―71―

“I called last evening on Mrs. Carter. I had no previous
acquaintance with her. Her brother is a man of letters, who,
nevertheless, finds little leisure from the engagements of a toil-
some profession. He scarcely spends an evening at home, yet
takes care to invite, specially and generally, to his house, every
one who enjoys the reputation of learning and probity. His
sister became, on the death of her husband, his housekeeper.
She was always at home. The guests who came in search of
the man, finding him abroad, lingered a little as politeness en-
joined, but soon found something in the features and accents of
the lady, that induced them to prolong their stay, for their own
sake: nay, without any well-defined expectation of meeting
their inviter, they felt themselves disposed to repeat their visit.
We must suppose the conversation of the lady not destitute of
attractions; but an additional, and, perhaps, the strongest induce-
ment, was the society of other visitants. The house became,
length, a sort of rendezvous of persons of different ages and

―72―

conditions, but respectable for talents or virtues. A com-
modious apartment, excellent tea, lemonade, and ice—and whole-
some fruits—were added to the pleasures of instructive society:
no wonder that Mrs. Carter's coterie became the favourite
resort of the liberal and ingenious.

“These things did not necessarily imply any uncommon me-
rit in the lady. Skill in the superintendance of a tea-table, affa-
bility and modesty, promptness to inquire, and docility to listen,
were all that were absolutely requisite in the mistress of the
ceremonies. Her apartment was nothing, perhaps, but a
Lyceum open at stated hours, and to particular persons, who
enjoyed gratis, the benefits of rational discourse, and agreeable
repasts. Some one was required to serve the guests, direct the
menials, and maintain, with suitable vigilance, the empire of
cleanliness and order. This office might not be servile, merely
because it was voluntary. The influence of an unbribed inclina-
tion might constitute the whole difference between her and a
waiter at an inn, or the porter of a theatre.

“Books are too often insipid. In reading, the senses are in-
ert and sluggish, or they are solicited by foreign objects. To
spur up the flagging attention, or check the rapidity of its flights
and wildness of its excursions, are often found to be imprac-
ticable. It is only on extraordinary occasions that this faculty
is at once sober and vigorous, active and obedient. The rev-
olutions of our minds may be watched and noted, but can sel-
dom be explained to the satisfaction of the inquisitive. All
that the caprice of nature has left us, is to profit by the casual
presence of that which can, by no spell, be summoned or detained.

“I hate a lecturer. I find little or no benefit in listening to a
man who does not occasionally call upon me for my opinion, and
allow me to canvass every step in his argument. I cannot, with
any satisfaction, survey a column, how costly soever its materials,
and classical its ornaments, when I am convinced that its foun-
dation is sand which the next tide will wash away. I equally
dislike formal debate, where each man, however few his ideas,
is subjected to the necessity of drawing them out to the length
of a speech. A single proof, or question, or hint, may be all
that the state of the controversy, or the reflections of the speak-

―73―

er, suggest: but this must be amplified and iterated, till the
sense, perhaps, is lost or enfeebled, that he may not fall below
the dignity of an orator. Conversation, careless, and unfet-
tered, that is sometimes abrupt and sententious, sometimes fu-
gitive and brilliant, and sometimes copious and declamatory, is
a scene for which, without being much accustomed to it, I en-
tertain great affection. It blends, more happily than any other
method of instruction, utility and pleasure. No wonder I was
desirous of knowing, long before the opportunity was afforded
me, how far these valuable purposes were accomplished by the
frequenters of Mrs. Carter's lyceum.

“In the morning I had met the doctor at the bed-side of a
sick friend, who had strength enough to introduce us to each
other. At parting I received a special invitation for the even-
ing, and a general one to be in force at all other times. At five
o'clock I shut up my little school, and changed an alley in the
city—dark, dirty, and narrow, as all alleys are—for the fresh
air and smooth footing of the fields. I had not forgotten the
doctor and his lyceum. Shall I go (said I to myself) or shall I
not? No, said the pride of poverty, and the bashfulness of in-
experience. I looked at my unpowdered locks, my worsted
stockings, and my pewter buckles. I bethought me of my em-
barrassed air, and my uncouth gait. I pondered on the super-
ciliousness of wealth and talents, the awfulness of flowing mus-
lin, the mighty task of hitting on a right movement at entrance,
and a right posture in sitting, and on the perplexing mysteries
of tea-table decorum: but, though confused and panic-struck,
I was not vanquished.

