Before considering the common school, however, we have to notice a phenomenon in letters—­namely, the evolution of the modern newspaper as a vehicle for general reading-matter.  Not content with giving the news, or even with creating news and increasing its sensational character, it grasps at the wider field of supplying reading material for the million, usurping the place of books and to a large extent of periodicals.  The effect of this new departure in journalism is beginning to attract attention.  An increasing number of people read nothing except the newspapers.  Consequently, they get little except scraps and bits; no subject is considered thoroughly or exhaustively; and they are furnished with not much more than the small change for superficial conversation.  The habit of excessive newspaper reading, in which a great variety of topics is inadequately treated, has a curious effect on the mind.  It becomes demoralized, gradually loses the power of concentration or of continuous thought, and even loses the inclination to read the long articles which the newspaper prints.  The eye catches a thousand things, but is detained by no one.  Variety, which in limitations is wholesome in literary as well as in physical diet, creates dyspepsia when it is excessive, and when the literary viands are badly cooked and badly served the evil is increased.  The mind loses the power of discrimination, the taste is lowered, and the appetite becomes diseased.  The effect of this scrappy, desultory reading is bad enough when the hashed compound selected is tolerably good.  It becomes a very serious matter when the reading itself is vapid, frivolous, or bad.  The responsibility of selecting the mental food for millions of people is serious.  When, in the last century, in England, the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Information, which accomplished so much good, was organized, this responsibility was felt, and competent hands prepared the popular books and pamphlets that were cheap in price and widely diffused.  Now, it happens that a hundred thousand people, perhaps a million in some cases, surrender the right of the all-important selection of the food for their minds to some unknown and irresponsible person whose business it is to choose the miscellaneous reading-matter for a particular newspaper.  His or her taste may be good, or it may be immature and vicious; it may be used simply to create a sensation; and yet the million of readers get nothing except what this one person chooses they shall read.  It is an astonishing abdication of individual preference.  Day after day, Sunday after Sunday, they read only what this unknown person selects for them.  Instead of going to the library and cultivating their own tastes, and pursuing some subject that will increase their mental vigor and add to their permanent stock of thought, they fritter away their time upon a hash of literature chopped up for them by a person possibly very unfit even to make good hash.  The mere statement of this surrender of one’s judgment of what shall be his intellectual life is alarming.