and propriety, break through a life-long natural timidity or years of case-hardened constraint and unreservedly tell the man of her choice, "I love you with all my heart, better than anything or anyone in the world." In doing so she may transgress the conventions, but she is true to her best nature, and her action is morally right. "Morality," says an earnest thinker on this subject, "is not shown by any unavoidable obedience to codes—indeed, it's often shown in the breaking of them. It is shown best, I think, when men, in defiance of traditions, conventions, and prejudices—without any obligation, and in utter disregard of their own interests—follow the guiding of their own hearts on the path of what they feel to be eternally right and true."
It is just here that we have to face the difficulty inseparable from the process of reform. It is the same difficulty that at present besets the enlightened educationist. Suppose a parent possessing a knowledge of his child's nature and character, and a knowledge also of the methods of rational education, were to endeavour to have that child educated according to the most enlightened and rational methods, what would the result be to parents and child alike? Similarly, what would happen if we ran-a-moke at our present social systems, practices, superstitions, traditions, legislation, and family and social ties? Possible disaster for the reformer, and almost certain ruin for the very people he meant to assist or to emancipate. There is an evident want of conformity between our healthy natural instincts and our social conditions and needs. If we are to succeed in true reform, the reconstruction must be a gradual process: we —must build in a brick here and loosen a stone there, gain the confidence of a fellow creature here and forbear to offend one there, introduce necessary changes as occasion
