It is not our intention to perorate and dissertate on a theory calculated to turn the world into a miniature heaven, for we don’t believe for the fractional part of a moment that a general reformation of the fallen is practicable or possible. It is not unusual that the men who deplore so loudly the existence of soiled doves are the very men who are responsible for their existence. The only practicable solution that we may be tempted to offer, would be for society to brand the men with the stigma of its contempt, the same as it does the women, when he sinks himself below her level in an attempt to pervert her purity. If the immoral men were ostracized from polite society with the same despatch that a weak woman is, society would be composed almost entirely of women. The world’s fallen women are divided into two classes: The woman whose nature is depraved, who is too coarse to realize or heed the depth of her own infamy, and the woman whose circumstances have forced her to a life of shame. Of the former, it is useless to take heed for she understands nothing outside of her own depravity, and looks upon reformation as a thing to be avoided. Fortunately she constitutes but a small percentage of the half-world. The reclamation of the other woman is almost as utterly impossible for the reason that she has realized and suffered too much. We have homes of refuge for the friendless, retreats for the fallen, and hospitals for the poor, but after all the red tape formula for admittance has been complied with, they dispense only the cold crusts of charity. Where can a woman turn, whose suffering soul is tottering on the brink of the world’s damnation? To whom shall she turn for the tender touch of Christian pity, the charity of a human undertaking half divine? Surely, not to the church that “Bows the knee to pomp that loves to varnish guilt;” not to the women of merciless hearts and useless lives who boast of chastity because of frozen veins; not to public charities who advertise her squalor and her shame; not to the worldly man, whose aid is; almost invariably extended in return for favors their families know not of, but she turns to the hell of the world’s lost souls when men no longer find her a convenience. The modest woman of mental refinement finds a rival in the person with a good figure (no matter how blatant), who is able to set the pace that lures the men. Whatever her personal merits may be, her position precludes the possibility of her re-entering social circles that would be agreeable to her. She sees the girls about her who have smothered their moral scruples, wearing good clothes, going to entertainments and receiving the attentions of gentlemen who have no hesitancy in being parted from their money, if value is received, and it is small wonder if she, too, takes the initial step that leads to the “crib” in the “tenderloin.”