The higher education of women

by Emily Davies

FOOTNOTES:

[1] As this pursuit is sometimes recommended with apparent seriousness, it may be as well to point out to the uninitiated, that if mistresses are to do the cooking, masters must dine alone. Dinners cannot be cooked an hour beforehand, and left to serve themselves up. In this, as in other arts, the finishing touches are among the most important. This does not mean, of course, that a mistress may not give directions and occasional help, or that it may not be a very good thing for girls to lend a hand, now and then, by way of learning to cook. That is a different thing from regularly spending a considerable part of their daily lives in the kitchen.

[2] Letter to Dr Greenhill, an old pupil, in ‘Life of Dr Arnold,’ p. 392.

[3] Sermons par T. Colani.—Deuxième Recueil, p. 293.

[4] ‘M. de Parthenau would have been surprised had any one suggested that this peaceful life was less to the taste of his children than himself. Like so many excellent fathers, he sincerely believed that because it suited him, it must suit them. He had forgotten his own stormy youth, to find himself happy by his fireside, and it never occurred to him to ask, “Is my daughter happy?” So much the better, since he could have done nothing; and Thérèse was the last person to make him suspect that she was not perfectly satisfied. Yet, whoever had seen her, would have thought her destined for a wider sphere than that of the narrow world where she strove to be content. It had not always been so. Now, however, she stifled all the aspirations, the radiant visions which once haunted her, under the crowd of occupations which she found for herself. She silenced the cry of her intellect, and yet heard it always; perhaps because she shunned as snares the natural outlets which presented themselves, refusing each rare opportunity of leaving home, lest she should return discontented; and putting away books and pencils, that she might have no interests but those of her father and her poor dependents. It was an honest, mistaken effort to do right; and the confessor, who stood to her in the place of a conscience, approved it—nay, urged it on her. It was strange, this mute, ceaseless conflict, known only in its full extent to herself, and hidden under so monotonous and peaceful a life!’—Sydonie’s Dowry, p. 24.

May not something like a counterpart of this mute, ceaseless conflict be hidden under many a monotonous and peaceful English life?

CHAPTER IV.
THINGS AS THEY MIGHT BE.

Supposing so much to be granted, it will be asked, What can be done? Clearly, girls cannot be kept at school indefinitely till they marry. When they leave school, say at eighteen, what are they to do next? The answer must chiefly depend on circumstances. Where the resources of the parents are such that there is a reasonable certainty of an abundant provision for the future, an education corresponding with that given by the universities to young men—in other words, ‘the education of a lady,’ considered irrespectively of any specific uses to which it may afterwards be turned—would appear to be the desideratum. And clearly ‘the education of a lady’ ought to mean the highest and the finest culture of the time. The accurate habits of thought and the intellectual polish by which the scholar is distinguished, ought to be no less carefully sought in the training of women than in that of men. This would be true, even if only for the sake of the charm which high culture gives to social intercourse, a charm attainable in no other way. But apart from this consideration, the duties of women of the higher class are such as to demand varied knowledge as well as a disciplined mind and character. Difficult cases in social ethics frequently arise, on which women are obliged to act and to guide the action of others. However incompetent they may be, they cannot escape the responsibility of judging and deciding. And though natural sagacity and the happy impulses of which we hear so much often come to their aid, prejudice and mistaken impulses ought also to be taken into the account as disturbing elements of a very misleading kind. In dealing with social difficulties, the value of a cultivated judgment, able to unravel entangled evidence, and to give due weight to a great variety of conflicting considerations, would seem to be obvious enough. It would be well worth while to exchange the wonderful unconscious instinct, by which women are supposed to leap to right conclusions, no one knows how, for the conscious power of looking steadily and comprehensively at the whole facts of a case, and thereupon shaping a course of action, with a clear conception of its probable issues. Of course, a merely literary education will not give this power. Knowledge of the world and of human nature, only to be gained by observation and experience, go farther than mere knowledge of books. But the habit of impartiality and deliberation—of surveying a wide field of thought—and of penetrating, so far as human eye can see, into the heart of things—which is promoted by genuine study even of books alone—tends to produce an attitude of mind favourable for the consideration of complicated questions of any sort. A comparison between the judgment of a scholar and that of an uneducated man on matters requiring delicate discrimination and grasp of thought, shows the degree in which the intellect may be fitted by training for tasks of this nature. A large and liberal culture is probably also the best corrective of the tendency to take petty views of things, and on this account is especially to be desired for women on whom it devolves to give the tone to ‘society.’

