ers decree justly. Through thee,
rusticity of nature being cast off, wits and tongues being polished,
and the thorns of vice utterly eradicated, the summit of honor is
reached and they become fathers of their country and companions of
princes, who, without thee, might have forged their lances into spades
and plowshares, or perhaps have fed swine with the prodigal son.

Where, then, most potent, most longed-for treasure, art thou
concealed? and where shall the thirsty soul find thee? Undoubtedly,
indeed, thou hast placed thy desirable tabernacle in books, where the
Most High, the Light of light, the Book of Life, hath established
thee. There then all who ask receive, all who seek find thee, to those
who knock thou openest quickly. In books Cherubim expand their wings,
that the soul of the student may ascend and look around from pole to
pole, from the rising to the setting sun, from the north and from the
south. In them the Most High, Incomprehensible God himself is
contained and worshiped. In them the nature of celestial, terrestrial,
and infernal beings is laid open. In them the laws by which every
polity is governed are decreed, the offices of the celestial hierarchy
are distinguished, and tyrannies of such demons are described as the
ideas of Plato never surpassed, and the chair of Crito never
sustained.

In books we find the dead as it were living: in books we foresee
things to come; in books warlike affairs are methodized; the rights of
peace proceed from books. All things are corrupted and decay with
time. Satan never ceases to devour those whom he generates, insomuch
that the glory of the world would be lost in oblivion, if God had not
provided mortals with a remedy in books. Alexander, the ruler of the
world; Julius[2] the invader of the world and the city, the first who
in unity of person assumed the empire in arms and arts; the faithful
Fabricius,[3] the rigid Cato, would at this day have been without a
memorial if the aid of books had failed them. Towers are razed to the
earth, cities overthrown, triumphal arches moldered to dust; nor can
the king or pope be found, upon whom the privilege of a lasting name
can be conferred more easily than by books. A book made renders
succession to the author; for as long as the book exists, the author,
remaining immortal, can not perish; as Ptolemy witnesseth; in the
prolog of his Almagest,[4] he (he says) is not dead, who gave life to
science.

What learned scribe, ther