dy, years ago, which I cannot put
out. No maiden in distress would bother me nowadays, I have read of too
many, but some of those first ones I read of still make me feel cold.
Yes, a book can leave indelible pictures .... And it can introduce wild
ideas. Take a nice old lady for instance, at ease on her porch, and set
the ballads of Villon to grinning at her over the hedge, or a
deep-growling Veblen to creeping on her, right down the rail,--it's no
wonder they frighten her. She doesn't want books to show her the
underworld and blacken her life.

[Illustration: Dastardly attack by Veblen's latest.]

It's not surprising that some books are censored and forbidden to
circulate. The surprising thing is that in this illiberal world they
travel so freely. But they usually aren't taken seriously; I suppose
that's the answer. It's odd. Many countries that won't admit even the
quietest living man without passports will let in the most active,
dangerous thoughts in book form.

The habit of reading increases. How far can it go? The innate capacity
of our species for it is plainly enormous. Are we building a race of men
who will read several books every day, not counting a dozen newspapers
at breakfast, and magazines in between? It sounds like a lot, but our
own record would have astonished our ancestors. Our descendants are
likely to read more and faster than we.

[Illustration: The Underworld]

People used to read chiefly for knowledge or to pursue lines of thought.
There wasn't so much fiction as now. These proportions have changed. We
read some books to feed our curiosity but more to feed our emotions. In
other words, we moderns are substituting reading for living.

When our ancestors felt restless they burst out of their poor bookless
homes, and roamed around looking for adventure. We read some one else's.
The only adventures they could find were often unsatisfactory, and the
people they met in the course of them were hard to put up with. We can
choose just the people and adventures we like in our books. But our
ancestors got real emotions, where we live on canned.

[Illustration: Volume of morbid Geography attempting to enter Lone
Gulch]

Of course canned emotions are thrilling at times, in their way, and
wonderful genius has gone into putting them up. But a man going home
from a library where he has read of some battle, has not the sensations
of a soldier returning from war.

[Illustration: This book tells you all