must travel through the history of other times, and be able to compare the present with the past. To have the mind vigorous, you must refresh it, and strengthen it, by a continued contact with the mighty dead who have gone away, but left their imperishable thoughts behind them. We want to have the mind continually expanding, and creating new thoughts, or at least feeding itself upon manly thoughts. The food is to the blood, which circulates through your veins, what reading is to the mind; and the mind that does not love to read, may despair of ever doing much in the world of mind which it would affect. You can no more be the "full man" whom Bacon describes, without reading, than you can be vigorous and healthy without any new nourishment. It would be no more rea

sonable to suppose it, in the expressive and beautiful language of Porter, "than to suppose that the Mississippi might roll on its flood of waters to the ocean, though all its tributary streams were cut off, and it were replenished only by the occasional drops from the clouds."

5. The object of reading may be divided into several branches. The student reads for relaxation from more severe studies; he is thus refreshed, and his spirits are revived. He reads for facts in the history and experience of his species, as they lived and acted under different circumstances. From these facts he draws conclusions; his views are enlarged, his judgment corrected, and the experience of former ages, and of all times, becomes his own. He reads chiefly, probably, for information; to store up knowledge for future use: and he wishes to classify and arrange it, that it may be ready at his call. He reads for the sake of style to learn how a strong, nervous, or beautiful writer expresses himself. The spirit of a writer to whom the world has bowed in homage, and the dress in

THE BLIND POET MILTON DICTATING PARADISE LOST" TO HIS DAUGHTER

which the spirit stands arrayed, is the object at which he must anxiously look.

6. It is obvious, then, that, in attaining any of these ends, except, perhaps, that of amusement, reading should be performed very slowly and deliberately. You will usually, and, indeed, almost invariably, find that those who read a great multitude of books have but little knowledge that is of any value. A large library has justly been denominated a learned luxury- not elegance- much less utility. A celebrated French author was laughed at on account of the poverty of his library. "Ah," replied he, "when I want a book, I make it!" Rapid readers generally are very desultory; and a man may read much, and know but very little. "The helluo librorum and the true scholar are two very different characters." One who has a deep insight into the nature of man says that he never felt afraid to meet a man who has a large library. It is the man who has but few books, and who thinks much, whose mind is the best furnished for intellectual operations. It will not be pretended, however, that there are not many exceptions to this remark. But, with a student, in the morning of life, there are no exceptions. If he would improve by his reading, it must be very deliberate. Can a stomach receive any amount or kind of food, hastily thrown into it, and reduce it, and from it extract nourishment for the body? Not for any length of time. Neither can the mind any easier digest that which is rapidly brought before it.

7. It is by no means certain that the ancients had not a great compensation for the fewness of their books, in the thoroughness with which they were compelled to study them. A book must all be copied with the pen, to be owned; and he who transcribed a book for the sake of owning it, would be likely to understand it. Before the art of

printing, books were so scarce that ambassadors were sent from France to Rome, to beg a copy of Cicero's "De Oratore," and Quintilian's "Institutes," etc., because a complete copy of these works was not to be found in all France. Albert, abbot of Gemblours, with incredible labor and expense, collected a library of one hundred and fifty volumes, including everything; and this was considered a wonder indeed. In 1494, the library of the Bishop of Winchester contained parts of seventeen books on various subjects; and, on his borrowing a Bible from the convent of St. Swithin, he had to give a heavy bond, drawn up with great solemnity, that he would return it uninjured. If any one gave a book to a convent or a monastery, it conferred countless benedictions upon him, and he offered it upon the altar of God. The convent of Rochester every year pronounced an irrevocable sentence of damnation on him who should dare steal or conceal a Latin translation of Aristotle, or even obliterate a title. When a book was purchased, it was an affair of such consequence that persons of distinction were called together as witnesses. Previous to the year 1300, the library of Oxford, England, consisted only of a few tracts, which were carefully locked up in a small chest, or else chained, lest they should escape; and at the commencement of the fourteenth century, the royal library of France contained only four classics, with a few devotional works. So great was the privilege of owning a book, that one of their books on natural history contained a picture, representing the Deity as resting on the Sabbath, with a book in his hand, in the act of reading! It was probably no better in earlier times. Knowledge was scattered to the four winds, and truth was hidden in a well. Lycurgus and Pythagoras were obliged to travel into Egypt, Persia, and India, in order to understand the doc