AN EXPERIMENTAL STUDY 
OF 
Being Two Chapters from a Work Entitled: 
GIRLS WHO ANSWER “PERSONALS,” 
BY 
Dr. ARTHUR MacDONALD, 
WASHINGTON, D. C. WORKS 
ON 
EDUCTION i\I\lD ji>0[JlAL PATHOLOGY* 
BY AUTHOR. 
ABNORMAL MAN, being essays on Education and Crime 
and related subjects, with digests of literature and a 
bibliography. 1893. Published by U. S. Government, 
Washington, D. C. 445 pages, 8°. 2nd edition, 1895. 
CRIMINOLOGY, a pyschological and scientific study of 
criminals; with introduction by Lombroso. Bibliogra- 
phy. (Second edition.) New York, 1894. Funk & 
Wagnalls, publishers. 416 pages, 12°. Price, .$2.00. 
LE CRIMINEL-TYPE dans quelques formes graves de la 
criminalite Bibliographie de sexualite' pathologique. 
(Troisieme Un volume en 8°, illustrait de 
Portraits. Publie' par A. Storck, Lyon, et G. Masson, 
Paris. 1895. 300 pages. Prix, 5 fr. This work is not 
published in English. 
EDUCATION AND PATHO-SOCIAL STUDIES, includ- 
ing an investigation of the murderer “H.” (Holmes). 
Published by the U. S. Government. 1896. 57 pages, 
8°. Washington, D. C. 
GIRLS WHO ANSWER PERSONALS, a sociologic and 
scientific study of young women, including letters of 
American and European girls in answer to personal 
advertisements; with a bibliography. Published by the 
author. 12°. 2nd edition, 266 pages. Washington, 
D. C., 1897. New introduction; three new chapters, 
entitled au “ Experimental Study of Love,” and “ In- 
tellectual Women and Matrimony ” ; new point of view. 
66 pages added. 
“ Girls Who Answer Personals” (bound in paper, 50 cents; 
bound in cloth, $1.25) will be sent, postage prepaid, on 
receipt of price, by the author, P. O. Lock-box 273, 
Washington, D. C., or may be ordered through book- 
sellers. 
THE SEXUAL RELATIONS OF MAN AND WIFE, giving 
the latest and most trustworthy results of science and 
medicine ; to be published by author in 1897. This 
work is intended for professional persons only. 
* Social Pathology considers all classes of individuals who from 
mental, moral, physical, or sociological characteristics or defects are out 
of harmony with their environment. 
Copyright, by Author, 1896. CHAPTER IV. 
AN EXPERIMENTAL STUDY OF LOVE. 
We will now take up a few cases as an experimental study 
of love, employing, as far as possible, the natural-history 
method. The difficulties and intricacies of such an investi- 
gation will be evident. We shall give a description of those 
cases only that have chanced to come within our own 
knowledge, or have been told us directly by the persons 
themselves. 
Cases B. and C. 
B. was an ambitious and educated young man, about 21 
years of age. One day, hearing his sister and other young 
ladies speak very highly of a certain young woman, Miss 
C., he had a desire to meet her, but let no one know it. 
He became acquainted at a church social, but did not talk 
with her long, for on first sight he had a strong inclination 
towards her, and was afraid she might suspect it. He be- 
gan to idealize her, and his feeliug became so intense that 
he lost in weight, taking only toast and tea as a diet. His 
family thought him unwell, not having the least suspicion 
of the real cause. It is generally true that during high 
tension of feeling the desire for food lessens, perhaps be- 
cause the system under nervous strain is much limited in 
its power of digestion and assimilation. 
B. soon became well enough acquainted with Miss C. to 
invite her to take a carriage ride. He had in no way mani- 
fested any feeling towards her, but had made up his mind 
that he would do so on this prospective ride. Although it 2 
was only two days before the time, he could not wait, and 
so called upon Miss C. at her home. A gentleman had been 
paying attention to her for some time, and it was reported 
that they were engaged. After much difficulty in directing 
the conversation, he asked her if it was true that she was 
engaged. She said she was not. Then he made known his 
feeling to her. Of course, she was much surprised ; can- 
celled the ride, and forbade him coming to see her. Al- 
though he was very much hurt, he was nevertheless glad 
he had confessed to her the truth, and felt relieved. He 
wrote plaintive and beseeching letters to her, which were 
occasionally answered. She finally said that she could not 
find “ one drop of love ” for him in her heart. 
B. was not a frivolous man, but was regarded as a serious 
and exemplary person. He was accustomed to ladies’ so- 
ciety, and was not specially attentive to any particular 
one. He could not explain, when asked, why he had this 
feeling. Miss C. was not handsome nor specially prepos- 
sessing, but was a little uncouth in manner; she had re- 
ceived a moderate education. The social position of the 
two was about equal; the young woman’s parents were 
fairly well-to-do. There was no reason to believe but that 
B. and C. were well adapted to each other, and had B. 
been less aggressive in his attentions, he might have won 
C. It seems to be instinctive in young women to reject 
the impetuous lover, without the least consideration of 
his character, ability, and fitness. 
B. illustrates impetuous love, that at the time has little 
reason and loses common sense. He was conscious of 
these facts all the time, but his impulses and desires were 
too strong. 3 
Cases D. and E. 
Miss D. was a university student, about 25 years of age, 
handsome, prepossessing, a good dancer; a woman of so- 
ciety when she chose to be, and at the same time of the 
highest intellectual caliber. She was the furthest from 
seeking men, yet she was not shy of them; she liked their 
company. She was neat and stylish in her appearance, set- 
ting an excellent example for university women, who seem 
to become careless in their dress. Her university training, 
fortunately, had not developed any masculinity, or made 
her unnatural or unconventional in her behavior towards 
men. Masculinity in woman is probably independent of 
education, although it might be increased along with the 
general development of the person in a university course. 
A certain professor, with much experience as an instructor 
of women, once remarked that, after all, the best students 
were the womanly women, and not those with masculine 
proclivities. 
E. was a student in the same university with D. rfe often 
called on D., and had many and long discussions. He had 
never felt or shown any emotional element in this acquaint- 
ance until he had known D. very well. He was in D.!s room 
one afternoon discussing, as usual, many things. There she 
sat, doing a little handiwork as a change and recreation from 
study. She was as unassuming and as unostentatious as the 
most sweet and gentle woman could be, and at the same time 
was the brightest of all the university girls ; she was then 
preparing herself for her Doctorate in Philosophy. If there 
is such a thing as unconscious hypnotism on the part of the 
operator, it certainly existed here ; for at this moment E. 
could not resist the thought, which had been latent in him 4 
for some time, that there, in his very presence, was an ideal 
future companion. This feeling so possessed him that, be- 
fore he left the room, he made it known to D. She was 
somewhat surprised that he felt towards her in more than 
an intellectual way. She, however, was very considerate, 
and promised she would think the matter over seriously. 
After two or three days, she told E. that she could not 
fulfil his hopes; that she had the highest regard for him, 
but that she never would marry any man. 
This experience cost E. much in nervous strain, and he 
felt the disappointment very keenly. Miss D. was kind to 
him, and allowed him to visit her just the same. There 
may have been other influences that affected Miss D., al- 
though they might not have been in her mind at the time. 
Like most university students, E. was poor and had little 
visible means of support; some of his clothes were thread- 
bare. These so-called superficial things affect women un- 
consciously, whether they admit it or not. Common sense 
teaches that practical matters of this nature deserve a little 
consideration. D. herself had only moderate means. 
There was also a little uncouthness about E., probably 
resulting from his long-enforced economy in life. Such a 
mode of life tends to make one too serious in appearance, 
and often in reality. This feeling can become so extreme 
in love affairs as to be morbid, and this sometimes results 
in most terrible crimes in persons with morally weak and 
impetuous characters. There should be a good natured 
disposition on both sides, especially when the course of 
love does not run smooth. Sometimes a woman wishes 
she could love the man who loves her, although she feels 
it is impossible to do it. 5 
Cases F. and G. 
Miss F. and Mr. G. had met, and corresponded occasion- 
ally ; there was not the least sentiment in their letters; 
there was only a mutual interest in certain questions they 
often discussed, but upon which they did not always agree. 
They met, finally, at a summer resort among the moun- 
tains, where opportunity was afforded them to become bet- 
ter acquainted. They were walking together almost every 
day and were generally engaged in some discussion, which 
was pleasantly interrupted now and then by expressions of 
admiration for the beautiful scenery. The transition from a 
polemical conversation to stooping down and drinking from 
a gurgling spring, although sudden, was a refreshing di- 
gression. For several days F. and G. continued their walks, 
finding more points of disagreement the longer they were 
together, until G. made up his mind that it would be best 
to say good-bye. After a few weeks, G. returned and called 
on Miss F. To his surprise, she seemed to be as willing to 
climb the mountains as ever; in fact, a change had taken 
place in Miss F.; she was not disposed to insist so much on 
a point or to become quarrelsome as she had in the past. 
She seemed to have much strong feeling for G., which 
proved to be contagious. They did did not care whether 
they agreed or disagreed ; emotion and feeling had become 
much more powerful than reason and polemics ; they were 
given over to mutual monopolization; they were in love. 
Their walks continued, but at last there was a reaction. 
Miss F., one day, for some unknown reason, turned on G. 
and walked away ; G. followed, and pleaded with her not to 
leave him, but she walked straight on towards her home. 
They proceeded in single file. Coming to a barb-wire fence 6 
(they had, in their walks, encountered many before), G. 
lifted the lower wire up, and, after some hesitation, F. 
stooped down and passed under. It was a question whether 
F would lift the wire for G.; she did, but in an indifferent 
manner, and not sufficiently high, so that the back of his 
coat was caught and torn. This little incident was the 
turning point of renewed affection (it was a new coat, that 
she had admired); she relented and repented, and again 
feeling grew intense between them. 
