being. Thus does this scholar's soul grow and extend itself until it lives in every region of the earth and in every bygone age, and holds the most intimate intercourse with the spirits of the mighty dead; and thus, though originally a frail mortal creature, he rises toward the godlike attributes of omnipresence and omniscience. There is no doubt, then, that books are the instruments of almost miraculous power in the hands of a scholar. But two important questions now start upI. What books are we to read? and II. How are we to read them? And now I. What books are we to read? The great difficulty in the way of answering this question is the incalculable number of books. Ever since the days of Moses, men have been writing books. both men and women are writing books faster than ever. The itch for scribbling' has become an epidemic. The crowd of eager authors is becoming almost alarming: 'All Bedlam or Parnassus is let out. Fire in each eye, and pamphlets in each hand, In course of time, we can almost imagine, it will be difficult to find a man who has not been guilty of authorship; and when he is found, he will be regarded as a miracle of self-denial, and perhaps a wiser and happier man than his fellow-creatures. Different men have different ways of dealing with this multitude of books. One man, very unsophisticated, buys all the new works that are recommended to him, arranges them on the shelves. of what he calls his 'library,' does not cut them up, for fear, apparently, lest the knowledge in them should all run out, sits down in the midst of them, and fancies that by looking at their outsides he is actually becoming learned. Another man, more active, reads everything in the shape of a volume that comes to hand. It may be Locke on the Human Understanding, or Berkeley on Tar Water, for it matters not provided it is print. And he tells fond of his you, with a self-satisfied face, that he is reading.' Possibly! But his reading' is evidently not fond of him, for it takes the very first opportunity of vanishing, and leaves him with as empty a head as it found him. A third man most religiously peruses all the Monthlies and Quarterlies, and imagines that while he is reading what are called reviews, but what are really in many cases distorted fragments of new works, he is mastering the new works themselves. He is as much mistaken as the poor half-naked savage, who believed that he had secured a full European suit when he picked up a hat and a pair of dress-boots. All these methods, it need scarcely be said, are unsatisfactory. The true method seems to consist of two steps: (1.) To read first the one or two great standard works in each department of literature; and (2.) To confine then our reading to that department which suits the particular bent of our mind. These two steps would tend to make us achieve in literature what John Stuart Mill says every student should achieve in the domain of universal knowledge, namely, The knowing something of everything, and everything of something.' (1.) Let us first see how standard works come to be of use amid the overwhelming multitude of books. Men have a natural tendency to imitate each other in their opinions as well as in other peculiarities. Besides, they are lazy by nature, and would rather appropriate an idea ready-made than have the trouble of forming one for themselves. Hence we often hear one opinion echoed from one hollow skull to another, round the whole circle. of a political party; and when we learn Brown's views on the Education Act, we can easily infer what those of Jones and Robinson must be. This same law likewise influences authors. They, too, are lazy, and they, too, imitate each other. They look at a subject from the same point of view, read each other's works, and, willingly or unwillingly, borrow from each other. It is true that, like the robber who melts down a piece of plate to efface the marks of the owner, they put the idea into a new mould of language and a new setting; but it is essentially unchanged. When we attempt to read through all the books on a particular subject, we are soon disgusted and wearied out by the sameness that meets us everywhere. We feel ourselves, in fact, lost in a weary and far-extending waste of commonplaces. Now, it is here that the standard author comes to our aid. He rises like a special dispensation of Providence to save us from mental bewilderment and death. With brave heart he explores the boundless wilds of literature in his All own department; with sleepless activity of mind he ransacks one work after another; and with the unfailing tact of genius he picks out from each whatever is excellent in thought or manner. these excellences he then recasts in his own intellect, adds new ideas and beauties of his own, and thus produces a work which is the embodiment of almost everything that is good in that particular walk of letters. He produces what Mr. Ruskin calls a work of Time, in contradistinction to a work of the Hour. Such standard authors form certainly one of the greatest blessings that have been bestowed upon poor perplexed readers. They are like mountains, rising sheer in the midst of a flat landscape, and catching and presenting to the world the imposing gleams and splendours of heaven. They are like well-ordered gardens, containing in one romantic spot the choice vegetable produce of a whole clime. They are the real fixed stars in the Abyss of Time-suns ablaze with heat and splendour; and the other authors are but planets shining with light borrowed from them. They are kings by divine right, the great representatives of the human race, endowed specially with wisdom from |