How far it may be desirable or justifiable for women to take part in political affairs is a vexed question, into which it is the less necessary here to enter, inasmuch as it is evident that the same kind of intellectual training which forms the groundwork of the education of a statesman is needed for other purposes. Women who think at all can scarcely help thinking about the condition of the poor, and to arrive at sound conclusions on so vast a subject involves an acquaintance more or less complete with almost every consideration which comes within the range of the politician. Unpaid work, such as the management of hospitals, workhouses, prisons and reformatories, and charitable societies, naturally devolves upon the leisurely classes, and offers a field in which cultivated women may fitly labour. And the moment they enter upon such work, or attempt in any way to alleviate the sufferings of the poor, they find that a strong, clear head is as necessary as a warm heart. The problem how to deal with pauperism—the very same difficulty which has hitherto baffled the wisest of our statesmen—meets them at the threshold of their works. The encouragement or discouragement of the pauper spirit depends in a great degree on the discretion of district visitors and other charitable agents; and the women who act as the almoners of the rich and the advisers of the poor need for their difficult task something more than mere gushing benevolence. Or to take national education. ‘My Lords’ make codes, revise and re-revise them, and Members of Parliament exhaust themselves in debates upon them; but a large share of their practical working devolves upon the wives and daughters of the clergy, and other ladies. Similarly of sanitary reform, which now attracts much attention. Sanitary laws and regulations have been enacted, and no doubt with good effect, but boards of health and inspectors can do but little without the intelligent co-operation of the women, on whom it depends to enforce personal and household hygiene in every family. Many other social questions might be mentioned on which women are required to know and to act. It would, in fact, be difficult to point out any measure of domestic policy which has been brought before Parliament during the last few years, on which it is not as directly important that right opinions should be formed by women as by men.

The higher education already spoken of would serve as a preparation for literary work, and as a groundwork for more definite technical instruction in every department of art. And, lastly, an extended course of study is, above all things, necessary for those who are to undertake the office of teaching others. The incompleteness of the education of schoolmistresses and governesses is a drawback which no amount of intelligence and goodwill can enable them entirely to overcome. It is obvious that for those who have to impart knowledge the primary requisite is to possess it; and it is one of the great difficulties of female teachers that they are called upon to instruct others, while very inadequately instructed themselves. The more earnest and conscientious devote their leisure hours to continued study, and, no doubt, much may be done in this way; but it is at the cost of overwork, often involving the sacrifice of health, to say nothing of the disadvantages of working alone, without a teacher, often without good books, and without the wholesome stimulus of companionship.

These considerations lead up to the more distinctly professional side of the question, that which relates to the pursuit of any particular calling as a means of maintenance. Every one knows that there are women, some even of the upper class, who must earn their own living; and this being admitted, it will scarcely be disputed that they ought to be put into the best way of doing it. The thing to find out seems to be what professions are there, taking the word as including business of all sorts, to which they might betake themselves with a fair prospect of success? Perhaps we may gain some light by looking into history, and seeing what went on in earlier times, before the advance of science, with its infinite subdivisions of labour, had made it almost impossible to carry on any profitable pursuit within the precincts of home.

Confining ourselves, for the sake of brevity, to English history, we find among the ordinary avocations of women Medicine and Surgery, including the compounding and dispensing of drugs; the service of the afflicted and distressed in mind, body, or estate; farming; marketing; and a variety of domestic manufactures, too numerous to recite in detail.

