Featuring Women's History, Women Authors, Writing In General, And Author Interviews. Home of the Teresa Thomas Bohannon author of the Historical, Paranormal Romance, Shadows In A Timeless Myth, the Regency Romance Novel, A Very Merry Chase, and the illustrated version of Jane Austen's posthumously published Juvenilia, The Widow's Tale.
Smiles & Good Fortune, Teresa ************************************ It
is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity,
to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W.
Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
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Smiles & Good Fortune, Teresa ************************************ It
is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity,
to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W.
Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
'I, Bridget Ruane, wish to inform you that there is in the Oratory
in London one of the Fathers, a Saint. I do not know his name; but
there was a young woman of the name of Meara; she got two falls and
could get no cure. She went to London and found this holy man; and
he sent her back to Gort, here to me, and I cured her. If your
honourable Ladyship could make him out, it would be a wonderful
thing, and a great happiness to many a weary heart, and the great
God would have it in store for you and your son. May you enjoy many
happy days together is the prayer of your humble servant,
'Bridget Ruane.'
This letter was brought to me one morning; and I went down to see the
writer, a respectable-looking old woman, dressed in the red petticoat
and blue cloak of the country-people. She repeated what she had said in
her note, and added: 'Now if you could find out the name of that Saint
through the press, he'd tell me his remedies; and between us, all theworld would be cured. For I can't do all cures, though there are a great
many I can do. I cured Michael Miscail when the doctor couldn't do it,
and a woman in Gort that was paralyzed, and her two sons that were
stretched. For I can bring back the dead with some of the herbs our Lord
was brought back with, the Garblus and the Slanlus. But there are
some things I can't do. I can't help anyone that has got a stroke from
the Queen or the Fool of the Forth.
'It was my brother got the knowledge of cures from a book that was
thrown down before him on the road. What language was it written in?
What language would it be but Irish? May be it was God gave it to him,
and may be it was the other people. He was a fine strong man; and he
weighed fifteen stone; and he went to England, and there he cured all
the world, so that the doctors had no way of living. So one time he got
in a ship to go to America; and the doctors had bad men engaged to
shipwreck him out of the ship; he wasn't drowned, but he was broken to
pieces on the rocks, and the book was lost along with him. But he taught
me a good deal out of it. So I know all herbs, and I do a good many
cures; and I have brought a good many children home to the world, and
never lost one, or one of the women that bore them.'
I asked her to teach me some of her fragments of Druids' wisdom, the
healing power of herbs. So she came another day, and brought some herbs,
and sorted them out on a table, and said: 'This isDwareen
(knapweed); and what you have to do with this, is to put it down with
other herbs, and with a bit of threepenny sugar, and to boil it, and to
drink it, for pains in the bones; and don't be afraid but it will cure
you. Sure the Lord put it in the world for curing.
'And this is Corn-corn [tansy]; it s very good for the heart—boiled
like the others.
'This is Athair-talav, the father of all herbs (wild camomile). This
is very hard to pull; and when you go for it, you must have a
black-handled knife. And whatever way the wind is when you begin to cut
it, if it changes while you're cutting it, you'll lose your mind. And if
you are paid for cutting it, you can do it when you like; but if not,
they mightn't like it. I knew a woman was cutting at one time, and a
voice, an enchanted voice, called out: "Don't cut that if you are not
paid, or you'll be sorry." But if you put a bit of this with every other
herb you drink, you'll live for ever. My grandmother used to put a bit
with everything she took, and she lived to be over a hundred.
'And this is Camal buidhe (loose-strife), that will keep all bad
things away.
'This is Cuineal Muire (mullein), the blessed candle of our Lady.
'This is the Fearaban (water-buttercup); and it's good for every bone
of your body.
'This is Dub-cosac (trichomanes), that's good for the heart; very good
for a sore heart.
'Here are the Slanlus (plantain) and the Garblus (dandelion); and
these would cure the wide world; and it was these brought our Lord from
the Cross, after the ruffians that were with the Jews did all the harm
to Him. And not one could be got to pierce His heart till a dark man
came; and he said: "Give me the spear and I'll do it." And the blood
that sprang out touched his eyes and they got their sight. And it was
after that, His Mother and Mary and Joseph gathered these herbs and
cured His wounds.
