And by love I do not mean blind, unreasoning passion, the mad, extraordinary feeling that one reads about in novels, and which generally lands one or the other in the Divorce Court, and of which I have nothing to say, but I do mean that wonderful self-devotion to another, the mutual respect and regard, and the absolute unselfishness, that make up the true love that never fades, and that increases year by year in those whose married life was based on such love as this, and whose home reflects around the happiness which is centred there, and which can only be procured by those who begin their life together on a proper basis, and who do not expect to find in each other the god or goddess of perfection, who would probably be as unpleasant to live with as he or she is undoubtedly non-existent in this world of ours. Of course all this sounds fearfully prosaic, and is, no doubt, middle-aged philosophy; but it would not be worth writing down if it were not middle-aged, because it would be imagination only and not the fruits of experience. I have lived a certain number of years, and I have had large opportunities of observation, and I am certain of what I am saying, that the truest marriages are those which are framed on respect as well as love, and that those women are the happiest who can implicitly trust and believe in the men to whom they have given themselves in some measure body and soul; and that, furthermore, they get the most out of life who take care every moment they live has something to occupy it, and that that occupation benefits someone beside their immediate selves.