Nature's flowers send forth their heaven-born fragrance, and develop their beautiful colours in the garden of the Magdalen, equally, as well as in the fields of the millionaire.
The genial sun does not withhold its rays from anyone—it condemns none.
The angel world can see the cause of evil, trace its origin and understand fully its ultimate effects.
The results of sin are deplorable enough without having the hateful stigma of society resting upon the sinner, crushing all the high and holy aspirations of one's nature to reform.
Nature never becomes ashamed of the criminal, her plants never blush when a lonely soul presses them to her cheek, her waters never fail to cleanse the external form—why then should hatred gleam forth from you when a fallen creature appeals for sympathy?
Why stigmatize them and frown them down with the linger of scorn?
Nature's flowers, tinted with choicest colours, and exhaling a heaven-born fragrance to delight your senses may be found in the debris of your backyard—they came up through the loathsome dirt. The little tendrils, when first expanding into vigorous life in the dark ground, were scratched with broken glass, obstructed by old junk bottles, and tramped upon by the rude thief stealthily looking for an opportunity to plunder, but by and by, they reached a higher plane, and under the genial influence of sunshine and rain, they bore upon their stems beautiful blossoms.
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