If Life Be A War, It Seemed

My Wretched Feet, Flayed And Swollen To Lameness By The Sharp Air Of January, Began To Heal And Subside Under The Gentler Breathings Of April; The Nights And Mornings No Longer By Their Canadian Temperature Froze The Very Blood In Our Veins; We Could Now Endure The Play-hour Passed In The Garden.

Women Are Supposed To Be Very Calm Generally: But Women Feel Just As Men Feel; They Need Exercise For Their Faculties, And A Field For Their Efforts As Much As Their Brothers Do; They Suffer From Too Rigid A Restraint, Too Absolute A Stagnation, Precisely As Men Would Suffer; And It Is Narrow-minded In Their More Privileged Fellow-creatures To Say That They Ought To Confine Themselves To Making Puddings And Knitting Stockings, To Playing On The Piano And Embroidering Bags.

I Seem To Have Gathered Up A Stray Lamb In My Arms: You Wandered Out Of The Fold To Seek Your Shepherd, Did You, Jane?

I Can Only Say With Deeper Sincerity And Fuller Significance What I Have Always Said In Theory - Wait God's Will.

They Will Both Be Happy, And I Do Not Grudge Them Their Bliss; But I Groan Under My Own Misery: Some Of My Suffering Is Very Acute. Truly, I Ought Not To Have Been Born: They Should Have Smothered Me At First Cry.