The Argosy — page 209: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Female Suffrage. 193 mamma bow and cross themselves daily in a holy of holies of Ritualism. There is, indeed, on record the story of a bold Scottish Laird, in 1743, who, though his wife wore the white cockade and her heart beat high for bonnie Prince Charlie, yet, nevertheless, declared he would lead forth his clan to reinforce the Duke of Cumberland’s ranks. But how did this hapless husband pay for his rashness? The morning was come for marching out to the fight. The highlanders were assembled in the castle-yard. The pibroch sounded shrill for the on- set. What with loyalty and what with whisky, the air was full of shouts for King George. In the hall sat the chieftain at breakfast. He was in high good humour, the venison stakes were so tender, and glory seemed just then so easy to win. There too at his side sat his lady, lovely and smiling, but it was the smile of the treacherous sky of the South before a storm. The Laird had finished, like a true Scotchman, with an oatcake and marmalade, and was just going to rise to put on his bonnet and say adieu, when his wife by some dexterous carelessness upset the whole contents of the tea-urn over his legs. Farewell now all his dreams of fame. Formany a day he must be a prisoner in his own castle. Doubtless the lady, knowing, like most of her sex, how to temper justice with mercy, was winsome and gracious enough throughout that dreary time when he had nothing to do but stare from the window at the misty hills ; but doubtless also the husband had had a lesson which made him take good care never to get into conjugal hot water again. But if the influence of the wives of England is great over their hus- bands’ opinions, may it not be said that the mothers of England hold in their hands the electioneering notes of the next generation. Will the boy whose heart has been fired by his mother to kindle at the glorious story of William the Silent dying for # nation’s freedom, ever give a vote that will raise up tyranny in the land? Will the boy who has learnt to lisp at his mother’s knee the sweet old Bible words, and to find in them his God, ever help to place among his country’s rulers a man who will not uphold pure religion? It is a precious and an awful thing, this’ power of the mother ; for through it she may take part in the good or ill of the nation long after her soul has flown to the eternal land. Can any one compare the petty distinction which the suffrage would give to woman to such a solemn dignity as this? We fear that the women who clamour for the suffrage and for other so-called freedoms for their sex are forgetting this their rightful vast responsibility in the infinitely smaller responsibility they wish to take upon themselves. What France wants is mothers, said Napoleon. God grant that sooner or later those words may not have to be spoken of England |! It is 4 proud thing for an old woman, as she sits by her fireside in the softly carpeted drawing-room, or the cozy parlour behind the shop, or . VOL. XV. COMicloe® 5es.e6 if