There is, perhaps, no joy comparable to that of the mother as she looks on her first-born; but the moment is dearly bought.

Time advances, beauty passes; there come the years of neglect, of spleen, of weariness.

'Tis in pain that Nature disposes them for maternity; in pain and illness, dangerous and prolonged, she brings maternity to its close.

What is a woman after that?
Neglected by her husband, left by her children, a nullity in society, then piety becomes her one and last resource.

In nearly every part of the world, the cruelty of the civil laws against women is added to the cruelty of Nature.