which is represented blindfolded, yet holding the balances equally, love credits its object with all imaginary excellence, and admits nothing into the opposite scale. Love is such an enchantress, that at her will defects become virtues, deformity assumes the name and style of beauty, and even hideous vices have appeared under an attractive form. She is often indignant when any venture to hint that, to say the least of it, it is strange there should be but one perfect being in the world, and that from amongst the millions living, that one should be hers. The fast friendship of years has before now been severed because the faithful friend has made known, what many knew, but none save herself was true enough to tell. Even the love of father and of mother, which with self-sacrificing zeal had sought their child's good all the years of her life,—even this has been questioned and doubted, when it asked for fuller knowledge and more explicit guarantee of the character and antecedents of him to whose hands their child sought to commit her life's destiny and happiness. It is sad when love is thus blind; it is as if a cloud of spray should blind the helmsman just at the very moment when the turn of his hand will float into safety or send him adrift upon the cruel rocks. It is sad that a woman should be blind just at the time when, above all others, she has need of a calm clear gaze; sad, she should be unable to see aright in the supreme concern and event of her earthly life; sad, that when she gives herself away, her vision should be so impaired as to be unable to discern the real features of the man to whom she confides her all. And yet many have thus been blind, and have suffered much in the operation by which their blindness was removed, and still more have they

suffered through the long years in which they have secretly mourned that they had made a lifelong mistake.

In the strongest terms let it be said, never marry one whom in your inmost soul you cannot respect and love. Woman needs some one to whom she can look up, and in whom she can rest; one on whom she can lavish the wealth of her affection, and from whom she can receive in return the love her soul craves; she was formed to love and to be loved, and marriage which does not yield her these, does not satisfy the instincts and longings of her nature. Life without love is a sad existence for any one; but married life without love is a misery and peril, especially to a woman.

Be sure your love is intelligent, that the object of it is worthy, not perfect,-for perfection is unknown on earth. Let the adventitious circumstances of fortune and station be as nothing to the possession of sterling qualities of mind and heart. Diversity there may be in many respects, in temperament and personal appearance, let there be no great disparity of age or culture. Especially take care that there is sympathy and oneness in the most vital concerns. See to it, that those things which you hold most sacred and dear, are those to which he gives the first place; that in your views of life, its aims and motives, its aspirations and hopes, you are essentially like. minded. These things touch the very springs of union and communion, and unless there is oneness here, there can never be the most thorough union and the sweetest communion. It is not well when either husband or wife has to feel that the subjects which are of the highest moment and the richest delight are just those on which the lips have to be silent, and on which no sympathy is felt.

And if such an one never seeks your love, be sure you never yield it to one whom in your inmost soul you cannot esteem and cherish. Better a thousand times be unmarried than mated to one who is not of kindred spirit. The married state, when there is real union, is unquestionably the highest and the best; but the unmarried state is infinitely to be preferred to it when there is not the fullest sympathy and oneness. "A house divided against itself cannot stand.” Much more hearts and lives united together yet tending in their deepest currents and strongest forces in contrary directions cannot thrive in affection and happiness. Let not love blindly lead you into union with one unsuitable and unworthy.

Another admonition must be offered, for which it could be wished there were no necessity, but for which, alas! there is only too great need. No false notions of delicacy must be allowed to withhold the admonition.

Take care that you do not love sinfully.

We read sometimes in the newspapers of those who have "loved not wisely, but too well." Many most popular works of fiction not excluded from the family circle are made to turn on love abused and outraged. Occurrences take place within the sphere of our own knowledge and observation which demonstrate the peril from which none are absolutely free. It is said sometimes of those for whom little else than pity is felt, "They have fallen into bad hands." The instances are unhappily not few in which through thoughtlessness and gaiety, through misguided passion and sinful love, the young have slipped from purity and virtue, the consequence of which has been unspeakable shame and suffering, if not a life of sin, disgrace, and misery.

Such cases make it imperative on any one who writes on the love of woman, to say with all earnestness and solemnity, Be on your guard; maintain the utmost purity of thought and imagination, observe the greatest delicacy of speech, cultivate the strictest modesty of dress and demeanour, and shun all companionship in which these things are not observed. There is no need to be a prude, but better be too strict than too lax. Avoid the appearance, and avoid the beginning of evil. Fain would I rear a danger-signal in the path of love, to go beyond which is to tread on forbidden ground, and to imperil your good name, your position in society, and your happiness. Fain would I light a beacon-fire which should flame upwards with quenchless light and scorching heat, against the precipice over which thousands have fallen to the depths of shame and misery and suffering, and where many have been driven to suicide, or met an untimely end. How can I do this? How better than by recounting the history and repeating the wail of one who thus fell?

One dark Saturday morning in the dead of winter, there died at the Commercial Hospital, Cincinnati, a young woman over whose head only two-and-twenty summers had passed. She had once been possessed of an enviable share of beauty; had been, as she herself said, "flattered and sought for the charms of her face;" but, alas! she fell. Once the pride of respectable parentage, her first wrong step was the small beginning of the "same old story over again" which has been the only lifehistory of thousands. Highly educated and accomplished in manners, she might have shone in the best society. But the evil hour that proved her ruin was but the door from child

hood; and having spent a young life in disgrace and shame, the poor friendless one died the melancholy death of a brokenhearted outcast. Among her personal effects was found, in manuscript, the following lines, entitled "Beautiful Snow." I know not in all literature, anything which can convey with more thrilling power the admonition I seek to impress.

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,

With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its glow;
Once I was loved for my innocent grace—
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face!
Father-mother-sisters,—all,

God and myself I have lost by my fall;