yellow—outside; and of all qualities—good, bed, and indifferent—inside.
Allan Lindsay was at first completely carried away with his new studies, but utter six months of excessive novel-reading he checked himself abruptly.
"This will not do, girls," he said to Isabel and Amy, and Phemia, who were, perhaps, as much addicted to the novels as he was, but not so much affected by them. "This is bad stuff to grow men and women upon. Your father did not write books like this, and I am glad of it, Amy; nor did he read them, I suppose, for he had so few."
"Yes, I think he read them to review them, but he sold all the least useful part of his library before we left, and the novels were bulky, besides, for I recollect they were all in large print."
"Well, he read them as a matter of business, not for amusement; I am glad of it," repeated Allan.
"I am sure, Allan, you have had great interest and great pleasure in these books," said Isabel.
"Yes, too much pleasure and interest, I am too apt to think that I am the hero, getting into scrapes, and getting out of them; coming into large fortunes that I have never earned, or earn-
