Our Girls Part 13

She replied, with a toss of her head, "I can't bear him. Why, he eats with his knife!"

Of course n.o.body supposes that for most sorts of food a fork is better than a knife; but unless some tests of what is called gentility can be maintained, you see we shouldn't know who's who and what's what.

I learned somewhat early in life to use the fork almost exclusively; but now that it is made a sign of gentility, I am learning to use the knife.

I always enjoyed the anecdote of that "first gentleman of Europe," a certain King of England, who, on a state occasion, invited to his table a Scotch n.o.bleman, with his two daughters. The n.o.bleman was one of the truest friends of the king, and the daughters were most intelligent, worthy girls; but, living very much out of society, they had not learned all the rules of table etiquette. So upon sipping their coffee, and finding it too hot, they poured from the cup into the saucer, and drank from the saucer. The king, who was at the head of the table, heard a derisive laugh from some of the pets of the court, and looking over where his Scotch friends sat, he saw the occasion of it. Immediately he lifted his own cup, poured into the saucer, and set the cup down on the table with a great noise, whereupon the exquisites colored, and hushed.

Girls, I advise you to use the fork in eating such things as can be eaten best with it, unless you wish to make issue with a false and arbitrary test of gentility.

There are table habits, vital in their importance. I may here name the practice of eating only simple food, with great deliberation, maintaining, during the meal, your legitimate share in the conversation, and constantly watching for opportunities to a.s.sist those about you.

CONSERVATISM IS FAs.h.i.+ONABLE.

Nothing is more fas.h.i.+onable than conservatism. Slavery--what a hot- bed of sensualism! What a pandemonium of cruelty and crime!

All over the North the merchant, the politician, and the clergyman pledged each other to silence. It was the fas.h.i.+on.

A few brave souls protested. Sneers and ridicule followed them. Ah, can it be believed,--the blue-eyed daughters of New England joined in the sneers. They drew aside their skirts as they pa.s.sed the champions of liberty and virtue. No other memory connected with the antislavery revolution is so hard for me to bear. If only they, hearing the cry of agony from their outraged sisters in the South, had listened, sympathized, and, in their own gentle way, striven to help the torn and bleeding ones, I could bear the memory of the brutal indifference of men.

"WOMAN'S RIGHTS" ARE UNFAs.h.i.+ONABLE.

In most of the states women have no legal claim to their own children. In several of them the father may, in his will, commit the little ones to the care of strangers, and the mother can only weep and moan.

In many of the states the wife has no right to the property which her father gave her, or to that which she has earned with her own hands.

In not one of the states can a woman express her opinion or wish at the ballot box. Her person, her property, her claim to her children, --everything she holds most dear in this life, is controlled by the ballot box. The most ignorant foreigners are invited to it; our mothers and wives are forbidden.

Women and girls receive, for the same work, only half the compensation of men and boys.

The "woman's rights" movement seeks the mitigation, and final removal, of these outrageous wrongs.

My dear girls, think for yourselves this time. Don't simper and giggle when the fools sneer at "woman's rights." They don't know what they are talking about.

A few days ago I heard a sort of jackanapes ridiculing "woman's rights," and several very sweet girls were listening to his coa.r.s.e scurrilities; and, must I say it, smiling their approval.

Wearing an unfas.h.i.+onable dress is not half so bad; going into the street with the bonnet of two years ago, even, will not uns.e.x you like a smiling indifference to these desperate struggles of your sisters. To avoid starvation on one hand, and crime on the other, they plead with the world for justice.

In this city of Boston there are twenty thousand women starving on needle-work, and five thousand who live, or die, by crime. A few brave ones, driven to the wall, hope, by calling attention to their helplessness, to obtain sympathy and justice. This is essentially the "woman's rights" movement. Suppose you don't like the mode in which they agitate. When you hear criticisms, or ridicule, if you haven't the heart to say a word in defence, at least you can keep silence.

I wish I dared to tell you how we men almost despise you, sometimes, for this abandonment of each other.

THE "SOCIAL EVIL."

Men go prowling about, seeking to seduce and ruin girls, and will stand by each other, even in this infamous business. When a poor girl, overcome by the arts of an oily-tongued villain, perhaps by a promise of marriage, consents to sin, how you drop her, and shun her, and sneer at her. A hundred times I have heard chivalrous men declare that, "women have no honor; they never stand by each other.

If one gets into trouble, the rest forsake her, and run away."

Girls, if you care to commend yourselves to men, stand by these unfortunate ones, encourage them, help them. You needn't fear being soiled; the spirit in which you would engage in this angelic service, would serve as a perfect s.h.i.+eld.

I know something of men. I have lived in many countries. I have been much in society, have been, to some extent, what is railed a man of the world, and have talked with men about women, hundreds of times.

I am confident that nothing would so elevate a young woman in the estimation of all n.o.ble men, as the brave defence of an unfortunate sister. It would thrill us all, and lift you into a heroine.

If a few hundred of you would join hands around the social evil, even in a city like this, where it has attained huge proportions, you could bring it within easy reach of christian aid.

Nothing, this side of G.o.d, do men revere, as they revere virtuous women. Let it be known among men, that the victims of their l.u.s.t have been taken under your protection, and the whole aspect of the question would instantly change. Instead of looking upon the unhappy ones as fair game, men would suddenly become conscious that they were dealing with your friends, and, therefore, with you.

A SHORT SERMON ABOUT MATRIMONY.

I would address those young women who want husbands. There are such; I have noticed them. Girls, if any of you have really made up your minds that you "wouldn't marry the best man that ever lived, there!"

skip this little sermon, because it really has no interest for you.

Men will shut their ears if they have a spark of delicacy; for every word of this is private and confidential.

MY TEXT.

The text, or rather the occasion for what I am about to say on the subject of marriage, was this:--

About a week ago, a young woman of twenty-six (she said twenty-six, so I am sure about her age,) came to me in regard to her health; and after the professional conversation was finished, we fell into a general and pleasant chat.

She was delightfully frank, and said, while we were discussing the ever fruitful subject of matrimony,--

"I wish I was little."

"That is too bad," I replied; "I have been admiring your grand, queenly proportions ever since you came in; and now you spoil it all by showing that you are not grateful."

"I can't help it; I wish I didn't weigh more than eighty pounds, and wasn't more than four and a half feet high."

"I am shocked! Do tell me what makes you wish so?"

"To be frank with you, the reason is just this: Men are so fond of saying, 'My little wife.'"

I laughed, thinking it was intended as a bright speech; but her flushed face a.s.sured me that, instead, she was uttering her very heart.

"Go on," I said, "tell me your thoughts."

"My thoughts are just these; and I believe they are the thoughts of all unmarried marriageable women. I long for nothing this side of heaven as I do to bury all my uncertainties and anxieties in the love of a husband. Eagerly would I make any sacrifice to secure this precious treasure. But I fear there is nothing left for me but to be sneered at as an old maid. So while I might otherwise be grateful for what you choose to call my queenly proportions, I can only wish I was one of the little women whom men seem to fancy."

I shall not tell you any more of this conversation, and my friend will excuse this much, as a text for my little sermon. Only she and I will know to whom this refers.