ainst
all men and things. Never again was the American poet able to
associate with Carlyle that fine poise, sanity, and reserve power that
belong to the greatest. In his books Carlyle gives his friends, not
the peevishness of an evening, but the best moods of all his life,
winnowing his intellectual harvests.

Recently an author has given the world reminiscences called "Evenings"
with Browning and Tennyson, with Bright and Gladstone. Yet an evening
avails only for a few pleasantries, a few anecdotes, a few
reminiscences. As well speak of spending an afternoon with Egypt or
making an evening call upon Rome. Yet a volume of "In Memoriam" or
"The Idylls of the King" enables one to overhear the richest and most
masterly thoughts that occupied Tennyson through the best creative
years in his career. So striking are the advantages books have over
conversation that the brief biography of the Carpenter's Son makes us
better acquainted with Jesus Christ than the citizens of Samaria or
Bethlehem could possibly have been. To some Nicodemus it was given to
hear Him discourse on the new heart; some lawyer heard His story of
the good Samaritan; others midst the press and throng caught a part of
the tale of the prodigal son. But the momentary glimpse, the
fragmentary word, the rumors strange and contradictory, yielded only
confusion and mental unrest. But this brief biography exhibits to us
His entire career, sets each eager listener down beside Christ while
He unrolls each glowing parable, each glorious precept, each call to
inspiration and the higher life. Thus books acquaint us with the best
men in their best moods.

Books have two advantages. Chiefly they are tools for the mind. The
foot's step is short, but the engine lengthens the stride and hastens
it. The smith's blow is weak, but the trip-hammer multiplies the might
of man's hand. Thus books are mental machines, enabling the mind of
man to reap in many harvest fields and multiply the mental treasures.
It takes years for Humboldt to search out the wonders of the Andes
Mountains and other years for Livingstone to thread his way through
the jungles of Africa. But a book, during two or three evenings by the
fireside, enables man to journey through the Dark Continent without
the dangers of fever, without experiencing the pain from the lion
leaping out of the thicket to mutilate the arm of Livingstone. With a
book we tramp over the mountains of two continents without once
sufferi