begin the active life, for which, during so many years, she has been
preparing. But during this so-called preparation, her faculties have
been trained solely for accumulation, and she has learned to utterly
distrust the finer impulses of her nature, which would naturally have
connected her with human interests outside of her family and her own
immediate social circle. All through school and college the young soul
dreamed of self-sacrifice, of succor to the helpless and of tenderness
to the unfortunate. We persistently distrust these desires, and, unless
they follow well-defined lines, we repress them with every device of
convention and caution.

One summer the writer went from a two weeks' residence in East London,
where she had become sick and bewildered by the sights and sounds
encountered there, directly to Switzerland. She found the beaten routes
of travel filled with young English men and women who could walk many
miles a day, and who could climb peaks so inaccessible that the feats
received honorable mention in Alpine journals,--a result which filled
their families with joy and pride. These young people knew to a nicety
the proper diet and clothing which would best contribute toward
endurance. Everything was very fine about them save their motive power.
The writer does not refer to the hard-worked men and women who were
taking a vacation, but to the leisured young people, to whom this period
was the most serious of the year, and filled with the most strenuous
exertion. They did not, of course, thoroughly enjoy it, for we are too
complicated to be content with mere exercise. Civilization has bound us
too closely with our brethren for any one of us to be long happy in the
cultivation of mere individual force or in the accumulation of mere
muscular energy.

With Whitechapel constantly in mind, it was difficult not to advise