In the marriage of a minor, the consent of the father, or of a guardian appointed by him, is necessary, but _not_ that of the _mother_: another indication of the estimate the law puts upon woman, as compared with man; and this estimate, whenever and wherever it shows itself, has the effect to depress every woman's desire to fit herself to be a good citizen; and, when she fails in citizenship, man must fail also, as is ably shown by De Tocqueville. "A hundred times in the course of my life," he says, "I have seen weak men display public virtue because they had beside them wives who sustained them in this course, not by counselling this or that action in particular, but by exercising a fortifying influence on their views of duty and ambition. _Oftener still_, I have seen domestic influence operating to transform a man, naturally generous, noble, and unselfish, into a cowardly, vulgar, and ambitious self-seeker, who thought of his country's affairs only to see how they could be turned to his own private comfort or advancement; and this simply by daily contact with an honest woman, a faithful wife, a devoted mother, from whose mind the grand notion of public _duty_ was entirely absent."[37] A man and wife are one person in law: _a wife loses all her rights_ as a single woman. Her husband is legally responsible for her acts: so she is said to live under his cover. A woman's body belongs to her husband. She is in his custody, and he can enforce his right by a writ of _habeas corpus_. _This last_ is one of the points in which the public feeling is so far before the law, that the latter could never be wholly enforced. If a woman were unlawfully restrained of her liberty, her husband might take advantage of a _habeas corpus_ to get possession of her; but it is not probable that any court, in England or this country, would _now_ grant one to compel a wife to live with her husband against her will. Still, the estimate of the marriage relation which such laws sustain is so low, that one never can tell what will happen. In the year 1858, a curious but _unintentional_ satire on the judicial position of the husband occurred in one of the London courts. A delicate, much-abused woman, unmarried, but who had been, in her own phrase, "living for some time" with a man, brought an action against him for assault. Erysipelas had inflamed her wounds, and endangered her life. "Had she died, sirrah," said the magistrate, addressing the criminal, "you must have taken your trial for murder. What have you to say in your defence?" "I was in liquor, sir," pleaded the man. "I gave her some money to go to market. I told her to look sharp; but she was gone more than an hour, your worship: so, when she came back, I--I was in liquor, your honor." The magistrate leaned over his desk, and, speaking in the most impressive manner, thus endeavored to cut short the defence:--