'These are the best of the herbs; but they are all good, and there isn't
one among them but would cure seven diseases. I'm all the days of my
life gathering them, and I know them all; but it isn't easy to make them
out. Sunday afternoon is the best time to get them, and I was never
interfered with. Seven Hail Marys I say when I'm gathering them; and I
pray to our Lord, and to St. Joseph and St. Colman. And there may be
some watching me; but they never meddled with me at all.'
A neighbour whom I asked about Bridget Ruane and her brother
said:—'Some people call her "Biddy Early" (after a famous
witch-doctor). She has done a good many cures. Her brother was away
for a while, and it is from him she got her knowledge. I believe it's
before sunrise she gathers the herbs; any way no one ever saw her
gathering them. She has saved many a woman from being brought away when
her child was born by whatever she does; and she told me herself that
one night when she was going to the lodge gate to attend the woman
there, three magpies came before her and began roaring into her mouth to
try and drive her back.
Another neighbour, who has herself some reputation as an herb-doctor,
says:—'Monday is a good day for pulling herbs, or Tuesday—not Sunday:
a Sunday cure is no cure. The Cosac is good for the heart. There was
Mahon in Gort—one time his heart was wore to a silk thread, and it
cured him. And the Slanugad (ribgrass) is very good: it will take away
lumps. You must go down where it is growing on the scraws, and pull it
with three pulls; and mind would the wind change when you are pulling
it, or your head will be gone. Warm it on the tongs when you bring it
in, and put it on the lump. The Lus-mor is the only one that's good to
bring back children that are "away."'
Another authority says:—'Dandelion is good for the heart; and when
Father Quinn was curate here, he had it rooted up in all the fields
about to drink it; and see what a fine man he is. The wild parsnip
(Meacan-buidhe) is good for the gravel; and for heart-beat there's
nothing so good as dandelion. There was a woman I knew used to boil it
down; and she'd throw out what was left on the grass. And there was a
fleet of turkeys about the house, and they used to be picking it up. At
Christmas they killed one of them; and when it was cut open, they found
a new heart growing in it with the dint of the dandelion.'
But an old man says there are no such healers now as there were in his
youth:—'The best herb-doctor I ever knew was Connolly up at Kilbecanty.
He knew every herb that grew in the earth. It is said he was away with
the fairies one time; and when I saw him he had the two thumbs turned
in; and it was said it was the sign they left on him. I had a lump on
the thigh one time, and my father went to him, and he gave him an herb
for it; but he told him not to come into the house by the door the wind
would be blowing in at. They thought it was the evil I had—that is
given by them by a touch; and that is why he said about the wind; for
if it was the evil there would be a worm in it, and if it smelled the
herb that was brought in at the door, it might change to another place.
I don't know what the herb was; but I would have been dead if I had it
on another hour—it burned so much—and I had to get the lump lanced
after, for it wasn't the evil I had.
'Connolly cured many a one; Jack Hall, that fell into a pot of water
they were after boiling potatoes in, and had the skin scalded off him,
and that Dr. Lynch could do nothing for, he cured. He boiled down herbs
with a bit of lard, and after that was rubbed in three times, he was
well.
'And Cahill that was deaf, he cured with the Riv mar seala, that herb
in the potatoes that milk comes out of.'
Farrell says:—'The Bainne bo blathan (primrose) is good for the
headache, if you put the leaves of it on your head. But as for the
Lus-mor, it's best not to have anything to do with that.' For the
Lus-mor is good to bring back children that are 'away,' and belongs to
the class of herbs consecrated to the uses of magic, apart from any
natural healing power. The Druids are said to have taken their knowledge
of these properties from the magical teachers of the Chaldeans; but
anyhow the belief in them lives on in Ireland and in other Celtic
countries to this day.
A man from East Galway says: 'To bring anyone back from being with the
fairies, you should get the leaves of the Lus-mor, and give them to
him to drink. And if he only got a little touch from them, and had some
complaint in him at the same time, that makes him sick like, that will
bring him back. But if he is altogether in the fairies, then it won't
bring him back, for he'll know what it is, and he'll refuse to drink it.
