And this society, because it is so numerous and so gentle, and can be kept waiting round us all day, not to grant audience, but to gain it,—kings and statesmen, linger patiently in those plainly furnished and narrow anterooms, our book-case shelves, we make no account of that company, perhaps, never listen to a word they would say, all day long!

You may tell me, perhaps, or think within yourselves, that the apathy with which we regard this company of the noble, who are praying us to listen to them, and the passion with which we pursue the company, probably, of the ignoble, who despise us, or who have nothing to teach us, are grounded in this, that we can see the faces of the living men, and it is themselves, and not their sayings, with which we desire to become familiar; but it is not so.

Suppose you never were to see their faces; suppose you would be just behind a screen in the statesman's cabinet, or the prince's chamber, would you not be glad to listen to their words, though you were forbidden to advance before the screen? And when the screen is only a little less folded in two instead of four, and you can be hidden behind the cover of the two boards that bind a book, and listen, all day long, not to the casual talk, but to the studied, determined, chosen addresses of the wisest men;-this station of audience and honorable private counsel, you despise.

But perhaps you will say that it is because the living people talk of things that are passing, and are of immediate interest to you, that you desire to hear them. Nay; that cannot be so, for the living people will themselves tell you about pass

ing matters, much better in their writings than in their careless talk. But I admit that this motive does influence you, so far as you prefer those rapid and ephemeral writings to slow and enduring writings,-books, properly so called. For all books

are divisible into two classes, the books of the hour, and the books of all time.

The good book of the hour is simply the useful or pleasant talk of some person with whom you cannot otherwise converse, printed for you. Very useful, often, telling you what you need to know; very pleasant, often, as a sensible friend's present talk would be.

These bright accounts of travels, good-humored and witty discussions of questions, lively or pathetic story-telling in the form of a novel, firm fact-telling by the real agents concerned in the events of passing history, -all these books of the hour, multiplying among us as education becomes more general, are a peculiar characteristic and possession of the present age. We ought to be entirely thankful for them, and entirely ashamed of ourselves, if we make no good use of them; but we make the worst possible use, if we allow them to usurp the place of true books; for, strictly speaking, they are not books at all, but merely letters or newspapers in good print.

A book is, essentially, not a talked thing, but a written thing; and written, not with the view of mere communication, but of permanence. The book of talk is printed only because its author cannot speak to thousands of people at once; i he could, he would; the volume is mere multiplication of his voice. You cannot talk to your friend in India; if you could, you would; you write instead: that

is mere conveyance of voice. But a book is written, not to multiply the voice merely, not to carry it merely, but to preserve it.

The author has something to say which he perceives to be true and useful, or helpfully beautiful. So far as he knows, no one has yet said it; so far as he knows, no one else can say it. He is bound to say it clearly and melodiously, if he can; clearly, at all events. In the sum of his life, he finds this to be the thing, or group of things, manifest to him; this is the piece of true knowledge, or sight, which his share of sunshine and earth has permitted him to seize.

He would fain set it down forever, engrave it on rock, if he could; saying, "This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved and hated, like another; my life was as the vapor, and is not; but this I saw and knew; this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory.” That is his " writing;" it is, in his small human way, and with whatever degree of true inspiration is in him, his inscription, or scripture. That is a “Book.”

Now books of this kind have been written in all ages by their greatest men; by great leaders, great statesmen, and great thinkers. These are all at your choice; and life is short. You have heard as much before; yet have you measured and mapped out this short life and its possibilities? Do you know, if you read this, that you cannot read that; what you lose to-day, you cannot gain to-morrow?

Will you go and gossip with your house-maid, or your stable-boy, when you may talk with kings and queens; or flatter yourselves that it is with any worthy consciousness of your own claims to respect, that you jostle with the common crowd

for entrée here, and audience there, when all the while this eternal court is open to you, with its society wide as the world, multitudinous as its days, the chosen and the mighty of every place and time?

Into that you may enter always; in that you may take fellowship and rank according to your wish; from that, once entered into it, you can never be outcast but by your own fault. By your aristocracy of companionship there, your own inherent aristocracy will be assuredly tested, and the motives with which you strive to take a high place in the society of the living, measured, as to all the truth and sincerity that are in them, by the place you desire to take in this company of the Dead.

JOHN RUSKIN.

Spell and pronounce: — assuredly, aristocracy, multitudinous, audience, jostle, manifest, conveyance, limited, humoredly, partially, privilege, and bouquet.

OUTLINE FOR COMPOSITION.

1. What is a book?

Subject: BOOKS.

2. Tell the difference between "a book of the hour," and "a book of all time."

3. Name books which you think belong to the former class. 4. Name books which belong to the latter class.

5. What kind of reading do you prefer?

6. Name books which you have read and enjoyed.

7. What good advice does Ruskin give in regard to choosing books?

"How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."

SHAKESPEARE, from "Merchant of Venice."

LESSON XCII.

mŏn'ũ ment, a building, stone, or the like, erected to preserve the remembrance of a person, or action.

proj'eet, a scheme; plan.

com měm'o rāte, to call to remembrance by some act of honor.

chĕr'ish, nourish; foster; entertain.

BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT-WHAT GOOD? I am asked, "What good will the monument do?" And I ask, What good does anything do? What is good? Does anything do any good? The persons who suggest this objection, of course, think there are some projects and undertakings that do good; and I should, therefore, like to have the idea of good explained, and analyzed, and run out to its elements.

When this is done, if I do not demonstrate, in about two minutes, that the monument does the same kind of good that anything else does, I will consent that the huge blocks of granite, already laid, should be reduced to gravel and carted off to fill up the mill-pond, for that, I suppose, is one of the good things.

Does a railroad or a canal do good? Answer: Yes. And how? It facilitates intercourse, opens markets, and increases the wealth of the country. But what is this good for? Why, individuals prosper and get rich.

And what good does that do? Is mere wealth as an ultimate end; gold and silver, without an inquiry as to their use,—are these good? Certainly not. I should insult this audience by attempting to prove that a rich man, as such, is neither better nor happier than a poor one.