The test of a great book is whether we want to read it only once or more than once, and every additional time that we read it we find new meanings and new beauties in it. A book that a person of education and good taste does not care to read more than once is quite possibly not worth much. Some time ago there was a discussion going on regarding the art of the great French novelist, Zola some people claimed that he possessed absolute genius others claimed that he had only talent of a very remarkable kind. The argument brought out some strange extravagances of opinion. But suddenly a very great critic simply posed this question: 'How many of you have read, or would care to read, one of Zola's books a second time?' There was no answer probably no one would read a book by Zola more than once. The fact was settled. ' Shallow or false any book must be, that, although bought by a hundred thousand readers, is never read more than Once. But we cannot consider the judgment of a single individual infallible. The opinion that makes a book great must be the opinion of many. For even the greatest critics are apt to have certain dullness, certain inappreciations. Carlyle, for example, could not endure Browning Byron could not endure some of the greatest of English poets. A man must be many-sided to utter a trustworthy estimate of many books. We may doubt the judgment of the single critic at times, but there is no doubt possible in regard to the judgment of generations. Even if we cannot at once perceive anything good in a book which has been admired and praised for hundreds of years, we may be sure that by trying, by studying it carefully, we shall at last be able to understand the reason of this admiration and praise. The best libraries for a poor man would be a library composed entirely of such great works. This, then, should be the most important guide for us in our reading choice. We Should read only the books that we want to read more than once, nor should we buy any others, unless we have some special reasons for so investing money. The second fact is the general character of the value that lies hidden within all such great books: they never become old their youth is immortal. A great book is not apt to be comprehended by a young person at the first reading except in a superficial way. Only the surface, the narrative, is absorbed and enjoyed. No young man can possibly see at first reading the qualities of a great book. Remember that it has taken humanity, in many cases, hundreds of years to discover all that there is in such a book. But according to a man's experience of life, the text will unfold new meanings to him. The book that delighted us at eighteen, if it be a good book, will delight us much more at twenty-five, and it will prove like a new book to us at thirty years of age. At forty we shall reread it, wondering why we never saw how beautiful it was before. At fifty or sixty years of age the same facts will repeat themselves. A great book grows exactly in proportion to the growth of the reader's mind. It was the discovery of this extraordinary fact by generations of people long dead that made the greatness of such works as those of Shakespeare, of Dante, or of Goethe. Perhaps Goethe can give us at this moment the best illustration. He wrote a number of little stories in prose, which children like, because to children they have all the charm of fairy-tales. But he never intended them for fairy-tales he wrote them for experienced minds. A young man finds very serious reading in them a middle-aged man discovers an extraordinary depth in their least utterances and an old man will find in them all the world's philosophy, all the wisdom of life. What may the author think of the art of the great French novelist, Zola?