Soon to the boy I heard him call, Therefore in one you shall not look.' The boy passed slowly on, and with a sigh He wished he never had been taught to read, Then of the old churl's books he should have no need." Such snatches of literature have, indeed, a special and peculiar charm. This is, I believe, partly due to the very fact of their being brief. Many readers, I think, miss much of the pleasure of reading by forcing themselves to dwell too long continuously on one subject. In a long railway journey, for instance, many persons take only a single book. The consequence is that, unless it is a story, after half an hour or an hour they are quite tired of it. Whereas, if they had two, or still better three, on different subjects, and one of them being of an amusing character, they would probably find that by changing as soon as they felt at all weary, they would come back again and again to each with renewed zest, and hour after hour would pass pleasantly away. Every one, of course, must judge for himself, but such at least is my experience. I quite agree, therefore, with Lord Iddesleigh, as to the charm of desultory reading, but the wider the field the more important that we should benefit by the very best books in each class. Not that we need confine ourselves to them, but that we should commence with them, and they will certainly lead us on to others. There are, of course, some books which we must read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. But these are exceptions. As regards by far the larger number, it is probably better to read them quickly, dwelling only on the best and most important passages. In this way, no doubt, we shall lose much, but we gain more by ranging over a wider field. We may, in fact, I think, apply to reading Lord Brougham's wise dictum as regards education, and say that it is well to read everything of something, and something of everything. In this way only we can ascertain the bent of our own tastes, for it is a general, though not, of course, an invariable rule, that we profit little by books which we do not enjoy. The variety is endless. in all quarters of the Every one, however, may suit himself. We may sit in our library and yet be earth. We may travel round the world with Captain Cook or Darwin, with Kingsley or Ruskin, who will show us much more, perhaps, than ever we should see for ourselves. The world itself has no limits for us; Humboldt and Herschel will carry us far away to the mysterious nebulæ, far beyond the sun and even the stars; time has no more bounds than space; history stretches out behind us, and geology will carry us back for millions of years before the creation of man, even to the origin of the material universe itself. We are not limited even to one plane of thought. Aristotle and Plato will transport us into a sphere none the less delightful because it requires some training to appreciate it. We may make a library, if we do but rightly use it, a true paradise on earth, a garden of Eden without its one drawback, for all is open to us, including and especially the fruit of the tree of knowledge for which we are told that our first mother sacrificed all the rest. Here we may read the most important histories, the most exciting volumes of travels and adventures, the most interesting stories, the most beautiful poems; we may meet the most eminent statesmen and poets and philosophers, benefit by the ideas of the greatest thinkers, and enjoy all the greatest creations of human genius. Complete. From "The Pleasures of Life.» E THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY MERSON closes his "Conduct of Life" with a striking allegory. The They The young Mortal enters the Hall of the Firmament. Gods are sitting there, and he is alone with them. pour on him gifts and blessings, and beckon him to their thrones. But between him and them suddenly appear snowstorms of illusions. He imagines himself in a vast crowd, whose behests he fancies he must obey. The mad crowd drives hither and thither, and sways this way and that. What is he that he should resist? He lets himself be carried about. How can he think or act for himself? But the clouds lift, and there are the Gods still sitting on their thrones; they alone with him alone. "The great man," he elsewhere says, "is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the serenity of solitude." We may all, if we will, secure peace of mind for ourselves. "Men seek retreats," says Marcus Aurelius, "houses in the country, seashores, and mountains; and thou too art wont to desire such things very much. But this is altogether a mark of the most common sort of men; for it is in thy power whenever thou shalt choose to retire into thyself. For nowhere either with more quiet or more freedom from trouble does a man retire, than into his own soul, particularly when he has within him such thoughts that by looking into them he is immediately in perfect tranquillity." Happy, indeed, is the man who has such a sanctuary in his own soul. "He who is virtuous is wise; and he who is wise is good; and he who is good is happy." But we cannot expect to be happy if we do not lead pure and useful lives. To be good company for ourselves we must store our minds well; fill them with happy and pure thoughts; with pleasant memories of the past, and reasonable hopes for the future. We must, as far as may be, protect ourselves from selfreproach, from care, and from anxiety. We shall make our lives pure and happy by resisting evil, by