Il va sans dire that there are thousands of ladies to whom the last remark is scarcely applicable. Gentle in manners, and yielding in disposition, they are perfectly satisfied with the existing order of things, and quite believe the doctrine that man in his arrogance has laid down, that he is the God-ordained lord of creation, and that implicit obedience to his whims and fancies is the first duty of woman.
They have all they feel necessary to their well being. They have husbands who regard them as so much personal property, and who treat them alternately as pets or slaves; their wants are liberally provided for without any anxiety on their part; they rather like the idea of having little or no work to do, and to their mind, independence is a dreadful bugbear, which every lady ought to shun as she would shun a mad dog or a leper.
They are not to blame, poor things, for they are what man and circumstances have made them, and their general amiability and vague notions of doing what they have been taught is right, at all costs, partly exonerates such of them as have been persuaded to sign the Nineteenth Century protest.
Although I am not disposed to regard ladies as the wisest and most immaculate members of my sex, I do not include in this category all those who would fain usurp the doubtful distinction of being regarded as such. For instance: a young friend of mine, on her marriage, found herself domiciled in a very pretty little house in the suburbs, her domestic staff being limited to one maid-of-all-work.
One day, while the latter was out upon an errand, a tremendous ring at the front-door bell put my friend all in a flutter. She had but recently returned from her honeymoon, and wished to receive callers with becoming dignity. She would have preferred the maid to open the door, and show the visitor into her tiny drawing room; but as the maid was not at home, there was nothing for it but to officiate as door-opener herself.
She need not have been alarmed, for the individual at the door proved to be a big, fat, dirty, perspiring female, with a large basket of crockery-ware, some of which she tried to persuade my friend to buy. Finding her efforts in this direction fruitless, she began to wonder if she had been forestalled, and somewhat surprised my little friend by the following query: “If ye plaze, mum, can ye tell me if there’s been another lady hawking pots about here this afternoon?”
No; decidedly this individual’s claim to be regarded as a lady was somewhat too pretentious, and it must be understood that when speaking of ladies, I draw the line at hawkers.
The second great division of the female sex is composed of women. These do not sigh for society cognomens such as are essential to the happiness of their less thoughtful sisters. They want something more substantial. Many of them find it necessary to earn their own livelihood. Others possess a sufficient percentage of this world’s good things to enable them to banish all dread of poverty in their own lives. Others, and I am glad to say that this class is ever on the increase, prefer to work, simply because they prize independence above all things.
No one will venture to suggest that these women are selfish egotists, for their aims and ambitions embrace the welfare of half the human race at least, and, whatever may be the ultimate results of their gallant fight on behalf of “Woman’s Rights,” they will be only too thankful to see them enjoyed by every other woman on the face of the earth.
Widely different from these is the third division of the feminine genus homo. Slaves they are. Neither more nor less. When emancipation comes to them, it will not be as a result of their own endeavours, for custom, perverted education, physical weakness, and lack of energy all combine to keep them in the groove into which they have been mercilessly trodden for centuries.