n. It may be deeply historical,
like "Waverly," and "The Tale of Two Cities." It may be a picture of
vivid local colouring, like "Ivanhoe," or "Lorna Doone," or "Dr
Antonio." It may be full of social hints and glimpses, with many a
covert wise suggestion, like Miss Austin's "Emma." It may shew up a
vital truth or a life-long mistake, like Miss Edgeworth's "Helen," or
open out new natural scenes like the "Adventures of a Phaeton"; or life
scenes, like "Oliver Twist"; or be so full of frolic and fun and sharp
common sense, that the mere laughter of it does you good "like a
medicine." Witness "Christie Johnstone," and Miss Carlen's "John."
All such books are utterly helpful, and leave you well in advance of
where they found you. They enlarge your world, they stimulate your
life. Only read none that enlarge it by a peep through the gates of
hell. On _that_ side knowledge is death.

But how is one to tell? you ask. Books are not labelled "good," "bad,"
and "indifferent." No: and when you go to shops and houses you do not
know what air you will find, perhaps not till you open the door. But
you start back from one room, and hold your breath in another,
hastening to get away; not because you have studied chemistry and can
analyze the air, but because your keen physical sense is smitten. Keep
your moral sense as fresh, as keen; and the moment you find foul air in
a book, throw the book in the fire. Do not leave it about to poison
some one else. And if you find no wholesome stir, no real refreshment,
but only a feverish thirst beginning, lay the book down: remember, you
are after _recreation_.

Re-creation,--the remaking and refitting of ourselves for better work,
the resting for more labour, the learning, that we may grow thereby.
_That_ is what you profess to need, dear fellow Christians. Then seek
it,--and take no makebelieve.

"Nothing left?"--Why the world is so full of delightful things to do,
that one can but look at a quarter of them. They stand at my elbow ten
deep. Books and music, and painting, and riding, and gardening, with
all sorts of studies of the wonderful works of God. You are not shut
up to novels. Books of art, books of travel, books of poetry, books of
science. O how I have rested in the coolness of Longfellow's
"Cathedral"; and with what delight seen Alpine heights with Ruskin.

Then there is that wonder of refreshment, the stereoscope. One comes
back from a half hour there in a Swi