worth, shows that a real advance has been made. This advance has left
plainly marked traces on the fiction of our time, where, too, we shall
find plentiful evidence of that hypocrisy which has become our
besetting sin.

As we look back upon the list of the great authors who have written in
the present century, it must be with a feeling of gratitude for the
benefits they have conferred. They have devoted their lives to the
production of literary works, the beauty and excellence of which have
incalculably elevated the public taste. They have held up ideals and
noble conceptions which insensibly impart a dignity to life, and an
encouragement to youthful aspiration. They have described so truthfully
and sympathetically the character and aims of different classes and
different peoples, that whoever reads their works cannot but feel
himself drawn nearer to great divisions of the human race, which he had
hitherto regarded with an indifferent or a prejudiced eye. The novels
of Scott, of Dickens, of Thackeray, of George Eliot, of Miss Austen, of
Miss Ferrier, of very many others, have afforded to hundreds of
thousands, young and old, a never failing source of healthful
entertainment. Domestic life, as well in the cottage as the castle, has
been cheered and enlivened by their presence. Their examples of
heroism, of patience, of generosity, have excited the emulation of the
young, while their pictures of selfishness and vice have stifled many
an evil inclination and have given birth to many a good resolution.

Such writers as these have expressed the best tendencies of the age.
And they have been able to do so because they themselves are among the
best men and women of their time. But, unfortunately, as the nineteenth
century has many evil characteristics, and as depraved and weak-minded
persons are often endowed with some literary capacity, a great deal of