Why does not the young girl, who is so fastidious about the class of people with whom she will associate, exercise even ordinary discrimination in the selection of an author? This is the companion whose influence sinks deeper and lasts longer than that of the person with whom she sips tea or takes a walk. He whispers into her soul under the shade of the midnight lamp. He embeds his principles on her brain. He lives in her dreams. He becomes her oracle to conjure by. [Side note: 4] Or, let us put the question this way: How many of the men and women who flit across the pages of modern fiction would a respectable Catholic admit into his home or introduce to his family? He would not give them his company, but he gives them his brains. The hem of his garment they may not touch, but the pith of his life he places at their disposal. Make no mistake about it. You cannot shake off the influence of your author. His thoughts become your thoughts. He weaves himself into the woof of your mind. [Side note: 5] How is it that when the proselytiser comes to your parish in human shape you are all afire, but when he comes speaking, not by one but a hundred tongues, silently but effectively sapping the Faith or virtue of your flock, no pulpit rings with denunciation? All these questions may be answered by another most pertinent to the priest. Have the people been taught to realise the danger confronting them? Have their consciences been awakened? Have we been dumb watch-dogs while they are being devoured? [Side note: Apologies] The treatment of this subject would be incomplete if the stock apologies for dangerous reading were not dealt with. When you remonstrate with a Catholic on the character of his reading, you are sure to be met with some of the following, and any one of them is supposed to be a complete justification, no matter how bad the book:-- [Side note: Style] "_I read these books for the style_." This is sometimes heard from people whose pretentions to literary taste borders on the grotesque; but let that pass. Has a paralysis fallen on every hand that wields a Catholic pen? Does the light of Faith beaming on a human mind quench the beauties of imagination or dull the taste? Or, is a perfect style to be found only among the apostles of evil? Surely the long range of Catholic writers offers an ample variety of the most perfect exponents of literary style. Let us be honest. It is not for the style these books are read; it is because they gratify an unhealthy craving, because they are soft, sensual, suggestive, and stimulate feelings not far from the border-land of sin. [Side note: I see no harm] "_I see no harm in them_." Now by this answer you implicitly admit that you see no good. Have you then no remorse for frittering away such a precious gift of God as time? If the damned got five minutes of that time to repent, every chamber in hell would be empty. Yet you squander months and years without a qualm.