placing restraint upon our appetites, and perhaps even more by strengthening and developing our tendencies to good. We must be careful, then, how we choose our thoughts. The soul is dyed by its thoughts; we cannot keep our minds pure if we allow them to dwell on detailed accounts of crime and sin. Peace of mind, as Ruskin beautifully observes, "must come in its own time, as the waters settle themselves into clearness as well as quietness; you can no more filter your mind into purity than you can compress it into calmness; you must keep it pure if you would have it pure, and throw no stones into it if you would have it quiet." Few The penalty of injustice, said Socrates, is not death or stripes, but the fatal necessity of becoming more and more unjust. men have led a wiser or more virtuous life than Socrates himself, of whom Xenophon gives us the following description: "To me, being such as I have described him, so pious that he did nothing without the sanction of the gods; so just, that he wronged no man even in the most trifling affair, but was of service in the most important matters to those who enjoyed his society; so temperate that he never preferred pleasure to virtue; so wise, that he never erred in distinguishing better from worse; needing no counsel from others, but being sufficient in himself to discriminate between them; so able to explain and settle such questions by argument; and so capable of discerning the character of others, of confuting those who were in error, and of exhorting them to virtue and honor, he seemed to be such as the best and happiest of men would be. But if any one disapproves of my opinion, let him compare the conduct of others with that of Socrates, and determine accordingly." Marcus Aurelius again has drawn for us a most instructive lesson in his character of Antoninus: "Do everything as a disciple of Antoninus. Remember his constancy in every act which was conformable to reason, his evenness in all things, his piety, the serenity of his countenance, his sweetness, his disregard of empty fame, and his efforts to understand things; how he would never let anything pass without having first carefully examined it and clearly understood it; how he bore with those who blamed him unjustly without blaming them in return; how he did nothing in a hurry; how he listened not to calumnies, and how exact an examiner of manners and actions he was; not given to reproach people, nor timid, nor suspicious, nor a sophist; with how little he was satisfied, such as lodging, bed, dress, food, servants; how laborious and patient; how sparing he was in his diet; his firmness and uniformity in his friendships; how he tolerated freedom of speech in those who opposed his opinions; the pleasure that he had when any man showed him anything better, and how pious he was without superstition. Imitate all this that thou mayest have as good a conscience, when thy last hour comes, as he had." Such peace of mind is, indeed, an inestimable boon, a rich reward of duty fulfilled. Well, then, does Epictetus ask, "Is there no reward? Do you seek a reward greater than that of doing what is good and just? At Olympia you wish for nothing more, but it seems to you enough to be crowned at the games. Does it, then, seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be good and happy?” From The Pleasures of Life.» LUCIAN (c. 120-c. 200 A. D.) UCIAN, the most interesting of all Greek writers of prose satire, was born at Samosata, in Syria, about 120 A. D. It appears from his own account of himself that his father was poor and that when a boy he served as apprentice to a sculptor, from whom he ran away after receiving a beating. In his old age he lived in Egypt and held office as Keeper of Records or Master of the Rolls in that country. He died probably about the year 200 A. D. This is as doubtful as everything else that concerns his life. His writings which have survived in abundance are almost wholly humorous or satirical. He suggested themes for Swift and the author of "Baron Munchausen" among Moderns, as well as for many who have openly borrowed his style. He excelled in the dialogue, especially in dialogue which enabled him to put into the mouths of famous persons sarcastic or humorous comment on the follies and superstitions of the day. He saw that the polytheism which had been a popular religion in southern Europe and Egypt was decadent and near its end. In his "Dialogues of the Dead" and his "Dialogues of the Gods,” he ridicules the religion of the people, while in other Dialogues he is even less merciful towards the professional philosophers who cultivated long beards and attempted to live without work on the strength of their assumed superiority. Lucian is one of the last writers of Greek prose which can be described as classical. He is sometimes criticized severely for impurities of style, but he writes with ease, and, in proof of the interest he has managed to excite and hold, his admirers can point to one hundred and twenty-four of his books and prose treatises which have survived, besides his epigrams and poems. THAT BIBLIOMANIACS SHOULD READ THEIR OWN BOOKS ow can you be expected to distinguish those books which are old and valuable from those which are not, unless by their being thumbed and worm-eaten; for which purpose you do well to call to your aid a council of moths, otherwise no accurate judgment can ever be formed by you. But, if I should grant that you are not unacquainted with the taste of Callinus, or the |