Look, for instance, at what Sir Walter Scott has done for Scottish history. Before his time, with the exception of the parts relating to Wallace and Bruce, and Queen Mary, it may be said to have been unknown. It was a confused conglomeration of antiquarian relics in the midst of which nobody, save Dr. Dryasdust, could live. Passing among these remains, the genius of Scott stirred the dry bones and made them live. In his novels we see old Scotland revivified. He has built up the old castles. He has filled the old suits of armor with living beings of real bone and muscle. Those ghosts of dead warriors that hover over the well-fought fields he has caused to take form and to fight, and to taste again the wild delights of battle. He has made the more notable Scots of old-the Stuart kings, Mary, Regent Murray, Montrose, Claverhouse, Argyll -walk out of their portrait frames, and move, and talk, and act; and he has surrounded them with imaginary characters so varied, so palpable, so racy of the soil, that they throw an atmosphere of reality over the whole. Scott's sketches of these historical characters may be considered by extremely fastidious critics as incorrect, but they have at least this merit, that they are life-like.

Such are the ways in which novels may be used. But throughout the world there is a countless number who abuse them. They are of both sexes and of all ages; and though they may be men and women in appearance, in mind they are mere children. None of their mental faculties has been developed save their curiosity. "A story, a story," is all they require to amuse their childish intellect and to kill time. Sometimes they alight upon a good novel; but their minds are so feeble that they cannot digest it. The characters pass through their intellect without leaving any impression. "They come like shadows, and so depart. But generally the novels which they read are of the namby-pamby order, or of that kind called sensational, whose characteristics are murder, mystery, and wicked intrigue. If they are namby-pamby, reading them is like sipping jelly water. If they are sensational,

they are like Mrs. Squeers' posset of brimstone and treacle. In both cases they destroy the mental appetite and make it loathe all solid food.

Now what is the cure for this lamentable condition? How is novel-reading to be reduced to a minimum? We cannot have a censor of works of fiction to prohibit the publication of all those that are objectionable. We might prescribe certain tests by which worthless books might be detected; but the majority of readers would not take the trouble to apply the tests, and even if they did, by that time the objectionable works (if they were objectionable) would have been read and the evil would have been done. The only cure is to do what physicians do in so many cases of bodily weakness, namely, to raise the general tone of the system We would propose, therefore, when the patients are young, to stimulate and elevate the tone of the mental system. This we would do in three ways:

1. We would cultivate the imagination of young people when they are at school. We would say to the teacher: The remedy of this great evil of indiscriminate novel-reading is in your hands. Get rid of the notion that the human mind is a mere bag to be filled with knowledge. Get rid of the notion that a boy is an ingenious automaton, that may be made to go through certain motions to please Her Majesty's Inspector at the end of the year. Recollect that he has an imagination that is hungering to be fed with stories about his fellow-beings. Develop and nourish this faculty with narratives from history, biography, and general literature. Do not be content with giving (as is generally done) the mere husks of the subject— names and dates. Give him the very kernel, the very spirit. Throw your whole being into the subject, place yourself in fancy among the circumstances you are describing; be, for the time, the character you are representing, and make the whole lesson as life-like as possible. If you can do this, your success is certain. Surely there is enough of thrilling incidents in history, surely there is enough of striking characters in biogra

phy, surely there is enough of delightful passages in English literature, to charm the very dullest intellect.

2. But if this plan does not succeed, and if young people will still read novels indiscriminately, there is still another remedy in reserve. We should meet novel-readers on their own ground. We should say, "Well, if you will insist upon reading novels, we will read them along with you." We should invite them to hear a course of lectures on the chief novelists of the present century. The lecturer, besides having a thorough grasp of the subject, should not be a dry man, but should be able to make everything he touches clear and interesting. Taking up each of the principal novels in turn, he should tell the plan graphically and vividly, describe the principal characters dramatically, bring out the individuality of each, read illustrative extracts, and point out the merits and defects of each work. If this were done properly, young people would scarcely fail to appreciate standard works of fiction, and appreciating them, would not fall back upon those that are worthless.

"Could they on this fair mountain leave to feed,

And batten on this moor."

Give an ass the run of a clover field, and he will wish no longer to feed upon thistles.

3. There is still another remedy. Young people should never be allowed to idle away their time. Idleness is the soil from which almost every wickedness grows. When we are idle, both our bodies and our minds soon become morbid. Being morbid, we look at everything and everybody with a jaundiced eye; and the people of every-day life seem insipid, tiresome, and even hateful. We take refuge in novels, and devote our interest and our affections to the shadowy beings of an ideal world. The disease grows with what it feeds on, and the result is unhealthy sentiment and passion, which not infrequently end in scandalous deeds. To all young people,

erefore, we would say: Have something to do.

Whether

And let

you are rich or poor, have some useful employment. it be some fixed task which you cannot shirk at a moment's notice. Carlyle compares the work of this world to an immense hand-barrow with innumerable handles, of which there is one for every human being. But there are some people, he says, so lazy, that they not only let go their handle, but they jump upon the barrow and increase the weight. Don't let go your handle. There is abundance of work in this busy world for every one who has a human heart.