'There was a man I know, Andy Hegarty, had a little chap—a little
summach of four years—and one day Andy was away to sell a pig in the
market at Mount Bellew, and the mother was away some place with the
dinner for the men in the field; and the little chap was in the house
with the grandmother, and he sitting by the fire. And he said to the
grandmother: "Put down a skillet of potatoes for me, and an egg." And
she said: "I will not; for what do you want with them? you're just after
eating." And he said: "Take care but I'll throw you over the roof of
that house." And then he said: "Andy"—that was his father—"is after
selling the pig to a jobber, and the jobber has given it back to him
again; and he'll be at no loss by that, for he'll get a half-a-crown
more at the end." So when the grandmother heard that, she wouldn't stop
in the house with him, but ran out—and he only four years old. When the
mother came back, and was told about it, she went out and got some of
the leaves of the Lus-mor, and she brought them in and put them on the
child; and he went away, and their own child came back again. They
didn't see him going, or the other coming; but they knew it by him.'
And a Galway woman, who has been in England says: 'I was delicate one
time myself, and I lost my walk; and one of the neighbours told my
mother it wasn't myself that was there. But my mother said she'd soon
find that out; for she'd tell me she was going to get a herb that would
cure me; and if it was myself, I'd want it; but if it was another, I'd
be against it. So she came in and said she to me: "I'm going to Dangan
to look for the Lus-mor, that will soon cure you." And from that day I
gave her no peace till she'd go to Dangan and get it; so she knew I was
all right. She told me all this afterwards.'
The man from East Galway says: 'The herbs they cure with, there's some
that's natural, and you could pick them at all times of the day.'
'Sea-grass' is sometimes useful as a natural and sometimes as an occult
cure. One who has tried it and other herbs, says: 'Indeed the porter did
me good, and good that I'd hardly like to tell you, not to make a
scandal. Did I drink too much of it? Not at all. But this long time I am
feeling a worm in my side that is as big as an eel, and there's more of
them in it than that. And I was told to put seagrass to it; and I put it
to the side the other day; and whether it was that or the porter I don't
know, but there's some of them gone out of it.
'Garblus—how did you hear of that? That is the herb for things that
have to do with the fairies. And when you drink it for anything of that
sort, if it doesn't cure you, it will kill you then and there. There was
a fine young man I used to know, and he got his death on the head of a
pig that came at himself and another man at the gate of Ramore, and that
never left them, but was with them all the time, till they came to a
stream of water. And when he got home, he took to his bed with a
headache. And at last he was brought a drink of the Garblus, and no
sooner did he drink it than he was dead. I remember him well.
'There is something in flax, for no priest would anoint you without a
bit of tow. And if a woman that was carrying was to put a basket of
green flax on her back, the child would go from her; and if a mare that
was in foal had a load of flax on her, the foal would go the same way.'
And a neighbour of hers confirms this, and says: 'There's something in
green flax, I know; for my mother often told me about one night she was
spinning flax before she was married, and she was up late. And a man of
the fairies came in—she had no right to be sitting up so late: they
don't like that—and he told her it was time to go to bed; for he wanted
to kill her, and he couldn't touch her while she was handling the flax.
And every time he'd tell her to go to bed, she'd give him some answer,
and she'd go on pulling a thread of the flax, or mending a broken one;
for she was wise, and she knew that at the crowing of the cock he'd have
to go. So at last the cock crowed, and she was safe, for the cock is
blessed.'
Old Bridget Ruane will not do any more cures by charms or by simples, or
'bring children home to the world' any more. For she died last winter;
and we may be sure that among the green herbs that cover her grave,
there are some that are 'good for every bone in the body,' and that are
'very good for a sore heart.' 1900.
(Shadows is also available at Barnes & Noble for the Nook) Complimentary Shadows In A Timeless Myth Short Story Complimentary Shadows In A Timeless Myth Musical Jigsaw Puzzle Shadows In A Timeless Myth Book Trailer Video Smiles & Good Fortune, Teresa ************************************ It
is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity,
to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W.
Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
Countess de St. Belmont.—When M. de St. Belmont, who defended a feeble
fortress against the arms of Louis XIV., was taken prisoner, his wife, the
Comtesse de St. Belmont, who was of a most heroic disposition, still
remained upon the estates to take care of them. An officer of cavalry
having taken up his quarters there without invitation, Madame de St.
