th or virtue of your flock, no pulpit rings with denunciation?
All these questions may be answered by another most pertinent to
the priest.

Have the people been taught to realise the danger confronting
them? Have their consciences been awakened? Have we been dumb
watch-dogs while they are being devoured?

[Side note: Apologies]

The treatment of this subject would be incomplete if the stock
apologies for dangerous reading were not dealt with.

When you remonstrate with a Catholic on the character of his
reading, you are sure to be met with some of the following, and
any one of them is supposed to be a complete justification, no
matter how bad the book:--

[Side note: Style]

"_I read these books for the style_." This is sometimes heard
from people whose pretentions to literary taste borders on the
grotesque; but let that pass. Has a paralysis fallen on every
hand that wields a Catholic pen? Does the light of Faith beaming
on a human mind quench the beauties of imagination or dull the
taste? Or, is a perfect style to be found only among the apostles
of evil? Surely the long range of Catholic writers offers an
ample variety of the most perfect exponents of literary style.
Let us be honest. It is not for the style these books are read;
it is because they gratify an unhealthy craving, because they are
soft, sensual, suggestive, and stimulate feelings not far from
the border-land of sin.

[Side note: I see no harm]

"_I see no harm in them_." Now by this answer you implicitly
admit that you see no good. Have you then no remorse for
frittering away such a precious gift of God as time? If the
damned got five minutes of that time to repent, every chamber in
hell would be empty. Yet you squander months and years without a
qualm.

You see no harm in it. Look into your own life and what do you
discover. The unction of prayer sucked out of your soul, your
relish for the Sacraments gone, a dry rot consuming your
spiritual life, a nausea for supernatural things, a taste every
day becoming more clayey, and an increasing appetite for grosser
excitements. Books that you would tremble to touch a year ago you
now devour without a pang; or perhaps the stray shreds of
infidelity are weaving themselves into your future creed. Do not
mind what you see with the eye of a conscience that is already
half-dead. Search deep into your own heart and life, and you will
quickly discover the damage done.

[Side note: Narrow-minded]