“‘Methought I once heard the words,’ sighs the female, ‘True government consists in the consent of the governed;’ did I dream them, or did the voice of a luny pour them into my ear?’
“‘Haint I told you,’ frouns the law on her, ‘that that don’t mean wimmin—have I got to explain to your weakened female comprehension again, the great fundymental truth, that wimmin haint included and mingled in the law books and statutes of the country only in a condemnin’ and punishin’ sense, as it were. Though I feel it to be bendin’ down my powerful manly dignity to elucidate the subject further, I will consent to remind you of the consolin’ fact, that though you wimmin are, from the tender softness of your natures, and the illogical weakness of your minds, unfit from ever havin’ any voice in makin’ the laws that govern you; you have the right, and nobody can ever deprive you of it, to be punished in a future world jest as hard as a man of the strongest intellect, and to be hung in this world jest as dead as a dead man; and what more can you ask for, you unreasonable female woman you?’
“Then groans the woman as the great fundymental truth rushes upon her—
“‘I can be hung by the political rope, but I can’t help twist it.’
“‘Jest so,’ says the law, ‘that rope takes noble and manly fingers, and fingers of principle to twist it, and not the weak unprincipled grasp of lunatics, idiots, and wimmin.’
“‘Alas!’ sithes the woman to herself, ‘would that I had the sweet rights of my wild and foolish companions, the idiots and lunys. But,’ says she, venturing with a beating heart, the timid and bashful inquiry, ‘are the laws always just, that I should obey them thus implicitly? There is old Creshus, he stole two millions, and the law cleared him triumphantly. Several men have killed various other men, and the law insistin’ they was out of their heads, (had got out of ’em for the occasion, and got into ’em agin the minute they was cleared,) let ’em off with sound necks. And I, a poor woman, have only stole a sheep, a small-sized sheep too, that my offspring might not perish with hunger—is it right to liberate in a triumphin’ way the two million stealer and the man murderer, and inkarcerate the poor sheep stealer? and my children was so hungry, and it was such a small sheep,’ says the woman in pleadin’ accents.
“‘Idiots! lunatics! and wimmin! are they goin’ to speak?’ thunders the law. ‘Can I believe my noble right ear? can I bein’ blindfolded trust my seventeen senses? I’ll have you understand that it haint no woman’s business whether the laws are just or unjust, all you have got to do is jest to obey ’em, so start off for prison, my young woman.’
“‘But my house-work,’ pleads the woman; ‘woman’s place is home: it is her duty to remain at all hazards within its holy and protectin’ precincts; how can I leave its sacred retirement to moulder in State’s prison?’
“‘House-work!’ and the law fairly yells the words, he is so filled with contempt at the idee. ‘House-work! jest as if house-work is goin’ to stand in the way of the noble administration of the law. I admit the recklessness and immorality of her leavin’ that holy haven, long enough to vote—but I guess she can leave her house-work long enough to be condemned, and hung, and so forth.’
“‘But I have got a infant,’ says the woman, ‘of tender days, how can I go?’