can do that, or successfully banish all these horrors from the world.
Loose habits on the part of men destroy the foundation of social order and true development. True love-marriage only will make the world stronger and better than it is or possibly can be otherwise; besides which, there is no true happiness in any other state, provided the union is what it should be on both sides, which very frequently it is not in these days — more's the pity! It is said that Americans never really love. I scarce believe it. They are generally too busy to love, or do anything else than make money. They must stop it, or the race, all that's good in it, will run out. As it is, it is dependent upon the varied currents of foreign blood for the maintenance of its physical integrity and muscle. It has too much nerve and brain; hence is too fond of excitement to permit of quiet fireside joys. It will outgrow that in time, through the admixture of slower blood and brain. Men seem to want change in love affairs, wholly forgetful that any one woman is capable of a myriad changes, in love and everything else, if a man has judgment, sense, and "gumption" enough to find them out and ring them.
Love with woman is not merely an instinct; it is an art, and a fine one. It is not every female who knows this secret. When she does, she becomes not merely a personage, but a power in the land. . . Men love strongest in cold weather, and are then most easily captivated. Women are most tender and susceptible in the vernal months. When flowers bloom, she does also. With real love, a woman can subdue and win back to God and virtue any lost or wandering soul in his great universe. Let a woman realize that she really and truly is loved, and all the gales of hell and ruin shall not blow her away from the side of the man she adores and is cherished by . . God help him whom a woman truly hates, for her magnetic spore will follow him to the end of the earth and life, and fasten itself upon his soul, and breed its dreadful larvae there, and fang him to the bitter death. I learned this from New Orleans Alice — the terrible queen of the Voudeaux — my friend, and so good and gentle, so kind and true to me when the fearful fever racked my body, and its madness glozed my brain, simply from gratitude; for I had taught her how to read, — in the dark times, — when to do so was a crime by statute law. And there
