The age-herald., 1901-02-10
Women and Books


 Women, o women-how one adores them; how comforting even their rebukes sometimes are!" unused man in this cor ner of briar-root tobacco smoke last night
 Sometimes my duty drives me to per haps undignified indignant protest against the vile 'sexnalism' and unrighteous eroti- cism of latter-day fiction; but if I display undue heat and rather violent indignation against Ouida, Corelli & Co.,, phrasemen- gers of literary filth, and all that wicked crew of potboilers down to the latest sexual furnace feeders, it Is because I know things no good man ought ever to know, and l appreciate very strongly, even passionately, the absolute necessity that young girls and young women shall remain ignorant of and unspotted from the very things which latter-day novels are ev- dently written to glorify And for once in my life I am unselfish. for there is none feminine of my race who is or can be sub ject to the accursed influence of fiction as it is daily offered up from the gutters
 Your praiseworthy zeal leads you too far when it causes you to include Mrs. Ward with the boiling crew of evil now raising deadly fumes to conceal real lit
  lectual young woman to me yesterday. Her remark embarrassed me, for she is a wom- an whose judgment of literature is almost the soundest and safest I acquainted with, and she is very womanly, sweetly feminine, with no more purpose of masque- rading in mannishness than have of wear ing feathers on my hat or ribbons on my briar-root pipe Mrs Ward, she said all most sarcastically, is the strongest, brav- est, best and womanliest of all women writers of fiction since George Eliot, and I know you adore George Eliot. Eleanor is the strongest novel of this generation. That means little to you but I'll go your length. "Eleanor' is one of the strongest books in our tongue
 So saying the lovely woman looked at me rather defiantly. Go read "Eleanor' again and learn for yourselfr she said.''
 Books and Coffee.
 Having slept till past noon, because of much wearness, I went to a fashionable place of refreshment for cup of coffee and bun. Whilst I waited to be served, and glanced at the morning newspaper, four women entered the place and, seated themselves at the table where I sat They were women of varying years from young womanhood to old age, and were clearly women of culture and gentleness; soft of voice and seem!y. They carried book cata- logues, and as they seated themselves they seemed to resume rather than begin. general talk on books The youngest, woman with an intellectual face, and a scholarly bearing that was enhanced per haps by pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, carried written list of new books which she read softly to her companions, the name of each book calling forth brief and hurried comment. The names, most of them, I had seen in the lists of various publishers, and appeared to belong almost entirely to the pot-boiling seXualism' of the day. It was apparent in moment that this written list did not belong to the young woman of the spectacles for she remarked that we have quite lot of new books, perhaps twenty, haven't we mama?' ad- dressing an adorable white-haired old lady of the party. She then began to call them off and my ear was keenly, almost eager ly attentive, for I wished to know what this one read. But my heart fell she proceeded, except as she said Eleanor I felt just trihe of satisfaction, remem- bering what the wise woman had told me. Pot-boilers, pot boilers, on the maiden went with her list of her own new books, all of a kind and that kind hopeessly bad and finally she looked up and concluded her recitation with
 A Furnace of Earth
 :" My God" I groaned involutarily, impu- sively. The waiter stopped anxiously.
 My coffee is cold l said, and l went out wondering if she knew"