Raised to heroism by misfortunes, she represses the
first faint dawning of a natural inclination, before it ripens into
love, and in the bloom of life forgets her sex--forgets the
pleasure of an awakening passion, which might again have been
inspired and returned. She no longer thinks of pleasing, and
conscious dignity prevents her from priding herself on account of
the praise which her conduct demands. Her children have her love,
and her brightest hopes are beyond the grave, where her imagination
often strays.
I think I see her surrounded by her children, reaping the reward of
her care. The intelligent eye meets her's, whilst health and
innocence smile on their chubby cheeks, and as they grow up the
cares of life are lessened by their grateful attention. She lives
to see the virtues which she endeavoured to plant on principles,
fixed into habits, to see her children attain a strength of
character sufficient to enable them to endure adversity without
forgetting their mother's example.
The task of life thus fulfilled, she calmly waits for the sleep of
death, and rising from the grave may say, behold, thou gavest me a
talent, and here are five talents.
I wish to sum up what I have said in a few words, for I here throw
down my gauntlet, and deny the existence of sexual virtues, not
excepting modesty. For man and woman, truth, if I understand the
meaning of the word, must be the same; yet the fanciful female
character, so prettily drawn by poets and novelists, demanding the
sacrifice of truth and sincerity, virtue becomes a relative idea,
having no other foundation than utility, and of that utility men
pretend arbitrarily to judge, shaping it to their own convenience.
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