Josiah Allen on the Woman QuestionHolley, Marietta
General
Josiah Allen on the Woman Question
Holley, Marietta
Feminism -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Sex role -- Fiction; Women's rights -- Fiction
Now jest imagine what that meddlin' interferin' sperit would be if
carried into politics, if public officials wuz a prey to woman's
petickulars. Now spozin' a man wuz nominated for some high office
that hain't mebby jest exactly square. For as Uncle Sime sez, "What
man is square in public life? No," he sez, "you'll find 'em every shape
and size, except 4 by 4."
But wimmen can't accept that scientific statement, made by folks that
know, that men are made in such a way that public life and politics
wears and rubs on their square corners, and digs into and destroys
their shape, so as Uncle Sime sez, "They can't help bein' crooked."
But wimmen's brains hain't strong enough, and their naters and
consciences hain't elastic enough to comprehend such matters. They
always have and always will pay more attention to them little
petickulars of Right and Wrong than men have time to. As I've said
before, they can't see big, they see little. They'll talk it over
together how many million dollars is made by the White Slave trade
every year, ketchin' sweet young girls, they'll say by the net of their
love, by drink, by pizened needles, flattery, lies, treachery, takin'
'em from health, home and happiness, and throwin' 'em to the lions of
Lust and Greed, into livin' deaths.
Oh, yes, they'll put in all the petickulars. And they'll ask how many
millions wuz made by highway graft, tax-payers wadin' through mud,
whilst high officials, contractors and public grabbers stuff the
tax-payer's money in their pockets. And they'll bring up stories about
all the other big corporations and money grabbers.
And how much blood money is made yearly by whiskey sellin'? That is
the main fountain their petickulars gush from. Now if a smart hustlin'
saloon keeper is nominated for some high office and wimmen could vote,
what would be the consequence? Why, they would jest onloose them
petickulars onto him and he would be washed completely away on 'em.
They wouldn't know any better than to peek and pry into his bizness,
and run it down to the lowest notch. Jest as if a bizness that is good
enough for the U.S. Govermunt isn't good enough for them. No, their
naters bein' such, and they've got such itchin' ears, they'll pry
round into every crook and turn of that man's bizness, and talk about
it till they git the hull community riled up. The hull wimmen crew will
pin on their white ribbings, and git their heads together, tellin' some
story agin him, and the bizness he represents, and go into all the
petickulars, sez I, and sez he, and sez she, and sez they.
"Le'me see," sez they, "when wuz it he got Hen Daggett so drunk that he
went home and whipped his wife, and most killed her and her next baby
wuz born a fool.
"And what time o' night wuz it, wuz it ten or twelve, that he got old
Chawgo's boy crazy drunk and wantin' to git rid on him, histed him up
on his motorcycle and started him for home, and he didn't go half a
mile before he fell off and wuz killed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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