Some readers become so completely absorbed in books that they cannot take the mind from a sad or an exciting story. I have known deaf men to enter into such a story as George Eliot’s “Mill on the Floss” so that they lived through the lives of the various characters and found that they could not shake off the depression. Usually I can tell when the author is deaf by the general character of the story. The dialogue is as a rule unnatural and the tone is apt to be gloomy. Music, or light, aimless conversation would clear the mind and make the reader remember that it is only a story—but to the deaf man, deprived of these aids, the tragedy depicted on the printed page becomes shockingly real. The best remedy for me is to “read in streaks.” Whenever I find that a book is liable to have this powerful effect on me I do not read continuously, but after a few chapters I take up something in lighter vein, or even a serious volume of solid thought. Some of us deaf acquire a morbid desire to read sad or sombre literature. This mistake should be overcome even if it requires a supreme effort. If one can acquire faith in the Bible and reverence for its teachings it will give greater comfort to the deaf than will any other book. I place Shakespeare next, then Milton and the other great poets. But let a deaf man read what interests him, if it be nothing but the local paper. If he lives in the country let him become a correspondent for his local paper, and join the hunt for local news. He should leave out of his list all tales of depression and sin. The deaf person should make a point of reading half a dozen of the “best sellers” each year. They are likely to be stories of human nature, and they will undoubtedly contain natural dialogue; these elements are sadly needed by the deaf, yet they are the least likely to come into the silent world. Of course you will contend, and truly, that it is supremely foolish for grown men and women to give way to imaginary fears and doubts. Yet the very absurdity makes it harder to bring cool reason into the fight against these imps. As Claude Melnotte in “The Lady of Lyons” puts it: “It is the sting of such a woe as mine To _feel I am a man_!” Again, my best remedy is to force the mind backward into familiar incidents which clearly show that these fierce lions of the imagination are at best mere scarecrows. There is one favorite adventure which usually serves to lift the spell.