this brief space: against growing-up, grown-
up female pauperism: a worse evil than
a Cholera, or a War, or Popes, or
Slavery, or Indian Zemindals: or than
any other evil we know. Consternation is my state. How
many will remain paupers whom you would have saved.
You were arrayed almost singlehanded, a
noble Army of one, against this evil.
And who will take your place? Who will redeem
our generation?
The outcry of the enemy shows what a club
your gentle Hercules arm has wielded:
and would you leave off till you had
become Apollo Victor with his bow?