Would the same pursuits, under regulations adapted to altered conditions, be proper for women now? Among those which have been mentioned, that of Medicine appears peculiarly desirable, as affording scope for the exercise of the highest gifts, in a field in which women’s close acquaintance with the details of domestic life would be a valuable adjunct. The medical profession is now accessible to any competent woman who is able to defray the cost of instruction. The licence of the Court of Apothecaries, which constitutes a legal qualification for general practice, is given on passing the required examinations. There is no difficulty in the way of apprenticeship, and lectures and hospital practice are attainable, though at a higher cost to individual students, than would be incurred if the expense were divided among several. The objection often urged against the practice of medicine by women, that they have no confidence in each other, and that a medical woman would therefore find herself without patients, can only be conclusively answered by facts. À priori, there is some reason to believe, that, always assuming the education to be equally thorough and equally well attested, the services of a lady will be preferred; but till women have full opportunity of choice, it is impossible to say positively what they will choose. The experience of a few years will decide. In the meantime, Miss Garrett’s very remarkable success is at least encouraging to other aspirants in the same field.

Closely allied to the practice of medicine are the functions of educated women in ministering to the poor, the insane, and the criminal. These services, so far as they are paid, are now chiefly carried on in workhouses, hospitals, reformatories, and penitentiaries. The superintendence of nurses and the offices of matron and schoolmistress are in the hands of women, and there seems room for further development in this direction. It may be a question for consideration whether in some cases it might not be desirable to substitute the services of an educated Christian lady for those of the chaplain. The duties of a workhouse chaplain are thus defined by the Poor-Law Board:—

‘Art. 211. Duties of the Chaplain.

‘The following shall be the duties of the chaplain:—

‘No. 1. To read prayers, and preach a sermon to the paupers and other inmates of the workhouse on every Sunday, and on Good Friday and Christmas-day, unless the guardians, with the consent of the commissioners, may otherwise direct.

‘No. 2. To examine the children, and to catechise such as belong to the Church of England, at least once in every month, and to make a record of the same, and state the dates of his attendance, the general progress and condition of the children, and the moral and religious state of the inmates generally, in a book to be kept for that purpose, to be laid before the guardians at their next ordinary meeting, and to be termed “The Chaplain’s Report.”

‘No. 3. To visit the sick paupers, and to administer religious consolation to them in the workhouse, at such periods as the guardians may appoint, and when applied to for that purpose by the master or matron.’

The work laid out under the two last clauses might certainly be done as well, in some respects perhaps better, by a duly qualified lady; and on the face of it, there seems to be no particular reason why paupers should not attend their parish church and be visited by the clergyman like other parishioners. The desirableness of workhouse visiting by ladies has been much discussed, and is now beginning to be acknowledged. The presence of a lady in an official capacity might be still more valuable, both as being permanent and as waiving the difficulties which are so apt to come in the way of philanthropic interference in state institutions. A lady appointed expressly by the guardians themselves could scarcely provoke jealousy, and her representations, based on thorough knowledge of the matter in hand, and modified by sympathy with the difficulties and scruples of authorities, as well as with the claims of the suffering, would be comparatively exempt from the charge of officiousness. That she would naturally gather round her such helpers as she might need in an unofficial capacity is an obvious advantage. The same observations would seem to be applicable to hospitals and prisons, and all public institutions where women are employed in a subordinate capacity. That the presence and the active influence of a lady, by whatever name she might be called, would be a valuable element, wherever the sick in mind or body are congregated together, is generally admitted, though the theory has not in England been acted upon to any considerable extent.

Next in our enumeration comes the business of farming. The social prejudice against useful occupations of any sort, as distinguished from those which are supposed to be ornamental, has here been actively at work. The superintendence of farming operations is still, however, largely shared by women, especially in the north of England. In commercial dealings there is a good deal of work to be done which could not, at any rate in our present very imperfect state of civilisation, be properly undertaken by women. There are, however, branches of mercantile and quasi-mercantile business, including that profession of modern growth which has been called ‘management,’—in which wise arrangements, carefully made, are all that is required to make them suitable. In almost every kind of business, wholesale and retail, the book-keeping and the correspondence might be very fitly carried on by competent women.