Here is illustrated how dependent the conditions of 
friendship and love are on what may be called spatial 
propinquity. Leisure time, also, is of great incidental im- 
portance. In the country, among the fields, hills, and 
mountains, the naturalness of the surroundings, and the 
absence of modern artificiality, give a directness to the con- 
versation which, under other conditions (as at a reception 
or in a parlor), might not be natural. This propinqual 
feeling is often felt on the ocean steamer. The person op- 
posite you, or at your side, whose name you may not know, 
talks familiarly about his or her home, family, or friends. 
It seems to take only a short time to become well acquainted, 
and when you meet again you feel as if you had known 
each other all your life. The absence of ulteriousness in 
such acquaintances (for you know nothing about the people, 
as a rule) is one of the most charming features. 
Cases H. and K 
Miss H. bad been acquainted with Mr. K. for about a 
year ; they had corresponded a few times. She had invited 
him to call, should he chance to be near her summer home. 
He wrote her a letter about his vacation plans. At the 
close of her letter, in answer to his, was the following: 7 
I could write you a conventional letter, but it’s too hot. 
May you have a vacation after your own heart and “peach 
blossoms” galore. 
In liis next letter, he wrote that possibly he might be near 
her neighborhood, and in that event would call. He re- 
marked, also, that he did not quite comprehend just what she 
meant by “ peach blossoms.” Her letter in answer was : 
My Dear Mr. K. : 
I am glad to hear you are so near such a good place as I call 
“ Home.” It’s the best hospital after all, and “ mother ” about the 
best nurse (?). Now that “ school of one” might become a “ school 
of two,” but satisfactory pupils are hard to find. As to “peach 
blossoms ”—why—pretty girls—don’t you like to find them wherever 
you stop, or is there “ only one girl in the world for you ” ? The 
only inducement I can offer you here is that we will skip civilization 
and seek a spot—the most fascinating I know—near to Nature’s 
heart. Let tne know when you are coming, but don’t hurry away 
from your mother, for she’s the best girl you’ll find. 
Mr. K. came and spent a short time at her home. It was 
a “school of two,” as the pupil seemed to be satisfactory. 
They went sailing, rowing, walking, and riding, and in those 
few days became much better acquainted than they could 
in a year of city life. Mr. K., some time previously, had 
met Miss H. in the company of another gentleman. K. 
noticed, during the conversation at that time, that Miss H. 
incidentally brushed a little speck of lint off of the gentle- 
man’s coat. He had not forgotten this circumstance, and 
mentioned it in a joking manner to Miss H.; but from her de- 
meanor he concluded that it was not so amusing to her. 
She finally told him that she had been corresponding with 
this gentleman daily for nearly a year ; that she loved him 
and he loved her. But she had learned that he had been di- 8 
vorced and unfortunately it had got into the newspapers; and, 
whether just or not, his character and his treatment of his 
wife were described in very uncomplimentary terms. H. had 
finally determined that, though she truly loved him, she could 
not take the chances of marrying him. She dreaded to write 
and tell him, “ it would hurt him so ; ” she did not know 
what to do, she was “ frantic.” Mr. K. hardly knew what to 
say; he had learned to think a good deal of Miss H. A 
previous experience with another woman enabled him better 
to sympathize with her. He said he would help her in any 
way he could, and that, if she cared to, she could make him 
a sort of escape-valve for her feeling; that he would not 
misunderstand her. After taking his departure, he wrote 
as comforting letters as he could, promising to come and 
see her again. He received the following letter from her: 
My Deab Fbiend : 
Your letter is the most comforting thing I’ve had for days. I get 
no letters now, and I read yours over and over again. I am glad you 
are coming, for that will be another ray of comfort. When I think 
of the love I had for him these words come to me, “ You may break, 
you may shatter the vase if you will, but the scent of the roses will 
hang round it still.” Yet with all the memory of what was once so 
sweet I would not bring it back. But I must not weary you with 
this. Don’t wonder at anything I write, for I have a thousand feelings 
in a day. I only wish there was more here to keep my mind busy. 
How I envy you in ; that country holds a place in my heart next 
to the dear old lake. Your Sunday at the seashore, how delightful it 
must have been! Now tell me when you are coming. I expect, now, 
to leave for a two or three days’ visit. I wish you could come the 
last of this week and stay till I go. If not, come the last of next 
week. Write soon. You don’t know how lonely I am. Good-bye. 
This rather sudden transition of feeling may perhaps be 
explained in this way. Miss H. was in a love mood; yet she 9 
must give up the man she loves; but what could she do 
after that? She must have some sort of escape for her feel- 
ing. It is true, she was changeable in her moods, yet she 
was sincere, as the letter which follows will show: 
My Dear Friend : 
Your welcome letter found me in so much better spirits than when 
I wrote last that I feel quite guilty for having told you my troubles. 
But you are so gentle and sympathetic that I couldn’t help it! It is 
so sweet to be thought of and wished for, and know some one cares for 
you, that I have become quite a baby. Let me tell you that we sit on 
the porch every evening until late, watching the shooting stars, etc., 
and though I enjoy it very much, I can’t help thinking how much 
nicer it would be if you were here ; but I know you are having a de- 
lightful time in , and a much better one than you could here. 
Next Tuesday night Mamma and I go to for two or three days. 
It’s such a stupid place, can’t you write me there—just a wee letter? 
We shall expect you here the last of the week, and if you are as friv- 
olous as ever, what shall I do with you ? Surely, I will have to re- 
form you or turn you over to one of my friends—which do you 
prefer ? Good-bye. 
K. wrote her as helpful letters as he could, and received 
the following response: 
My Dear Friend : 
It was good of you to have a letter at both ends of the journey yes- 
terday. Letters are a weak point with me. I have just written a 
letter and torn it up for fear of being misunderstood. When you get 
this you may write me at what your plans are. I am in a tem- 
pest of feeling and I can’t write. Have been reading “ Jane Eyre” 
again and it has used me up, this hot weather assisting. 
I hope you’ll not change your mind about coming back. 
We go for a drive this morning. Jeannie is playing a very bewitch- 
ing piece on the piano, and I feel like it! 
Write me freely, you have not lately. 
Forget my faults, but don’t forget me. In despair, good-bye. 10 
She seemed now to long for his letters; this he had not 
expected. She is transferring her feeling to him. She is 
greatly disappointed in not receiving a letter. She writes 
thus: 
I am going to tlie office now, and hope there will be a little letter 
for me. It is lonesome without you. I think of you most of the 
time. When I was reading in the other day, I thought of you 
many times. I want you to feel you can come to me with anything 
and everything. Keep my soul and I will keep yours. Tell me all 
you feel. I am going now. Good-by, dear. 
No letter here! 
K. immediately wrote, indicating to her that she could 
utilize him in the way she found the most relief. Her answer 
was: 
My Dear Friend : 
We returned this noon to find your letters waiting. You are my 
only comfort now. I hardly expect you to get this at , but if 
you do, remember I am looking for you, and the sooner you get here 
the better. It is not so very cool here, but we have no mosquitoes, 
and I promise you some walks in the country. You can do whatever 
you like best. Did you get the crazy letter I sent to the ? Well, 
you are a kind of escape-valve for my various moods; you will not 
judge me harshly, for you know something about it. A friend in need 
is a friend indeed. You are both. Believe me, gratefully yours. 
Miss H. seemed to have what might be called spasmodic 
love; she was not designing, but spontaneous in her moods. 
In the following interesting letter she explains herself 
to K.: 
It has been said, “ Never write a love-letter at night; ” you may say 
more than you mean the next morning. Well, your letter surprised 
me. I thought you were writing me out of sympathy alone. I may 
be very stupid, but I never believe that people care for me. I believe 
very little of what people say to me or write, but their manner toward 
me tells much more. I had a strange, a thrilling experience this 11 
summer. It showed me that there was a love in my heart that only 
one man in the world had ever touched. I have loved him, I have 
worshipped him ever since I was old enough to put my tiny hand in 
his boyish clasp. We had not seen each other since we were children, 
and each had forgotten how he loved the other, but such love never 
dies. We met again as man and woman, but our love can never be 
satisfied—it is forbidden by all the laws of man and nature. I dare 
not write more about it, but while I suffer not from the memory of 
it, I have always that ideal before me—never satisfied. I sometimes 
wish I could cry myself to sleep in his arms, and never waken again. 
I am a strange mixture of passion and passiveness. I write these 
words with perfect indifference, as though they concerned another. 
There is another I love with a warm, romantic love—he is fast passing 
from boyhood to manhood—he is brimful of sentiment—outwardly we 
are friends, but in our hearts lovers. He writes freely, though he 
knows it is but the love of the warmest and truest friendship which I 
have given him. These two—the real and the ideal—are ever before 
me. I sometimes question if I ought to show any feeling at all, to 
allow any to be shown me. Then the woman’s “love of being loved” 
becomes so strong—I yield. Strange but true, I often love the love 
more than the lover. That becomes misleading, and where am I ? 
The grief of my life has been that I had no brother—I love boys— 
I feel so lonely wrhen I see brothers and sisters happy and affectionate. 
I, naturally affectionate, have no one to caress—so for years my feel- 
ings were bottled up. Then, when I did “ let myself go,” it was but 
to w'aste the richness and sweetness of first love on one long past the 
tender age of first experiences. My passion spent itself, because time 
showed the grounds of true love were lacking. Do you wonder I have 
a tone of sadness in this memory ? It is like tearing the bloom from 
the peach, or crushing the fragrance from the rose. Will the flower 
bloom again ? 
