g of money, which
was the purpose of his life, or did they minister to a mind diseased? I
do not know. But I do know that there was a kind of pathos in his
cold anxiety. Plainly he was a man of quick perception and alert
intelligence. And he seemed to have wasted a vast amount of time in
acquiring a jargon which certainly was not his own, and in attaching to
books a meaning and purpose which they have never possessed.

Such are two widely different products of the lecture hall, and it is
impossible not to see that, widely as their temperaments differ, they
have been pushed through the same mill. And thus we arrive at the worst
vice of enforced culture. Culture is, like the overhead railroad, a mere
saviour of time. It is the tramway of knowledge which compels all men to
travel by the same car, whatever may be their ultimate destination. It
possesses all the inconvenience of pleasures taken or duties performed
in common. The knowledge which is sincere and valuable must be acquired
by each man separately; it must correspond to the character and
disposition of him who acquires it, or it is a thin disguise of vanity
and idleness. To what, then, may we attribute this passion for
the lecture hall? Perhaps it is partly due to the provincialism
characteristic of America, and partly to an invincible energy, which
quickens the popular ambition and urges men to acquire information
as they acquire wealth, by the shortest route, and with the smallest
exertion.

Above all, culture is the craving of an experimental age, and America no
doubt will outgrow it domination. Even now Boston, its earliest slave,
is shaking off the yoke; and it is taking refuge in the more modern
cities of the West. Chicago is, I believe, its newest and vastest
empire. There, where all is odd, it is well to be thought a "thinker."
There, we are told, the elect believe it their duty "to reach and
stimulate others." But wherever culture is found Strange things are
done in its name, and the time may come when by the light of Chicago's
brighter lamp Boston may seem to dwell in the outer darkness.

CHICAGO.

America may be defined as the country where there are no railway
porters. You begin a journey without ceremony; you end it without a
welcome. No zealot, eager to find you a corner seat and to dispose of
your luggage, meets you when you depart. You must carry your own bag
when you stumble unattended from the train. This enforced dependence
upon yourse