Belmont sent him a very civil letter of complaint on his ill behaviour,
which he treated with contempt. Piqued at this, she resolved he should give
her satisfaction, and sent him a challenge, which she signed "Le Chevalier
de St. Belmont." The officer accepted it, and repaired to the place
appointed. Madame de St. Belmont met him, dressed in men's clothes. They
immediately drew their swords, and the heroine had the advantage of him;
when, after disarming him, she said, with a gracious smile, "You thought,
sir, I doubt not, that you were fighting with the Chevalier de St. Belmont;
it is, however, Madame de St. Belmont, who returns you your sword, and begs
you in future to pay more regard to the requests of ladies." She then left
him, covered with shame and confusion.
French Peasant Girl.—One evening early in 1858, Melanie Robert, daughter
of a small farmer, near Corbeil was proceeding to Essonnes, when a man
armed with a stout stick suddenly presented himself, and summoned her to
give up her money. Pretending to be greatly alarmed, she hastily searched
her pocket, and collecting some small pieces of coin held them out to the
man, who without distrust approached to take them. But the moment he took
the money, Melanie made a sudden snatch at the stick, and wresting it from
his hand, dealt him so violent a blow with it across the head that she
felled him to the ground. She then gave him a sound thrashing, and, in
spite of his resistance, forced him to accompany her to the office of the
commissary of police, by whom he was committed for trial.
Gallant Daughter.—Sir John Cochrane, who was engaged in Argyle's rebellion
against James II., was taken prisoner, after a desperate resistance, and
condemned to be executed. His daughter, having notice that the
death-warrant was expected from London, attired herself in men's clothes,
and twice attacked and robbed the mails between Belford and Berwick. The
execution was by this means delayed, till Sir John Cochrane's father, the
Earl of Dundonald, succeeded in making interest with the king for his
release.
A Gamekeeper's Daughter.—The Gazette of Augsburg for January, 1820,
contained a singular account of the heroism and presence of mind displayed
by the daughter of a gamekeeper, residing in a solitary house near Welheim.
Her father and the rest of the family had gone to church, when there
appeared at the door an old man apparently half dead with cold. Feeling for
his situation, she let him in, and went into the kitchen to prepare him
some soup. Through a window which communicated from the kitchen to the room
in which she had left him, she perceived that he had dropped the beard he
wore when he entered; that he now appeared a robust man; and that he was
pacing the chamber with a poignard in his hand. Finding no mode of escape,
she armed herself with a chopper in one hand and the boiling soup in the
other, and entering the room where he was, first threw the soup in his
face, and then struck him a blow with the hatchet on his neck, which
brought him to the ground senseless. At this moment a fresh knock at the
door occasioned her to look out of an upper window, when she saw a strange
hunter, who demanded admittance, and on her refusal, threatened to break
open the door. She immediately got her father's gun, and as he was
proceeding to put his threat in execution, she shot him through the right
shoulder, on which he made his way back to the forest. Half an hour after a
third person came, and asked after an old man who must have passed that
way. She said she knew nothing of him; and after useless endeavours to make
her open the door, he also proceeded to break it in, when she shot him dead
on the spot. The excitement of her courage being now at an end, her spirits
began to sink, and she fired shots, and screamed from the windows, until
some gendarmes were attracted to the house; but nothing would induce her to
open the door until the return of her father from church.
The Ladies of Beauvais.—Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, laid siege to
the City of Beauvais in the year 1472. After investing it closely for
twenty-one days, his troops made a general assault, and were on the point
of carrying the place, when a band of women, headed by a lady of the name
of Jeanne Hachette, rushing to the walls, opposed such a resistance, with
showers of stones, and other missiles, that the tide of fortune was
instantaneously turned. A Burgundian officer, who attempted to plant the
duke's standard on the walls, was fiercely attacked by Jeanne Hachette,
who, snatching the standard from his hands, threw him headlong over the
wall. The assailants, in short, were completely repulsed; nor was the
distaff, once thrown aside, resumed, till the ladies of Beauvais had forced
the Duke of Burgundy to retire in shame from their walls. In memory of this
gallant achievement, the Municipality of Beauvais ordered a general
procession of the inhabitants to take place every year, on the 10th of
July, the day on which the siege was raised, in which the ladies were to
have the privilege of preceding the men. As long as Jeanne Hachette lived,
she marched in this annual procession, at the head of the women, bearing
the standard which she had captured from the Burgundian officer; and at
her death this standard was deposited in the church of the Dominicans, and
a portrait of the heroine placed in the Town-Hall of Beauvais.