These are some of my secrets. They have never escaped me be- 
fore. You can guess how much I trust you. You do not know what 
a blessing you have been to me. As a friend, I love you dearly. 
Write me all that is in your heart, and I will do the same whenever 
I can. When you come I think I will let you read a poem which 
means much to me. I am afraid this letter won’t satisfy you, but it’s 
honest. I’m sad to-day. 12 
Write me as soon as you get this. Your letter did not make me 
sad. I’m glad you wrote as you did. 
K. answered her letter as usual. In the following letter 
she seems to waver in her feelings, not knowing what to 
write: 
My Dear Friend : 
Your good kind letter came this morning. I have been in t©- 
day; just returned. Will tell you all when I see you, but I can’t write 
now. I am dazed. Excuse this scrap of a letter. But believe me, 
faithfully yours. 
She begins the next letter sweetly enough, but proceeds 
to give K. a warning, which we shall see later on was not 
without foundation: 
My Dear : 
You will not find that “ sweet letter” waiting for you in , for 
the last one I sent you was short and somewhat tart. You are too 
good to me. You will spoil me. 
I had a relapse Friday—no joking—and this morning I’m in a most 
capricious mood. Are you sure you want to see me ? Beware! I 
wonder how it will affect me to see you again. It is like reading a 
novel for the first time. 
Your letters Saturday night and this morning are dear, but I fear 
you are “wasting your sweetness on the desert air.” I’m not worth 
it. I’m only a mountain pink that grows in out-of-the-way places— 
hard to reach—not easily taken from its hiding-place. 
Well, I shall be glad to see you again, only be prepared for any- 
thing—even for a snow-storm. Good-bye. 
K. came to see her for a day or so, and after departing 
wrote her as usual, encouraging her to take her mind off 
the whole matter by studying and preparing herself for 
some position. She answers : 
Your letter came this morning. The influence of your presence is 
still with me. I seem to be getting out of the quicksands. How I 
cling to you and wrap myself up in you. I am a kind of mental 13 
chameleon. Well, I put in three hours yesterday towards that $1,000 
position. I have been thinking of you all day. You are growing 
very dear. Good-bye. 
Miss H. once remarked to K. that, like a kitten, she was 
docile, but sometimes scratched, as will be evident in the 
next letter. It seems that she and K. had gone to the city 
to spend the day, and had lost the last train back to her 
country home. K. did not know just what was best to do 
under the circumstances. They discussed the matter, but 
there was not much time, as it was getting late. It was 
finally decided that K. should go to the best hotel, and ex- 
plain the situation to the clerk, and have him assign Miss 
H. a room. This was done. The next day Miss H. thought 
her mother might worry, and so telegraphed her to come to 
the city and do some shopping instead of waiting for another 
day for which they had planned. K. went with H. to meet 
her mother. He could see that something was wrong; the 
mother seemed uneasy. He excused himself as politely as he 
could, and bade them good-bye. As the mother was very 
rigid in her ideas as to what she considered proper, she ex- 
aggerated the circumstance, imagining all sorts of things 
that never happened. This seemed to furnish her daughter 
a cue, if not an excuse, for writing the following letter, in 
which she shows her capricious nature, of which she so 
truthfully warned K. in one her previous epistles: 
Your letters have been duly received, also the flowers, for which I 
thank you. Now, I am going to tell you how I feel, just as honestly 
as I always have, and as you have wanted me to. After thinking the 
whole matter over, I must say I cannot approve of the course you took 
at . It was very injudicious under all the circumstances. Mother 
was decidedly displeased, and will never get over her feeling towards 
you. I did not think it right at all. I could not think of meeting 
you for a moment. I am too proud to be anything but inde- 14 
pendent wherever I go. I do not misunderstand you, but I am as 
firm as a rock on that. I have been through enough! Henceforth 
I shall keep to my work. I shall have no time for anything else. 
I want neither help nor sympathy or love now; I simply wish to be 
left alone to work out my own salvation. I shall think of you as a 
friend I can trust, as I have in the past; you can still trust me. But 
as it is a woman’s privilege to be left to herself, if she so chooses, I 
ask that you respect it. Remember, that I have written my honest 
feelings. I know you will think me changeable. I do not care; 
think anything but that I am not honest; my better self is my best 
and safest guide. Good-bye. 
Being aware of the cbangeableness of H., K. wrote her a 
kind letter, taking no notice of the unpleasant things said. 
He received the following reply: 
Your letters came yesterday. Please don’t make me tell you again 
that I don’t wish to see you, and that I meant what I said when I first 
wrote that I simply wished to be left alone ! If I “scratch,” it was 
not till I changed my opinion of you; that is, you did not act as I 
should suppose a gentleman would who paid careful attention to the 
proprieties of life, if only for sake of appearances. I am willing to 
admit I was to blame in not insisting upon it, but you think you did 
exactly the right thing. Now, I have spoken very plainly. You 
knew what you had criticised in the past; why not help me avoid it 
again ? I made an exception of you. I will never do it for any man 
again. Please take this just as I mean it, and, remember, I cannot 
be coaxed again Nothing you could say would change me, so please 
don’t write. I leave soon, and I want to feel that you will respect 
my wishes. Good-bye. 
K. was not very obedient, and wrote H. this letter: 
Your unjust letters have been duly received. I am very sorry your 
good mother feels as she does; she is very sincere, I know, but sin- 
cerity may have poor judgment as to what is best to do in unforeseen 
circumstances. 
I have only friendship to return you for your unjust letters. Good- 
bye. 15 
The next day K. received this letter: 
My Dear Friend : 
Can only write a line, as we have a house full of company, and I 
have been sick with the grippe and am wretched yet. My plans are 
very uncertain as yet, but I cannot meet you; that is, I do not wish 
to. It is my fault partly, I know just where, and if I seem unjust, 
I’m sorry. I can’t change my opinion on certain things. You do 
not understand me. Well, good-bye. 
The emotional nature of H. seems to have a hysterical 
element; her moods were more permanent than those of 
Miss F. Miss H. appeared to like giving away to her feel- 
ings; then she would repent afterwards. How many pre- 
vious experiences of this kind she may have had is not 
known. 
Miss H. was a woman of intellectual tastes, prepossess- 
ing, and refined in manners. She often said she wished she 
had a brother, doubtless thinking that it would save her 
from experiences like the above. 
As Miss H. was a woman full of feeling and sentiment, a 
few remarks as to modes of its manifestation may not be out 
of place. 
The expression of sentiment and emotion in provincial 
districts is somewhat rustic in form. It is not always con- 
fined to words, even with the most prudent in metropolitan 
communities. It may be said, in general, that those acts of 
young women and men which might be called “ familiar ” 
are the more common and the more innocent in proportion 
to the provincial character of the persons and surroundings. 
Sentimental practices are not a great evil, because they 
probably serve as a substitute or compensation for more 
serious acts. Such manifestations as pressing the hand, 
stroking the forehead, smoothing the hair, etc., etc.; or en- 16 
circling the waist with the arm, or letting the shoulders 
touch, etc., etc.; or in a more boisterous form of hugging, 
cheek-rubbing, kissing, caressing, etc., etc., may, with sim- 
ilar phenomena, be classed under the head of peripheral 
sentiment. 
Generally speaking, such methods of expressing senti- 
ment are not advisable, however aesthetical or unsesthetical 
they may be considered. They can sometimes be danger- 
ous, when they give rise to passion, especially in the case of 
those persons whose characters are not above suspicion. 
The manner of sentimental expression between two lovers 
depends much on their taste and education. There is no 
more common way in which young engaged or recently 
married people show their vulgarity and bad breeding than 
by giving physical expression to their feelings in the pres- 
ence of others. As a rule, every woman knows whether she 
is in love or not. There is even what might be called a 
love look. When a woman feels willing to be a man’s life- 
companion, and has given herself over to him, she acts to- 
wards him and looks at him in a peculiar but natural way; 
it is the sweetness and smile in the look enshrined with 
absolute confidence in him; this is one of the loftiest things 
in human nature; it puts the man on his highest honor. 
True love between man and woman brings out their noblest 
characteristics. CHAPTER Y. 
A WALT WHITMAN GIRL. 
As a continuation of the experimental study of love, we 
will give more at length a single case, which we shall call 
Miss L. From the title of this chapter it might be inferred 
by some that Miss L. was a woman of questionable charac- 
ter, but such an inference would be entirely misleading. 
Miss L. represents a type of those modern women who be- 
lieve in many of the ideas of Walt Whitman, but who do not 
for this reason accept all of his conclusions. These women 
are usually of high intellectual and moral character and are 
outspoken in manner ; they sometimes talk indiscreetly on 
subjects of delicate nature, and so are frequently misunder- 
stood.* 
Case of Miss L. and Me. N. 
Miss L. was a young woman very independent by nature. 
She had always had her own way at home; her parents gave 
her many privileges ; she often said she was a “ spoilt 
child.” She had spent much time in different educational 
institutions; her training was broad and varied. After 
graduating from college, she pursued advanced studies in 
different universities. She was not afflicted with what may 
be called intellectual college provincialism, which is often 
the result of remaining too long in the same institution. 
* See pages 117-118. 18 
Experience had revealed to her how impractical were many 
things 'taught her, and how little some of the professors 
knew, especially those who, so to speak, tried to impress 
others with their superior knowledge. She saw clearly, 
but did not recognize its necessity, that most university 
lectures were second-hand knowledge, consisting of a wise 
selection and combination of the results and opinions of 
original investigators. She especially disliked that platitude 
species of imitation, common in women’s colleges, which 
arises from too much faithfulness and docility in accepting 
the opinions of teachers based on their own assertions. 
