Over all the crowd of his interpreters the royal figure of the poet towers in grand unlearned simplicity.  He knew Plutarch, and he thought for himself; his commentators knew everything, and did not think at all.  Compare the supreme poet’s ignorance with the other men’s extravagant erudition!  Think of the men whom I may call book-eaters!  Dr. Parr was a driveller; Porson was a sort of learned pig who routed up truffles in the classic garden; poor Buckle became, through stress of books, a shallow thinker; Mezzofanti, with his sixty-four languages and dialects, was perilously like a fool; and more than one modern professor may be counted as nothing else but a vain, over-educated boor.

Another word, which may seem like heresy.  I contend that the main object of reading—­after a basis of solid culture has been acquired—­is to gain amusement.  No one was ever the worse for reading good novels, for human fortunes will always interest human beings.  I would say keep clear of Sir John Lubbock’s terrific library, and seek a little for pleasure.  You have authoritative examples before you.  Prince Bismarck, once the arbiter of the world, reads Miss Braddon and Gaboriau; Professor Huxley, the greatest living biologist, reads novels wholesale; the grim Moltke read French and English romances; Macaulay used fairly to revel in the hundreds of stories that he read till he knew them by heart.  With these and a hundred other examples before us, the humblest and most laborious in the community may without scruple read the harmless tales of fictitious joys and sorrows, after they have secured that narrow minute training which alone gives grasp and security to the intellect.

VI.

PEOPLE WHO ARE “DOWN”

If any one happens to feel ashamed when he notices the far-off resemblances between the lower animals and man’s august self, he will probably feel the most acute humiliation should he take an occasional walk through a great rookery, such as that in Richmond Park.  The black cloud of birds sweeps round and round, casting a shadow as it goes; the air is full of a solemn bass music softened by distance, and the twirling fleets of strange creatures sail about in answer to obvious signals.  They are an orderly community, subject to recognised law, and we might take them for the mildest and most amusing of all birds; but wait, and we shall see something fit to make us think.  Far off on the clear gray sky appears a wavering speck which rises and falls and sways from side to side in an extraordinary way.  Nearer and nearer the speck comes, until at last we find ourselves standing under a rook which flies with great difficulty.  The poor rascal looks most disreputable, for his tail has evidently been shot away, and he is wounded.  He drops on to a perch, but not before he has run the gauntlet of several lines of sharp eyes.  The poor bird sits on his branch swinging weakly to and fro,