Well, that's just what women in boarding-houses have to put up with. That's why they are troublesome. That's why they can't help it. That's why landladies like men who live everywhere but in their rooms, and who, provided their mattress is not put in their washbowl, and the ends of their cigars are not broken by the landlady's little boy, give her carte blanche as to dirt and other luxuries.
On the other hand I acknowledge that a man-boarder eats four times as much as a woman, and often keeps his landlady waiting weeks to have her bill paid, if indeed he ever pays it. Then he tumbles up stairs at midnight in an oblivious condition, thumping against all the doors as he goes, frightening the single women into fits, and waking up hapless babies, to drain the last drop of the milk of motherly kindness? Then he brings his comrades home to dinner or to tea, and expects his poor struggling landlady to omit all mention of the same when she makes out her bill? Then, notwithstanding this, he sniffs at the eggs, cracks stale jokes on the chickens; rails at the beef, looks daggers into the coffee-cup, and holds his supercilious nose when the butter is too near; and by many other gentlemanly tokens shows the poor widow, whose husband once would not let the wind blow roughly on her, that he will grind her and her children down to the last fraction, that he may spend it on cigars and drinks, while the gray hairs gather thickly on her temples, and she goes to sleep every night with a "God help me," on her lips.
It is a self-evident fact, that all women are not ladies, in the best sense of the word; i. e. by virtue of behavior, not dress; no doubt landladies as well as others have often discovered this. It is very easy to tell "a lady" by the standard of behavior. Ten women shall get into an omnibus, and though we never saw one of them before, we shall select you the true lady. She does not titter when a gentleman, handing up her fare, knocks off his hat, or pitches it awry over his nose; nor does she receive her "change," after this inconvenient act of gallantry, in grim silence. She wears no flowered brocade there to be trodden under foot, nor ball-room jewelry, nor rose-tinted gloves; but the lace frill round her face is scrupulously fresh, and the strings under her chin have evidently been handled only by dainty fingers. She makes no parade of a watch, if she wears one; nor does she draw off her dark, neatly-fitting glove to display ostentatious rings. Still we notice, nestling in the straw beneath us, such a trig little boot, not paper-soled, but of an anti-consumption thickness; the bonnet upon her head is plain, simply trimmed, for your true lady never wears full-dress in an omnibus. She is quite as civil to the poorest as to the richest person who sits beside her, and equally regardful of their rights. If she attracts attention, it is by the unconscious grace of her person and manner, not by the ostentation of her dress. We are quite sorry when she pulls the strap and disappears. We saw a lady do a very pretty thing the other morning. Our omnibus was nearly full of ladies, going down town, when quite an elderly man slowly mounted the steps, and clambered in, taking a seat by the door. The lady next him, observing him take out his fare, smilingly extended her hand to the venerable man, passed the money up to the driver, and returned the change. It was a little thing, but, oh, how lovely! more particularly, as the old man's hat was shabby, his coat seedy, and he had every mark of poverty about him. That woman will make a good wife, said we, and we had half a mind to ask her address, for the benefit of some young man; only that we reflected that unless her virtues were backed by "a fortune," they might possibly go a-begging.
The "term" lady has been so misused, that I like better the old-fashioned term, woman. I sometimes think the influence of a good woman greater than that of a good man. There are so many avenues to the human heart left open to her gentle approach, which would be instantly barred up at the sound of rougher footsteps. One may tell anything to a good woman. In her presence pride sleeps or is disarmed. The old child-feeling comes back upon the world-weary man, and he knows not why he has reposed the unsought confidence which has so lightened his heart. Why he goes forth again ashamed that one so feeble is so much mightier. Why he could doubt and despair where she can trust and wait. Why he could fly from the foe for whose approach she so courageously tarries. Why he thinks of the dagger, or pistol, or poisoned cup, while she, accepting the fierce blast of misfortune, meekly bows her head till the whirlwind be overpast,—believing, hoping, knowing that God's bright smile of sunshine will break through at last.
The world-weary man looks on with wonder, reverencing yet not comprehending. How can he comprehend? He who stands in his pride, with his panting soul uncovered, in the scorching Zahara of Reason, and then complains that no dew falls, no showers descend, no buds, blossoms, or fruit cheer him. How can he who faces with folded arms and defiant attitude, comprehend the twining love-clasp and satisfied heart-rest which come only of love? Thank God, woman is not too proud to take what she so much needs. That she does not wait to comprehend the Infinite before she can love. That she does not plant her foot, and refuse to stir, till her guide tells her why he is leading her by this path instead of that; and though every foot-print be marked with her heart's blood, she does not relax her grasp or doubt his faith.
Well may her glance, her touch, the rustle of her garments even, have power to soothe and bless; well may the soft touch of such upon brows knotted with the world's strife bring coolness and peace. Oh, woman, be strong-minded as you will, if only you be pure and gentle-hearted.
While on the Woman Question I wish to say that my sympathies have always been strongly enlisted for female teachers. Of all who go fainting by the roadside of life, heart-sore and heart-weary, none are more utterly so than the majority of our female teachers. A male-teacher is, generally, able to overawe the misgoverned young girls committed to his charge; or, if he is not, his tougher organization precludes the possibility of that exquisite degree of torture which she endures from it. The female teacher must withdraw to her room when the day's toil is over, quivering often with nervous excitement, worn out, body and spirit, with the struggle for daily bread, hungering more for sympathy and a kind word than for that; taking to her dreams the rude superciliousness of pupils, spoiled to her hand; the only answer possible to whom has been the burning blush of degradation, the suppressed tear or sob.