Miss L., with her critical nature, was sure to see all the de- 
fects in college and university education; she therefore 
underestimated many of the advantages. 
Miss L. gradually became dissatisfied with almost every- 
thing, even life itself. She had aimed at a literary career, 
and had written some, but was discontented either from lack 
of encouragement from others or because her productions 
had not been received as favorably as she had expected. She 
felt that her life was somewhat aimless, and seemed disposed to 
let things drift along, amusing herself as best she could. 
Miss L. was not a nervous Avoman, as one might think ; her 
instability was due to her dissatisfaction wdth the world in 
general, and especially with men. She was not a man-hater 
by any means, but still she considered men a selfish lot, 
who paid attention to women under one guise or another, 
but in reality sought merely their own comfort and pleas- 
ure. Yet Miss L. liked the intellectual company of 
men; she was, however, very sarcastic, and discouraged 
men’s attentions. She was probably often misunderstood, 
because her sarcastic turns were very temporary and seemed 
to be a whimsical way of playing with men, for,' as will 19 
be seen in her letters, she soon regrets and repents of 
many of her ingenuous flingg. 
Mr. N. was also a university student. His training had 
been quite different from Miss L.’s. He was more interested 
in scientific subjects. Miss L., who possessed an artistic 
sense, was quick to perceive the defects of N., due to his 
lack of appreciation of many artistic things that interested 
her. 
Mr. N. had met Miss L. early in her college course. 
He had not seen her for many years, and had heard 
nothing of her until he received a letter from her ask- 
ing advice as to a course of study for a young man in 
whose education she was interested. Mr. N. had not for- 
gotten Miss L.; was very glad to hear from her, and wrote 
that he would assist the young man all he could. He also 
inquired of Miss L. about herself, what she was doing, etc. 
Miss L. wrote the following letter in reply: 
My Dear Mr. N. : 
I am pleased that you take a kindly interest in Mr. . I think 
that the quality of his brain is fine and his nature is a strong one. 
Added to this is an ideal that aims to do the best work possible, and, 
as our “scholastic” friends would learnedly ejaculate, his educational 
training so far has been excellent. I wish that he might go at once 
to the university. 
You ask me what I am doing. Well, as I do not belong to the 
genus of “ students ” of which you speak, I am relieved from making 
the stupid reply, “ Nothing! ” 
I am, sincerely yours. 
As Mr. N. desired to continue the correspondence, he 
wrote again to Miss L, touching upon the idea of “ doing 
nothing.” He ventured to suggest some things that might 
be done. She answered : 20 
My Dear Mb. N.: 
My dear pedagogue with Sunday-school instincts, possibly if I were 
not so hardened a sinner, your sympathy and patronizing offer of 
assistance in work would more fully be appreciated. But I am a 
hopeless barbarian, utterly weary of university life, so that your pro- 
found veneration arouses no responsive chord in my erratic soul. I 
am content simply to vegetate. Do not waste energy in trying to 
“ educate ” me ; for, of all dead things, what is deader than dead en- 
thusiasm ? Your method of killing time (life simply) happens to be 
study. Well, there are other ways, and who shall say which is the most 
valuable? “As if whether a man serve God or his own whim much 
matters, and in the end, to any one but him.” As for myself, I have no 
more veneration for the scholar than for the man who lies in the 
ditch ; the points of view simply are different. For me, there are no 
absolute values. The old Persian poet epitomized it all in these words : 
“ Do you know where you go after death ? Give me some wine and 
go where you please.” One has got to get through life in some way; 
let him choose his own way, whether it be by the road of so-called 
virtue, or vice, whichever his particular idiosyncrasy chooses. It is all 
a huge joke, anyway, and books do not contain all. What are they, 
anyway, but records of living ? When I see a scholar—and the creature 
is omnipresent—looking down from his imaginative pedestal, the 
words of wise old Shakespeare come to my mind,—“ There are more 
things in heaven and earth than your philosophy has dreamed of!” 
And the scholarly or scientific investigation that takes things out of 
their settings in order to draw up schemes of conclusions has not 
gone very far beyond philosophical abstraction and theological dogma. 
To repeat, it is all killing time—one must do something. 
Pardon me for inflicting this long letter upon you; it was not my 
intention to impose upon your kindness at such great length. Sin- 
cerely yours. 
N. replied to this letter, saying that he did not have such 
great reverence for professors as she supposed. The uni- 
versity, in a sense, was in another world. It still clung to 
remnants of its old cloister nature. 
In the next letter, Miss L. reveals a new phase in her 21 
character. She seems to hold theoretically some of the 
opinions of Walt Whitman, and illustrates a class which, 
for want of a better term, we may call the Walt Whitman 
woman. The general idea that women are more extreme in 
the development of their thoughts than men is here illus- 
trated. This is probably due to their more intense idealism 
and earnestness. 
My Dear Mr. N. : 
Well, I am alway glad to know an out and out heathen. We often 
meet people who have thrown up traditions to a certain extent, but 
they usually retain one particular pet one, which they are carefully 
nursing. I do not quite see how an individual can live—that is, 
really live—in this world and have a “ conviction ” in regard to any- 
thing. Emerson said a fairly good thing when he remarked that “ we 
do what we must and call it by the best names we can.” Well, I 
have come to the point of asking absolutely nothing from people if 
they don’t please me. I simply (if possible) keep away from them. 
If an individual is interesting to me, I can forgive anything, save 
meanness. And those who enjoy the little round of a respectable 
hedged-in existence, let them enjoy it! As long as they don’t invite 
me within the enclosure, all right. But one of the most curious 
things to me is the way in which people strive to conceal their real 
feelings and give the lie to their organisms. Why shouldn’t we accept 
ourselves as we are instead of clothing ourselves in word-illusions 
that make the truth (relative, of course) so hard to get at ? Few peo- 
ple are brave enough to simply face themselves. I suppose that you 
are familiar with the following of sturdy Walt Whitman, but it bears 
repetition : “ I think I could turn and live with animals, they are 
so placid and self-contained. I stand and look at them long and long. 
They do not sweat and whine about their condition. They do not lie 
awake in the dark and weep for their sins. They do not make me sick 
discussing their duty to Ood. Not one is dissatisfied. Not one is 
demented with the mania of owning things. Not one kneels to an- 
other, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago. Not one is 
respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.” One of the most dis- 
agreeable words to me in the whole English language is that life- 
killer, “duty.” 22 
Take tlie one subject, for instance, of sexual freedom (an im- 
portant one, by the way); it is going to take a long time before woman 
can feel in a sane, natural way in regard to it, and then to be honest 
in acknowledging what her nature feels. I think one of the most 
belittling things to a woman’s sense of individuality is the pas- 
sive attitude that she is expected to assume. What else can she 
be, living a lie for generations? If the lie were interesting, then it 
might be forgiven, but it is so wearisome. One would naturally 
expect more from the college woman, but I have known so many—oh, 
so many—of them that were mere book-receptacles that I have some- 
times thought that the household drudge, with eleven youngsters to 
toil for, really knew more about life as it is than her learned sister. 
I, for my part, have no respect for the woman—or, for that matter, 
man either (but the latter are not troubled that way), who prides 
herself upon her virgin purity (simply ignorance and an half- 
atrophied organism, to my thinking). 
Again, it is difficult for women to take an impartial, scientific view 
of things. One is always coming up against their cultivated modesty 
and supposed fineness of nature and their preconceived notions. 
Perhaps it is not surprising that women for the present should put 
so much faith in the college and university. That they, as a rule, do 
not know what to do with the stuff they put into their brains there, 
and carry it about as a dead weight, is, I think, a fact. Perhaps, as 
the habit gets older, they will understand more fully the meaning of 
so-called learning, and recognize that books are merely, at the most, 
records of living, and that books were made for man, and not man for 
books. 
Can you pardon the garrulity that I have inflicted upon you ? I have 
written as incoherently as the impulse dictated. Sincerely yours. 
By the way, thq slippery ground and the ragged edges, etc., are 
perhaps the most interesting things in life. At least, in the joy they 
give, for the time being they suffice, and give their own solution. Yes, 
’tis the “ time of life ” that most successfully defines itself. 
Mr. N. in his answers to Miss L.’s letters generally referred 
only to questions that she had introduced. He wrote rather 
briefly, because L. seemed so changeable. In fact, if he did 
not insist on a point very much, she would be more liable to 23 
agree with him. She sometimes imagined him as, or falsely 
accused him of, assuming a superior air or manifesting a dic- 
tatorial spirit, and this feeling aroused opposition in her. 
In the following letter L. philosophizes about life and its 
uselessness: 
My Dear Mr. N.: 
The idea that the world is “ hypercritical ” and “ degenerating ” finds 
a responsive echo in my soul. The artificialities of life have leaped 
into supreme importance, and it is only when we dash up against one 
of the few primitive facts of existence that we fully realize the mean- 
ness, the littleness, of our daily living. It certainly seems to me at 
times simply a grotesque little farce, touched up here and there by 
tragic gleams. But again, from another point of view, life often ap- 
peals to one as a thing of interest, as a matter of experience it cer- 
tainly is. When one can sum up its experiences and appraise them 
either artistically or scientifically, one feels, to a limited extent, master 
of the situation. And one realizes that with a subtly developed nature, 
that suffering cannot be escaped. And what means a hog-like, un- 
emotional existence ? A lethargic content and comfort is not life. I, 
for one, am willing to take the consequences, the risks of living. 
God save me from simply existing. I want nothing of repentances and 
expiations. Let nature have its fling! And let us take what comes. 
