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queathed to them by parents who loved not each other, and brought them thither in the midst of social storms.

Many of us poor men and women suffer a whole life through because we were launched into being under just such circumstances! a thing of which there is no need and never will be; for five minutes of cool talk, each party determining to be just and true, will avert all quarrels and then, if after such double victories God gives increase, it will be the growth of summer tide, not the barren bleakness of cold and dreadful winter, as now!

Wives are hypocritical whenever unloved, and will play a game of deception too deep for the cunning of the ablest man living! A woman's nature from top to toe is an eternal protest against deprivation of, or isolation in, love; she must love or die; else she will steal - what passes for it; and no man living can prevent her if she makes up her mind to gratify, not passion,- for, thank God, nearly all women are above that!-but her desire to be loved and love in return. If a man loves his wife, not all earth and wealth, and fame, and power -nay, all of them combined, with the forces of Hades to back them can win her to a single act against his honor or her own! In which respect even the lowliest of her sex stands towering in virtue and grandeur amazingly above the best man who yet has walked this modern earth.

"Oh, the holocaust of human hearts! Oh, the lakes of bitter tears! and all because affection is butchered and its laws and rights unheeded. Down South, during the war, in New Orleans, Judge Salmon P. Chase and the writer of this was at the examination of a negro school, officered by a carpet-bagger named Warren, who, to show off his proficiency as teacher, put his little sharp-eyed pupils through their best paces, and halted one whole class by first asking them to explain to the judge that a penholder in his hand was a "corrugated" utensil; while the reading book, was a "parallelopiped" in shape. After it was over one bright little fellow called his mates about him and said, "De teacher said dat it was a barrel full o' pie plant, but I'm damn if 'twarn't a book!"

Well, a home without love is a parallelopiped, but with it a book! a book of life, and joy, and peace, with a full index, good print, and illustrated by the King Artist, God Almighty! It is in two volumes, one to be read and mastered on earth; the other for perusal in heaven, forever and

for aye.

It is time that men begun in reality to understand that the grand central thought of God is Love, and that its manifested incarnation is - WOMAN!

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When husbands and wives love each other, nature will take especial pains and pride in giving them perfect, diseaseless offspring as a result, just to show her good intentions, and what she is capable of accomplishing under proper conditions. We have been told very frequently of late years, by various "reformers," - Heaven save the mark!. that parentage should always be on purpose and by rule, -just the self-same ones that govern the stock-breeder in his farm-yard; totally oblivious of the fact that human beings are not on a level with the brute beasts of forest, field, and fen; and that an infinitely higher range of laws are applicable to, and govern, man, than rules the lowing herds. When that idea was advanced to the author of this work, and an expression of opinion solicited, the reply was, Such philosophers are fools! What they call philosophy is really nonsense, preceded by a dash and two d's! People are always talking about man's animal passions. Would to Heaven he were as pure and true as are the beasts, for they love, and herd together year in and year out; seldom have misunderstandings, but bravely defend each other; while, as for ardor, they always use, but never abuse it! Its season and uses come and go, and they obey the divine instinct, and then. wait content till winter is away and blooming spring comes once again. But man! Excuse us, dear animals, for degrading you to the level of millions who pass for, but alas! are not, men, because they forget, which you never do, that love, when healthy, is always pure, therefore ever tender, winning, persuasive, gallant, chivalrous, concessive, emotional, considerate, appealing, kind, and should be, mutual. Beasts are never

guilty of the dreadful crime, rape; men, so called, notoriously are, whether a legal sanction stands its defence or not. True love is never harsh, hasty, imperative, demanding, cruel, or unjust, selfish, importunate, or exacting; save, of course, on the part of the woman, down to whose soul is descending the divine elements of a coming son or daughter; and he who will not humor a woman then is not fit to have her,- is less great deal less-than half a man!

