239

BARRIERS AGAINST WOMAN

They Are Mostly Erected by the Women Themselves Blind Superstition.

Prejudices of Youth Which Endure Through Womanhood -- A Flea for the Unusual Woman.

All that follows is for women. The men are not forbidden, but they are advised not to read it.

But, the, they will read it. A man always does anything he wants to, particularly if it is forbidden."

It is so from his earliest days.

At the age of 6 he says to himself:

"If I climbed to the top of that baro I wonder if I would see anything that I never saw before."

He climbs to the top of the barn. he sees fields, houses, woods that he did not know existed. And he perceives that the world is large -- unexpectedly large. His mother comes out of the house and sees him on the barn. She does not scold him. She thinks he is splendidly adventurous. She mends his torn trousers without complaining.

But let her little daughter show any such inclination to see the world! She is called names that are a shock to her innocence. She is told that she is a "tomboy" -- terrible word! Her budding modesty is offended. Her ambition is [?] She drops bitter tears into her little checked apron and admits to herself that it was very naughty indeed of her to try to find out if the world was large. She discovers that for a woman it is not large -- that is to say, no larger than the door yard.

And, in a little while, she, too, has a contempt for a woman who tries to get up where can look off and see what the world is like.

It is this placing of the limitations of women by the women themselves that always seems to me one of the most irritating of things. There are some women who always resent the success of any other woman.

After one of Mrs. Lease's peculiar and not to be forgotten addresses, I heard a woman say:

"Why in the world doesn't she stay at home and take care of her children?"

There is a place where the women stay home and take care of the children. It is in India. And there the men have so little respect for them that they do not even accredit them with the possession of souls. And what is very much worse, I do not think the women suspect that this theory is wrong. They are married in infancy, their lives are doomed if their husbands die, and from birth to death they live in degrading subserviency to the men. And well may these girl mothers weep when the child they have born them is not a son! Well may turn from the dark eyes of their little daughters, knowing what their future is to be:

There's the necessity of being mammal. Women are destined to be that. But the fact is subordinated to the Woman herself. She is the Fact. Posterity is a secondary consideration.

The other night after a horribly hot day a woman was going home from [?] park. She had five little children. One of them seemed to be about 5 or 6 weeks old. The oldest appeared to be about 7 years. The children were all sleepy, but they didn't cry. They were good little things. They all had baskets or bundles, and had no doubt carried their luncheon to the park and eaten it there. When the mother signaled the train to stop she half arose. All the children did the same. The car stopped with a jerk. There was the usual result. Some one picked up the babies. The conductor dropped them off the car. Three of them fell getting across the street. A horse was coming and the mother had much difficulty in jerking them out of the way. The bundles seemed to be all over the block. But the tired woman gathered them up after a little and the troupe went on.

"Well," a woman on the car said, "if I had as many children as that, I'd stay at home."

She hadn't as many children as that -- or any at all. She is a woman who doesn't like to be inconvenienced. That is why she has never had any children. Instead, she has pink luncheons.

Now, it didn't seem to me that the woman with the children was at all absurd in her little excursion. It involved fatigue, and some anxiety. But there was anticipation and enjoyment, and a lot of excitement to be counted in. There is nothing like dressing up. It gives a zest to life. And, there were all of these little ones in clothes that stood out with starch. They had had a day to a beautiful place. And if they were going to bed dead tired, it was that happy fatigue which comes with a new experience.

But what is most important and significant of all is the fact that the woman herself had not stagnated. In her soul was still the thirst for the beautiful; in her pulses still the power to leap at pleasure.

Perhaps her shuffling, overworked husband was at home wishing for her, surely at her absence, weary, wet with sweat, irritable.

What of it?

Had she not been hearing the children laugh in their play? Had she not seen the sunset through the skies, and noted the dark silhouettes against the amber west? Had she not heard the leaves whispering, and watched the [?] shimmer of the fountain down through the "draw?"

She had been trying to live a little. And her effort would be sure to bring its own reward.

However, though, I think women do not always appreciate one another. I am far from thinking they are as mean to each other as they are commonly held onto be is a certain class of novels. There was Mr. Anthony Trollope, who used to write interminable novels about feminine quarrels, and who seemed to work on the supposition that all any woman cared about was to get some other woman's lover away from her. That may be true in a certain class of idle and stupid society. But it isn't true here in America very much. We all seem to have all the lovers we want over here. And marriage isn't the only subject we talk about or think about. It's secondary and incidental to life itself, though it sometimes brings the chief joy of existence.

I've often noticed the girls in dry goods stores. They are good illustration of the point I wish to illustrate There they stand, tired, dusty, harassed by senseless customers, the day stretching out before them to an interminable length, yet almost always they are kind to each other, and are sisterly and courteous. There are exceptions. But the exceptions are few. On the street cars women are almost always particularly nice to each other. In the offices down town they seem to be generally kind and polite. And in society there is not half the idle gossip and illnature that there is commonly supposed to be. The women are sympathetic with each other. They have an admiration for each other's abilities and accomplishments.

I don't know exactly what they would do if they got a genius among them. Perhaps they would find it hard to invent excuses for her. But so long as a woman shows only well-bred mediocrity she will find affectionate friends.

Now, they want to stop the placing of limitations. They want to get over their narrowness of aspect. They want to learn to applaud. If a woman makes a success of anything from walking a tight rope to painting a picture, give her credit for it. Do not call her a crank because she has ideas. Do not cut her because she knows enough to earn a living. Try to get to a point where you can admit that she is nice [?] of the fact that she has opinions. It's this fighting shy of the women who are trying to march with the marching time that I most deprecate in woman.

