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which we gain by seeing, and any knowledge which we have directly through the senses or by immediate communication to the mind is called intuitive. Thus we may learn intuitively what a square or a hexagon is, but hardly what a chiliagon, or figure of 1000 sides is. We could not tell the difference by sight of a figure of 1000 sides and a figure of 1001 sides. Nor can we imagine any such figure completely before the mind. It is known to us only by name or symbolically. All large numbers, such as those which state the velocity of light, 186,000 miles per second, and the like, are known to us only by symbols, and they are beyond our powers of imagination. Infinity is known in a similar way, so that we can in an intellectual manner become acquainted with that of which our senses could never inform us.'

Now a similar difference between two kinds of knowledge is discoverable in moral subjects, and it is a matter of the gravest importance to recognise it.

We are so constituted that in our early years a very large portion of knowledge, especially knowledge of evil, is conveyed to us, as it were, symbolically. It is for the most part left to our own choice to decide whether it shall in any sense become what, I think, may fairly be called intuitive. We sometimes hear it said of a book, 'It amused the child, and did no harm, for it was not understood.' What do we mean? How can a child be amused by what it does not understand? If we were required to express ourselves more clearly, we might explain that the scenes represented were so far removed from the child's experience that no definite picture could be formed of them; and the Imagination would not therefore be called into play so as to excite a lasting impression.

I remember, when I was a child, being allowed to read the 'Arabian Nights' Entertainment' in their original, unexpurgated form. The coarseness which shocks me now, was not perceived then. I am glad, however, that the present generation are more carefully guarded, because facts and descriptions which we do not understand at the time will still rest in the memory, and meet with their explanation in after years.

How large a portion of the fearful sin which is in the world is known to us only symbolically, during our whole lives, few of us probably have ever considered. God mercifully guards us. Each one knows only a part. That which may be called the intuitive knowledge of the whole would overwhelm our human weakness. But the point I wish to stress is that this ignorance, or, rather, this imperfect knowledge, is, as a rule, the especial blessing of youth, and is more particularly bestowed upon girls.

Words, histories, allusions, must be met with, even learnt, and so far understood as to convey to the mind some special idea which may be clearly distinguished from all other ideas; just as we all know the distinction between nothing and a trillion, though we cannot define

nothing, and cannot count a trillion. But beyond this, the mind has no occasion to travel. Nothing and a trillion are amongst the current coin of our calculations, and they serve every purpose for which they can be needed; and in like manner words which symbolically represent gross sins, are sufficient for all purposes of warning, reproof, or instruction.

The temptation to the young mind is to go beyond this; not, indeed, to act the sin, but to understand it in detail; and at first sight there seems to be no harm in the wish. Persons will even say that such understanding is necessary in order to avoidance, but this is very far from the case. Understanding in such a sense leads to action. It is the first step on the road; and if the act should be either wrong in itself, or wrong at that special time, or under the special circumstances, and we are thus led into sin, our fall may be traced distinctly to the wilful gratification of our desire to make our symbolical knowledge intuitive.

I use the word 'wilful' advisedly, because it is a most remarkable fact in the constitution of the human mind. that the same knowledge which leads to sin and misery when acquired voluntarily for the satisfaction of curiosity, will, as a rule, lead to no painful results when acquired involuntarily or from duty.

I suppose few persons have gone far into life without having gained from circumstances and surroundings a knowledge of evil, which, it might seem, would necessarily be corrupting to purity and refinement of mind; more especially is this the case with those who are engaged in the work of rescuing the outcast population of our large towns; but there is a wonderful safeguard in duty. The knowledge of evil passes through minds so occupied, but it passes out again. It leaves no stain; whereas the very slightest acquaintance with such scenes and sins when gained wilfully, either from weakness or curiosity, will leave a mark absolutely indelible. This is a fact which ought never to be forgotten; and it is the first and most important reason for keeping the Imagination pure by contenting ourselves with symbolical knowledge.

And here lies the insidious mischief of so many modern novels. The surroundings of sin, and the incitements to its commission, are described graphically, in glowing colours, so as to leave vivid images upon the imagination. These images are retained, and can be recombined by an effort of will, so as to suit the position of the individual who is excited by them. The circumstances are then no longer regarded as belonging to another; they become part of the reader's own life; and thus they awaken personal interests, wishes, emotions, which lead directly to actual evil. The excuse for such novels often is, that no real wickedness is committed by the persons thus brought forward in them. A wife, for instance, falls in love with some one, and is tempted to leave her husband; but she does not leave him, and therefore the story is considered safe. And told in this bare way, it

certainly arouses no feeling or interest; but when all the details of the temptation are given in passionate, glowing language, the Imagination is worked upon, and the mind is too often lastingly stained.

French novels, and, alas! English novels also, have too often this fatal mischief in them; whilst Shakespeare can be read safely. There is coarseness in his plays; but it is the coarseness of words only, and if we will, the words may remain words. They are symbolical, they serve a purpose, but it is at our own option to seek further into their meaning. If we do, if we indulge our curiosity, the consequences rest on ourselves, not on the writer, nor on the literary necessity which made it incumbent on us to read Shakespeare.