With regard to the manufactures which now form so vast a portion of our national industry, a great revolution has taken place, and it is here, above all, that a re-adjustment of social and domestic arrangements, involving some innovation on conventional ideas and usages, seems to be imperatively needed. Down to a comparatively recent period, every household was a workshop. It is within the present generation that the sewing-machine has laid hold of the last remaining implement of domestic manufacture. The home is no longer a manufactory. Spinning, weaving, knitting, sewing, all are gone, or going. What has become of the busy hands and brains? The hands are gone into factories, the brains are idle. We cannot call back the hands, and again set them to work in the domestic manufactory. Might it not be possible to bring them again under womanly influence, and at the same time find fit work for the brains, by introducing women of the employing class into factories? Might we not restore the old order of things, under which the payers of wages and the receivers of wages worked together, to the mutual advantage of both—by replacing women in the position of directors and overlookers of female labour? It is vain to say that a factory is not a fit place for a lady. If it is not, it ought to be made so. If the moral atmosphere of a workshop is necessarily debasing, no human being ought to be exposed to its influence. But is it necessarily debasing? Are machines in themselves demoralising? What is the moral difference between a spinning-jenny and a distaff? Are knitting-needles refined, and knitting-machines coarse? Is there any reason, in the nature of things, why the moral tone of a factory should be less pure and elevating than that of the home? Is it not rather that we want, in our modern workshops, the influence conveyed by daily intercourse between women to whom wealth has given the means of culture and refinement, and the labourers whom poverty obliges to work with their hands, but who need not therefore part with any essential feminine attribute? If, in all the works where women are employed in the inferior departments, the daughters of the masters were instructed in the business, made so thoroughly conversant with it as to be able to take a real part in its direction, two advantages would be gained. The higher class of workers would acquire larger sympathies, more living interests, increased aptitude for affairs, and an exhilarating sense of usefulness—of having a place in the world from which they would be missed if they were withdrawn from it. The lower class would, on their part, be elevated by the contact with a genuine refinement, not too ‘fine’ to be useful. They would see that a lady is a lady, not in virtue of her costly dress and luxurious habits, but in the gentleness, the truthfulness, and the sensitive sympathy, which are among the most precious fruits of high culture. And it can scarcely be doubted that such an example, such an ideal, brought within the immediate and daily contemplation of women and girls of the labouring class, would be more effectual in rectifying their standard of morals and refinement than any philanthropic agency, however well-intentioned and judicious, which could be brought to bear from without. In some cases there might be difficulties in the way of teaching women the practical parts of a manufacture, but there can be few businesses in which some place might not be found for them. Even where female labourers are not employed in the lower departments—though there the case is the strongest—women might often take part in the direction, with great advantage to themselves, and at least without injury to any one else.

It appears, then, that a transference of the scene of action, and an accommodation of old principles and practices to new circumstances, is the task of the present generation, and the true answer to the appeal of women for something to do. The change proposed, so far from being a departure from the old ways, is, in fact, a recurrence to them. The advocates of things as they are, are the innovators. Those who sigh after things as they might be, are the old-fashioned people, eager to retain, with only such modifications as advancing civilisation has made indispensable, all that is best in things as they were.

CHAPTER V.
PROFESSIONAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE.

An obvious rejoinder to the foregoing suggestions will at once present itself. It will be said that professions and business may be all very well—may indeed be best—for single women, but that sooner or later the great majority marry, and any plan of life which fails to recognise this contingency is unpractical and absurd. This is most true. We have to deal with facts; and it is a most important, though not the sole question, How would a higher education and professional training act upon family life? Home duties fall to the lot of almost every woman, and nothing which tends to incapacitate for the performance of them ought to be encouraged. Let us ask, then, what are the home duties of women as such, and what are the qualifications required for their discharge? And here we must remember that the claims involved in the conjugal and parental and filial relations are not special to women. They are not, indeed, to be disregarded in considering the bearing of a scheme of education; but in the discussion of the home duties of women as such, it is convenient to treat separately those which are not shared by men.

