during the pro-
gress OF the conflict. We are familiar
with the verses of Byron on the sub
ject, and with the famous chapter in
vanity Fair" The picture in this
book is better than either, and It ia
tolerably evident, from internal evil
dence, that Thackeray had the passages