“I had some leisure, particularly in the evening. Could it be
employed more agreeably or usefully? To read, to write, to
meditate; to watch a declining moon, and the varying firma-
ment with the emotions of poetry or piety—with the optics of
Dr. Young, or of De la Lande—were delightful occupations,
and all at my command. Eight hours of the twenty-four were
consumed in repeating the names and scrawling the forms of the
alphabet, or in engraving on infantile memories that twice three
make six; the rest was employed in supplying an exhausted,
rather than craving, stomach; in sleep, that never knew, nor de-
sired to know, the luxury of down, and the pomp of tissue; in

―74―

unravelling the mazes of Dr. Waring; or in amplifying the se-
ducing suppositions of, ‘if I were a king,’ or, ‘if I were a lov-
er.’ Few, indeed, are as happy as Alcuin. What is requisite
to perfect my felicity, but the blessings of health, which is in-
compatible with periodical head-aches, and the visits of rheuma-
tism;—of peace, which cannot maintain its post against the hum
of a school, the discord of cart-wheels, and the rhetoric of a
notable landlady;—of competence—my trade preserves me from
starving and nakedness, but not from the discomforts of scar-
city, or the disgrace of shabbiness. Money, to give me leisure;
and exercise, to give me health; these are all my lot denies: in
all other respects I am the happiest of mortals. The pleasures
of society, indeed, I seldom taste: that is, I have few opportu-
nities of actual intercourse with that part of mankind whose
ideas extend beyond the occurrences of the neighbourhood, or
the arrangements of their household. Not but that, when I
want company, it is always at hand. My solitude is populous,
whenever my fancy thinks proper to people it, and with the
very beings that best suit my taste. These beings are, perhaps,
on account of my slender experience, too uniform, and some-
what grotesque. Like some other dealers in fiction, I find it
easier to give new names to my visionary friends, and vary their
condition, than to introduce a genuine diversity into their cha-
racters. No one can work without materials. My stock is
slender. There are times when I feel a moment's regret that I
do not enjoy the means of enlarging it. But this detail, it must
be owned, is a little beside the purpose. I merely intended to
have repeated my conversation with Mrs. Carter, but have wan-
dered, unawares, into a dissertation on my own character. I
shall now return, and mention that I cut short my evening ex-
cursion, speeded homeward, and, after japanning anew my
shoes, brushing my hat, and equipping my body in its best geer,
proceeded to the doctor's house.

“I shall not stop to describe the company, or to dwell on those
embarrassments and awkwardness always incident to an unpo-
lished wight like me. Suffice it to say, that I was in a few
minutes respectfully withdrawn into a corner, and fortunately a
near neighbour of the lady.

―75―

“A week elapsed and I repeated my visit to Mrs. Carter.
She greeted me in a friendly manner. I have often, said she,
since I saw you, reflected on the subject of our former conversa-
tion. I have meditated more deeply than common, and I be-
lieve to more advantage. The hints that you gave me I have
found useful guides.

“And I, said I, have travelled farther than common, incited by
a laudable desire of knowledge.

“Travelled?

“Yes, I have visited since I saw you, the paradise of women;
and I assure you have longed for an opportunity to communi-
cate the information that I have collected.

“Well: you now enjoy the opportunity; you have engaged
it every day in the week. Whenever you had thought proper
to come, I could have promised you a welcome.

“I thank you. I should have claimed your welcome sooner,
but only returned this evening.

“Returned! Whence, I pry'thee?

“From the journey that I spoke of. Have I not told you
that I have visited the paradise of women? The region, indeed
is far distant, but a twinkling is sufficient for the longest of my
journeys.

“You are somewhat mysterious, and mystery is one of the
many things that abound in the world, for which I have an hear-
ty aversion.

“I cannot help it. It is plain enough to me and to my good
genius, who when I am anxious to change the scene, and am
unable to perform it by the usual means, is kindly present to my
prayers, and saves me from three inconveniences, of travelling
toil, delay and expense. What sort of vehicle it is that he pro-
vides for me, what intervals of space I have overpassed, and
what is the situation of the inn where I repose, relatively to this
city or this orb, such is the rapidity with which I move that I
cannot collect from my own observation. I may sometimes re-
medy my ignorance in this respect by a comparison of circum-
stances; for example, the language of the people with whom I
passed most of the last week, was English. This was a strong
symptom of affinity. In other respects the resemblance was
sufficiently obscure. Methought I could trace in their buildings

―76―

the knowledge of Greek and Roman models: but who can tell
that the same images and combinations may not occur to minds
distant and unacquainted with each other, but which have been
subject to the same enlightened discipline? In manners and sen-
timents they possessed little in common with us. Here I con-
fess my wonder was most excited, I should have been apt to
suspect that they were people of some other planet, especially as
I had never met in my reading with any intimations of the ex-
istence of such a people on our own. But on looking around me
the earth and sky exhibited the same appearances as with us.
It once occurred to me, that I had passed the bourne which we
are all doomed to pass, and had reached that spot from which,
as the poet assures us, no traveller returns. But since I have
returned, I must discard that supposition. You will say perhaps
when you are acquainted with particulars that it was no more
than a sick man's dream, or a poet's reverie. Though I myself
cannot adopt this opinion, for who can discredit the testimony of
his senses, yet it must be owned that it would most naturally
suggest itself to another, and therefore I shall leave you in pos-
session of it.

“So, you would persuade me, said the lady, that the journey you
meant to relate, is in your own opinion real, though you are con-
scious that its improbability will hinder others from believing it.

