" "I
want to see the folly of them too." Few of us men can realize the
feeling that, with our sisters, may account for, though not excuse, much
folly and sin. They see others happy all around them: it is hard to fast
when so many are feasting. So there comes a shameful sense of
ignorance--a vague, eager desire for knowledge--a terror of an isolation
deepening and darkening upon them, and a determination, at any risks, to
balk at least _that_ enemy--and so, like the poor lady of Shalott, they
grow restless, and reckless, and rebellious at last. They are safe where
they are, but the days have so much of dull sameness that there is a
sore temptation in the unknown peril. "Better," they say, "than the
close atmosphere of the guarded castle and the phantasms of fairy-land,
one draught of the fresh outer air--one glimpse of real life and
nature--one taste of substantial joys and sorrows that shall wake all
the pulses of womanhood, even though the experience be brief and dearly
bought, though the web woven while we sat dreaming must surely be rent
in twain--ay, even though the curse, too, may follow very swiftly, and
the swans be waiting at the gate that shall bear us down to our
burying.
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