diet which would
certainly never be prescribed. They know that idiosyncrasy follows no
exactly known rule. So we could tell of one who, amid the dry
agnosticism of the later half of last century, had felt her faith, not
indeed extinguished, but obscured and darkened. From the perusal of
certain writers she had shrunk, perhaps with cowardice. They were put
on such a pinnacle that she feared she would find no arguments fit to
oppose to theirs. Weakly, she locked the skeleton cupboard. Then she
was attacked by a malady which, while leaving her mind free and
strong, she knew might be very speedily fatal. Straightway she said
to her husband: "In two or three days I shall probably 'know'--or
cease from all knowing. There will not be long to wait. Therefore
bring me three books," which she named, works of authors of extreme
agnostic views. Rather reluctantly he complied with her wish. She went
steadily through the joyless pages, turned the last with the
significant remark: "If this is all they can say, well!--" The
skeleton cupboard, once opened, was speedily swept out. She quickly
recovered, but never forgot her experience. Yet it must be remembered
that this was the patient's own prescription, and was permitted by one
who thoroughly understood her temperament. Therefore, though one would
never wish to overrule a strong personal desire, that is quite
different from offering counsel and furtherance--or proving
experiments upon oneself.

A celebrated woman writer of the middle of last century was of opinion
that young people of both sexes should not indulge in reading "minor
poetry." "Let them keep to the great poets, made of granite," was her
graphic phrase. A woman of singularly self-controlled nature has
confessed that the only time in her whole life that she experienced an
unwholesome moral and emotional disturbance, after reading a book, was
when, at about twenty-two years of age, she read Emily Bronte's
_Wuthering Heights_. She dared not finish it: and when, some time
later, a copy was presented to her, she caused it to be exchanged for
another book, not wishing it even to be in the house with her. Years
afterwards, she read it again, quite unmoved. It may be added that her
first reading was made in the course of a systematic study of English
literature, which had already led her through the works of Chaucer and
Fielding. She has herself asked: "Is it possible that the strong and
unpleasant effect was produced because t