“If my statement answer that end be it so. The worst judge
of the nature of his own conceptions is the enthusiast: I have
my portion of ardour which solitude seldom fails to kindle into
blaze. It has drawn vigour and activity from exercise. Whe-
ther it transgress the limits which a correct judgment prescribes
it would be absurd to inquire of the enthusiast himself. If the
perceptions of the poet be as lively as those of sense, it is a su-
perfluous inquiry whether their objects exist really, and exter-
nally. This is a question which cannot be decided, even with
respect to those perceptions which have most seeming and most
congruity. We have no direct proof that the ordinary objects
of sight and touch have a being independent of these senses.
When there is no ground for believing that those chairs and
tables have any existence but in my own sensorium, it would be
rash to affirm the reality of the objects which I met, or seemed
to meet with in my late journey. I see and hear is the utmost

―77―

that can be truly said at any time, all that I can say is, that I
saw and heard.

“Well, returned the lady, that as you say, is a point of small
importance. Let me know what you saw and heard without
further ceremony.

“I was witness to the transactions of a people, who would
probably gain more of your approbation than those around you
can hope for. Yet this is perhaps to build too largely on my
imperfect knowledge of your sentiments: however that be, few
things offered themselves to my observation, which I did not see
reason to applaud, and to wonder at.

“My curiosity embraced an ample field. It did not overlook
the condition of women. That negligence had been equally un-
worthy of my understanding and my heart. It was evening and
the moon was present when I lighted, I know not how or
whence, on a smooth pavement encompassed by structures that
appeared intended for the accommodation of those whose taste
led them either to studious retirement or to cheerful conversation.
I shall not describe the first transports of my amazement, or
dwell on the reflections that were suggested by a transition so
new and uncommon, or the means that I employed to penetrate
the mysteriousness that hung around every object, and my va-
rious conjectures as to the position of the Isle, or the condition
of the people among whom I had fallen. I need not tell how
in wandering from this spot, I encountered many of both sexes
who were employed in awakening by their notes, the neighbouring
echoes, or absorbed in musing silence, or engaged in sprightly
debate; how one of them remarking as I suppose, the perplexity
of my looks, and the uncouthness of my garb, accosted me and
condescended to be my guide in a devious tract, which conduct-
ed me from one scene of enchantment to another. I need not
tell how by the aid of this benevolent conductor, I passed through
halls whose pendent lustres exhibited sometimes a groupe of
musicians and dancers, sometimes assemblies where state affairs
were the theme of sonorous rhetoric, where the claims of ancient
patriots and heroes to the veneration of posterity were examin-
ed, and the sources of memorable revolutions scrutinized, or
which listened to the rehearsals of annalist or poet, or surveyed
the labours of the chemist, or inspected the performances of the

―78―

mechanical inventor. Need I expatiate on the felicity of that
plan, which blended the umbrage of poplars with the murmur
of fountains, enhanced by the gracefulness of architecture.

“Come, come, interrupted the lady, this perhaps, may be
poetry, but though pleasing it had better be dispensed with. I
give you leave to pass over these incidents in silence: I desire
merely to obtain the sum of your information, disembarrassed
from details of the mode in which you acquired it, and of the
mistakes and conjectures to which your ignorance subjected
you.

“Well, said I, these restraints it must be owned are a little
hard, but since you are pleased to impose them I must conform
to your pleasure. After my curiosity was sufficiently gratified
by what was to be seen, I retired with my guide to his apartment.
It was situated on a terrace which overlooked a mixed scene
of groves and edifices, which the light of the moon that had now
ascended the meridian, had rendered distinctly visible. After
considerable discourse, in which satisfactory answers had been
made to all the inquiries which I had thought proper to make,
I ventured to ask, I pray thee my good friend, what is the con-
dition of the female sex among you? In this evening's excursion
I have met with those, whose faces and voices seemed to be-
speak them women, though as far as I could discover they were
distinguished by no peculiarities of manners or dress. In those
assemblies to which you conducted me, I did not fail to observe
that whatever was the business of the hour, both sexes seemed
equally engaged in it. Was the spectacle theatrical? The
stage was occupied sometimes by men, sometimes by wo-
men, and sometimes by a company of each. The tenor of the
drama seemed to be followed as implicitly as if custom had
enacted no laws upon this subject. Their voices were mingled
in the chorusses: I admired the order in which the spectators
were arranged. Women were, to a certain degree, associated
with women, and men with men; but it seemed as if magnifi-
cence and symmetry had been consulted, rather than a scrupu-
lous decorum. Here no distinction in dress was observable, but
I suppose the occasion dictated it. Was science or poetry, or
art, the topic of discussion? The two sexes mingled their in-
quiries and opinions. The debate was managed with ardour

―79―

and freedom, and all present were admitted to a share in the
controversy, without particular exceptions or compliances of
any sort. Were shadows and recesses sought by the studious
few? As far as their faces were distinguishable, meditation had
selected her votaries indiscriminately. I am not unaccustomed
to some degree of this equality among my own countrymen, but
it appears to be far more absolute and general among you; pray
what are your customs and institutions on this head?

“Perhaps, replied my friend, I do not see whither your ques-
tion tends. What are our customs respecting women? You are
doubtless apprised of the difference that subsists between the
sexes. That physical constitution which entitles some of us to
the appellation of male, and others to that of female you must
know. You know its consequences. With these our customs
and institutions have no concern; they result from the order of
nature, which it is our business merely to investigate. I sup-
pose there are physiologists or anatomists in your country. To
them it belongs to explain this circumstance of animal exist-
ence.