The little tame respectabilities of life, I want them not. But I have 
learned, in knocking about the world, to keep my mouth shut—that is, 
on general principles. One learns in time to listen to and see all 
things with non-committal composure, and the mania for proselyting 
dies a natural death. When one realizes the hopelessness of fixed 
ideas, I fancy that the one sane thing to do is to make the effort to 
get all one can out of the hoax. But, after all, the spectacle of the 
poor, little human struggling to permanently fix his darling fiction of 
gods is pathetic. As Zola says, “ It is the instinctive hankering after 
the lie which creates human credulity.” And Olive Schreiner voices 
it in these words : “So age succeeds age, and dream succeeds dream, 
and of the joy of the dreamer no man knoweth but he who dreameth. 
Our fathers had their dream ; we have ours ; the generation that fol- 
lows will have its own. Without dreams and phantoms man cannot 24 
exist.” But I sometimes think that the race will come to take life on 
its own basis; that, of course, is the hope of science; but when, 
when ? I sometimes fancy that running about through our organisms 
are the ghosts of our traditions, and that they go on with their weird 
dances when we are quite unconscious of their presence. No, I have 
no faith, or very little, for any pretty schemes for the bettering of 
life, and yet what beautiful possibilities we sometimes think we dis- 
cern. And the vision of a strong, full, healthful, intellectual, and 
emotional life is alluring, but what do we know of it? But why do I 
go on rambling in this futile fashion ? Well, as for myself, at the 
present moment I would like to be wandering under sunny skies, 
away from the bleak, the cold, and the grim. Are you ready to ejac- 
ulate, “How feminine! ” Sincerely yours. 
N. wrote L. plainly, giving his opinion as to the freedom 
of woman. L. refers to this, and then continues to reason 
about life. 
My Dear Mr. N.: 
Your fear of “ shocking ” me amuses me just a little. I am not sure 
but that I should enjoy the sensation of being shocked ; it certainly 
would be novel, and I am always looking for that. Again, I am a little 
bit amused that you should portray yourself a monster of radicalism, 
because you endorse ‘‘freedom ” for women. Whereas your remarks 
strike me as mild, probably for the reason that I have so long con- 
sidered women as individuals, entitled to freedom, that the idea has 
become a part of me. What pertains simply to one’s self, one, of 
course, can regulate in accordance with his own ideas, nor do I think 
it necessary for him to impart to his neighbor a knowledge of his ac- 
tions. But life is a complicated matter, and the relations of living 
so many, that, at present at least, independent action is almost an 
impossibility. One cannot brutally carry out his ideas when they 
bring suffering. Remember that I say nothing of duty; that is a term 
that I intentionally ignore; but suffering one cannot ignore, and here 
is just the point where I differ with you. 
If the element of suffering could be eliminated, then amusing it 
might be. But suffering of all kinds is omnipresent, and the more 
subtly developed the nature the more susceptible to pain is it. It 25 
seems to me that a more intricate consciousness goes with a higher 
evolution. But the man-nature does not recognize that as does the 
woman-nature. Men are obtuse, in a sense (not literally do I mean 
this). I know whereof I speak. I have known many men—of the more 
developed type—and constantly am I becoming more convinced of 
the fact of how very little of the woman-nature do they comprehend. 
I am perfectly conscious, too, that men, in a half-uncomprehending 
way, pity women for the possession of what they think feminine at- 
tributes ; but, in my opinion, in the evolution of men and women, the 
advantages have not been entirely on one side. I think the developed 
imagination and subtlety of the woman-nature are extremely interest- 
ing, and it is the lack of these in the man-nature that makes a broadly 
comprehensive and sympathetic relation between a man and woman 
so difficult. It is one of my fancies that, in nature, men need to be 
somewhat womanized, and women somewhat manized, before a finer 
relation can exist between the two. But the subject is such an illim- 
itable one that one despairs of giving even a slight glimpse in writing. 
The emotions are entitled to development quite as much as the intel- 
lect (of course I use these terms for convenience, not meaning tho’ to 
take the liberty of dissecting the organism), and I repeat, the woman- 
nature is infinitely more developed here than the man’s. Oftentimes 
with a man, as far as women are concerned, it is novelty he is seeking, 
not congeniality of relation. I care not in how many women he finds 
congeniality—that is not the point—but when it is merely something 
new, well, what’s the use of speaking of it ? Things are as they are, 
and a woman knows or learns in time to expect little from men—sim- 
ply to take them as they are—and has to decide whether, taking all 
things into consideration, it is worth while to take what there is in 
the imperfect relation that exists between a man and a woman, and, in 
addition to this, is also the fact that is true of everything in life, that 
what one can get one does not want; reality in our grasp fades into 
meaninglessness. Scientific instinct is totally inadequate ; ’tis only 
a comprehending sympathy that will throw light upon this subject. 
Yes, the “ Heavenly Twins ” idiocy nauseates one. I profoundly pity 
the woman who refuses to know life. I would know it if it meant 
absolute emotional disintegration. Of course it is sad—unfortunate, 
perhaps, I had better say—that one exhausts emotions; but if it has to 
be, let it be. It is better to really live even for a moment than to sim- 
ply go on existing indefinitely. 26 
I would like to ask you a question. It is this : How does the artis- 
tic side of literature appeal to you ? Are you susceptible to its charm ? 
I ask this because I strongly think that, in addition to knowing things, 
there is the beautiful side, that is just as potent. The glowing, the 
sensuous, the beautiful in life, expressed with the subtle, elusive charm 
that music has, in the fine enthusiasm of poetry, and in the loveliness 
of nature. These are oftentimes only felt, not to be defined. 
Renan so finely said, you know, that “ religion was a sigh 
from the heart of man.” I would prefer to substitute emotion 
where Renan uses religion, for there are yearnings within the 
human soul, and momentary glimpses of the beautiful, that are sweet 
and fine. Of course there is nothing to adequately satisfy these 
yearnings. Ah, yes, one knows that he has only to live to find that 
fact out. One can fix up in one’s mind a most ideal existence, but 
I’m not sure but that after he got the pretty scheme fixed he would 
find it unutterably stupid. I believe that it is the uncertain in life 
that appeals to me. I am a weary spectator of this scene called life. 
After trying your patience so long by prattling on in this fashion, 
I will, woman-like, beseech forgiveness, vowing not to so sin again, 
and take the earliest opportunity, probably, of repeating the offense, 
which your superior maw-sense will define as feminine. Well, I 
wonder if I can stop ? Sincerely yours. 
Miss L. becomes tired of the “ stupid conventions ” of 
life. She concludes that woman is not by nature willing to 
speak frankly. She closes the letter by expressing a desire 
to see Mr. N. 
My Deab Mb. N.: 
A friend of mine has often made this trenchant remark, that appeals 
to me at the present moment: “We must enjoy ourselves while we 
can, for life is short, and when we’re dead we’re dead a long time.” 
There is at times within the human an intense thirst for joy, and it 
takes a long time to kill this desire. But life’s entanglements to 
defeat joy are both sad and amusing. And it does, indeed, seem that 
the individual is entitled to freedom, but that apparently simple 
thing is the most difficult to attain. And it goes without saying, that 
women have been restricted in all ways to an absurd degree; but then 27 
there is little use in reiterating this fact. And the prejudices on this 
subject will, I fancy, be the very last to die. Stupid conventions are 
so patent, and, alas, people too are so stupid and unthinking, as far 
as the finer problems of living are concerned, the majority strike one 
as hogs. If there were many large sturdy souls such as Whitman’s, of 
how much silly unnaturalness we should be purged. I admire Whit- 
man’s freedom of speech exceedingly; at least it was necessary, I 
think, for the reason that so much false modesty had been cumulat- 
ing, making truth on this subject a remote impossibility, and so it 
was well for strong Walt to cry, “ I sing the body electric.” Yes, 
Whitman was one living near to nature. 
And so, my seemingly guileless friend, you again and again beseech 
a woman to be “ frank,” when it is so openly opposed to the nature 
of the heart. Women don’t know how to be frank on anything ; so 
are they made! And when men are too honest with them they take 
revenge. Well, I am simply to-day revealing the vacuum that exists 
in my cranium. By the way, is it scholarly exact to speak of a 
vacuum as existing ? It would grieve my soul so to commit a blunder 
against scholarly etiquette. 
Well, do you never journey in this direction ? I should enjoy talk- 
ing with you, and hope to meet you. Sincerely yours. 
I’m in an utterly stupid mood. 
Miss L. answers N.’s last letter sooner than usual. She 
closes, again suggesting that N. come and see her. This is 
the first letter in which flowers are enclosed. Miss L. is be- 
coming much interested in N., and N. is just as much 
interested in her. 
My Dear Mr. N.: 
The only reason that I give for my fiendish promptness is that the 
time that I receive a letter is the only moment that I feel genuinely 
in the mood for answering it. 
Well, you are amusing ! So you persist in trusting women in spite 
of all my warnings, and so the consequences be on your own head. 
It really had not occurred to me but what our correspondence would 
be “ confidential ” or possibly I should have called to my assistance the 
oath of confidence of my childhood days, when, with solemn eloquence, 28 
was made the exclamation, “ I hope Ood will strike me dead this very 
minute if I tell! ” etc. Now, shall I extract from your God fearing soul 
an oath of similar nature ? But I don’t give confidences, and you had 
not better “ trust” me, for I am a woman, and a very weary one at 
that. By no means do I think passion a “weakness”; its non- 
presence is the weakness. In a dear little book, which I love, George 
Egerton’s “Keynotes”—which, by the way, I wish that you would 
read—is this sentence : “ It is the fashion to decry love ; yet the 
vehemence of the denials, the keenness of the weapons of satire and 
skepticism that are turned against it only prove its existence. As long 
as manis manendi woman is woman it will be to them, at some time, the 
sweetest and possibly the most fatal interest in life to them.” I am un- 
compromising on the subject of freedom, but comparatively few are 
sufficiently developed to understand the higher conception of freedom, 
which is too readily confounded with low, unintelligent ideas. And 
love is a subtle, illusive thing which will not go where it is ordered, but 
goeth where it listeth and how futile it is to attempt to bind it! 