If we bring before our mind’s eye the picture of an English home, we see that the household work is divided between the mistress and the servants. Where there are grown-up daughters, they sometimes help the mistress in her work, or the servants in theirs, but they have no distinct functions of their own. It appears, then, that in an inquiry relating to the upper and middle classes, the only home duties special to women which can come under review, are those of the mistress of the household. What are her functions? Those of government and administration. All housekeepers will agree that this is the work they have to do, though they may not be accustomed to call it by these names. The inexperienced mistress complains, not that she does not know how to cook, or to sew, or to keep the furniture in order—these arts, if she wants them, can be quickly acquired; her perplexity is how to manage the servants. To draw the line between necessary subordination and vexatious interference—to apportion to each a fair share of work, and to see that the work is done—to be liberal and considerate without over-indulgence,—these are duties requiring judgment, moderation, method, decision, often no small share of moral courage; in other words, precisely the same qualities which are wanted in governing bodies of workpeople. In administration also, it is obvious that, though on a different scale, the same sagacity, prudence, and foresight which would make a woman successful in business, would conduce to the economical management of domestic concerns.

The head of a household wants an ideal to work up to, and the governing and administrative power which will enable her to carry out her idea. Here, as elsewhere, motive is the primary requisite. A woman to whom huggermugger is intolerable will find means of escaping from it—if necessary, by the labour of her own hands—more often, perhaps, by the skilful direction of the labour of others. But one who has no inner sense of the beauty of order, to whom the rhythmic flow of a well-governed household is an unmeaning conception, or who lacks the gift of mastery over details, may be cooking and sewing and looking after things from morning till night; she may be anxiously obedient to conventional regulations, rigid in the observance of ceremonies unmeaning in themselves or unsuited to her position; with all her striving, she will never realise the vision of an ideal English home.

It appears, then, that first, imagination, combined with a certain sensitiveness of refinement, and secondly, the faculty of government and administration, are the qualifications chiefly necessary for the performance of home duties. No education can be relied upon as infallibly securing these rare gifts; but it may be assumed that extensive reading of the best books tends to cultivate imagination and refinement, and that a life of active exertion tends to bring out the qualities which go to make up the governing and administrative faculty; and if so, a liberal education and the pursuit of a profession are perhaps, on the whole, the best training that the conditions of modern society can supply for the special functions of the mistress of a household.

It will, however, be pointed out by practical people, that even supposing the training to be good as regards domestic life, parents will not throw away their money on a costly preparation for a profession which is most likely to be abandoned in a few years; and again, that the contingency of marriage is likely to act as a discouragement to girls, making them so languid in endeavour, that they would have small chance of success in a professional career.

To the last objection experience would not lead us to attach much weight. But supposing that, either through want of energy or perseverance, or from any other deficiency, women should take a low place in the professional ranks, what then? The object of their education would have been, not to set them on a pinnacle of distinction, but to make them useful labourers; and if this end were attained, society, at any rate, would have no reason to complain.

It is true, however, that fathers are likely to hesitate in spending money on what may seem a doubtful speculation as regards pecuniary returns. And if marriage necessarily involves the complete abandonment of a profession, the chances are somewhat against professional education as an investment of capital, though perhaps less so than would at first sight appear. Of course much depends on the amount of money which it is necessary to expend. To take the medical profession, as being, among those which women are likely to enter, the one in which the cost of training is probably the highest—it is a liberal computation to allow £500 as covering the cost of instruction over and above the personal expenses, which would be going on all the same whether a girl were being educated or not. Such a sum would, in three or four years of successful practice, be recovered, and any further earnings would be clear gain. No doubt, in cases of very early marriage, a part or even the whole of the sum expended would be sunk; and the result of giving women professions would probably be, on the whole, to encourage comparatively early marriage, partly by bringing persons of congenial tastes into mutual intercourse, and partly by rendering marriages possible which would otherwise be flagrantly imprudent. But supposing that a woman married a rich man before she had begun to practise, the loss of the sum mentioned could easily be spared. If she married a poor man, or a man dependent on an uncertain income, the sacrifice might be regarded in the light of a sum paid for insurance—the provision of a resource in case of widowhood or other misfortune, which it is well to have in reserve, though it may be still better never to want it.