“The universe consists of individuals. They are perishable.
Provision has been made that the place of those that perish
should be supplied by new generations. The means by which
this end is accomplished, are the same through every tribe of
animals. Between contemporary beings the distinction of sex
maintains; but the end of this distinction is that since each indi-
vidual must perish, there may be a continual succession of indi-
viduals. If you seek to know more than this, I must refer you
to books which contain the speculations of the anatomist, or to
the hall where he publicly communicates his doctrines.

“It is evident, answered I, that I have not made myself un-
derstood. I did not inquire into the structure of the human bo-
dy, but into these moral or political maxims which are founded
on the difference in this structure between the sexes.

“Need I repeat, said my friend, what I have told you of the
principles by which we are governed. I am aware that there
are nations of men universally infected by error, or who at least
entertain opinions different from ours. It is hard to trace all
the effects of a particular belief, which chances to be current
among a whole people. I have entered into a pretty copious

―80―

explanation of the rules to which we conform in our intercourse
with each other, but still perhaps have been deficient.

“No, I cannot complain of your brevity; perhaps my doubts
would be solved by reflecting attentively on the information that
I have already received. For that, leisure is requisite; mean-
while I cannot but confess my surprise that I find among you
none of those exterior differences by which the sexes are dis-
tinguished by all other nations.

“Give me a specimen if you please, of those differences with
which you have been familiar.

“One of them, said I, is dress. Each sex has a garb peculiar
to itself. The men and women of our country are more differ-
ent from each other in this respect, than the natives of remotest
countries.

“That is strange, said my friend, why is it so?

“I know not. Each one dresses as custom prescribes. He
has no other criterion. If he selects his garb because it is beau-
tiful or convenient, it is beautiful and commodious in his eyes
merely because it is customary.

“But wherefore does custom prescribe a different dress to
each sex?

“I confess I cannot tell, but most certainly it is so. I must
likewise acknowledge that nothing in your manners more ex-
cites my surprise than your uniformity in this particular.

“Why should it be inexplicable? For what end do we dress?
Is it for the sake of ornament? Is it in compliance with our
perceptions of the beautiful? These perceptions cannot be sup-
posed to be the same in all. But since the standard of beauty
whatever it be, must be one and the same: since our notions
on this head are considerably affected by custom and example,
and since all have nearly the same opportunities and materials of
judgment, if beauty only were regarded, the differences among
us would be trivial. Differences, perhaps, there would be. The
garb of one being would, in some degree, however small,
vary from that of another. But what causes there are that
should make all women agree in their preference of one dress,
and all men in that of another, is utterly incomprehensible; no
less than that the difference resulting from this choice should
be essential and conspicuous.

―81―

“But ornament obtains no regard from us but in subser-
vience to utility. We find it hard to distinguish between the
useful and beautiful. When they appear to differ, we cannot
hesitate to prefer the former. To us that instrument possesses
an invincible superiority to every other which is best adapted to
our purpose. Convince me that this garment is of more use
than that, and you have determined my choice. We may af-
terwards inquire, which has the highest pretensions to beauty.
Strange if utility and beauty fail to coincide. Stranger still, if
having found them in any instance compatible, I sacrifice the
former to the latter. But the elements of beauty, though per-
haps they have a real existence, are fleeting and inconstant.
Not so those principles which enable us to discover what is use-
ful. These are uniform and permanent. So must be the results.
Among us, what is useful to one, must be equally so to another.
The condition of all is so much alike, that a stuff which deserves
the preference of one, because it is obtained with least labour, be-
cause its texture is most durable, or most easily renewed or
cleansed, is for similar reasons, preferable to all.

“But, said I, you have various occupations. One kind of
stuff or one fashion is not equally suitable to every employ-
ment. This must produce a variety among you, as it does among
us.

“It does so. We find that our tools must vary with our
designs. If the task requires a peculiar dress, we assume it.
But as we take it up when we enter the workshop, we of course,
lay it aside when we change the scene. It is not to be imagin-
ed that we wear the same garb at all times. No man enters so-
ciety laden with the implements of his art. He does not visit
the council hall or the theatre with his spade upon his shoulder.
As little does he think of bringing thither the garb which he
wore in the field. There are no such peculiarities of attitude or
gesture among us, that the vesture that has proved most conve-
nient to one in walking or sitting, should be found unsuitable to
others. Do the differences of this kind prevalent among you,
conform to these rules? Since every one has his stated employ-
ment, no doubt each one has a dress peculiar to himself or to
those of his own profession.

―82―

“No. I cannot say that among us this principle has any
extensive influence. The chief difference consists in degrees of
expensiveness. By inspecting the garb of a passenger, we dis-
cover not so much the trade that he pursues, as the amount of
his property. Few labour whose wealth allows them to dis-
perse with it. The garb of each is far from varying with the
hours of the day. He need only conform to the changes of the
seasons, and model his appearance by the laws of ostentation, in
public, and by those of ease in the intervals of solitude. These
principles are common to both sexes. Small is the portion of
morality or taste, that is displayed by either, but in this, as in
most other cases, the conduct of the females is the least faulty.
But of all infractions of decorum, we should deem the assum-
ing of the dress of one sex by those of the other, as the most
flagrant. It so rarely happens, that I do not remember to have
witnessed a single metamorphosis, except perhaps on the stage,
and even there a female cannot evince a more egregious negli-
gence of reputation than by personating a man.

