It is out of our power to
redeem ourselves. Our whole existence is a false, foul state, totally
inimical to love and purity, and domestic gentleness, and calm delight.
Yet are we envied! Oh! could these fools see us at any other time except
surrounded by our glitter, and hear of us at any other moment save in
the first bloom of youth, which is, even then, often wasted; could they
but mark our manhood, and view our hollow marriages, and disappointed
passions; could they but see the traitors that we have for sons, the
daughters that own no duty; could they but watch us even to our grave,
tottering after some fresh bauble, some vain delusion, which, to the
last, we hope may prove a substitute for what we have never found
through life, a contented mind, they would do something else but envy
us.
'But I stand prating when I am wanted. I must home. Home! O sacred word!
and then comes night! Horrible night! Horrible day! It seems to me I am
upon the eve of some monstrous folly, too ridiculous to be a crime, and
yet as fatal. I have half a mind to go and marry the Bird of Paradise,
out of pure pique with myself, and with the world.
Pages:
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384