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Please, in connection with what has just been written, read this from Swinburne, and read it very slowly, carefully :

"Before the beginning of years

There came to the making of man

Time, with a gift of tears;

Grief, with a glass that ran;

Pleasure, with pain for leaven;
Summer, with flowers that fell;
Remembrance fallen from heaven,
And madness risen from hell;
Strength without hands to smitę;
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light,

And life, the shadow of death.

"And the high gods took in hand

Fire, and the falling of tears,

And a measure of sliding sand

From under the feet of the years;

And froth and drift of the sea,

And dust of the laboring earth,

And bodies of things to be

In the houses of death and of birth;
And wrought with weeping and laughter,

And fashioned with loathing and love

With life before and after,

And death beneath and above,

For a day and a night and a morrow

That his strength might endure for a span,

With travail and heavy sorrow,

The holy spirit of man.

"From the winds of the north and south
They gathered as unto strife;
They breathed upon his mouth,
They filled his body with life;
Eyesight and speech they wrought
For the veils of the soul therein;
A time for labor and thought,

A time to serve and to sin:
They gave him light in his ways,

And love, and space for delight,

And beauty and length of days,
And night, and sleep in the night.

"His speech is a burning fire;
With his lips he travaileth;

In his heart is a blind desire,

In his eyes foreknowledge of death;
He weaves and is clothed with derision,
Sows and shall not reap:

His life is a watch or a vision

Between a sleep and a sleep."

Than that no truer poem ever fell from human lips or pen, because in the new light here thrown upon its recondite meaning, it looms up as a new revelation!

Then, when she is fulfilling her sacred mission, and is in the variable climate of whim, mood, caprice, now December, then July, anon running the entire gamut of change, he who gazes on her with other than purely human eyes had better close them; for then she is the grandest mystery that ever moved! and no true MAN can then look into the profound depths of her soul save in grateful, silent, holy awe; nor peer into the labyrinths of her divinely luminous eyes without being stirred to the very floor of manhood; for to look is to be inspired, and inspiration and love are twins, born of one mother, sired by one God!

And yet, despite a world's experience, there are what look like men, who insanely fly at a woman, in anger, mauvaise ardor, or worse, then, when, if ever, she should nestle in his heart and be comforted and stilled. Then, what pass for, but are not really,

men, neglect her more than ever, and fail to render her the love, tenderness, delicacy and respect which are her due, the due of every human woman when bearing the burden of immortality from Eternity to Time! But neglect, ill-treatment, is too often her lot, and many a woman has fallen into the cold grave for lack of sympathy, love, and forbearance, when she needed it most. There are many methods of murder which are not recognized as such before human tribunals, but which are none the less effective, and murder for all that; and thousands of women have been tortured and harassed into premature shrouds, whom a fair share of decent consideration and affection would have kept on earth for many a long and happy year. That is murder!

Woman nature is a very queer thing. Let a man hector and quarrel with his wife; and immediately thereafter let another man condole with her, and if that husband does not wear a splendid pair of cuckold horns it will not be because she is not seducible, himself a dolt, and the sympathizing condoler not susceptible, nor the opportunity ready made; for under just such circumstances thousands of good women have fallen. A word to the wise, et cetera, and so forth!

That is not a model household, but a very frequent one in these latter days, wherein the heads pride themselves on the tact with which they have mutually outwitted each other: where the man, who, as he discusses his morning chop, smiles gayly in his sleeve at his exploit of the last night, and thinks, as he looks at the occupant of the chair at the other end of the breakfast-table, "Oh, ho, my fine lady, you're little aware of what a good time I had with Dolly and Betty, and Polly and Hetty, and Miss Smirk and Mrs. Folloll!—ah, what a pleasant time! you bet!" All the while little dreaming of how she is thinking as she hands the matutinal coffee: "Heigh-ho! you little dream of what a glorious time I had with dear darling Fitz Augustus Mountjoy! -the duck! What a pair of horns you are wearing, to be sure! How happy you'd be if you only knew it, my dear!" And so goes the poison in society, ever spreading, ever spreading! Who's to blame? Society itself! which, by encouraging morbid thought, and thinkers, new

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