But says Betsey, “’twould devouh too much of a female’s time, she would not have time to vote, and perform the other duties that are incumbient upon her.”
DREADFUL SHORT OF TIME.
Says I, “Wimmen find time for thier everlastin’ tattin’ and croshain’. They find plenty of time for thier mats, and their tidys, their flirtations, thier feather flowers, and bead flowers, and hair flowers, and burr flowers, and oriental paintin’s, and Grecian paintin’s, and face paintin’s. They spend more time a frizzin’ thier front hair than they would, to learn the whole constitution by heart; and if they get a new dress they find plenty of time to cut it all up into strips, jest to pucker it up and set it on agin. They can dress up in thier best and patrol the streets as regular as a watchman, and lean over the counter in dry good stores till they know every nail in ’em by heart. They find plenty of time for all this, and to go to all the parties they can hear of, and theatres and conserts, and shows of all kinds, and to flirt with every man they can lay holt of, and to cover their faces with their fans and giggle; but when it comes to an act as simple and short as puttin’ a letter into the post office, they are dreadful short on it for time.”
But says Betsey, “The study that would be inevitable on a female in ordeh to make her vote intelligably, would it not be too wearing on her?”
NO TIME TO STUDY LAWS.
“No! not a single bit; s’posin these soft, fashionable wimmen should read a little about the nation she lives in, and the laws that protects her if she keeps ’em, and hangs and imprisons her if she breaks ’em? I don’t know but it would be as good for her, as to pore over novels all day long,” says I; “these very wimmen that think the President’s bureau is a chest of draws where he keeps his fine shirts, and the tariff is a wild horse the senators keep to ride out on,—these very wimmen that can’t find time to read the constitution, let ’em get on to the track of a love-sick hero and a swoonin’ heroine, and they will wade through half a dozen volumes, but what they will foller ’em clear to Finis to see ’em married there,” says I, warmin’ with my subject, “Let there be a young woman hid in a certain hole, guarded by 100 and 10 pirates, and a young man tryin’ to get to her, though at present layin’ heavily chained in a underground dungeon with his rival settin’ on his back, what does a woman care for time or treasure, till she sees the pirates all killed off with one double revolver, and the young woman lifted out swoonin’ but happy, by the brave hero?” Says I, in a deep camp meetin’ voice, “If there had been a woman hid on the Island of Patmos, and Paul’s letters to the churches had been love letters to her, there wouldn’t be such a thick coat of dust on bibles as there is now.
“But if wimmen don’t read about the laws they’ll know as much as some other folks do. I have seen men voters,” says I, and I cast a stern glance onto Josiah as I spoke, “whose study into national affairs didn’t wear on ’em enough to kill ’em at all. I have seen voters,” says I with another cuttin’ look at him, “that didn’t know as much as their wives did.” Josiah quailed a very little as I said this, and I continued on—“I have seen Irish voters, whose intellects wasn’t tiresome to carry round, and whose knowledge concernin’ public affairs wasn’t so good as it was about rum, and who would sell their votes for a drink of whiskey, and keep it up all day, votin’ and drinkin’ and then drinkin’ and votin’, and I guess wimmen won’t do any worse.”
Betsey almost quailed before my lofty glance and voice, but continued on cleavin’ to the subject—“How awful and revolting it would sound to hear the faih and softeh sex talking about tariffs and caurkusses.”