As it is, your books are snuffed out by the immense amount of trash handled by the ordinary Catholic bookseller, and you help this by writing deep-dyed hypocrisy of the trash-makers. Azarias mildly expresses my idea in one of his posthumous papers: “Catholic reviewers must plead guilty to the impeachment of having been in the past too laudatory of inferior work.” The stories of that sterling man, Malcolm Johnston, called Dukesborough Tales, I once gave to a wretched family. On visiting them a week after, what delight it was to hear the health-giving laughter they had found in them. To another family I gave Billy Downs. Asking how they liked them, I was told that they were as “fine as silk.” A youth of fourteen, his face decidedly humorous, volunteered the criticism that “Billy had no grit.” During the illness of four or five patients of mine I read the assembled family “Chumming With a Savage,” “Joe of Lahaina.” When I came to the final sentence in Joe, where Charlie Stoddard leaves him “sitting and singing in the mouth of his grave—clothed all in death,” two of the youngsters burst into tears, while the father much agitated, said, “Doctor, I don’t see how he had the heart to leave him.” They were so much attached to the book that, although it had been my choice old chum in many a land, I gave it to them. Lately I gave “Life Around Us,” a collection of stories by Maurice F. Egan. It was a great success. Egan has the true touch for the masses when he wishes. Another little story much prized was Nugent Robinson’s “Better Than Gold.” To these might be added in cheap form those of Marian Brunowe, May Crowley, Helen Sweeney, a promising young writer, and Lelia Bugg. How to reach the poor with these books presents few obstacles. Cardinal Vaughan has solved the difficulty in England. Attach to every parish church in city and country a library of well selected interesting Catholic books. Let their circulation be free of charge. The great majority of Catholic poor attend some of the Sunday Masses. If the library is open, they will gladly take a book home. The reading of this book will instil a taste. They will tell their friends of it. It will be the subject of many a chat. If it is cheap, not a few of the neighbors will wish to purchase it. Their criticism, always racy and generally correct, will, as Birrell has pointed out in one of his essays, be its sure pass to success. After a year’s friendly intercourse the library will become a necessity, and they will gladly pay a fee for their week’s delight. The author that has won their hearts will be on their lips, his new books, on account of old ties, will be eagerly purchased and loudly proclaimed.