of this, the circulating libraries have been filled for the last ten years, with trash far more deleterious than that which chiefly loaded their shelves from the beginning of the present century until 1815, when the author of "Waverley" threw all the other prose writers of fiction completely into the shade. The novels of Miss Austin, Miss Edgeworth, and even of Miss Burney, all did good, while they interested. Sir W. Scott's wonderful tales induced a certain distaste for the comparative tameness of the works of these lady authors, and since Sir Walter's time, the excitement which he produced by noble means, has been strained after by means the most ignoble. The most deleterious stuff has been cooked up to meet the appetite of a rapidlyreading public, and it is now positively dangerous for a well regulated family to admit within their doors the common run of the "popular novels" which circulating libraries supply.

It therefore seems to me that what Mr. Gisborne says upon the subject of novel-reading, in his essay addressed to the female sex upon the employment of time, is as applicable now as it was when he wrote, and perhaps more so. I request the particular attention of my serious yet cheerful lady listeners, to the extract I am about to quote from Mr. Gisborne, and I call upon them to answer to their own minds whether some of his cautionary remarks will not exactly

apply to the most popular works of fiction which have been lately published:- "There is one species of writings which obtain from a considerable portion of the female sex a reception much more favourable than is accorded to other kinds of composition more worthy of encouragement. It is scarcely necessary to add the name of novels and romances. Works of this nature not unfrequently deserve the praise of ingenuity of plan and contrivance, of accurate and wellsupported discrimination of character, and of force and elegance of language. Some of them have professedly been composed with a design to favour the interests of morality. And among those which are deemed to have, on the whole, a moral tendency, a very few, perhaps, might be selected which are not liable to the disgraceful charge of being occasionally contaminated by incidents and passages unfit to be presented to the reader. This charge, however, may so very generally be alleged with justice, that even of the novels which profess high and established reputation, by far the greater number is totally improper in consequence of such admixture, to be perused by the eye of delicacy. Poor, indeed, are the services rendered to virtue by a writer, however he may boast that the object of his performance is to exhibit the vicious as infamous and unhappy, who, in tracing the progress of vice to infamy and unhappiness, introduces the reader to scenes and language

adapted to wear away the quick feelings of modesty, which form at once the ornament and the safeguard of innocency; which, like the bloom upon a plum, if once effaced, commonly disappears for ever. To indulge in a practice of reading novels is, in several other particulars, liable to produce mischievous effects. Such compositions are to most persons extremely engaging. That story must be singularly barren or wretchedly told, of which, after having heard the beginning, we desire not to know the end. To the pleasure of knowing the ultimate fortunes of heroes and heroines of the tale, the novel commonly adds, in a greater or in a less degree, that which arises from animated description, from lively dialogue, or from interesting sentiment. Hence the perusal of one publication of this class leads, with much more frequency than is the case with respect to works of other kinds (except perhaps of dramatic writings to which most of the present remarks may be transferred) to the speedy perusal of another. Thus a habit is formed, a habit at first perhaps of limited indulgence, but a habit that is continually found more formidable and more encroaching. The appetite becomes too keen to be denied, and, in proportion as it is more urgent, grows less nice and select in its fare."

This is a long extract, but I think every one of sound judgment and correct taste will admit

I

that it is well worthy of being attended to. cannot part with Mr. Gisborne's advice on this subject until I have called attention to a little more of his shrewd and just observation :→ "Let it be observed that in exact correspondence with the increase of a passion for reading novels, an aversion to reading of a more improving nature will gather strength. Even in the class of novels least objectionable in point of delicacy, false sentiment unfitting the mind for sober life, applause and censure distributed amiss, morality estimated by an erroneous standard, and the capricious laws and empty sanctions of honour set up in the place of religion, are the lessons usually presented. There is yet another consequence too important to be overlooked. The catastrophe and the incidents of these fictitious narratives commonly turn on the vicissitudes and effects of a passion the most powerful of all those which agitate the human heart. Hence the study of them frequently creates a susceptibility of impression, and a premature warmth of tender emotions, which, not to speak of other possible effects, have been known to betray young women into a sudden attachment to persons unworthy of their affection, and thus to hurry them into marriages terminating in unhappiness."

The book from which I make these extracts was once put into the hands of most young ladies, who were brought up with elegance and

care. I quote it as an authority deserving of respect.

In the same useful book, the author recommends a habit of committing to the memory select and ample portions of poetical compositions, not for the sake of ostentatiously quoting them in mixed company, but for purposes of private improvement. The mind thus becomes stored with a treasure of sentiments and descriptions such as elevate the heart, and add energy and grace to precepts of wisdom and morality. Our author recommends passages from Milton, Thomson, Gray, Mason, Beattie, and Cowper. This is, however, a very limited range. I would certainly have mentioned Shakespeare before Milton, put Goldsmith after Thomson, and in these latter days leave out Mason altogether, and add Walter Scott and Wordsworth. It is strange that Mr. Gisborne should have omitted Goldsmith, whose poetry is a perpetual refreshment to such as love naturalness united with grace, and kindly sentiments endeared by the simplicity, and elevated by the beauty of the language in which they are clothed. There are few enjoyments of a tranquil kind to be preferred to that of getting into a pleasant seat in the shade upon one of those warm summer days,* and travelling with Goldsmith from the first line of his delightful "Traveller" to the

*This was written in June.