Do you know, that, the acutest pang that thrills through my heart, arises from the consciousness, that, while she was here, I was unworthy of her--as I would be doubly so were I now able to take the wings of the morning and reach the uttermost parts of heaven where she dwells. Learn, O brothers! loving, like myself, hopelessly, unsuccessfully:-- learn by me, by my blighted life, my lost present, my vanished hopes of heaven, that, the worst possible use to which you can put the divine image in which you are clothed, is "to go to the devil" for a woman's sake! Should she be deserving of your affection, as in most cases she will probably be--ten times more than you are of hers--this is one of the most inferior proofs that you can give of it; while, should she be unworthy of it, as may happen, you are a dolt for your pains--to put the motive of action at no higher level. And O sister women, daughters of England, fair to look upon, tender- hearted, ministering! think, that although no man that ever lived, but one, is perfectly worthy of a pure woman's love, many an erring brother may be recalled from his down-treading steps to hell, to higher, nobler duties by your influence; as many a soul is damned, both here and hereafter through your default! Bear with me yet a little longer. I shall soon be done. It is a relief to me thus to unbosom myself. Like Aenone--"while I speak of it, a little while, my heart may wander from its deeper woe." Min taught me to pray; and I _have_ prayed; but, the most fervent spirit that ever breathed out its conscience to its Maker could never hope to undo the past. "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" It was all very well for him who had faced Azrael, and looked upon himself as a dying man, to speak thus! Beautiful as is the sentiment contained in the words, are they _true_? I know that a brave man, one who does not credit an eternity and has not the slightest thought on the subject of future salvation or future punishment, can, when quitting the only world of his knowledge, look upon his approaching end with a courage and an apathetic calm which resemble the smiling fortitude wherewith the ancient gladiators uttered their parting salutations to Nero--when, in expectation, they waited for the fatal thumb to be turned down, in token of their doom. I can well believe that an earnest Christian, likewise, regards his instant dissolution, with equanimity and, even joy--through contemplation of the everlasting happiness in which he devoutly trusts. Still, how do both, the irreligious man and the hopeful believer, bear the loss of those dear to them--they themselves being left behind, forsaken, to grieve over their vacant chairs, their despoiled folds?-- Has not Death his sting for them; the grave, its awful triumph?-- I do not always speak like this, however; nor are my thoughts ever bitter and despairing.