“All this, replied my friend, is so strange as to be almost
incredible. Why beings of the same nature, inhabiting the
same spot, and accessible to the same influences, should exhibit
such preposterous differences is wonderful. It is not possible
that these modes should be equally commodious or graceful.
Custom may account for the continuance, but not for the origin
of manners.

“The wonder that you express, said I, is in its turn a sub-
ject of surprise to me. What you now say, induces me to ex-
pect that among you, women and men are more similarly treat-
ed than elsewhere. But this to me, is so singular a spectacle,
that I long to hear it more minutely described by you, and to
witness it myself.

“If you remain long enough among us you will not want
the opportunity. I hope you will find that every one receives
that portion which is due to him, and since a diversity of sex
cannot possibly make any essential difference in the claims and
duties of reasonable beings, this difference will never be found.
But you call upon me for descriptions. With what hues shall I
delineate the scene? I have exhibited as distinctly as possible
the equity that governs us. Its maxims are of various appli-

―83―

cation. They regulate our conduct, not only to each other, but
to the tribes of insects and birds. Every thing is to be treated
as capable of happiness itself, or as instrumental to the happiness
of others.

“But since the sexual differences is something, said I, and
since you are not guilty of the error of treating different things
as if they were the same, doubtless in your conduct towards
each other, the consideration of sex is of some weight.

“Undoubtedly. A species of conduct is incumbent upon men
and women towards each other on certain occasions, that can-
not take place between man and man; or between women and
women. I may properly supply my son with a razor to re-
move superfluous hairs from his chin, but I may with no less
propriety forbear to furnish my daughter with this impliment, be-
cause nature has denied her a beard; but all this is so evident
that I cannot but indulge a smile at the formality with which
you state it.

“But, said I, it is the nature and extent of this difference of
treatment that I want to know.

“Be explicit my good friend. Do you want a physiological
dissertation on this subject or not? If you do, excuse me from
performing the task, I am unequal to it.

“No. But I will try to explain myself, what for example is
the difference which takes place in the education of the two
sexes?

“There is no possible ground for difference. Nourishment
is imparted and received in the same way. Their organs of
digestion and secretion are the same. There is one diet, one
regimen, one mode and degree of exercise, best adapted to un-
fold the powers of the human body, and maintain them for the
longest time in full vigour. One individual may be affected by
some casualty or disease, so as to claim to be treated in a man-
ner different from another individual, but this difference is not
necessarily connected with sex. Neither sex is exempt from in-
jury, contracted through their own ignorance, or that of others.
Doubtless the sound woman and the sick man it would be mad-
ness to subject to the same tasks, or the same regimen. But this
is no less true if both be of the same sex. Diseases, on which-
soever they fall, are curable by the same means.

―84―

“Human beings in their infancy, continued my friend, require
the same tendance and instruction: but does one sex require
more or less, or a different sort of tendance or instruction than
the other? Certainly not. If by any fatal delusion, one sex
should imagine its interest to consist in the ill treatment of the
other, time would soon detect their mistake. For how is the
species to be continued? How is a woman, for example, to ob-
tain a sound body, and impart it to her offspring, but, among
other sources, from the perfect constitution of both her parents?
But it is needless to argue on a supposition so incredible as that
mankind can be benefitted by injustice and oppression.

“Would we render the limbs supple, vigorous and active?
And are there two modes equally efficacious of attaining this
end? Must we suppose that one sex will find this end of less
value than the other, or the means suitable to its attainment dif-
ferent: It cannot be supposed.

“We are born with faculties that enable us to impart and re-
ceive happiness. There is one species of discipline, better
adapted than any other to open and improve those faculties.
This mode is to be practised. All are to be furnished with
the means of instruction, whether these consist in the direct
commerce of the senses with the material universe, or in inter-
course with other intelligent beings. It is requisite to know the
reasonings, actions and opinions of others, if we seek the im-
provement of our own understanding. For this end we must
see them, and talk with them if present, or if distant or dead,
we must consult these memorials which have been contrived by
themselves or others. These are simple and intelligible max-
ims proper to regulate our treatment of rational beings. The
only circumstance to which we are bound to attend is that the
subjects of instruction be rational. If any one observe that the
consideration of sex is of some moment, how must his remark
be understood. Would he insinuate that because my sex is
different from yours, one of us only can be treated as rational,
or that though reason be a property of both, one of us possesses
less of it than the other. I am not born among a people who can
countenance so monstrous a doctrine.

“No two persons are entitled in the strictest sense, to the
same treatment, because no two can be precisely alike. All

―85―

the possibilities and shades of difference, no human capacity can
estimate. Observation will point out some of the more consi-
derable sources of variety. Man is a progressive being, he is
wise in proportion to the number of his ideas, and to the accura-
cy with which he compares and arranges them. These ideas are
received through the inlets of his senses. They must be suc-
cessively received. The objects which suggest them, must be
present. There must be time for observation. Hence the dif-
ference is, in some degree, uniform between the old and the
young. Between those, the sphere of whose observation has
been limited, and those whose circle is extensive. Such causes
as these of difference are no less incident to one sex than to
the other. The career of both commences in childhood and
ignorance. How far and how swiftly they may proceed before
their steps are arrested by disease, or death, is to be inferred
from a knowledge of their circumstances: such as betide them
simply as individuals.

