man and the other a weak woman.  And it is a stranger, sadder truth that ’tis woman’s influence which metes out this justice to woman.  Mother, if you must look with scorn and contempt upon the woman who through her love for some man has gone down to destruction, do not smilingly acknowledge her paramour a worthy suitor for your own unsullied daughter.  Maiden, if you must sneeringly raise your white hand and push back into the depths of pollution the woman who seeks to reinstate herself in the path of rectitude, do not permit the man who keeps half a dozen mistresses to clasp his arm around your waist and whirl you away to the soft measure of the “Beautiful Blue Danube.”  If the ban of society forbids that you say to a penitent sin-sick sister, “Go and sin no more,” if you must consign her to the life of infamy which inevitably follows the deaf ear which you turn upon her appeal, then do it; but in God’s name do not turn around and throw open the doors of your homes and welcome to the sanctity of your family altars the man who enticed her to ruin.  Ah, woman, by your tireless efforts you may win the right to vote, your voice may be heard in the Assembly Halls of the Nation; but if you administer as one-sided a justice in political life as you do in social life, the reform for which you pray will never come!

WOULD YOU CARE?

All day on my pillow I wearily lay,
  With a stabbing pain at my heart,
With throbbing temples, and a feverish thirst
  Burning, my lips apart. 
If I longed for a touch of your soft, strong hand,
  For you one little minute there;
For a smile, or a kiss, or a word to bless,
  Would you blame me, love?—­would you care?

When the long, long, lonesome day was done,
  And you never for a moment came,
If I tried to shut you out of my heart,
  Impatient at your name;
If disappointment’s bitter sting
  Was harder than pain to bear,
If I turned away with a doubting frown,
  Would you blame me, love?—­would you care?

Should I die to-night, and you saw me not
  Again till my soul had fled
With its vain request, and my features wore
  The white hue of the dead—­
Would you place just once, in a last caress,
  Your hand on my death-damp hair? 
Would you give me a thought, or a fond regret? 
  Would you kiss me, love?—­would you care?

A THOUGHT OF HEAVEN.

Friend of my heart, you say to me
  That your belief is this—­
The heaven is but a vision rare
  Of pure, ethereal bliss.

And life there but a dream enhanced,
  Where never sound alarms;
Where flowers ne’er fade and skies ne’er cloud,
  And voiceless music charms—­

And save as see we in our dreams
  The dear ones gone before,
The friends that here we knew and loved,
  We’ll know and love no more.