“Well, I saw a great deal of good sense in this, and thought it would be better for women to be content to be women. I am sure we used to be very happy long ago, before this came into our heads, but the landlady I told you of did not think so: she has two or three friends that come and talk over all the domestic and un-domestic arrangements of all their ‘gossips:’ one of these ladies is a widow—for the second time; and they say she was the death of the first by her tongue, and of the second by her temper, maybe the one helped on the other against both the poor fellows! any how, they both are dead, and she makes a great boast of never taking a third; they say she was never asked: she is what’s called a ‘strong-minded woman,’ she would say any thing, or do any thing; and what I can’t understand—though she is forever abusing the men, and letting on she hates them and their ways—is that she does every thing in the world she can to seem manly. She tramps about in high-heeled boots, with straps; she speaks in—what she calls—a ‘fine, manly tone,’ and hates soft voices, because they are _womanly_; she has a way of her own, of turning the rights of women into the rights of men; she parts her hair at the side, and turns it in an under roll all round—‘because it is like a man’s;’ and yet she calls ‘them men’ bears and brutes enough to fill the zoology gardens; and though she grumbles because men tyrannize over women, she is bringing up her _son_ to have his way in every thing, and makes his sister give the cake from her hand, and the orange from her lips to pamper him.