Sometimes they are conquered for a time, but
never completely so. The great constituents of their natures continue
to resist, and struggle up, and when the opportunity comes, they strike
for control and supremacy--
"And freedom's battle, once begun,
The cause bequeathed from sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won."
The Southern woman's soul is chivalry. From the highest to the
humblest, the same lofty purpose, pride, and energy animate them. They
have contrasted the free and noble with the mean and servile. Its magic
has entered their natures and quickened their souls. In all there is a
lofty scorn for the little and mean. The same withering contempt for
the cringing and cowardly is met in every one of them. Their impulses
are generous, and their aspirations noble, with hearts as soft and
tender as love, pity, and compassion can form. Yet in them there is,
too, the fire of chivalry, the scorn of contempt, and the daring of her
who followed her immortal brother, the great Palafox, at the defence of
Saragossa, her native city, and, standing upon the dead bodies of her
countrymen, snatched the burning match from the hand of death, and
fired the cannon at the advancing foe, and planted Spain's standard, in
defiance of the veterans of Soult--a rallying point for her
countrymen--and saved Saragossa.
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