igh
necessity than it may be in yours, and the confession which I shame to
make, is perhaps of itself, a beginning of that very kind of
self-examination which we seek the church to awaken."

"Alas, Miss Lucy, even this was not in my thought, so much are we men
ignorant of or indifferent to those things which are thought of so much
real importance. We seldom regard matters which are not of present
enjoyment. The case is otherwise with you. There is far more truth, my
own experience tells me, in the profession of your sex, whether in love
or in religion, than in ours--and believe me, I mean this as no idle
compliment--I feel it to be true. The fact is, society itself puts you
into a sphere and condition, which, taking from you much of your
individuality, makes you less exclusive in your affections, and more
single in their exercise. Your existence being merged in that of the
stronger sex, you lose all that general selfishness which is the strict
result of our pursuits. Your impulses are narrowed to a single point or
two, and there all your hopes, fears and desires, become concentrated.
You acquire an intense susceptibility on a few subjects, by the loss of
those manifold influences which belong to the out-door habit of mankind.
With us, we have so many resources to fly to for relief, so many
attractions to invite and seduce, so many resorts of luxury and life,
that the affections become broken up in small, the heart is divided
among the thousand; and, if one fragment suffers defeat or denial, why,
the pang scarcely touches, and is perhaps unfelt by all the rest. You
have but few aims, few hopes. With these your very existence is bound
up, and if you lose these you are yourselves lost. Thus I find that your
sex, to a certain age, are creatures of love--disappointment invariably
begets devotion--and either of these passions, for so they should be
called, once brought into exercise, forbids and excludes every other."

"Really, Mr. Colleton, you seem to have looked somewhat into the
philosophy of this subject, and you may be right in the inferences to
which you have come. On this point I may say nothing; but, do you
conceive it altogether fair in you thus to compliment us at our own
expense? You give us the credit of truth, a high eulogium, I grant, in
matters which relate to the the affections and the heart; but this is
done by robbing us entirely of mental independence. You are a kind of
generous outlaw, a moral Robin Hood