It seems to me that our church services were made for _real_ Christians--people like the primitive Christians, who made a real thing of it; they gave up everything and went down and worshiped in the catacombs, for instance. I remember seeing those catacombs where they held their church far down under ground, when I was in Rome. There would be some meaning in _such_ people's using our service, but when I try to go through with it I fear to take such words on my lips. I wonder that nobody seems to feel how awful those words are, and how much they must mean, if they mean anything. It seems to me so solemn to say to God, as we do say in the communion service, "Here we offer and present unto Thee, O, Lord, _ourselves_, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice unto Thee"---- I see so many saying this who never seem to think of it again; and, oh, my dear friend, I have said it myself, and been no better afterward, and now, alas, I too often turn away from the holy ordinance because I feel that it is only a mockery to utter them, living as I do. About this marriage. Mr. Sydney is not at all a religious man; he is all for this world, and I don't think I shall grow much better by it. I wish there were somebody that could strengthen me, and help me to be my better self. I have dreams of a sort of man like King Arthur, and the Knights of the Holy Grail--a man, noble, holy, and religious. Such an one I would follow if I broke away from everyone else; but, alas, no such are in our society, at least I never have met any. Yet I have it in me to love, even to death, if I found a real hero. I marked a place in a book the other day, which said: "There is not so much difficulty in being willing to die for one, as finding one worth dying for." I haven't, and they laugh at me as a romantic girl when I tell them what I would do if I found my ideal. Well, I suppose you see how it's all likely to end. We drift, and drift and drift, and I shouldn't wonder if I drifted at last into this marriage. I see it all before me, just what it will be,--a wonderful wedding, that turns all New York topsy turvy--diamonds, laces, cashmeres, infinite flowers, and tuberoses of course, till one's head aches,--clang and ding, and bang and buzz;--triumphal processions to all the watering-places; tour in Europe, and then society life in New York, _ad infinitum_. Oh, dear, if I only could get up some _enthusiasm_ for him! He likes me, but he don't like the things that I like, and it is terribly slow work entertaining him--but when we are married we shan't see so much of each other, I suppose, and shall get on as other folks do. Papa and mamma hardly ever see much of each other, but I suppose they are all right. Aunt Maria says, love or no love at the beginning, it all comes to this sort of jog-trot at the end. The husband is the man that settles the bills, and takes care of the family, that's all.