“It would, perhaps, be unreasonable to affirm that the circum-
stance of sex affects in no degree the train of ideas in the mind.
It is not possible that any circumstance, however trivial, should
be totally without mental influence; but we may safely affirm that
this circumstance is indeed trivial, and its consequences, there-
fore, unimportant. It is inferior to most other incidents of hu-
man existence, and to those which are necessarily incident to
both sexes. He that resides among hills, is a different mortal
from him that dwells on a plain. Subterranean darkness, or the
seclusion of a valley, suggest ideas of a kind different from those
that occur to us on the airy verge of a promontory, and in the
neighbourhood of roaring waters. The influence on my cha-
racter which flows from my age, from the number and quality
of my associates, from the nature of my dwelling place, as sultry
or cold, fertile or barren, level or diversified, the art that I cul-
tivate, the extent or frequency of my excursions cannot be of
small moment. In comparison with this, the qualities which are
to be ascribed to my sex are unworthy of being mentioned. No
doubt my character is in some degree tinged by it, but the tinge
is inexpressibly small.

“You give me leave to conclude then, said I, that the same
method of education is pursued with regard to both sexes?

―86―

“Certainly, returned my philosopher. Men possess powers
that may be drawn forth and improved by exercise and discipline.
Let them be so, says our system. It contents itself with pre-
scribing certain general rules to all that bear the appellation of hu-
man. It permits all to refresh and invigorate their frames by
frequenting the purest streams and the pleasantest fields, and by
practising those gestures and evolutions that tend to make us ro-
bust and agile. It admits the young to the assemblies of their
elders, and exhorts the elder to instruct the young. It multi-
plies the avenues, and facilitates the access to knowledge. Con-
versations, books, instruments, specimens of the productions of
art and nature, haunts of meditation, and public halls, liberal
propensities and leisure, it is the genius of our system to create,
multiply, and place within the reach of all. It is far from crea-
tion, and debasing its views, by distinguishing those who dwell
on the shore from those that inhabit the hills; the beings whom
a cold temperature has bleached, from those that are embrowned
by an hot.

“But different persons, said I, have different employments.
Skill cannot be obtained in them without a regular course of
instruction. Each sex has, I doubt not, paths of its own into
which the others must not intrude. Hence must arise a differ-
ence in their education.

“Who has taught you, replied he, that each sex must have pe-
culiar employments? Your doubts and your conjectures are
equally amazing. One would imagine that among you, one sex
had more arms, or legs, or senses than the other. Among us
there is no such inequality. The principles that direct us in the
choice of occupations are common to all.

“Pray tell me, said I, what these principles are.

“They are abundantly obvious. There are some tasks which
are equally incumbent upon all. These demand no more skill
and strength than is possessed by all. Men must provide them-
selves by their own efforts with food, clothing and shelter. As
long as they live together there is a duty obliging them to join
their skill and their exertions for the common benefit. A cer-
tain portion of labour will supply the needs of all. This portion
then must be divided among all. Each one must acquire and
exert the skill which this portion requires. But this skill and

―87―

this strength are found by experience to be moderate and easily
attained. To plant maize, to construct an arch, to weave a gar-
ment, are no such arduous employments but that all who have
emerged from the infirmity and ignorance of childhood, may con-
tribute their efforts to the performance.

“But besides occupations which are thus of immediate and
universal utility, there is an infinite variety of others. The
most exquisite of all calamities, results from a vacant mind and
unoccupied limbs. The highest pleasure demands the cease-
less activity of both. To enjoy this pleasure it is requisite to
find some other occupation of our time, beside those which are
enjoined by the physical necessities of our nature. Among
these there is ample room for choice. The motives that may
influence us in this choice, are endless. I shall not undertake
to enumerate them. You can be at no loss to conceive them
without my assistance: but whether they be solitary or social,
whether speech or books, or observation, or experiment be the
medium of instruction, there can be nothing in the distinction
of sex to influence our determinations, or this influence is so in-
considerable as not to be worth mention.

“What, cried I, are all obliged to partake of all the labours
of tilling the ground, without distinction of rank and sex?

“Certainly. There are none that fail to consume some por-
tion of the product of the ground. To exempt any from a share
in the cultivation, would be an inexpiable injustice, both to those
who are exempted and those who are not exempted. The ex-
ercise is cheerful and wholesome. Its purpose is just and ne-
cessary. Who shall dare to deny me a part in it? But we
know full well that the task, which, if divided among many, is
easy and salubrious, is converted into painful and unwholesome
drudgery, by being confined to a sex, what phrenzy must that
be which should prompt us to introduce a change in this respect?
I cannot even imagine so great a perversion of the understand-
ing. Common madness is unequal to so monstrous a concep-
tion. We must first not only cease to be reasonable, but cease
to be men. Even that supposition is insufficient, for into what
class of animals must we sink, before this injustice could be rea-
lized? Among beasts there are none who do not owe their ac-
commodations to their own exertions.