Smiles & Good Fortune, Teresa ************************************ It
is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity,
to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W.
Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
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It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
The unprotected female tourist is generally a much
stronger-minded individual than the solitary male
traveler, and has a higher purpose, a better courage,
and a greater capacity for meeting and conquering
the difficulties of the road. The poor fellow,
indeed, whose solitary journey we described the
other day, had no purpose, unless a vague idea
of going where amusement would come to him,
rather than of seeking it by any effort of his
own, may be called a purpose; but the unprotected
female knows what she is about; she has
something to do and she does it; she has a
defined plan from which nothing moves her; the
discomfort of a day will not turn her aside; nor
will she admit of any social overtures till she has
formed a judgment of their value, and has fair
reason to believe that she will receive at any rate
as much as she gives. The unprotected female,
as she knows and uses the strength of her weakness,
so does she perceive and measure the
weakness of her strength. She cannot be impetuous,
and impulsive, and kitten-like, as may
girls who can retreat at once behind their mother's
crinoline or under their father's umbrella, should a
cloud be seen in the distance or the need for shelter
be felt.
How or under what influences the unprotected
female commences her tour, who can tell? It
will usually be found, if inquiry be made as to
her family, that she has a brother, or a father,
or a mother; that she need not be an unprotected
female tourist, had she not elected that line as the
best for her pleasure or her profit. She is seldom
very young;—but neither is she very old. The lady
whose age would admit of her traveling alone withoutremark rarely chooses to do so; and when she
does, she is not the lady whom we all know as
the unprotected female. The unprotected female
must be pretty, or must at least possess feminine
graces which stand in lieu of prettiness, and which
can put forward a just and admitted claim for
personal admiration. She is not rich, and travels
generally with economy; but she is rarely brought
to a shift for money, and her economies conceal
themselves gracefully and successfully. She learns
the value of every franc, of every thaler, of every
zwansiger as she progresses, and gets more change
out of her sovereigns than any Englishman will
do. She allows herself but few self-indulgences,
and controls her appetites.
She can enjoy a good
dinner as well as her brother could do; but she
can go without her dinner with a courageous
persistence of which her brother knows nothing.
She never pays through the nose in order that
people indifferent to her may think her great or
generous, though she pays always sufficient to
escape unsatisfactory noises and to prevent
unpleasant demands. Her dress is quiet and yet
attractive; her clothes fit her well; and if, as
one is prone to suspect, they are in great part
the work of her own hand, she must be an
industrious woman, able to go to her needle at
night after the heat and dust of the day are
over. Her gloves are never worn at the finger-ends;
her hat is never shapeless, nor are her
ribbons ever soiled; the folds of her not too
redundant drapery are never misarranged, confused,
or angular. She never indulges in bright
colors, and is always the same, and always neat;
and they who know her best believe that if she
were called out of her room by fire in the middle
of the night, she would come forth calm, in
becoming apparel, and ready to take an active
part in the emergency without any infringement
on feminine propriety.
She is never forward,
nor is she ever bashful. A bashful woman could
not play her game, and a forward woman immediatelyencounters sorrow when she attempts to
play it. She can decline all overtures of acquaintanceship
without giving offense, and she can glide
into intimacies without any apparent effort. She can
speak French with fluency and with much more than
average accuracy, and probably knows something of
German and Italian. Without such accomplishments
as these let no woman undertake the part
of an unprotected female tourist. She can converse
on almost any subject; and, if called on
to do so, can converse without any subject. As
she becomes experienced in her vocation she learns
and remembers all the routes of traveling. She
is acquainted with and can explain all galleries,
cathedrals, and palaces. She knows the genealogies
of the reigning kings, and hardly loses herself
among German dukes. She understands politics,
and has her opinion about the Emperor, the King
of Prussia, and the Pope. And she can live with
people who know much more than herself, or
much less, without betraying the difference between
herself and them. She can be gay with
the gay, and enjoy that; or dull with the dull,
and seem to enjoy that. What man as he travels
learns so much, works so hard, uses so much
mental power, takes so much trouble in all things,
as she does? She is never impatient, never
exacting, never cross, never conquered, never
triumphant, never humble, never boastful, never
ill, never in want of assistance. If she fall into
difficulties she escapes from them without a complaint.
