capture of Helen was not with her consent; and how lovely
she is! and how indicative is that wondrous history of a high chivalrous
spirit and admiration of woman in those days! Old Priam and all his aged
council pay her reverence. Menelaus is the only one of the Grecian heroes
that had no other wife or mistress--here was devotion and constancy!
Andromache has been, and ever will be, the pride of the world. Yet the
less refined dramatist has told of her wrongs; for he puts into her mouth
a dutiful acquiescence in the gallantries of Hector. Little can be said
for the men. Poor old Priam we must pardon, if Hecuba could and did; for
Priam told her that he had nineteen children by her, and many others by
the concubines in his palace. He had enough, too, upon his hands--yet
found time for all things--"[Greek: hore eran, hore de gamein, hore de
pepausthai]." How lovely is Penelope, and how great her wrongs!--and the
lovely Nausicaa complains of scandal. But great must have been the
deference paid to women; for Nausicaa plainly tells Ulysses, that her
mother is every thing and every body. People have drawn a very absurd
inference to the contrary, from the fact of the princess washing the
clothes. That operation may have been as fashionable then as worsted work
now, and clothes then were not what clothes are now--there were no
Manchesters, and those things were rare and precious, handed down to
generations, and given as presents of honour. You have shed tears over the
beautiful, noble-hearted Iphigenia--wronged even to death. Glorious was
the age that could find an Alcestis to suffer her great wrong! Such women
honour human nature, and make man himself better. Oh, how infinitely less
selfish are they than we are--confiding, trusting--with a fortitude for
every sacrifice! We have no trust like theirs, no confidence--are jealous,
suspicious, even on the wedding-day. You quite roared with delight when
you heard of a fool, who, mistrusting himself and his bride, tried his
fortune after the fashion of the Sortes Virgilianae, by dipping into
Shakspeare on his wedding-day and finding

"Not poppy nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the East,
Shall ever med'cine to thee that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday."

You have rather puzzled me, Eusebius, by giving me so wide a field of
enquiry--woman's wrongs; of what kind--of ancient or modern times--general
or particular? You should have arranged your objects. It