It is not possible, however, that the erratic comets, whose trailing light occasionally flashes athwart our political sky, will ever acquire sufficient momentum to jostle the "fixed stars" out of place, because there is a fixed law of Nature which preserves them in place. There is also a law of Nature which makes man not only the protector, but the worshipper, of woman,—a worship which is as instinctively paid as reciprocated, and which is by no means inconsistent with the worship of God, but in truth is a part of it. It is this kind of worship—this natural and holy impulse of the heart—which constitutes the basis of man's rights and of woman's rights, and should harmonize all their relations in life.
We see the instinctive exhibition of man's reverence for women almost every day of our lives, and often in a way that proves how ridiculous are modern theories in regard to woman's rights, when brought to the test in practical life. Not long since, in one of our cities where a woman's rights convention was in session, a strong-minded female delegate entered a street railway car, when an old gentleman arose to give her his seat, but at that moment, suspecting her to be a delegate, asked, "Be you one of these women's righters?"—"I am." "You believe a woman should have all the rights of a man?"—"Yes, I do." "Then stand up and enjoy them like a man." And stand up she did,—the old gentleman coolly resuming his seat, to the great amusement of the other passengers.
Whatever maybe the pretensions of agitators, it is certain that no woman of refined culture, or of proper self-respect, will attempt to step outside of her appropriate sphere. This she cannot do if she would, without doing violence to the sensibilities of her nature. When true to herself, woman, like the lily-of-the-valley, prefers the valley, where she can display her native loveliness in comparative retirement, secure from the inclemencies of a frowning sky; while man, born with a more rugged nature, prefers, like the sturdy oak, to climb the hills and the mountains, where he delights to breast the assaults of storm and tempest, and to fling the shadow of his stately form over the valley, as if to protect the ethereal beauty of the lily from the too ardent gaze of the sun. And, though a solitary flower may sometimes be seen climbing the mountain height, it is only the modest lily-of-the-valley—the true woman—whose cheering smile man aspires to share, and whose purity of character calls into exercise his reverent admiration.
"Honored be woman! she beams on the sight,
Graceful and fair as an angel of light;
Scatters around her, wherever she strays,
Hoses of bliss on our thorn-covered ways;
Roses of paradise, sent from above,
To be gathered and twined in a garland of love!"