Novel-Reading and Its Spiritual Dangers
By A Pastor
HAVING, by the grace of God, escaped this species of evil, I am only able to give the experience of some of my less fortunate, Judgment-bound associates; and judging from what they say, I cannot but conclude that of all the wily intrigues of Satan to ensnare the souls of the young and innocent, this is one of the most fatal. Indulgence in this sinful practice will largely account for the giddy, nonsensical disposition of so many of the fairest specimens of the human race—and females in particular. Beauty sits upon the outward features, but the disposition manifested is empty and repulsive. Not long since, a lady friend, a member of the Baptist Association, called to see me, and in the course of conversation the subject of novel-reading was introduced. She said that while at home with her parents she received wholesome, Christian instruction, and was never allowed to indulge in such reading at all; but that, contrary to the teaching of her pious parents, she had sat up till long after midnight, poring over thrilling adventures and exciting love stories, until her eyes became dim and her brain reeled from the exertions to satisfy her curiosity, and often she would be afraid to lift her eyes off the alluring sheet, for fear she might, in the stillness of the midnight hour and the faint glimmer of her lamp, behold some of the fearful monsters and tragic scenes portrayed to her mind by the writer. At last she would cast the sheet aside, extinguish the light, and, jumping into bed, cover herself up entirely, and in breathless suspense imagine herself in danger until nature becoming exhausted she would fall asleep. We have heard of delirium tremens ensuing from the use of tobacco and strong drink, but I consider this just such a case as the result of novel-reading. How far are we wrong, the reader may judge. Often this unhappy woman, after she had changed her situation in life, would not in the evening light a candle or kindle a fire; but fancying danger around, would seek safety on the threshold of the door—awaiting in almost breathless suspense the return of her husband, who would sometimes find her shivering from the cold to which she had exposed herself. She said she knew that “Norwood” was written by Henry Ward Beecher, but did not for some time think that he was a minister of the gospel. Having been led to abandon novel-reading, she gave her heart to the Lord, and finds joy in reading the Bible. Another friend, who, happy in the Lord, told me that when she was converted she had a large box full of novels—all of which she burned, except some that were carried off by those who saw her doing it; and since that time she has not allowed one to be in the house; but even now, she says, that when she is earnestly engaged in reading God’s word, the recollection of those fearful and abominable tales will flash into her mind and mar her peace. The enemy is loth to give up his victim. Oh, how terrible—how dangerous a practice is novel-reading! It leads to eternal wretchedness. Reader, if guilty of this fascinating evil, abandon it. God’s word will cheer your heart; make it the man of your counsel, and live.—A Pastor.