In
earlier years I aspired to wield the sceptre or the lyre; for
I loved with wise design and irresistible command to mould
many to one purpose, and it seemed all that man could desire
to breathe in music and speak in words, the harmonies of the
universe. But the golden lyre was not given to my hand, and I
am but the prophecy of a poet. Let me use, then, the slow pen.
I will make no formal vow to the long-scorned Muse; I assume
no garland; I dare not even dedicate myself as a novice; I
can promise neither patience nor energy:--but I will court
excellence, so far as an humble heart and open eye can merit
it, and, if I may gradually grow to some degree of worthiness
in this mode of expression, I shall be grateful.'
WOMAN.
It was on "Woman in the Nineteenth Century" that Margaret was now
testing her power as a writer. 'I have finished the pamphlet,' she
writes, 'though the last day it kept spinning out beneath my hand.
After taking a long walk, early one most exhilarating morning, I sat
down to work, and did not give it the last stroke till near nine in
the evening. Then I felt a delightful glow, as if I had put a good
deal of my true life in it, and as if, should I go away now, the
measure of my foot-print would be left on the earth.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194