Once again I suggest that you take a trip in this direction. But by 
all means follow your own sweet will (man-like), and come or not, as 
you choose. I should be glad to meet you, as I said, and talk with 
you. Some one has said, “ Interesting things are never true,” so 
one is obliged to lie. So don’t expect me to be “ frank never was, 
and never expect to be. In fact I am a first-class liar. And, after all 
is said of this little world of ours, I feel—as I was reading in a fine 
tale of Maarten’s this morning—•“ Up above—far, far above—stood, 
silent, God’s eternal stars, watchful, serenely waiting, in the dark- 
ness whence we come and whither we return.” Yet, out of the dark- 
ness, we emerge for one wee moment, and back again into the im- 
personal silence, ay for ay it may be. 
Well, are you in a worshipping frame of mind this fair Easter 
morn ? Are you thanking the powers that be for the gratuitous gift 
of identity ? Amen ! Sincerely yours. 
As Miss L. bad often emphasized the idea of freedom, N. 
wrote her a frank and sincere letter, giving his thoughts 
in regard to freedom. He also ventured to confess his 
interest in L, and his strong feeling of effection for her. 
Here is her answer: 29 
My Dear Mr. N.: 
I have just finished reading your letter, and I am amazed at its con- 
tents. No doubt, it is my own fault that you have so misunder- 
stood me. If it were not for the fact that possibly I stupidly gave 
reason for you to misunderstand my letters, I should ignore utterly 
your last one, but I wish you to understand my meaning (im- 
possible, perhaps). I have also told you several times, in various 
forms, that I am a woman who has lived her life. Emotion is a 
thing of the past for me. I have no enthusiasm for anything. 
Emotions cannot be got up to order, and I must say you have jarred 
my feelings in so completely misunderstanding me. I find it difficult 
to express my exact meaning. There is a wide gulf between a 
developed intelligent freedom and the unintelligent giving way to 
mere impulse and fancy. I will forgive and forget the whole thing, 
and shall endeavor to have it affect me in no way. 
It is an ideal spring morning ; one ought to be happy under the 
influence of such glorious sunshine. Sincerely yours. 
To this last letter N. made a sharp reply. He said also 
that she had misinterpreted him. Her answer, which fol- 
lows, was quite unexpected to N. The use of the term 
“ Dearest ” was a little puzzling to him. 
My Dear Mr. N.: 
I have just finished perusing your letter, in which you are pleased 
to smile at what you slightingly term my “ principles,” inferring that 
I have been untrue to them. Not at all! I repeat, I do as I please! 
You are not my father confessor, so it is not imperative for me to 
say what I have done. 
Let me quote my favorite Omar again, who reflects my present 
mood: 
“Then to the lips of this poor earthen Urn I lean’d, the secret of 
my life to learn ; 
And lip to lip it murmured, While you live, drink!—for, once dead, 
you never shall return.” 
Well, are you “annoyed”? But you know, superior masculine, you 
must not be surprised at anything in a woman. 30 
I should like to see you. I feel a very strong impulse toward you, 
dearest, and there is sweetness and joy in life at rare moments. Good- 
bye. Sincerely. 
In the last letter L. manifests some feeling towards N. 
Her letter which follows is not written in such a strain, but 
is somewhat critical in tone : 
My Deab Mk. N.: 
I have been attempting this afternoon to drown consciousness of 
existence in sleep, but, as the attempt was not successful, I am going 
to inflict myself upon you. Your love of “sincerity ” is profound, 
indeed; and do you expect to find it in this world, and especially in 
women? I suppose that I believe in sincerity (in a large sense), but 
I have not the profound reverence for it that you have. The only 
thing that I ask of people is to be interesting to me; if they are not, 
I leave them alone. I am not fond of transparent people or those 
who wear their hearts on their sleeves. But then the human creature is 
what he is; one has to take the particular individual as he is, and not 
expect that the ruts and convolutions that habit has produced in his 
brain are going through some miraculous metamorphosis at his re- 
quest. ’Tis all an accident, more or less, at any rate, is it not ? So, 
my dear, if I am not “honest,” all your desires in that line will be 
futile. Alas ! “I am what I am ! ” 
One of the amusing results of considering marriage as the one ex- 
clusive destiny of women is the fact that people, if they see a woman 
living out of the external institution of marriage, inevitably think it 
is necessity. Their narrow conceptions cannot imagine that she uses 
choice in the matter. 
But I fancy that I am growing garrulous, as I had no intention this 
morning of inflicting so much verbality upon you. 
As a rule, men are not sufficiently fastidious and exclusive in their 
tastes. A thing too easily got is not worth much. But how unsatis- 
factory letters are; one can say more in half an hour than one can 
write in a year. Every subject has so many sides that it seems im- 
possible to state one side strongly without denying some other phase 
of it. And so I should like to see you, too, and have a genuine good 
talk. 31 
Do you not think that you are slightly literal sometimes in your in- 
terpretation of my off-hand remarks ? 
Now, as to sincerity. I have never asked you to trust me, and I 
have never laid any claim to being sincere with you. In this matter 
you simply must trust to your own penetration, for I certainly shall 
not label myself. The verbal explanation of one’s personality is to 
me decidedly stupid, and perfectly unreliable, too. Don’t tell me 
any secrets, or perhaps you will regret it. I promise nothing. I am 
not one of the “faithful and true ” kind. 
Ought not people in general to have a more scientific conception of 
the human organism, that by no means annihilates the finer emotions ? 
But I am going to stop ! I must go to my work, and release you, too, 
from my gabble. 
Well, dear, I hope to see you; should enjoy the pleasure e^eedingly. 
Sincerely yours. 
Miss L. now for the first time shows in an unmistakable 
way a serious interest in Mr. N. He had been somewhat 
indifferent, and had not written as often as usual. 
My Dear Mr. N. : 
Why am I writing you again, do you query ? Well, how do I know ? 
Simply following a mood, I suppose. Simply a lovely day, divine as 
a dream. I wish that you were here, dear, just now. I do not under- 
stand myself, why my thoughts turn to you, for I did not conceive it 
possible for my jaded soul to be again aroused into interest. Strange, 
very strange! You see that I am following your omnipresent sug- 
gestion, “be frank.” Why? Again, I don’t know; a mood, I sup- 
pose. Yet I am in one of my desperate moods, when I simply would 
defy the devil, man, Ood, and do what I pleased. I feel gloriously 
free. But again the enigma confronts me—truly an enigma to me, 
for my interest is not easily aroused—why do I turn to you ? I really 
feel as though I knew you, and yet, dear, I like you! It is strange, 
for usually I am as cold as an iceberg. “Frank” again, you see. 
How do you like it ? 
Well, dear, why do you not write? I positively feel inspired to- 
day. 
Very sincerely, yours in spirit to-day. But what is spirit? 32 
Although N. was not much in doubt as to L.’s feeling, he 
nevertheless mentioned in his answer the fact that he was 
sometimes “puzzled” as to her real meaning. L.’s feeling 
towards him seems to have ceased, and she closes her fol- 
lowing letter in a sarcastic frame of mind. 
My Deab Me. N. : 
It always amuses me a little when a man airs his supposed knowl- 
edge of women. Ah, ha, so they are a “ puzzle to themselves,” are 
they? 
In spite of its absurdity, I made a weary attempt—forced myself— 
to answer the autocratic catechism that you sent me. Pardon my in- 
fliction of feminine moods upon you. I repent in sackcloth and 
ashes, and hereafter I shall maintain with you the most conventional 
equilibrium. 
With profound reverence for the superior masculine sense and acu- 
men (particularly in its scent of the feminine), I am humbly, but ad- 
miringly, yours. 
N. did not like the tone of the last letter, and wrote a 
brief reply, ignoring most of the unpleasant things referred 
to by L. In her answer which follows, L. shows a strong 
feeling towards N., and yet seems to regard this feeling in 
herself as amusing. 
My Deab Boy : 
Your short note is just received, and is it generosity or revenge 
that impels me to answer at once ? You may decide. Well, dear, I 
have been having a frightful attack of ennui to-day which my force 
of will has not been able to annihilate. With grim determination I 
studied all the morning, but the blue devil is still with me—laughing 
in his sleeve, no doubt, at my futile efforts to dismiss him. How 
devilishly inadequate books are at times! When one is in certain 
moods all vitality seems to forsake the literary world. Yes, indeed, 
there are times, many, when nothing but life, life, can satisfy one. 
Of course, dear, a genuine friend is the finest thing in life, but a 
friend is a rare article—that is, a friend who is so near to you as to 
be almost a second self, yet, at the same time, respects your individu- 33 
ality. And there are times, too, when letters and mere words seem 
but a cold communication between friends. 
By the way, may I ask why it is that you always ignore the things 
that I say to you ? You certainly (if circumstantial evidence is worth 
anything) consider my lengthy epistles a great bore, as you reply so 
briefly. 
My dear boy, I should like to see you very much, indeed, but you 
are rather slow to embrace the opportunities that I have offered. 
Good-bye, dearest; you are a dear, sweet boy. Don’t smile. Yours, 
with . 
Miss L. complains again of not being understood, and 
again closes her letter in a sarcastic tone. 
My Dear Mr. N. : 
You force the fact home to me that my language must be extremely 
dense, as I have never yet succeeded in making you understand my 
ideas. Added, however, to my stupid manner of expression is your too 
literal acceptation of every remark, however n’importe. 
