“Pie-crust does make a slave of a woman, though,” said Mrs. Fennel. “There’s nothin’ harder than standin’ on your feet all the forenoon, rollin’ of it out.” “Denno ’bout doin’ without pie,” drawled Mr. Fennel. “’Pears if bread’n sarse’d be a mighty poor show for somethin’ to eat.” “’Twould take off the heft of the cookin’,” said Mrs. Fennel thoughtfully; “but” (with a sigh) “you couldn’t satisfy the men-folks.” I rushed to my chamber in despair. Pie, then, is one of the household gods in Tweenit. But what can I do about it? Something must be done. Suppose I write an “Appeal to Women,” and read it at the sewing-circle, pretending it was taken from a newspaper published in--well, in Alaska, or Australia, or the Orkney Islands. We gentlemen are expected to help along the entertainment in some way. Hark, now, to the music of the rolling-pin sounding from below! That music shall inspire my “APPEAL. “My dear friends, this is an age of inquiry. Can any one tell who first imprisoned our luscious fruits in a paste of grease and flour, baptized the thing with fire, and named it pie? And why is this pie a necessity? That is what confounds me. Mothers of families, hard pressed with work, consume time and strength in endless struggles with the rolling-pin. Fathers of families lengthen their bills to shorten their pies. And all this is to what end? The destruction of health. Every stroke on the board demands strength which is worse than thrown away. Every flake of pastry is so much food which were better left uneaten. And as for the time consumed in this kind of labor, who shall count the hours which are daily rolled away, and chiefly by overburdened women, who complain of ‘no time’ and ‘no constitution’? “One Saturday forenoon I stood on the hill which commands a view of the village. It was ‘baking-day.’ Being a clairvoyant, I looked through the roofs of the houses, and saw in every kitchen a weary woman, ‘standin’ on her feet,’ rolling, rolling, rolling. Close around some stood their own little children, tugging at their skirts, pleading for that time and attention which rightfully belonged to them. One frail, delicate woman was actually obliged to lie down and rest twice before her task was ended. Another, the mother of an infant not many months old, accomplished hers with one foot on the cradle-rocker. “We read of despotic countries where galley-slaves were chained to the oar. They, however, after serving their time, went free. Alas for poor woman chained to the rolling-pin! Her sentence is for life. “We read, too, in ancient story of powerful _genii_, whose control over their slaves was absolute; but this terrible _genius_ of the household exacts from its slaves an equally prompt obedience. Is there one among them who dares assert her freedom?