Yes, these are our books; and if we want more, can we not find work to do in the beautiful buildings that we raise up all over the country (and I know there was nothing like them in past times), wherein a man can put forth whatever is in him, and make his hands set forth his mind and his soul." She paused a little, and I for my part could not help staring at her, and thinking that if she were a book, the pictures in it were most lovely.
The colour mantled in her delicate sunburnt cheeks; her grey eyes, light amidst the tan of her face, kindly looked on us all as she spoke.

She paused, and said again: "As for your books, they were well enough for times when intelligent people had but little else in which they could take pleasure, and when they must needs supplement the sordid miseries of their own lives with imaginations of the lives of other people.

But I say flatly that in spite of all their cleverness and vigour, and capacity for story-telling, there is something loathsome about them.

Some of them, indeed, do here and there show some feeling for those whom the history-books call 'poor,' and of the misery of whose lives we have some inkling; but presently they give it up, and towards the end of the story we must be contented to see the hero and heroine living happily in an island of bliss on other people's troubles; and that after a long series of sham troubles (or mostly sham) of their own making, illustrated by dreary introspective nonsense about their feelings and aspirations, and all the rest of it; while the world must even then have gone on its way, and dug and sewed and baked and built and carpentered round about these useless--animals." "There!" said the old man, reverting to his dry sulky manner again.
"There's eloquence! I suppose you like it ?" "Yes," said I, very emphatically.
"Well," said he, "now the storm of eloquence has lulled for a little, suppose you answer my question ?--that is, if you like, you know," quoth he, with a sudden access of courtesy.
"What question ?" said I.

For I must confess that Ellen's strange and almost wild beauty had put it out of my head.
Said he: "First of all (excuse my catechising), is there competition in life, after the old kind, in the country whence you come ?" "Yes," said I, "it is the rule there." And I wondered as I spoke what fresh complications I should get into as a result of this answer.
"Question two," said the carle: "Are you not on the whole much freer, more energetic--in a word, healthier and happier--for it ?" I smiled.