When with such accuracy you state my “ unworthiness of 
confidence,” kindly recall the fact that I have never asked for your 
confidence, and certainly you cannot justly accuse me of making any 
statements as to my honesty, “frankness,” etc. As to my being 
“ suspicious, ” since you have selected such a gracious (?) term with 
which to characterize me, I flatly deny the allegation. However, you 
are at liberty to think as you please. 
But why do I speak of “ lore ” to you ? For I can realize how your 
skeptical soul mocks, and even I myself smile even as I write it. But 
I am utterly unable to make you understand my ideas and feelings on 
the sexual question, so I give it up again n’importe. 
You like many friends. My nature happens to be such that I care 
but for very few. I know throngs of people of all kinds, but those 
who mean anything to me I can easily count. It is not because I’m 
“suspicious” (sweet word)—I’m not at all afraid of being hurt; I 
simply don’t care for many I am not attracted to. 
When I first began to write you this morning, I confess that I was 
irritated, your letter was so confoundedly mean; but the irritation 
has quite worn off and I feel simply amused. Well, do you want to 34 
forgive and make up, dear ? But ah, I forget I am that untrustworthy 
feminine, so “unworthy of confidence.” Ah me, how sad! Well, 
since reading your portrayal of me, all vanity has forsaken my organ- 
ism ; “suspicious” and “untrustworthy,” I am in the depths of 
humiliation. Humbly yours. 
In bis last letter to Miss L., N. told her that he had 
grown to think a great deal of her, notwithstanding their 
frequent disagreements. He intimated that in a previous 
letter he had expressed strong feeling for her, but that she 
took no notice of it. She answers : 
My Deak Mb. N. : 
It is a lovely afternoon—just the kind for a long drive in the 
country, away from the haunts of mankind, etc. But the aforesaid 
conditions for their joy depend decidedly upon congenial compan- 
ionship—what say you?—at least in certain moods. Nature devoid of 
the human element does not appeal to me. 
You say that I am “ informal.” Well, the majority of people 
would not agree with you in that verdict, for I am generally denom- 
inated cold and formal. 
And so, dear, you have been “ emotional” in your letters to me. 
How very obtuse I must be, for I have not noticed any traces of emo- 
tion therein. It has been rather a mild, adulterated sort of emotion, 
hasn’t it ? 
I now expect to be in this locality most of the summer, and, if so, 
of course I shall be glad to see you in . Yes, my dear, I should 
like to see you very much. 
I think that you may well term “ love ” a “ puzzler; ” but there is 
one thing true of it—that it vindicates itself, for, though of everything 
else in the universe, in certain moods, at any rate, we ask the why 
and wherefore, often the disgusted reply being, “ No good,” we are 
only too glad to revel in emotion without questioning it. It may be 
absurdity, madness, w’hat not, yet we welcome it. 
Well, dear boy, good-bye. Hoping to see you soon, I am, 
sincerely. 
My brain is weary. 35 
L. and N. bad not seen each other since the time she was 
beginning her college course. N. finally called on L., re- 
maining two days in the city where she resided. They both 
were much interested as to how they would impress each 
other. When they first met, L. became sarcastic. N. per- 
ceived that it was a habit of hers which was more of a whim 
than anything else. While out on a walk, however, L. 
di'ifted into one of her critical moods. They sat under the 
trees and talked, but the conversation soon became sharp, 
and so high was the feeling that L. exclaimed: “Well, we 
never can agree; we are absolutely different; you don’t un- 
derstand me at all, and we might just as well part here.” 
N. hardly knew what to say or do; but, it being near the 
dinner hour, he suggested that before they leave each other 
he should like very much if L. would consent to dine out 
with him. L. hesitated some, but accepted. While they 
were sitting at the table engaged in general conversation, 
L. began to express some feeling, and asked N. if he would 
forgive the remark she had made about their parting. N. 
almost broke out in tears, but he composed himself suffi- 
ciently to answer in the affirmative. His formal answer 
was no indication of his feeling. From that moment they 
both knew that they cared a great deal for each other. N. 
remained another day; they did not wish to part; they did 
not care whether they agreed or not; the disagreement was 
an intellectual matter only. Their feeling now became ex- 
plicit ; they fully understood each other; they were in love. 
What a change! It was but forty-eight hours ago that it 
would have been easy for them to part; but now how diffi- 
cult! N. could not wait till he arrived at his home, but 
wrote L. two letters on the train, which were full of feeling 
for her. He wanted to come and see her again soon. She 
more than reciprocated in her answer: 36 
My Dear Dearest. : 
Your two sweet letters I received this morning, just after I had 
mailed one to you. Indeed, dear, I am so glad to hear from you, and 
think of you—well, I shall not attempt to compute how many times. 
Yes, I think it is very sweet to think that one is really near in feeling 
to another, for it is a rare experience, at least with me. Why, dear, 
as I wrote you, I feel that no one understands me as you do. Of 
course, my dear boy, I want to see you, nor do I want the “civilized 
co-degenerate world,” as you term it, to enjoy that pleasure with me. 
No, dear, I only want you. (I suspect that I am writing in rather an 
incoherent fashion, and repeating myself.) So, dear, I for my part 
cannot see you any too soon, for I have been with you in thought, 
and so, dearest, I shall be so glad to see you; it is so restful and 
sweet being with you, and a joy that explains itself. I certainly 
never expected to know any one as I think I do you, nor to feel with 
any one the satisfied repose that I felt with you. (I am in one of my 
frank moods rare), but why shouldn’t I tell you ? 
Words fail to give an idea of the heat to-day; it is simply over- 
powering. 
Well, dear, dear boy, I hope to see you soon. Good-bye, dear. 
While it is evident that “ L.” is deeply in love with N., 
yet in her next letter she does not manifest intense feeling, 
but criticises N.; for although he had written often, it was 
not so often as she expected. In this letter, as in others, 
L. blames herself, and also N. But when in this frame of 
mind she draws a great deal from her imagination. 
Deab, I had hoped for a letter ere this, but I certainly have no in- 
tention of begging any more for what a man wishes to withhold. 
Well, I shall soon follow your example and drop into silence, for don’t 
imagine that I’m going to keep on boring you with letters. 
If I could see you, there are some things that I would like to say to 
you this morning (provided I could secure your attention, a thing I 
found difficult), but I’ll not write them, as it is so difficult to be under- 
stood in letters. 
If I had a bit of sentiment in me this morning (but I haven’t) I sup- 
pose that I should recall the fact (or is it merely a dream?) that I 37 
was with you last Sunday, just a week ago; but then to ask you to re- 
call it would be taxing the masculine memory far too severely. I’ll 
not be so cruel! 
Well, we are as we are, and to ask a man to dance on the heights 
of emotion very long would, indeed, be craving for miracles. How 
effectually space and distance annihilate masculine feeling! ’Tis the 
immediate that he eagerly grasps. But then one simply must accept 
the inevitable. And in the labyrinthine maze of words, words, in 
which we are entangled, now and then a fact peeps out; and one now 
stares me in the face; ’tis this—the ease with which a man forgets. 
In spite of what we know, women go on permitting themselves to be 
the sport of the masculine. How ridiculous the feminine is ! Is its 
sole raison-d’etre the amusement of the masculine in his moments 
of relaxation? Well, if she consents to the position (idiot that she 
is), who can she blame ? One must accept his own idiocy, that is all. 
Again my imagination summons up a picture of you. Ah, the sur- 
passing glory of being a man! But I must draw down a veil on the 
entrancing picture, for it fills my weak feminine soul with envy. 
Good-bye, dear. 
There is no man who does not like to be loved. N. did 
not desire to lead L. to expect anything more than love in 
return for her love. It is probable that L. never expected 
anything more; in fact, she had said once to N. that she 
never wished him to feel that he lost any freedom on her 
account. There were no doubts in either of their minds of 
the genuineness of their mutual love. N. had no doubt in 
his mind but that he could live happily with L. But con- 
ditions in life would not allow of his proposing marriage, 
however much he might desire to. In all her future letters, 
L. never lost her love feeling. N. did not write to her as 
often as he should, but it was not because he did not love 
her; it was a case of man’s general disinclination to write 
many letters. L. wrote once or twice every day to N. N. 
was engaged in a business that required almost all of his 38 
time. L., on the other hand, had much leisure time. That 
he did not write to her so often was not what displeased 
her, but it was her false interpretation of his silence, to wit, 
that he had forgotten her. 
The reader will have noted the critical tendency in L.’s 
character, which is bound to manifest itself even in the most 
intense love feeling. There is much repetition in her letters, 
as she herself often confesses. She seems to like to love for 
the sake of love itself; she had no ulterior object, not even 
marriage ; she loved to love ; that was bliss itself. 
In the letters that follow, one will note how pure and 
simple is the expression of love. L. writes briefly, and 
shows little desire for argumentation. Such is the power 
of love to overcome everything. 
Well, dearest, it is about 7 P. M., and I am alone in my room. 
How much I have thought of you to-day, and it would be so lovely, 
dear, to see you. 
I wonder what you have been doing these two days. It seems 
to me that life has a way of now and then (very rarely, how- 
ever) of introducing joyous moments, possibly just to show us what 
she can do in this line. Will you forgive me, dear, if I quote a little 
poetry of Browning’s ? 
“ Ah, Love, but a day, 
And the world has changed ! 
The sun’s away, 
And the bird estranged ; 
The wind has dropped, 
And the sky’s deranged ; 
Summer has stopped. 
‘ ‘ Look in my eyes ! 
Wilt thou change, too ? 
Should I fear surprise ? 