If she be ill-used she bears it without
a murmur; if disappointed,—as must so often
be the case with her,—she endures her cross and
begins again with admirable assiduity. Yet she is
only an unprotected female, and they who meet
her on her travels are too apt to declare that she
is an old soldier.
Unprotected female tourists, such as I have
described, are not very numerous; but there are
enough of them to form a class by themselves.
From year to year, as we make our autumn
excursions, we see perhaps one of them, and
perhaps a second. We meet the same lady two
or three times, making with her a pleasant acquaintance,
and then passing on. The farther we go
afield the more likely we are to encounter her.
She is always to be met with on the Nile; she
is quite at home at Constantinople; she goes
frequently to Spain; you will probably find her
in Central America; but her head-quarters are
perhaps at Jerusalem. She prefers the saddle
to any other mode of travelling, and can sit on
horseback for any number of hours without
flinching. For myself, I have always liked the
company of the unprotected female, and have
generally felt something like the disruption of
a tender friendship when circumstances have torn
me from her.
But why is she what she is? As to the people
that one ordinarily meets when travelling, no one
stops to inquire why they are what they are.
Mr. and Mrs. Thompson have come together,
naturally enough; and, naturally enough, there
are three or four Miss Thompsons. And when
young Mr. Thompson turns up alone, no one
thinks very much about him. But one is driven
to think why Miss Thompson is there at Cairo
all by herself. You go to the Pyramids with
her, and you find her to be very pleasant. She
sits upon her donkey as though she had been
born sitting on a donkey; and through dust and
heat and fleas and Arabs she makes herself
agreeable as though nothing were amiss with
her. You find yourself talking to her of your
mother, your sister, or your friend,—but not of
your wife or sweetheart. But of herself, excepting
as regards her life at Cairo, she says nothing to
you. You ask yourself many questions about her.
Who was her father? who was her mother?Had she a sister? had she a brother?Or was there a dearer one still, and a nearer oneYet than all other?
Why is she alone? and how is it possible that a
girl whose dress fits her so nicely should not
have "a nearer one and dearer one yet than all
other?"
But you may take it for granted that she has
not; or if she has, that he is no better than he
should be;—that his nature is such as to have
driven her to think solitude better than his company.
Love of independence has probably made
the unprotected female tourist what she is;—that
and the early acquired knowledge that such independence
in a woman requires very special training.
She has probably said to herself that she
would rise above the weakness of her sex,—driven,
perhaps, to that resolve by some special grief
which, as a woman, she has incurred. She is
something of a Bohemian, but a Bohemian with a
regret that Bohemianism should be necessary to
her. She will not be hindered by her petticoats
from seeing what men see, and from enjoying that
which Nature seems to bring within a man's reach
so easily, but which is so difficult to a woman.
That there might be something more blessed than
that independence she is ready enough to admit
to herself. Where is the woman that does not
admit it? But she will not admit that a woman
should live for that hope alone; and therefore
she is riding with you to the Pyramids,—others
of course accompanying you,—and talking to you
with that studied ease which is intended to show
that, though she is an unprotected female, she
knows what she is about, and can enjoy herself
without any fear of you, or of Mrs. Grundy. You
find her to be very clever, and then think her to
be very pretty; and if,—which may probably be
the case,—you are in such matters a fool, you say
a word or two more than you ought to do, and the
unprotected female shows you that she can protect
herself.
But Miss Thompson is wrong for all this, and
I think it will be admitted that I have made the
best of Miss Thompson's case. The line which
she has taken up is one which it is impossible
that a woman should follow with ultimate satisfaction. She cannot unsex herself or rid herself
of the feeling that admiration is accorded to her
as a pretty woman. She has probably intended,—honestly
intended,—to be quit of that feeling,
and to move about the world as though, for her,
men and women were all the same, as though no
more flirting were possible, and love-making were
a thing simply good to be read of in novels. But
if so, why has she been so careful with her gloves,
and her hat, and all her little feminine belongings?
