——­How do I know that?  Why, I have known and loved to talk with good people, all the way from Rome to Geneva in doctrine, as long as I can remember.  Besides, the real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men,—­from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms.  It is in their hearts that the “sentimental” religion some people are so fond of sneering at has its source.  The sentiment of love, the sentiment of maternity, the sentiment of the paramount obligation of the parent to the child as having called it into existence, enhanced just in proportion to the power and knowledge of the one and the weakness and ignorance of the other,—­these are the “sentiments” that have kept our soulless systems from driving men off to die in holes like those that riddle the sides of the hill opposite the Monastery of St. Saba, where the miserable victims of a falsely-interpreted religion starved and withered in their delusion.

I have looked on the face of a saintly woman this very day, whose creed many dread and hate, but whose life is lovely and noble beyond all praise.  When I remember the bitter words I have heard spoken against her faith, by men who have an Inquisition which excommunicates those who ask to leave their communion in peace, and an Index Expurgatorius on which this article may possibly have the honor of figuring,—­and, far worse than these, the reluctant, pharisaical confession, that it might perhaps be possible that one who so believed should be accepted of the Creator,—­and then recall the sweet peace and love that show through all her looks, the price of untold sacrifices and labors,—­and again recollect how thousands of women, filled with the same spirit, die, without a murmur, to earthly life, die to their own names even, that they may know nothing but their holy duties,—­while men are torturing and denouncing their fellows, and while we can hear day and night the clinking of the hammers that are trying, like the brute forces in the “Prometheus,” to rivet their adamantine wedges right through the breast of human nature,—­I have been ready to believe that we have even now a new revelation, and the name of its Messiah is WOMAN!

* * * * *

——­I should be sorry,—­I remarked, a day or two afterwards, to the divinity-student,—­if anything I said tended in any way to foster any jealousy between the professions, or to throw disrespect upon that one on whose counsel and sympathies almost all of us lean in our moments of trial.  But we are false to our new conditions of life, if we do not resolutely maintain our religious as well as our political freedom, in the face of any and all supposed monopolies.  Certain men will, of course, say two things, if we do not take their views:  first, that we don’t know anything about these matters; and, secondly, that we are not so good as they are.  They have a polarized phraseology for saying these things, but it comes