Evening star., 1932-07-13
THIS AND THAT
BY CHARLES E. TRACEWELL.

on q new meaning, in the light Of
these old books, so piously awaiting
here, in their faded bindings, the read
ing hand, the glancing eye, the under
standing mind and heart.
Lfe's Journey is not a stairs, as some
have represented 1t, or a vast bridge
with draw in it, into which we pitch
all unsuspecting.
1t is not a mountain to climb, or a
creased slide along which mankind
whirls to a mechanical sort of doom.
Life is, rather, level, straightaway,
with both ends hidden in the mist.
And we walk toward sun which never
sets, so it seems.
That sun is named Hope In its seduc-
tive rays man walks along well pleased,
reveling in the prospect before him.
The younger he is, the more steadily
he looks ahead.
Often the older he becomes the more
tempted he Is to turn his head to the
fattering prospects of the past. He
shouts neither "Now!" nor "Soon!" but
"Then!"
To such a man the mists at the end
of the path have become too black to
be borne.
He who can see light in the clear
ing, no matter how dim, is never con-
tent to twist his head about. nor to
scream madly "Now!" for his little for
ever. but is willing to believe that the
mistiness at the far end is not much
different from the obscurity at the
beginning.
What little and even absurd things
help to make the wayfarer see the glim-
mering in the distance!
1t may be no more than q beautiful
bird, seated for an instant on a tele-
phone wire that crosses a much travelled
road
It may be the touch of hand in
genuine fellowship, or a few printed
words.
In this happy result books hold one
of the highest places of all, and well
merit the regard which mankind has
for them.
Few books deserve to be thrown away,
if they are of the right sort to begin
with.
Yet a reader does outgrow them, in
the most natural way possible.
His interests change.
This does not mean that he is tickle
in his tastes or that he does not know
what he likes, but rather that his tastes
change. and that he decidedly does
recognize those changes as they occur.
Life would not be what 1t is If 1t
could not do a great deal to one.
Thoughts are things, and leave their
impressions. They leave them on chill
dren. on adults, on men and women,
even on animals, to degree.
Trends OF different times are differ
ent; certain vibrations, or whatever one
chooses to call them, are in the air, and
the huge majority OF the people respond
to them.
Hence the books Of one decade often
impress the casual observe of the next
as having been futile. There are styles
in books. as in clothes, and many read
ers seem to believe that styles the
thing"
No proper sort OF book, however,
which was good once is anything but
good forever. Changing habits Of mind
may change back again, bringing an old
forgotten favorite very much into the
linelight. 1t has happened before, and
it will happen again.
A few shelves. or entire cases, even,
may be reserved for these older books
or samples Of them. AS boy one may
have been an enthusiastic reader of
'Henty books" Perhaps one had as
many as 60 or 70 of that prolific and
popular authors volumes. Maybe ones
knowledge of history. such as it is, came
mostly from those old books.
The booklover always gets a "kick"
cut of glimpsing the one Henty book
left out of the years. 1t is Bonnie
Prince Charlie" no doubt kept in the
family because Of sentimental reasons.
That 1t stands, an old book. typical
OF all old books, unread, but not for
gotten. Its very title does one good to
see. 1t is an outgrown book, in a sense,
but happily never outgrown.