The indulgence of curiosity! There lies the temptation, and no one who has in any way realised, either from observation or personal experience, the danger of the indulgence of curiosity, will doubt the need of giving the most earnest warning upon this point to young people. There is a specious argument ready to neutralise the warning, but it is a very false and fatal one. I was conversing not long ago with an Indian Pundit. He had, I believe, been a Brahmin, but when I saw him he certainly was in no sense an idolater, yet neither was he a Christian. He was simply a cultivated gentleman, who looked upon every religion philosophically, and was ready to accept the foundation of truth in all alike.

We were speaking of the beginning of the Book of Genesis, and of the account given in it of the fall of man. The Pundit did not appear inclined to turn away from the history in any way scoffingly, but he said there was one difficulty which stood in the way of his accepting the story knowledge was represented as evil. It was by eating the fruit of the tree of Knowledge that Eve fell. But this was contrary to fundamental truth; no knowledge could be evil. Therefore the Bible history must be in error.

I could not at the time attempt to argue with him; but I knew full well that he was wrong, and that there is a knowledge of evil which must bring with it sorrow and repentance, and which may bring with it sin. Eve was fully able to distinguish between the tree of Knowledge and the tree of Life. She required no more teaching, no more intimate acquaintance with the properties of the fruit to prevent her from confounding it with other fruit. All that she required was to have its appearance and position so brought before her as to enable her to avoid plucking it; and this knowledge she obtained through the medium of sight. But curiosity led her to desire the additional knowledge of taste. Sophistry blinded her, and she fell; and in like manner hundreds, thousands-may we not safely say millions?-of human beings have fallen, if not irretrievably, yet to their own bitter misery, by not contenting themselves with the bare symbolical words which were all they required for their guidance in life, but seeking further to convert the words into vivid pictures which might interest and excite the Imagination.

So especially it is in the present day. Young people must, they declare, read sensation novels. Why? Because the scenes so powerfully described work on the imagination. They cannot read Walter Scott. Why? Because when he has to speak of sin, he does so in unadorned words which do not excite passionate feelings, the especial means of temptation of the Evil One.

This is the spirit of the age. It is very difficult to guard against it. It creeps more or less into every form of fiction, and even of history; for we are all impatient of what we call dry facts. We want vivid pictures; and as descriptions of such are more arousing to the Imagination than descriptions of goodness, therefore we enjoy them more. There is but one safeguard: to check the evil in its germ; never to allow ourselves to inquire into details which shall give us precise images instead of general outlines; to be contented with symbolical knowledge. Then the Imagination will be unstained, and the evil which may accidentally meet us on our way through life, will pass and leave no spot. If we are not thus careful, we shall find that chance words, idle tales, and even sights and sounds, in themselves perfectly innocent, will by the power of association produce images distressing, if not actually polluting, which will haunt our path, and present themselves before us, even at the most sacred seasons, and in the most sacred places. Through God's help, they may be indeed repelled, and by His mercy forgiven; but they will nevertheless fill us with a shame that must add tenfold keenness to our self-condemnation, for we shall know that the evil is of our own creating.

Once for all, let us remember that God gives us the choice of acquiring so-called knowledge, but He does not give us the choice of forgetting it.

'To the pure all things are pure, but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving, is nothing pure.'-Titus i. 15.

A CONVERSATION ON FOREIGN BOOKS.

Arachne. You often ask me to recommend you a German bookhave you ever seen this one-Bilder aus meiner Knabenzeit, by L. Kalisch? It is not a tale, nor exactly an autobiography, but gives very curious recollections of his Jewish ancestors. There were four generations living at one time under the same roof, the most remarkable of whom was the great-grandfather, whom contemporaries called Chereb chadda (the sharp-edged sword), or Yad Hachasaka (the strong hand), after the name of a book which he had written. The deep reverence felt for him by his descendants is amusingly and rather touchingly shown by an anecdote which is related in the book. One day his son (grandfather of Ludwig Kalisch), already long a grey-haired and elderly man, reproved the little Ludwig, whereupon Chereb chadda said sharply, Blockhead, do not worry the child!' and the rebuked son bowed his head meekly, and went away without a word. He not only reproved his little grandson, however, but often amused him by relating amazing legends, one of which described King Solomon as crushing two mountains together. This aroused some scepticism in the little listener, who observed that there was nothing about it in the Bible. The Rabbis say so,' answered the grandfather conclusively; and if it were not true, they would not say so.'

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Spider. I must read it. Just lately we have had several interesting French books. Henry Greville's Héritage de Xénie is very sad and touching, and I rather like her Vou de Nadia.

A. She is at her best on Russian ground. You should read Terre de France, by Julliot, a new writer, who has made a really pretty story out of slight materials; but how strange it is that in their bitterness against the Germans, the French seem entirely to forget that the first Napoleon allowed indescribable cruelties to be perpetrated by his troops in Germany, and that the Parisians shouted à Berlin to all the echoes at the first word of the Franco-German war! S. The title of Le crime de Sylvestre Bonnard, by Anatole France. looked so startling that I was almost afraid to read it; but it turned out a very graceful story, and quite refreshing after that gloomy book, Un isolé, by Etienne Marcel, who generally writes so pleasantly. A. What is it about?

S. The story of two generations of executioners-those Sansons, whose official title was Monsieur de Paris! or, rather, that was the title given to the head, in each generation. Apparently the eldest

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