He did not come back to us that evening, but I believe he was to be heard of later at the sign of the "Billiard and Cue." "Well," said the young sculptor, returning to the old point of departure, "for my own part, I find much that is elevating in modern works." "So do I," said Ideala; "I find much that raises me on stilts." "But even that eminence would enable you to look over other people's heads and beyond." "It would," she answered, "if human nature didn't desire a sense of security; but, as it is, when I am artificially set up, I find that all I can do is to look at my own feet, and tremble lest I fall. Modern literature stimulates; it doesn't nourish. It makes you feel like a giant for a moment, but leaves you crushed like a worm, and without faith, without love, without hope. It excites you pleasurably, and when you see life through its medium you never suspect that the vision is distorted. It makes you think the Iconoclast the greatest hero, and causes you to feel that you share his glory when you help him with your approval to overthrow all the images you ever cherished; but when the work of destruction is over, and you look about you once more with sober eyes, you find you have sacrificed your all for nothing. Your false guide fails you when you want him most. He robs you, and leaves you hungry, thirsty, and alone in the wilderness to which he has beguiled you. There is no need for new theories of Life and Religion; all we require is strength and courage to perfect the old ones. [Footnote: She quite changed her mind upon this subject eventually, and held that there was not only need of new theories, but good hope that we should have them.] What the mind wants is food it can grow upon, not stimulants which inflate it for a time with a fancied sense of power that has no real existence. But I have small hope for our nation when I think of the sparkling trash that the mind of the multitude daily imbibes and craves for. I mean our novels. What a fine affectation of goodness there is in most of them! And what a perfect moral is tacked on to them!--like the _balayeuse_ at the bottom of a lady's dress; but, like the _balayeuse_, it is only meant to be a protection and a finish, and, however precious it may be, it suffers from contact with the dirt, and sooner or later has to be cut out and cast aside, soiled and useless. Some doggerel a friend of mine scribbled on one book in particular describes dozens of popular novels exactly: O what a beautiful history! Think what temptations they passed! Each one more cruelly trying, More tempting, indeed, than the last. And what a lesson it teaches; No passion from evil's exempted-- Whilst admiring the moral it preaches, It makes you quite long to be tempted.