In the meantime, however, does marriage necessarily involve giving up a profession? On the face of it, judging by existing facts, one would incline to the contrary view. Some of the highest names in literature and art are those of married women; many schoolmistresses are married; clergymen’s wives notoriously undertake a large share of extra-domestic work; and there is no evidence that in any of these cases the husbands are neglected, or the children worse brought up than other people’s. It seems to be forgotten that women have always been married. Marriage is not a modern discovery, offering a hitherto untrodden field of action for feminine energy. The novelty is, that, as has been said already, the old field has been invaded and taken possession of by machinery. The married ladies of former days, instead of sitting in drawing-rooms, eating the bread of idleness, got through a vast amount of household business, which their successors cannot possibly do, simply because it is not there to be done. An educated woman, of active, methodical habits, blessed with good servants, as good mistresses generally are, finds an hour a day amply sufficient for her housekeeping. Nothing is gained by spreading it out over a longer time.[5] Allowing a fair margin for what are technically called ‘social’ claims, there remains a surplus, of course varying very considerably in extent, according to circumstances. The question then arises, whether a married woman, having time and energy to spare, may or may not legitimately spend it, if she likes, either in definitely professional work, or in the unpaid public services, which, when seriously undertaken, constitute something nearly equivalent to a profession. Inasmuch as the adoption of such a course would most probably effect some change in the aspect of family life, it is reasonable to ask whether such change is likely to be for good or for evil; and any objections which may suggest themselves ought to be respectfully considered.

One of the most obvious is the fear that a profession might prove a snare, leading to the neglect of humbler and more irksome duties. And it is right to admit frankly that the apprehension may not be altogether groundless. M. Simon, indeed, asserts, with the happy confidence we are all so apt to display on matters of which we have had no experience, that household drudgery, ‘though very laborious, is agreeable to women;’ and Sydney Smith has made merry over the notion that a mother would desert an infant for a quadratic equation. And of course, put in that extreme way, the idea is ridiculous. But looking at the case broadly—putting on one side the little fretting cares and worries of domestic life, and on the other the larger and more genial interests of professional work, it may be confessed that a temptation might very possibly arise to shirk the less engaging task. But it does not follow that because a temptation exists, it must be irresistible. To construct a plan of life absolutely free from temptation is a simple impossibility, even supposing it to be desirable. Every career has its snares, and a life of narrow interests and responsibilities is no exception to the rule. The true safeguard seems to consist, not in restraints and limitations, but in a vivid sense of all that is involved in the closer relationships, and in a steadfast habit of submission to duty. In the present case it may be noted that, however fascinating the temptation may be, it is at any rate open and well understood. It is not a pitfall, which any one could walk into unawares through ignorance of its existence. The paramount importance of home duties is enforced by all the sanctions of an overwhelming public opinion. Any neglect is liable to be punished, not only by the immediate discomfort arising from it, but by universal disapproval. An offence against which the warnings are so trumpet-tongued, and of which the consequences are so thoroughly disagreeable, can scarcely be very dangerously attractive.

If it is admitted that professional women are likely, or at least as likely as others, to be both able and diligent in the discharge of family obligations, another objection may be raised, founded on the apprehension that a similarity of pursuits would produce an unpleasant similarity between men and women. One of the most plausible arguments in behalf of dissimilar education is that which rests on the general desirableness of variety. We do not want to be all alike. The course of civilisation tends, it is said, already too strongly towards uniformity.

‘For “ground in yonder social mill,
We rub each other’s angles down,
And lose,” he said, “in form and gloss
The picturesque of man and man.”’

