It is remarkable, the character of the pleasure we derive from the best books.  They impress us ever with the conviction that one nature wrote and the same reads.  We read the verses of one of the great English poets, of Chaucer,[33] of Marvell,[34] of Dryden,[35] with the most modern joy,—­with a pleasure, I mean, which is in great part caused by the abstraction of all time from their verses.  There is some awe mixed with the joy of our surprise, when this poet, who lived in some past world, two or three hundred years ago, says that which lies close to my own soul, that which I also had well-nigh thought and said.  But for the evidence thence afforded to the philosophical doctrine of the identity of all minds, we should suppose some pre-established harmony, some foresight of souls that were to be, and some preparation of stores for their future wants, like the fact observed in insects, who lay up food before death for the young grub they shall never see.

I would not be hurried by any love of system, by any exaggeration of instincts, to underrate the Book.  We all know that as the human body can be nourished on any food, though it were boiled grass and the broth of shoes, so the human mind can be fed by any knowledge.  And great and heroic men have existed who had almost no other information than by the printed page.  I only would say that it needs a strong head to bear that diet.  One must be an inventor to read well.  As the proverb says, “He that would bring home the wealth of the Indies must carry out the wealth of the Indies.”  There is then creative reading as well as creative writing.  When the mind is braced by labor and invention, the page of whatever book we read becomes luminous with manifold allusion.  Every sentence is doubly significant, and the sense of our author is as broad as the world.  We then see, what is always true, that as the seer’s hour of vision is short and rare among heavy days and months, so is its record, perchance, the least part of his volume.  The discerning will read, in his Plato[36] or Shakespeare, only that least part,—­only the authentic utterances of the oracle;—­all the rest he rejects, were it never so many times Plato’s and Shakespeare’s.

Of course there is a portion of reading quite indispensable to a wise man.  History and exact science he must learn by laborious reading.  Colleges, in like manner, have their indispensable office,—­to teach elements.  But they can only highly serve us when they aim not to drill, but to create; when they gather from far every ray of various genius to their hospitable halls, and by the concentrated fires set the hearts of their youth on flame.  Thought and knowledge are natures in which apparatus and pretension avail nothing.  Gowns[37] and pecuniary foundations,[38] though of towns of gold, can never countervail the least sentence or syllable of wit.[39] Forget this, and our American colleges will recede in their public importance, whilst they grow richer every year.