―88―

“Food is no less requisite to one sex than to the other. As
the necessity of food, so the duty of providing it is common.
But the reason why I am to share in the labour, is not merely
because I am to share in the fruits. I am a being guided by
reason and susceptible of happiness. So are other men. It is
therefore a privilege that I cannot relinquish, to promote and
contemplate the happiness of others. After the cravings of ne-
cessity are satisfied, it remains for me, by a new application of
my powers, to enlarge the pleasures of existence. The inlets to
this pleasure are numberless. What can prompt us to take from
any the power of choosing among these, or to incapacitate him
from choosing with judgment. The greater the number of
those who are employed in administering to pleasure, the greater
will be the product. Since both sexes partake of this capacity,
what possible reasons can there be for limiting or precluding the
efforts of either?

“What I conceive to be unjust, may yet be otherwise; but
my actions will conform to my opinions. If you would alter
the former, you must previously introduce a change into the lat-
ter. I know the opinions of my countrymen. The tenor of
their actions will conform to their notions of right. Can the
time ever come, will the power ever arise, that shall teach them
to endure the oppression of injustice themselves, or inflict it upon
others? No.

“But in my opinion, said I, the frame of women is too deli-
cate, their limbs too minute for rough and toilsome occupations.
I would rather confine them to employments more congenial to
the female elements of softness and beauty.

“You would rather, would you? I will suppose you sincere,
and inquire how you would expect to obtain their consent to
your scheme.

“The sentiments, said I, of a single individual, would avail
nothing. But if all the males should agree to prescribe their
employments to women—

“What then? interrupted my friend. There are but two me-
thods of effecting this end—by force or by persuasion. With re-
spect to force we cannot suppose human beings capable of it, for
any moral purpose; but supposing them capable, we would
scarcely resort to force, while our opponents are equal in num-

―89―

ber, strength and skill to ourselves. The efficacy of persuasion
is equally chimerical. That frailty of mind which should make
a part of mankind willing to take upon themselves a double por-
tion of the labour, and to convert what is pleasurable exercise to
all, into a source of pain and misery to a few. But these are vain
speculations, let us dismiss them from our notice.

“Willingly, said I, we will dismiss these topics for the sake
of one more important.

“I presume then, said I, there is such a thing as marriage
among you.

“I do not understand the term.

“I use it to express that relation which subsists between two
human beings in consequence of difference of sex.

“You puzzle me exceedingly, returned he. You question me
as to the existence of that concerning which it is impossible for
you to be ignorant. You cannot at this age be a stranger to the
origin of human existence.

“When I had gotten thus far in my narrative, I paused.
Mrs. Carter still continued to favour me with her attention.
On observing my silence she desired me to proceed.

“I presume, said she, your supernatural conductor allowed
you to finish the conversation. To snatch you away just now,
in the very midst of your subject, would be doing you and me
likewise a very unacceptable office. I beseech you go on with
the discourse.

“It may not be proper, answered I. This is a topic on which,
strange to tell, we cannot discourse in the same terms before eve-
ry audience. The remainder of our conversation decorum
would not perhaps forbid you to read, but it prohibits you from
hearing. If you wish it, I will give you the substance of the
information I collected on this topic in writing.

“What is improper to be said in my hearing, said the lady,
it should seem was no less improper to be knowingly addressed
to me by the pen.

“Then, said I, you do not assent to my offer.

“Nay, I do not refuse my assent. I merely object to the dis-
tinction, that you have raised. There are many things impro-
per to be uttered, or written, or to be read, or listened to, but
the impropriety methinks must adhere to the sentiments them-

―90―

selves, and not result from the condition of the author or his
audience.

“Are these your real sentiments?

“Without doubt. But they appear not to be yours. How-
ever write what you please, I promise you to read it, and to in-
form you of my opinion respecting it. Your scheme, I suspect,
will not be what is commonly called marriage, but something in
your opinion, better. This footing is a dubious one. Take
care, it is difficult to touch without overstepping the verge.

“Your caution is reasonable. I believe silence will be the
safest. You will excuse me therefore from taking up the pen
on this occasion. The ground you say, and I believe, is peri-
lous. It will be most prudent to avoid it.

“As you please, but remember that though I may not ap-
prove of what you write, your silence I shall approve still less.
If it be false, it will enable me at least to know you, and I shall
thereby obtain an opportunity of correcting your mistakes.
Neither of these purposes are trivial. Are you not aware that
no future declaration of yours will be more unfavourable than
what you have just said, that silence will be most safe. You
are afraid no doubt, of shocking too greatly my prejudices; but
you err. I am certainly prepossessed in favour of the system of
marriage, but the strength of this prepossession will appear only
in the ardour of my compassion for contrary opinions, and the
eagerness of my endeavours to remove them.

“You would condescend then, said I, to reason on the sub-
ject, as if it were possible that marriage was an erroneous in-
stitution; as if it were possible that any one could seriously
maintain it to be, without entitling himself to the imputation of
the lowest profligacy. Most women would think that the op-
ponent of marriage, either assumed the character for the most
odious and selfish purposes, and could therefore only deserve to
be treated as an assassin: to be detested and shunned, or if he
were sincere in his monstrous faith, that all efforts to correct his
mistakes would avail nothing with respect to the patient, but
might endanger the physician by exposing her to the illusions of
sophistry or the contagion of passion.