It has been impossible to her not to
be a woman. The idea and remembrance of her
womanly charms have always been there, always
present to her mind. Unmarried men are to her
possible lovers and possible husbands,—as she is
also a possible wife to any unmarried man,—and
also a possible love. Though she may have
devoted herself to celibacy with her hand on the
altar, she cannot banish from her bosom the idea
which, despite herself, almost forms itself into a
hope. We will not ask as to her past life; but
for the future she will be what she is,—only till
the chance comes to her of being something
better. It is that free life which she leads,—which
she leads in all innocency,—which makes it
impossible for her to be true to the resolution she
has made for herself. Such a woman cannot talk
to men without a consciousness that intimacy may
lead to love, or the pretence of love, or the
dangers of love. Nor, it may be said, can any
unmarried woman do so. And therefore it is
that they do not go about the world unprotected,
either at home or abroad. Therefore it is that the
retreat behind mamma's ample folds or beneath
papa's umbrella is considered to be so salutary.
You, my friend, with your quick, impulsive,
and, allow me to say, meaningless expression of
admiration, received simply the rebuke which you
deserved. Then there was an end of that, and
Miss Thompson, being somewhat used to such
misadventures, thought but little of it afterwards.
She has to do those things when the necessitycomes upon her. But it does happen, sometimes,
that the unprotected female,—who has a heart,
though other women will say that she has none,—is
touched, and listens, and hopes, and at last
almost thinks that she has found out her mistake.
The cold exterior glaze of the woman is pricked
through, and there comes a scratch upon the stuff
beneath. A tone in her voice will quaver as
though everything were not easy with her. She
will forget for the moment her prudence, and the
usual precautions of her life, and will dream of
retiring within the ordinary pale of womanhood.
She will think that to cease to be an unprotected
female may be sweet, and for a while she will be
soft, and weak, and wavering. But with unprotected
females such ideas have to pass away very
fleetly. I am afraid it must be said that let a
woman once be an unprotected female, so she
must remain to the end. Who knows the man
that has taken an unprotected female to his bosom
and made her the mistress of his home, and the
chief priestess of his household gods? And if
any man have done so, what have his friends said
of him and his adventure?
And so the unprotected female goes on wandering
still farther afield, increasing in cleverness
every year, and ever acquiring new knowledge;
but increasing also in hardness, and in that glaze
of which I have spoken, till at last one is almost
driven to confess, when one's wife and daughters
declare her to be an old soldier, that one's wife
and daughters are not in justice liable to contradiction.
An Essay by Anthony Trollope
Smiles & Good Fortune,
Teresa
************************************
It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
Win a Kindle Fire HDX, Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash ($229 value)
This is a joint AUTHOR & BLOGGER GIVEAWAY EVENT!
Bloggers & Authors have joined together and each chipped in a little money towards a Kindle Fire HDX 7".
Smiles & Good Fortune,
Teresa
************************************
It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
Win a Kindle Fire HDX, Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash ($229 value)
This is a joint AUTHOR & BLOGGER GIVEAWAY EVENT!
Bloggers & Authors have joined together and each chipped in a little money towards a Kindle Fire HDX 7".
Smiles & Good Fortune,
Teresa
************************************
It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Tale Spins
A trilogy of alternative fairytales and retellings. Discover the real Snow White story through the eyes of Creepy, the unknown 8th dwarf! Meet a teen princess who hires "The Frog Prince" witch to get revenge on a Mean Girl at school! And learn how the giant, boy thief and magic beans tale truly went down!
Praise for Tale Spins
Not usually enamoured of either re-tellings or poetry I was totally
taken aback by just how much I relished this trilogy of alternative
fairytales and re-tellings aimed at the Young Adult market. ~Tracy
(Goodreads)
TaleSpins was like walking into a vintage store and finding a true
treasure. This book takes the fairytales we all grew up on and gives
them an interesting and modernized version that I enjoyed. ~Rose (Goodreads)
Author Michael Mullin
Michael Mullin is a native New Englander living in Pasadena. He is the author of TaleSpins, a trilogy of alternative fairy tales and retellings for YA readers. TaleSpins stories (in the 1-book collection) are "8: The Previously Untold Story of the Previously Unknown 8th Dwarf"; "The Plight and Plot of Princess Penny"; and "Jack'd". Michael is also the co-author of the successful "Larry Gets Lost" children's book series. His screenplay "Zooing Time" was recognized by the WGA's Written By magazine. Before all this writing, he taught preschool and college, two positions he found disconcertingly similar.
Giveaway #2
$25 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash
Ends 1/21/14
Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader, Not A Writer and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.
Smiles & Good Fortune,
Teresa
************************************
It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. W. Somerset Maugham (1874-1965) Of Human Bondage, 1915
