he spends it in a fine house, full of costly adornments, of which he
has no knowledge except in the measure of cost and the correctness of
their usage; he has equipages, and gives dinners and sits securely in
Abraham's bosom of society. He pays you the deferential compliment of
asking what books you are reading. It maybe you are just out of the
profound philosophical complexities and pathetic problems of "Les
Miserables." Perhaps you have immersed yourself again in the paradoxes
of "Vanity Fair," or have been pumping up the flabby tires of your
better nature with the fresh air of "David Copperfield." It is
possible that "Tess of the Durbervilles," or "A Window in Thrums" has
been newly received, and has been enlightening your mind and
conscience as to your relations to the world about you. Whatever it
has been, you suggest the fact.

"It is a novel?" He replies doubtfully:

"Certainly," you respond with enthusiasm. "A masterpiece."

"Well," protests the amiable Philistine, "I have--so little time--for
_amusing_ myself, you know. My daughter, now, she is a great
novel-reader. She buys a great many novels. Last year I read a book
called "The Greatness of Our Country." It is a wonderful book. It said
in that book that the United States could support a population of
400,000,000. I had no idea of that before. I asked Prof. So and So
about it and he said why not: that China had 400,000,000 people. It is
surprising what we learn from books," etc., etc., etc.

This man has got one bald statistical suggestion in his head out of a
book that is made to sell on trains. He recognizes it. It recalls
dimly mathematics which he was taught at school. It is a concrete
suggestion; it requires no effort to understand or remember. It is so
wonderful to him that he has no time to amuse himself with the heart
allegories and the practical questions of the condition of those
possible 400,000,000 as revealed in "Les Miserables." His daughter
will do that and he buys for her novels, bicycles, gloves and
chocolates with equal fond readiness to humor what he considers whims
pardonable in children.

* * * * *

The idea that novel-reading is a harmless and mere amusement expresses
fully the judgment that it is a vice, an encourager of indolence.
There may be two reasons for the judgment, one existing in the novel
itself, the other in the tribunal. Let us first consider the nature of
the tribunal.

The supreme