these; while, meantime, there is a society continually open to us,
of people who will talk to us as long as we like, whatever our rank
or occupation;--talk to us in the best words they can choose, and of
the things nearest their hearts. And this society, because it is so
numerous and so gentle, and can be kept waiting round us all day
long,--kings and statesmen lingering patiently, not to grant
audience, but to gain it!--in those plainly furnished and narrow
ante-rooms, our bookcase shelves,--we make no account of that
company,--perhaps never listen to a word they would say, all day
long!

You may tell me, perhaps, or think within yourselves, that the
apathy with which we regard this company of the noble, who are
praying us to listen to them; and the passion with which we pursue
the company, probably of the ignoble, who despise us, or who have
nothing to teach us, are grounded in this,--that we can see the
faces of the living men, and it is themselves, and not their
sayings, with which we desire to become familiar. But it is not so.
Suppose you never were to see their faces;--suppose you could be put
behind a screen in the statesman's cabinet, or the prince's chamber,
would you not be glad to listen to their words, though you were
forbidden to advance beyond the screen? And when the screen is only
a little less, folded in two instead of four, and you can be hidden
behind the cover of the two boards that bind a book, and listen all
day long, not to the casual talk, but to the studied, determined,
chosen addresses of the wisest of men;--this station of audience,
and honourable privy council, you despise!

But perhaps you will say that it is because the living people talk
of things that are passing, and are of immediate interest to you,