I don't like them to be afraid of genius Genius isn't necessarily disreputable. Make room for the uncommon women as well as the common ones. When you hear a remarkable orator, such as Mrs. Lease, do not say that she ought to stay home and take care of her children.

When you see a woman struggling after a little joy in the midst of her dull days, do not tell her that she ought to stay home and take care of the children.

The children will be taken care of all right enough. You needn't worry about that.

BARRIERS AGAINST WOMAN

They Are Mostly Erected by the Women Themselves Blind Superstition.

Prejudices of Youth Which Endure Through Womanhood -- A Flea for the Unusual Woman.

All that follows is for women. The men are not forbidden, but they are advised not to read it.

But, the, they will read it. A man always does anything he wants to, particularly if it is forbidden."

It is so from his earliest days.

At the age of 6 he says to himself:

"If I climbed to the top of that baro I wonder if I would see anything that I never saw before."

He climbs to the top of the barn. he sees fields, houses, woods that he did not know existed. And he perceives that the world is large -- unexpectedly large. His mother comes out of the house and sees him on the barn. She does not scold him. She thinks he is splendidly adventurous. She mends his torn trousers without complaining.

But let her little daughter show any such inclination to see the world! She is called names that are a shock to her innocence. She is told that she is a "tomboy" -- terrible word! Her budding modesty is offended. Her ambition is [?] She drops bitter tears into her little checked apron and admits to herself that it was very naughty indeed of her to try to find out if the world was large. She discovers that for a woman it is not large -- that is to say, no larger than the door yard.

And, in a little while, she, too, has a contempt for a woman who tries to get up where can look off and see what the world is like.

It is this placing of the limitations of women by the women themselves that always seems to me one of the most irritating of things. There are some women who always resent the success of any other woman.

After one of Mrs. Lease's peculiar and not to be forgotten addresses, I heard a woman say:

"Why in the world doesn't she stay at home and take care of her children?"

There is a place where the women stay home and take care of the children. It is in India. And there the men have so little respect for them that they do not even accredit them with the possession of souls. And what is very much worse, I do not think the women suspect that this theory is wrong. They are married in infancy, their lives are doomed if their husbands die, and from birth to death they live in degrading subserviency to the men. And well may these girl mothers weep when the child they have born them is not a son! Well may turn from the dark eyes of their little daughters, knowing what their future is to be:

There's the necessity of being mammal. Women are destined to be that. But the fact is subordinated to the Woman herself. She is the Fact. Posterity is a secondary consideration.

The other night after a horribly hot day a woman was going home from [?] park. She had five little children. One of them seemed to be about 5 or 6 weeks old. The oldest appeared to be about 7 years. The children were all sleepy, but they didn't cry. They were good little things. They all had baskets or bundles, and had no doubt carried their luncheon to the park and eaten it there. When the mother signaled the train to stop she half arose. All the children did the same. The car stopped with a jerk. There was the usual result. Some one picked up the babies. The conductor dropped them off the car. Three of them fell getting across the street. A horse was coming and the mother had much difficulty in jerking them out of the way. The bundles seemed to be all over the block. But the tired woman gathered them up after a little and the troupe went on.

"Well," a woman on the car said, "if I had as many children as that, I'd stay at home."

She hadn't as many children as that -- or any at all. She is a woman who doesn't like to be inconvenienced. That is why she has never had any children. Instead, she has pink luncheons.

Now, it didn't seem to me that the woman with the children was at all absurd in her little excursion. It involved fatigue, and some anxiety. But there was anticipation and enjoyment, and a lot of excitement to be counted in. There is nothing like dressing up. It gives a zest to life. And, there were all of these little ones in clothes that stood out with starch. They had had a day to a beautiful place. And if they were going to bed dead tired, it was that happy fatigue which comes with a new experience.

But what is most important and significant of all is the fact that the woman herself had not stagnated. In her soul was still the thirst for the beautiful; in her pulses still the power to leap at pleasure.

Perhaps her shuffling, overworked husband was at home wishing for her, surely at her absence, weary, wet with sweat, irritable.

What of it?

Had she not been hearing the children laugh in their play? Had she not seen the sunset through the skies, and noted the dark silhouettes against the amber west? Had she not heard the leaves whispering, and watched the [?] shimmer of the fountain down through the "draw?"

She had been trying to live a little. And her effort would be sure to bring its own reward.

However, though, I think women do not always appreciate one another. I am far from thinking they are as mean to each other as they are commonly held onto be is a certain class of novels. There was Mr. Anthony Trollope, who used to write interminable novels about feminine quarrels, and who seemed to work on the supposition that all any woman cared about was to get some other woman's lover away from her. That may be true in a certain class of idle and stupid society. But it isn't true here in America very much. We all seem to have all the lovers we want over here. And marriage isn't the only subject we talk about or think about. It's secondary and incidental to life itself, though it sometimes brings the chief joy of existence.

I've often noticed the girls in dry goods stores. They are good illustration of the point I wish to illustrate There they stand, tired, dusty, harassed by senseless customers, the day stretching out before them to an interminable length, yet almost always they are kind to each other, and are sisterly and courteous. There are exceptions. But the exceptions are few. On the street cars women are almost always particularly nice to each other. In the offices down town they seem to be generally kind and