They will also discover, as they read the "Sacred Volume," that it is not the friend of woman. They will find that the writers of that book, for the most part, speak of woman as a poor beast of burden, a serf, a drudge, a kind of necessary evil--as mere property. Surely, a book that upholds polygamy is not the friend of wife and mother. Even Christ did not place woman on an equality with man. He said not one word about the sacredness of home, the duties of the husband to the wife--nothing calculated to lighten the hearts of those who bear the saddest burdens of this life. They will also find that the Bible has not civilized mankind. A book that establishes and defends slavery and wanton war is not calculated to soften the hearts of those who believe implicitly that it is the work of God. A book that not only permits, but commands, religious persecution, has not, in my judgment, developed the affectional nature of man. Its influence has been bad and bad only. It has filled the world with bitterness, revenge and crime, and retarded in countless ways the progress of our race. The writer of this volume has read the Bible with open eyes. The mist of sentimentality has not clouded her vision. She has had the courage to tell the result of her investigations. She has been quick to discover contradictions. She appreciates the humorous side of the stupidly solemn. Her heart protests against the cruel, and her brain rejects the childish, the unnatural and absurd. There is no misunderstanding between her head and heart. She says what she thinks, and feels what she says. No human being can answer her arguments. There is no answer. All the priests in the world cannot explain away her objections. There is no explanation. They should remain dumb, unless they can show that the impossible is the probable--that slavery is better than freedom--that polygamy is the friend of woman--that the innocent can justly suffer for the guilty, and that to persecute for opinion's sake is an act of love and worship. Wives who cease to learn--who simply forget and believe--will fill the evening of their lives with barren sighs and bitter tears. The mind should outlast youth. If when beauty fades, Thought, the deft and unseen sculptor, hath not left his subtle lines upon the face, then all is lost. No charm is left. The light is out. There is no flame within to glorify the wrinkled clay. Hoffman House, New York, July, 22, 1885. PREFACE TO "FOR HER DAILY BREAD."