Chapter XXI

"A mien that neither seeks nor shuns
The homage scattered in her way;
A love that hath few favored ones,
And yet for all can work and pray.
A smile wherein each mortal reads
The very sympathy he needs;
An eye like to a mystic book,
Of lays that bard or prophet sings,
Which keepeth for the holiest look
Of holiest love, its deepest things."

What an impetus was given to the cause of Woman's Rights, when the first Bloomer stepped upon the stage! With what tremendous huzzas of triumph and victory did the whole assaulting sisterhood mount the breaches thus made in the great bulwarks of man's tyranny and despotism; infuriately calling on every woman throughout the length and breadth of the nation to rise in the might of her slumbering strength, make her petticoats into pillars of defiance, and hurl them on the weak, unguarded outposts, till the whole tottering fabric should go down with a crash to rise no more.

Mrs. Pimble and her coadjutors commenced rolling the ball of reform with increased velocity. Mass meetings, of the most boisterous and denunciatory character, were held through the community. It appeared a war was commenced which threatened to cease only with the extermination of the masculine portion of Wimbledon. Mr. Salsify Mumbles, though as brave as most men in common encounters, was afraid to step outside his door lest his unmentionables should be seized by some of the new-fledged manhood, and a petticoat tied to his coat-tail. Even the green damask curtains and cushion-coverings that adorned the high, old-fashioned pulpit of the village church, were voted as ostentatious and calculated to foster luxurious idleness in the pastor; and a committee appointed and authorized to tear them from their places and sew them into bloomers for the comfort of the lady-lecturers, whose callings exposed them to the most inclement weathers. And so green-legged Philanthropy stalked through Wimbledon; but it never laid an armful of wood on the sill of Dilly Danforth's humble abode, though rough blew the storms of the inclement winter; nor did it put a cap over Master Willie's curly locks, or sew a charitable patch on the elbow of his ragged jacket. Because it was philanthropy in the wider sense, which sought to relieve in the sum of thousands--not of units.

Mrs. Dr. Simcoe figured not so largely among the sisterhood of reformers as she would have done had she not been encumbered by "Simcoe's children," who were two of the most ill-natured, uncompromising offshoots of barbarism that ever tormented a meek, unoffending woman.

Mrs. Lawson thought some reformer should arise to fill the place so nearly vacated by the persecuted lady, and fixed upon Mrs. Edson as her successor.

So, on a day, Mrs. Lawson, in green damask bloomers, black overcoat, and deer-skin gloves, appeared on the steps of Mrs. Edson's mansion, and gave a herculean pull at the door-bell which brought the master of the house instanter, with staring eyes, to answer the pealing summons. "I believe Mrs. Edson resides here," said the lady-reformist, looking loftily upon the man, who was evidently very much struck with his visitor's personal equipments.

"She does," answered he, at length.

"I have come to hold a conversation with her," said Mrs. Lawson, stamping the snow from her boots, and proceeding toward the open door of the sitting-room.

Louise rose as she entered, glanced at the strange figure, then at her husband, and then back to the figure again, with an amusing expression of wonder on her beautiful features.

"I do not know this--this person's name," said he, at length.

"Lawson--Mrs. Portentia Lawson!" said the lady-reformist, laying her walking-stick on the piano, and unbuttoning her over-coat. "I am actively engaged in the benevolent enterprises of the day, and have come to obtain your aid and coöperation, madam." Here she made a low inclination toward Louise.

"My wife does not meddle in such matters," said Mr. Edson, simply. "I pay a stated sum yearly toward the support of the gospel, and give as much as people in general to the missionary and Bible societies."

"It is nothing to me," said Mrs. Lawson, turning sharply upon the speaker, "what you give to support the gospel, or to endow Bible societies. I have nothing to do with such milk-sop organizations, or the donkeys that draggle at their heels. Other and loftier objects engage my attention and claim my powers. My business is not with you, sir! It is with the woman who condescends to acknowledge you as her husband!" Having delivered herself of the preceding harangue, Mrs. Lawson turned her attention to Louise, and vouchsafed no further notice of Mr. Edson, who soon slunk out of the room and returned to his counter.

"I suppose you are not wholly ignorant of the reform the more talented of your sex are making efforts to effect in the social condition of Wimbledon," remarked the nimble-tongued Mrs. Lawson to her fair auditor, who was sitting in a low rocking-chair before the glowing grate, with her tiny, slippered-feet poised on the fender.

"Yes!" answered she, purposely ignorant. "I am confined at home by my duties as a wife, and know very little of what is passing around me."

Mrs. Lawson proceeded to give a detailed account of the labors of a small band of enfranchised females for the liberation of their enslaved and suffering sisters, whose weakness and timidity had hitherto prevented their rising and throwing off the yoke of the oppressor, man. So eloquently did she rehearse her tale, so still and patient was her listener, that she felt confident of gaining a new coädjutor in the ranks of female reform. As she finished her recital, she directed a sharp, piercing glance toward Mrs. Edson, whose calm, clear eyes and placid face evinced no disturbing emotions.

"Will you join our ranks?" demanded Mrs. Lawson, "and aid us in rending the fetters forged on woman's wrists by the tyrant man?"

"No!" said Louise, in a quiet but determined tone.

"Then you do not believe in Woman's Rights!" said Mrs. Lawson, half her enthusiasm falling off and leaving her coarse features blank and bare.

"O, yes!" answered Louise, her face brightening as she spoke, "I believe in Woman's Rights with all my heart and soul. Yet not in crowds, and camps, and forums, where swarming multitudes are jostling to and fro; and brawls, and shouts, and loud harangues make tumult in the air, do I believe she finds her proper sphere. Not in halls of legislation, or among empannelled juries, or yet within the sacred desk, would I behold the form of woman. No, no! what sight so revolting to a refined soul--whether it dwell in male or female bosom--as unsexed womanhood, booted and spurred, parading over rostrums, brawling in debates, and spouting sophistical sentiments on subjects of whose true signification they are as ignorant as an idiot of the laughter and derision his babble excites? O, 'tis woman's thrice-beautiful right to relieve and succor the care-worn and distressed, wherever on this goodly earth they fall within the circle of her sphere and influence! To give sweet, unobtrusive charities to the children of want! By gentle words of sympathy and hope, to raise and cheer the drooping souls of her erring sisters; and in dim-lighted rooms, where restless disease tosses on couches of pain and agony, 'tis hers to move with noiseless tread, to smooth the pillow, bathe the brow, and give the healing potion! Say not her sphere is limited, her influence small, her mission low, or her rights unacknowledged."

Louise rose as she proceeded, her face glowing with the sentiments she uttered. Mrs. Lawson stood before her, moving backwards gradually, till she finally receded through the open door, took to the street, and was seen no more in the home of Louise Edson.