Three generations

"THE SORROWS OF WERTHER" 47
town once a week, and could bring out a book for
Mary.
Many a book he brought her, though his wife did
not quite see with him in the matter. Marget was
not a reader, and she thought reading, except in the
case of a "good book" on the Sabbath day, a worse
than doubtful occupation for a young girl. It would
be better for Mary to take out her seam with her, and
put in a stitch when she could. But kind John Walker
ruled that Mary should have a treat so long as there
was the opportunity, and Marget had too much respect
for her husband's affection for her sister to prevent
him having his way. One of the books brought to
my mother which impressed her greatly was "The
Sorrows of Werther " — in a translation, of course.
She often spoke of it long afterwards, and would ask
wistfully, when modern books were being discussed,
" Have you read ' The Sorrows of Werther ' ?" Another
book on which she set a high value, much higher than it
deserved, was one of Fanny Burney's novels. But it
was not " Evelina," which still finds readers as a
famous classic, nor " Cecilia," which, if it has ceased
to be read, retains claims from its animated descrip-
tions and clever, if exaggerated, studies of character.
My mother's faith was pinned to " Camilla, or a Picture
of Youth," in which the author's didactic morality
and her extreme sentimentality had nearly reached
their climax. I wonder if there is one, not to say
many, persons alive who have waded through the
five volumes of "Camilla," or have dipped into the
author's last novel, "The Wanderer," for which she
was paid three thousand pounds, and in return fell
far below her ordinary level, while she descanted in
sonorous Johnsonian language on the unlifelike details.