When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of twothings. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better,or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue andbecomes worse. Of an intermediate balance, under thecircumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunningwiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and more humantempter. There are large forces which allure with all thesoulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human.The gleam of a thousand lights is often as effective as thepersuasive light in a wooing and fascinating eye. Half theundoing of the unsophisticated and natural mind is accomplishedby forces wholly superhuman. A blare of sound, a roar of life, avast array of human hives, appeal to the astonished senses inequivocal terms. Without a counsellor at hand to whispercautious interpretations, what falsehoods may not these thingsbreathe into the unguarded ear! Unrecognised for what they are,their beauty, like music, too often relaxes, then we