Women's Lib 1862

[navygunner]

Thought you ladies might enjoy this article from the newspaper

LAST WEEK INDEX NEXT WEEK
SUNDAY
AUGUST 3, 1862
THE TIMES PICAYUNE (LA)

A Whisper to Gentlemen.
By Fanny Fern

Jupiter Ammon! don’t I wish I was a man, just to show the masculines how to play their part in the world a little better! In the first place there ain’t a mother’s son of you that has got as far as A B C in the art of making love, (and I’ve seen a few abortions1 in that way myself, as well as the rest of the sisters.) What woman wants to be told that “her feet and eyes are pretty,” or “her form and smile bewitching?” Just as if she didn’t know all her fine points as soon as she is tall enough to peep into a looking glass!

No, you indelible donkey, if you must use the small coin of flattery to pay toll at the bridge of her affections, let me whisper a secret in your long ears. Compliment her upon some mental attraction she does not possess, (if you can find one,) and don’t wear the knees of your pet pants threadbare at her feet, trying to make her believe that she is your first love. We all know that is among the things that were, after you were out of your jacket and trowsers.

What a splendiferous husband I (Fanny) should make, to be sure! had Providence only ordained it! Do you suppose when the mother of my glorious boys wanted a six-pence to buy their shoe-strings, I scowl at her like a hyena, and pull my porte-monnaie2 out of my pocket as if I were drawing a tooth? Do you suppose when her blue eyes grew lusterless, and the rose paled on her fair cheek, trotting around the domestic tread-mill day after day, that I’d come home at night sulky and silent, and smoke my cigar in her face till her eyes were as red as rabbits? Or take myself off to a club or a game at nine pins, or any other game, and leave her to the exhilarating relaxation of darning my stockings?

Do you suppose I’d trot along like a loose pony at her side in the street, and leave her to keep up with me or not as her strength would permit? Do you suppose I’d fly into a passion and utter words to crush the life out of her young heart, and then insult her by offering a healing plaster in the shape of a new bonnet? And don’t you suppose, when the anniversary of our wedding day came round, I’d write dainty little note and leave it on her toilet-tablet, to let her know I was still a married lover.

Pshaw! I’m sick of you all! You don’t deserve the love of a generous, high-souled woman! If you want a housekeeper, hire one and be done with it. If you want a wife—but you don’t.

One woman will answer as well as another to sew on your buttons and straps and strings, and make your puddings and so on and so forth.

Do you suppose we have cultivated our minds and improved the bright and glorious gift of intellect, to the best of our capacity, to minister only to your physical wants? Not a bit of it! When that’s over, we want something rational. Do you ever think of that, you selfish wretch, when you sit with your feet upon the mantelpiece, reading the newspaper all to yourself, or sit from tea time till ten o’clock staring the ashes in the grate out of countenance?

Lord Harry! If I had such a block of a husband I’d scare up the ghost of a lover somewhere, if there’s any wit in


Geo. Dailey
Actng Gunner (western waters)
U S Naval Landing Party (www.usnlp.org)

[bizzilizzit]

Fanny Fern was a hoot!