Inst, brutal, coarse, tow-cloth joys, and more upon religion, science, soul, art, tenderness, manhood, womanhood, charity, justice, mercy; all that is good, grand, high, beautiful, and true. So, by sure but imperceptible degrees the subject ascends, refines, enlarges, and improves, and in proportion thereto the intenser love-joys follow! No sensible person prefers to dwell in the cellar. But there are millions who live whole lives in affection's cellars, — in the human kitchen, — and seldom venture into life's drawing-room or parlor, where angel-guests like to come, and still more seldom in the sky-observatory of the soul. Go up, my friends! go up.
Miserable are you, O man or woman? Why?
He: "She's sickly." Probably. Cause: too much of a muchness, too few caresses, pettednesses, tendernesses, embraces, kindlinesses, and too much coarseness, heedlessnesses, lovelessness, passion; all work and no play! Result: haggardness, sallow, sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, aching heart, pining soul, hungry love, consumption; else seduction, — victim perfectly willing. Can you wonder if she falls before the magnetic storm from the soul of some man full to the brim of what she wants, or that she even invites some man to occupy the place in her heart that you ought to, but do not, occupy? Or, reverse the picture. Perhaps your wife is full to the brim of ardor, while you are cold as ice. I knew a wife, of thirty years, in "Worcester, Mass., whose husband had never once kissed her. She had a large and generous soul; he was cold as snow. Result: a small but smothered hell; and all the more dreadful to endure because its fires were pent. Well, you, husband, provide all things for, and sincerely love, your wife, perhaps. Well, why don't you study her nature; caress, fondle, pet, and love her more than you ever did? It will pay! — He: "Oh, I never thought of that!" Well, think now and do it, and then no man can occupy your place, or passional lover withdraw her soul from yours.
She: "I can't bear him; there's no good in him; I wish I was dead, — or him; then I might be happy." Stop! lady; not so fast. I take it for granted that you know his faults. Do you know your own? A man is very often just what a woman chooses to make him, — ignorantly, perhaps. Well, have you ever sincerely tried to win him up to a nobler place in life? Try! Love, caresses,