Shall I find aught new 
In the old and dear, 
In the good and true, 
With the changing year?” 39 
When you say that you do not enjoy art, I suppose that I’m rather 
insolent to thrust it upon you. But I think that all the forms of art 
add to the joy of living, and “ knowledge ” put into a beautiful form 
has had nothing taken away from it. 
Again, dear, I wonder what you are going to do this evening. It 
is just two days since 
Ah, dear, I feel very much alone, but I can only say good-night, 
and think of you, dearest. 
This letter was written on the same day as the previous 
one : 
My Dear Boy : 
Your note is just received, and it was very sweet of you to send me 
a few words. Yes, my dear, I think it is “ lovely ” that we have 
“ met.” I know that I, too, shall be “ lonely ” now that I’m rested. 
Already I have felt it, although I was so weary yesterday that nothing 
made a very lively impression upon me. Ah, my dear, I wish that 
I could see you! If I should go on writing this morning, it would 
simply be repetition, so good-bye, dear. 
Dear, I shall probably read your note many times to-day, and try 
and imagine that I am with you. How sweet that would be! 
My Dear : 
I wrote you yesterday, and again last evening ; had the latter letter 
ready for the mail when your notes of arrived this morning, so 
I enclose last night’s epistle. (Unkind, am I not, to bore you with so 
much ?) 
I feel, dear, that you know and understand me better than any one 
on earth. I mean exactly what I say ! But why multiply words, for 
I am sure, dear, that you understand all that I would say. Good- 
bye, dear. 
Dearest : I don’t want to flood you with letters, but it seems as 
though I must write you a few words. How lonely I am, dear. 
Again and again I have read your notes. Well, words fail to give 
adequate ideas of these feelings. Surely your little sojourn was 
nearly perfect, and it is sweet to think of. And, my dear, I am so 40 
glad to know you as I do, and to feel towards you, too, as I do ; what 
that feeling is I am sure you know. Positively, dear, it is the sweetest 
time that I have ever enjoyed; in fact, it is quite unique. Ah me, 
you know, without my saying it, how much it has been to me! 
Ah, my dear boy, how I should like to see you, so lonely am I! 
Do you get weary of my saying the same thing so many times ? But 
what else can I say, dear, for I have been thinking of you all day, 
and to-night thought is intensified into a yearning for you—only you. 
Well, good-night, dear one. 
Well, dear, I have not heard from you since the 3rd, and it seems 
a very long time. 
Now that I have begun to write, I haven’t a thing to say, save that 
I miss you and am lonely without you, and, seeing that I have already 
made this same remark at least a dozen times, possibly it is by this time 
impressed upon your brain. Sometimes, dearest, words are very in- 
effective things. 
I hope that you will feel like writing, dear, for I want a word from 
you, oh, how much. (I find myself returning to primitive ex- 
pressions. ) 
I’m not in the mood for writing. It is a cold medium of expression 
to me just at this moment. Good-bye, dear. 
Again, I hope that you will feel like writing at once. 
My dear, I have never before felt such loneliness, but what’s the 
use of repeating this for the hundredth time ? 
You see, dear, that I am developing into a regular letter fiend. 
Yesterday I wrote twice, and here I am again. But one is likely to 
write when one is thinking so much. Why, dear, what shall I say to 
you to give you an idea of the sweetness you have brought into my 
life ? It is no one thing in our relation that I would accentuate. It 
is the whole—congeniality in so much. (Words are hackneyed.) 
Again, dear, I ask forgiveness, for I want to quote something that 
your “ degenerative world ” called to mind, that is the voicing of the 
same idea by art: 41 
“Ah, love, let us be true to one another'! for the woi'ld, which 
seems 
To lie before us like a land of dreams, 
So various, so beautiful, so new, 
Hath, really, neither joy, nor love, nor light, 
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain : 
And we are here as on a darkling plain, 
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, 
Where ignorant armies clash by night.” 
Shall I soon see you, dearest ? Good-bye. 
In the following letter L.’s critical tendency is manifested. 
She also resolves not to give expression to her feelings any 
more, because N. does not respond as he should. She 
breaks this resolution. 
Dear, is everything witU you, then, a “means to an end" ? Just answer 
this question, please, for a change, for, with fine consistency, you 
ignore everything that I write. Do you know that henceforth I’m 
going to follow your example and be very moderate and mild in my 
expressions ? I will not bore you any more with my intense phrase- 
ology. 
Well, I do not feel very much interested in anything at this moment, 
so I will say good-bye. 
I am glad that you are enjoying yourself, playing the society act, 
etc. How charming, to be sure ! Just now I (see the changes) 
would like to say something sweet and nice to you, but I won’t, 
because—yes, I will, too fbreak my resolution before it’s cold). 
I should like to you, dearest. Just come to my arms, dear. 
Ah, could I ? I think of you, yes, yes, indeed! In fact, I you ! 
Good-bye again, dear. 
Miss L. is again sarcastic, and makes a resolution not to 
express her feelings any more. She signs the letter with 
her full name, which she has not done except in her first 
letters. 
It is a fine morning, dear; is this not startling news ? I fear I’m 42 
not very loyal to the sex, for I’m not very fond of women. They pos- 
sess many traits that are decidedly unpleasant to me. (Don’t imagine 
that I except myself from the condemnation.) I feel this morning a 
superabundant amount of energy. I feel as though I could jump 
over the sun, but, alas, great would be the fall thereof! 
8.30 A. M. Your letter of the 28th inst. received, and I see that 
you are improving the circumstances into which you are so fortu- 
nately thrown. Religion, prayers, and songs (the latter reinforced 
by the charm of the feminine), how fine, to be sure. As for religion, 
I feel that Renan exhausted the subject, but, of course, comparatively 
few know Renan; certainly not the theologians. How prejudiced you 
are sometimes in your criticisms! And you at times fancy, I imagine, 
that you will simply silence me with the brute force of assertion. Do 
you think that you possess some peculiar prerogative by which you 
can grandly (dogmatically I should call it) waive aside every state- 
ment made by others as mere “ opinion”? Art is a part of the uni- 
verse, and it needs both “attention” and “investigation” to under- 
stand it. The artist is much more fair; he does not assail science. 
Why, in fact, should either one of them attack the other ? However, I’m 
quite aware that I’m wasting my breath in saying these things to you. 
I am familiar with the majesty with which you will sweep them aside 
as though I were a silly ignoramus. 
Do you think, too, that my sole mission in life is to be “ antidotal ” 
to your various moods ? When you are tired of the worshipping state 
of mind, the hymns, etc., then you fancy, possibly, that 1 might be a 
momentary i‘antidote.” No, I thank you, the position is too lofty 
for me. 
I feel hard as a rock ; the very idea or thought of sentiment wearies 
me; it never shall disturb me again. As things are constituted, it is 
most foolish for a woman to give up to this sort of thing. If life 
were differently organized, then it might be different. There is no get- 
ting around that. It is like a man—like any one, I suppose—to want 
to enjoy things without undergoing the responsibilities that conven- 
tion has imposed for their enjoyment. Well, I have learned the les- 
son once and for all. I abandon henceforth the field of sentiment. 
I shall never again play the part of plaything. I have thought for 
a long time that woman and fool were synonymous terms, and my own 
experience confirms the opinion. I have played the part of a first- 43 
class idiot. It makes me smile at this moment at my own puerile 
faith, that I could think that a man really cared for me. I think a 
man would have a more serious task than he would care to undertake 
in convincing me of that again. Bah, it’s all a farce! 
Well, I will leave you to your sainthood and your hymns, good 
“ deacon ” ! Sincerely yours. 
This last letter hurt N.’s feelings, and he confessed the 
same to “ L.” in a brief but kind note. Her answer is an 
illustration of the changeableness of woman’s emotions. 
My Dearest Boy : 
I have been repenting my brutal letter to you. Will you forgive 
me, dear? 
Two of your dear letters came to me to-day, and, ah me, I wonder 
how I could have been so hateful! 
Would you let me take you in my arms now, dearest, and love you 
to my heart’s content, or have I forfeited that delight ? 
I want to send this note in this mail; will write more fully soon. 
Dear, forgive me and just come to my arms, for, dearest, I you. 
Good-bye. 
The gradual development of love in L. is partially hidden. 
She was at first interested in N.; this interest grew ; at 
times she seemed to d>e playing with the word “ dear she 
did not seem to know her own mind, as she said she did 
not even read her letters over before sending them; she 
wrote things down just as they came into her mind. 
When L. and N. met, there was a contest between their 
personalities. As she had always been allowed to have her 
own way by her parents, she was very sensitive to the least 
suggestion of any one having power over her. She misin- 
terpreted many statements in N.’s letters, as if he were try- 
ing to control her. Such an idea was contrary to all her 
previous thinking. But there was really no such purpose 
on the part of N.; he understood her, he always let her 44 
have her own way. When she met him, and found that his 
supposed dogmatism did not exist, that he was willing to 
do just as she liked, that he recognized her equality and 
independence, all her opposition ceased. Where there is 
this true love, both persons long to serve each other; they 
cannot do too much, one for the other. When we think 
of L’s assertion of independence and her fear of being sub- 
servient to any one, we realize the infinitude of the power of 
love. 
One great difficulty with Miss L., which is often the case 
with both men and women students, was her failure to ad- 
here a sufficiently long time to her chosen specialty. If a 
student is ambitious to be one of the foremost in any 
branch of knowledge, he may not be able to accomplish it 
by close application in three or five years, but he can do it 
in ten years. For any one with average ability, by continu- 
ally keeping at a definite line of work, gradually and un- 
consciously becomes possessor of most that is known in 
this line, and this fact gives him recognition as an authority. 
The difficulty is that students have not sufficient persever- 
ance and patience to make the sacrifices that such a method 
of study requires.