scruples, than you turn into a crime the advice I have been giving
you. The disorder which love brings to the soul, and the other evils
which follow in its train, appear to you, so you say, more to be
feared than the pleasures it gives are to be desired.

It is true that some very good people are of the opinion that the
sorrows of love are about equal to its pleasures, but without entering
upon a tiresome discussion to ascertain whether they are right or
wrong, if you would have my opinion, here it is: Love is a passion
which is neither good nor bad of itself; it is only those who are
affected by it that determine whether it is good or bad. All that I
shall say in its favor is, that it gives us an advantage with which
any of the discomforts of life can not enter into comparison. It drags
us out of the rut, it stirs us up, and it is love which satisfies one
of our most pressing wants. I think I have already told you that our
hearts are made for emotion; to excite it therefore, is to satisfy a
demand of nature. What would vigorous youth be without love? A long
illness: it would not be existence, it would be vegetating. Love is to
our hearts what winds are to the sea. They grow into tempests, true;
they are sometimes even the cause of shipwrecks. But the winds render
the sea navigable, their constant agitation of its surface is the
cause of its preservation, and if they are often dangerous, it is for
the pilot to know how to navigate in safety.

But I have wandered from my text, and return to it. Though I shock
your sensitive delicacy by my frank speaking, I shall add, that
besides the need of having our emotions stirred, we have in connection
with them a physical machinery, which is the primitive cause and
necessity of love. Perhaps it is not too modest for a woman to use
such language to you, but you will understand that I would not talk to