“WHY, my dear!” retorted the daughter, “It is sentimental—I abominate everything that is sentimental—it is so unfashionable too.” “I NEVER knew before,” said Mr. _Holmes_, “that wit was subject to caprice of fashion.” “WHY ’Squire _Billy_,” returned Miss, “who is just arrived from the centre of politeness and fashion, says the bettermost genii never read any sentimental books—so you see sentiment is out of date.” THE company rose to go out.— “SENTIMENT out of date!” cries _Worthy_, repeating the words of Miss _Bourn_, and taking the book from her mother, as she walked towards the door—“Sentiment out of date—alas! poor _Yorick_—may thy pages never be soiled by the fingers of prejudice.” He continued his address to them, as they went out, in the same _Shandean_ tone—“_These_ antisentimentalists would banish thee from the society of all books! Unto what a pitiful size are the race of _readers_ dwindled! Surely these _antis_ have more to do with thee, than the gods of the Canaanites—In character and understanding they are alike—eyes have _they_, but they see not—ears have _they_, but they hear not, neither is there any knowledge to be found in them.” “It is hardly worth while to beat it into them,” said my father-in-law, “so let us follow the company.” WE did so—they walked toward the house, and _Worthy_ and myself brought up the rear. I COULD not but remark, as we went on, that Miss _Bourn_ had spoken the sentiments of many of her sex;—“and whence,” said I to _Worthy_, “arises this detestation of books in _some_ of us females, and why are _they_ enemies to anything that may be called sentiment and conversation: I grant it often happens there is such rapidity of speeches that one may be at a loss to distinguish the speakers; but why is there such a calm silence, should an unfortunate sentiment inadvertently”—“I will tell you,” interrupted he, “You all read, and it is from the books which engage your attention, that you generally imbibe your ideas of the principal subjects discussed in company—now, the books which employ your hours of study, happen to be Novels; and the _subjects_ contained in these Novels are commonly confined to _dress_, _balls_, _visiting_, and the like _edifying_ topicks; does it not follow, that these must be the subjects of your conversation? I will not dispute whether the Novel makes the woman, or the woman makes the Novel; or whether they are written to engage your attention, or flatter your vanity. I believe the results will shew they depend, in some measure, upon each other; and an uninformed woman, by reading them, only augments the number of her futile ideas. _The female mind_, notwithstanding, _is competent to any talk_, and the accomplishments of an elegant woman depend on a proper cultivation of her intelligent powers; a barrenness—a sterility of conversation—immediately discovers where this cultivation is wanting.”