ountry that has such mothers, fathers, schoolmasters! But the novelist
creeps in closer than the schoolmaster, closer than the father, closer
almost than the mother. He is the chosen guide, the tutor whom the
young pupil chooses for herself. She retires with him, suspecting no
lesson, safe against rebuke, throwing herself head and heart into the
narration as she can hardly do into her task-work; and there she is
taught how she shall learn to love; how she shall receive the lover
when he comes; how far she should advance to meet the joy; why she
should be reticent, and not throw herself at once into this new
delight. It is the same with the young man, though he would be more
prone even than she to reject the suspicion of such tutorship. But he,
too, will there learn either to speak the truth, or to lie; and will
receive from his novel lessons either of real manliness, or of that
affected apishness and tailor-begotten demeanor which too many
professors of the craft give out as their dearest precepts."

Such are the views of a close observer of human nature, whose works
have had an exceedingly wide and an always excellent influence. While
Mr. Trollope has probably exaggerated the educational power of the
novel, it cannot be denied that this form of literature takes a
considerable part in moulding the opinions and standards of the young.
The impressions of life derived from novels are almost as strong as
those we receive from what is passing in the world about us. If a work
of fiction form a truthful reflection of nature, it must hold up to
the reader's view examples of evil as well as examples of good; it must
deal with depravity as well as with virtue. And, therefore, all that
can be expected from the novelist is that he should endeavor to
represent life as it is, with its due apportionment of beauty and of
ugliness. And so much is demanded not only by the moralist, but by the
critic. Many writers who have described the life of criminals, who have
endeavored to make infamous careers attractive, and have pandered to
the lower tastes of the reading public, would urge in their own
defence: that they have nothing to do with morality; that their object
is to produce a work of art; that no question of the good or evil
effect of their writing should be allowed to trammel their imagination.
But the critic would rightly reply, that truth at least must be
respected in a work of art; that the imagination must not be allowed
the libe