'Amy Barlow, writing of the late 1890s, recalls how her mother seemed to have a vivid memory of her childhood reading, and would recommend enthusiastically to her daughters books ... [including] a particular object of [Barlow's] derision, "The Old Helmet": "I had heard so much about this book that when it came my way when I was sixteen, I pounced on it eagerly ... [gives mocking summary of romantic, historical plot] ... A movng story, indeed, but wasted on us."'