of the points of convergence between Ruskin and the Ordinary
Reader which has appealed to me with peculiar force occurs in a
letter from London dated in 1860. "When I begin to think at all,"
Ruskin writes, "I get into states of disgust and fury at the way the
mob is going on (meaning by the mob, chiefly Dukes, crown-princes, and
such like persons) that I choke; and have to go to the British Museum
and look at Penguins till I get cool. I find Penguins at present the
only comfort in life. One feels everything in the world so
sympathetically ridiculous; one can't be angry when one looks at a
Penguin."

Why, of course one can't! It is absurdly true, when one comes to think
of it, this beneficent influence of penguins, stuffed penguins, at
that, which cannot even waddle. I dare say few readers ever thought of
this peculiar bird (if it is a bird) in just that light before Mr.
Ruskin's letter came to view; I'm sure I never did. But few readers
will fail to recall at a first reading of the words that picture of a
penguin which used to adorn the school geographies, and presently will
come to them the old sensation of amusement at the waddly fellow
propped up on his impossible feet, the smile will break over their
lips, and they will be one in mood with Mr. Ruskin. They may affirm
that of course the author was only indulging in a little whimsicality,
and they may two thirds believe it, as it is no doubt two thirds true;
but just the same, unless I am much mistaken, the image of a penguin
will persist in their minds, as it persisted in Ruskin's mind--else
how did he come to write of it in this letter?--and they will be the
better and the happier for the smile it evokes, as Ruskin was the
better and the happier. Indeed, that letter was his cheeriest for
months.

For me, however, the image has not faded with the passing of the mood,
or rather it has changed into something more abiding. It has assumed,
in fact, no less a guise than the human; it has become converted into
certain of my friends. I now know these friends, in my thoughts of
them, as Penguin Persons. I find they have the same beneficent effect
on me, and on others around them, as the penguins on Ruskin. I mean
here to sing their praises, for I believe that they and their kind
(since everyone enters on his list of friends, as I do, some Penguin
Persons) have, even if they do not know it, a mission in the world, an
honorable destiny to fulfill. They prevent us from takin