TSLribct a Dogwoob wftb /iBontafgne 



time, and to reckon without a view to 

 money. His literature grew by the labor 

 of love; and he grudged every moment 

 filched from it by eating and sleeping. 

 " Whoever could dine on the smoke of a 

 roast would make a pretty saving." He 

 dined upon the effluence of books. Even 

 when he traveled he carried a library with 

 him, content without reading if he knew 

 that a volume was always within reach, 

 like a friend asleep, to be made entertain- 

 ing by a touch. 



Montaigne speaks of an ancient rheto- 

 rician who boasted that it was his business 

 to shuffle small things so as to make them 

 appear important, an art not despised by 

 the philosopher of Perigord himself when 

 he felt his brain running dry and his Latin 

 sources of quotation in danger of exhaus- 

 tion. Indeed, the business of decking out 

 trifles in the laces and ruffles designed by a 

 clever phrase-maker can still command its 

 admirers and its devoted practitioners. It 

 was not Montaigne's petty facilities, how- 

 ever, nor yet his graceful attention to 

 unimportant things, that fixed him forever 

 266 



