unless it is done in a very different way. I cannot think they will help to refine the ragamuffins if they read them, and I’m sure they can do no good to the better class of boys, who through these books are introduced to police courts, counterfeiters’ dens, gambling houses, drinking saloons, and all sorts of low life.”

“Some of them are about first-rate boys, mother; and they go to sea and study, and sail round the world, having great larks all the way.”

“I have read about them, Geordie, and though they are better than the others, I am not satisfied with these optical delusions, as I call them. Now, I put it to you, boys, is it natural for lads from fifteen to eighteen to command ships, defeat pirates, outwit smugglers, and so cover themselves with glory, that Admiral Farragut invites them to dinner, saying, ‘Noble boy, you are an honour to your country!’ Or, if the hero is in the army, he has hair-breadth escapes and adventures enough in one small volume to turn his hair white, and in the end he goes to Washington at the express desire of the President or Commander- in-chief to be promoted to no end of stars and bars. Even if the hero is merely an honest boy trying to get his living, he is not permitted to do so in a natural way, by hard work and years of patient effort, but is suddenly adopted by a millionaire whose pocket-book he has returned; or a rich uncle appears from sea just in the nick of time; or the remarkable boy earns a few dollars, speculates in pea-nuts or neckties, and grows rich so rapidly that Sinbad in the diamond valley is a pauper compared to him. Isn’t it so, boys?”

“Well, the fellows in these books are mighty lucky, and very smart, I must say,” answered Will, surveying an illustration on the open page before him, where a small but virtuous youth is upsetting a tipsy giant in a bar-room, and under it the elegant inscription, “Dick Dauntless punches the head of Sam Soaker.”

“It gives boys such wrong ideas of life and business; shows them so much evil and vulgarity that they need not know about, and makes the one success worth having a fortune, a lord’s daughter, or some worldly honour, often not worth the time it takes to win. It does seem to me that some one might write stories that should be lively, natural and helpful—tales in which the English should be good, the morals pure, and the characters such as we can love in spite of the faults that all may have. I can’t bear to see such crowds of eager little fellows at the libraries reading such trash; weak, when it is not wicked, and totally unfit to feed the hungry minds that feast on it for want of something better. There! my lecture is done; now I should like to hear what you gentlemen have to say,” and Aunt Jessie subsided with a pretty flush on the face that was full of motherly anxiety for her boys.

“Tom Brown just suits mother, and me too, so I wish Mr. Hughes would write another story as good,” said Archie.

“You don’t find things of this sort in Tom Brown; yet these books are all in the Sunday-school libraries” —and Mrs. Jessie read the following paragraph from the book she had taken from Will’s hand—

“ ‘In this place we saw a tooth of John the Baptist. Ben said he could see locust and wild honey sticking to it. I couldn’t. Perhaps John used a piece of the true cross for a tooth-pick.’ ”

“A larky sort of a boy says that, Mum, and we skip the parts where they describe what they saw in the different countries,” cried Will.

“And those descriptions, taken mostly from guidebooks, I fancy, are the only parts of any real worth. The scrapes of the bad boys make up the rest of the story, and it is for those you read these books, I think,” answered his mother, stroking back the hair off the honest little face that looked rather abashed at this true statement of the case.

“Anyway, mother, the ship part is useful, for we learn how to sail her, and by and by that will all come handy when we go to sea,” put in Geordie.