And if it could be shown that the isolation of the sexes produces variety of the best kind, and to the greatest possible extent, it would no doubt be a strong argument in its favour. But it is questionable whether this is the best means of obtaining variety. As there can be no unanimity on matters of which one party is ignorant, so also, in the same sense, there can be no diversity. We do not obtain two views of a subject by incapacitating one of the parties from taking any view at all. If the differences between men and women are such that they are predisposed to treat whatever comes before them in a somewhat different manner, we shall get greater variety by presenting to both the most important subjects of thought, than by sorting out subjects into classes and submitting each to a kind of class treatment. And so also as to methods of training. It seems likely that a more healthily diversified type of character will be obtained by cultivating the common human element, and leaving individual differences free to develop themselves, than by dividing mankind into two great sections and forcing each into a mould. You may indeed obtain diversity by mutilation or distortion. You may make a girl unlike a boy by shutting her up, giving her insufficient air and exercise, and teaching her that grace and refinement are synonymous with affectation and feebleness. You may make a boy unlike a girl by teaching him to care for nothing but out-of-door sports, and by making him believe that he is showing spirit when he is rude and selfish. But this is not the kind of variety that any one seriously wishes to cultivate.

It may here perhaps be argued on the other hand, that to give wives professions would tend to separate them from their husbands by throwing them into a society of their own, and leading them to set up a distinct set of independent interests,—that whereas a wife now throws herself into her husband’s concerns, losing sight of herself in her sympathy with him, she would, if she had a pursuit of her own, be led astray by ambition, occupied with her own aims, absorbed in a current of life apart from his. Here again it may be admitted that the danger might, in very rare cases, possibly exist. But, on the whole, the risk seems to be much more than counterbalanced by a very strong tendency in an exactly opposite direction. In many cases, the profession of both would be the same, judging by present experience. Artists marry artists, clergymen’s daughters marry clergymen, literary women often, though not always, marry literary men, medical women would probably marry medical men, and so on. It is likely that a man who chose to marry a professional woman at all would marry in his own profession. But supposing it were otherwise, a woman who had work similar, though not in all respects identical with that of her husband, would be more able than one whose occupation was of an entirely alien character, to sympathise with him in his difficulties and in his successes. She would understand them and enter into them with a first-hand kind of interest, fuller and more intelligent, if not more genuine, than a merely reflected interest could be. On the other hand, it would be at least as easy for a husband to enter into interests somewhat akin to his own, as into the small domestic worries which fill so large a space in the thoughts and imaginations of women who have nothing else to occupy them. There are many wives who really have very little to talk to their husbands about, except the virtues or the crimes of servants, and the little gossip of the neighbourhood. If their husbands will not listen to what they have to say on these subjects, they are obliged to take refuge in silence.

The enormous loss to general culture entailed by the solitude of the male intellect is very little thought of. Yet it would seem obvious enough that children brought up in a home where the everyday conversation is of a somewhat thoughtful and literary cast, have an immense start as compared with those who learn nothing unconsciously, and are obliged to gather all their knowledge laboriously from books. Social and domestic intercourse is an educational instrument largely used in cultivated circles. In the great mass of English society it is scarcely used at all, for this obvious reason, that education is in great part onesided, and the easy interchange of thought is therefore impossible. A slight infusion of an intellectual element would go far to expel the gossip and the microscopic criticism of one’s neighbours, which forms so large and so degrading a part in the domestic talk of the middle classes. The mental effort need not be a severe one. Talk may be very small, and yet have a certain dignity, if it touches even but lightly on elevating subjects. It is the effort to draw up conversation from empty wells that wearies the spirit, and drives even goodnatured people into scandal and slander. Contrast the forced and insipid small talk of ordinary society, resorted to by way of recreation, but in the last degree unrefreshing in its nature, with the spontaneous overflowings of a cultivated mind.

‘She spake such good thoughts natural, as if she always thought them—
She had sympathies so rapid, open, free as bird on branch,
Just as ready to fly east as west, whichever way besought them,
In the birchen wood a chirrup, or a cock-crow in the grange.
In her utmost lightness there is truth—and often she speaks lightly,
Has a grace in being gay, which even mournful souls approve;
For the root of some grave earnest thought is under-struck so rightly,
As to justify the foliage and the waving flowers above.’

