was all spoiled, I wouldn't sit down, and cry! I'd say, 'Hang it!'" This
cherub preferred the alternative of temper, on days when the celery turned
out badly. Probably her mother was addicted to the other practice, and
exhibited the tears.

But as this alternative is found to exist for both sexes, and on all
occasions, why charge it especially on the woman-suffrage movement? Men
are certainly as much given to ill temper as women; and, if they are less
inclined to tears, they make it up in sulks, which are just as bad.
Nicholas Nickleby, when the pump was frozen, was advised by Mr. Squeers to
"content himself with a' dry polish;" and so there is a kind of dry despair
into which men fall, which is quite as forlorn as any tears of women. How
many a man has doubtless wished at such times that the pump of his
lachrymal glands could only thaw out, and he could give his emotions
something more than a "dry polish"! The unspeakable comfort some women feel
in sitting for ten minutes with a handkerchief over their eyes! The
freshness, the heartiness, the new life visible in them, when the crying is
done, and the handkerchief comes down again!

And, indeed, this simple statement brings us to the real truth, which
should have been more clearly seen by the writer who tells this story. She
is wrong in saying, "It is urged that men and women stand on an equality,
are exactly alike." Many of us urge the "equality:" very few of us urge the
"exactly alike." An apple and an orange, a potato and a tomato, a rose and
a lily, the Episcopal and the Presbyterian churches, Oxford and Cambridge,
Yale and Harvard,--we may surely grant equality in each case, without being
so exceedingly foolish as to go on and say that they are exactly alike.

And precisely here is the weak point of the whole case, as presented by
this writer. Women give way to tears more readily than men? Granted. Is