It is in fact as a means of bringing men and women together, and bridging over the intellectual gulf between them, that a more liberal education and a larger scope for women are chiefly to be desired. It has been pointed out by a well-known essayist, that ‘the purpose of education is not always to foster natural gifts, but sometimes to bring out faculties that might otherwise remain dormant; and especially so far as to make the persons educated cognisant of excellence in those faculties in others.’ And even supposing it could be proved that the separate systems are eminently successful in developing certain peculiarly masculine or feminine gifts, the result would be dearly purchased by the sacrifice of mutual understanding and appreciation.

Oddly enough, it is often assumed that the only way of getting husbands and wives to agree is to keep them well apart. Common ground, it is taken for granted, must of course be a battle ground. If the theory of the peculiarly receptive character of the female intellect has any truth in it, it might be expected to be rather the other way, and that wives would, as a rule, be only too ready to adopt their husbands’ opinions. In any case, contact has an undoubted tendency to produce unanimity, and the chances are therefore in favour of agreement. And that there should be intelligent agreement, a community of thought and feeling, on all matters of importance, is surely the first necessity for the healthy and harmonious development of family life. M. Simon has drawn a vivid picture of the influence on children of discordance between fathers and mothers, even when there is nothing like an open rupture.

‘Cette femme qu’une religieuse a formée et cet homme nourri des doctrines de tolérance, peut-être d’indifférence, mariés ensemble, sont un vivant anachronisme. La femme est du dix-septième siècle et l’homme de la fin du dix-huitième. Admettons qu’ils vivent en bonne intelligence, elle le croyant damné, lui la jugeant fanatique. Qu’arrivera-t-il, quand à leur tour, ils enseigneront? Et ils enseigneront; être père, être mère, c’est enseigner. La mère répétera sa doctrine, puisée au couvent; le père, par prudence, se taira. Se taira-t-il? Si même il prend cela sur lui, son silence sera commenté par ses actes. Et que pensera l’enfant de cette contradiction, aussitôt qu’il pensera? Il condamnera l’un ou l’autre, peut-être l’un et l’autre. Plus il aura l’esprit puissant, plus vite il perdra respect.... Il semble à des esprits sans portée que l’indifférence et la foi vivront bien ensemble, parce que l’une exige et l’autre céde; mais céder à une croyance sans l’accepter, c’est ne pas être. La paix entre deux âmes est possible quand elle est fondée sur l’identité de foi; elle est encore possible quand elle est fondée sur le respect réciproque d’une foi diverse et sincère; mais appeler paix cette absence de lutte qui naît de l’indifférence, c’est confondre la paix avec la défaite et la vie avec le néant.’

The author of ‘Vincenzo’ has given in that remarkable story a view too painfully lifelike to be disbelieved, of the conjugal misery resulting from a profound dissonance between a husband and wife on religious and political questions, and asserts that the wreck of domestic happiness so graphically pictured represents a reality far from uncommon. ‘Would to God,’ he exclaims, ‘that the case were an isolated one! But no; there is scarcely any corner in Italy, scarcely any corner in Europe, that does not exhibit plenty of such and worse.’ Such a state of things could scarcely exist in England. The counteracting influences are too many and too strong. But it cannot be said that we are exempt from danger. In how many English families wives and sisters are clinging blindly to traditional beliefs and observances, from which husbands and brothers are turning away with indifference or dislike. How natural the transition from the theory which assigns ‘to the one the supremacy of the head, to the other that of the heart’—to that further division which attributes to the one Reason, to the other Faith. Heartless Rationalism and imbecile credulity! Is it in the union of these feeble and jarring tones that we shall find the full chord of family harmony? Ought we not rather to turn with suspicion from these artificial attempts to apportion attributes and duties? May we not welcome, as at least a step in the right direction, a change in our conventional habits, which may extend, though in ever so small a degree, the region of common thoughts and aims, common hopes and disappointments, common joys and common sorrows?