“I am not one of these, said the lady. The lowest stupidity
only can seek its safety in shutting its ears. We may call that

―91―

sophistry, which having previously heard, it fails to produce
conviction. Yet sophistry perhaps implies not merely fallacious
reasoning, but a fallaciousness of which the reasoner himself is
apprised. If so, few charges ought to be made with more cau-
tion. But nothing can exceed the weakness that prevents us
from attending to what is going to be urged against our opi-
nions, merely from the persuasion that what is adverse to our
preconceptions must be false. Yet there are examples of this
folly among our acquaintance. You are wrong, said I lately to
one of these, if you will suffer me, I will convince you of your
error. You may save yourself the trouble, she answered. You
may torment me with doubts, but why, when I see the truth
clearly already, should I risque the involving of it in obscurity?
I repeat, I am not of this class. Force is to be resisted by force,
or eluded by flight: but he that argues, whatever be his motives,
should be encountered with argument. He cannot commit a
greater error than to urge topics, the insufficiency of which is
known to himself. To demonstrate this error is as worthy of
truth as any other province. To sophistry, in any sense of the
term, the proper antidote is argument. Give me leave to take
so much interest in your welfare, as to desire to see your er-
rors corrected, and to contribute what is in my power to that
end. If I know myself so well as sometimes to listen to others
in the hope of profiting by their superior knowledge or sagacity,
permit me likewise to be just to myself in other respects, and to
believe myself capable sometimes of pointing out his mistakes to
another.

“You seem, said I, to think it certain that we differ in opinion
upon this topic.

“No. I merely suspect that we do. A class of reasoners
has lately arisen, who aim at the deepest foundation of civil so-
ciety. Their addresses to the understanding have been urged
with no despicable skill. But this was insufficient, it was neces-
sary to subdue our incredulity, as to the effects of their new max-
ims, by exhibiting those effects in detail, and winning our assent
to their truth by engrossing the fancy and charming the affections.
The journey that you have lately made, I merely regard as an
excursion into their visionary world. I can trace the argument
of the parts which you have unfolded, with those which are yet

―92―

to come, and can pretty well conjecture of what hues, and lines,
and figures, the remainder of the picture is intended to consist.

“Then, said I, the task that I enjoined on myself is superflu-
ous. You are apprised of all that I mean to say on the topic of
marriage, and have already laid in an ample stock of disappro-
bation for my service.

“I frankly confess that I expect not to approve the matter of
your narrative, however pleased I may be with the manner.
Nevertheless I wish you to execute your first design, that I may
be able to unveil the fallacy of your opinions, and rescue one
whom I have no reason to disrespect, from specious but fatal il-
lusions.

“Your purpose is kind. It entitles you at least to my thanks.
Yet to say truth, I did not at first despair of your confidence with
me in some of my opinions. I imagined that some of the evils
of marriage had not escaped you. I recollect that during our
last conversation, you arraigned with great earnestness the in-
justice of condemning women to obey the will, and depend upon
the bounty of father or husband.

“Come, come, interrupted the lady, with a severer aspect, if
you mean to preserve my good opinion, you must tread on this
ground with more caution. Remember the atrociousness of the
charge you would insinuate. What! Because a just indignation
at the iniquities that are hourly committed on one half of the
human species rises in my heart, because I vindicate the plain-
est dictates of justice, and am willing to rescue so large a portion
of human-kind, from so destructive a bondage: a bondage not
only of the hands, but of the understanding; which divests them
of all those energies which distinguish men from the basest ani-
mals, destroys all perception of moral rectitude, and reduces its
subjects to so calamitous a state, that they adore the tyranny
that rears its crest over them, and kiss the hand that loads them
with ignominy! When I demand an equality of conditions
among beings that equally partake of the same divine reason,
would you rashly infer that I was an enemy to the institution of
marriage itself? Where shall we look for human beings who
surpass all others in depravity and wretchedness? Are they not
to be found in the haunts of female licentiousness. If their vice
admits of a darker hue, it would receive it from the circumstance

―93―

of their being dissolute by theory; of their modelling voluptu-
ousness into a speculative system. Yet this is the charge you
would make upon me. You would brand me as an enemy to
marriage, not in the sense that a vestal, or widow, or chaste, but
deserted maid is an enemy; not even in that sense in which the
abandoned victims of poverty and temptation are enemies, but
in the sense of that detestable philosophy which scoffs at the ma-
trimonial institution itself, which denies all its pretensions to
sanctity, which consigns us to the guidance of a sensual impulse,
and treats as phantastic or chimerical, the sacred charities of
husband, son, and brother. Beware. Imputations of this kind
are more fatal in the consequences than you may be able to con-
ceive. They cannot be indifferent to me. In drawing such in-
ferences, you would hardly be justified by the most disinterested
intentions.

“Such inferences, my dear Madam, it is far from my inten-
tion to draw. I cannot but think your alarms unnecessary. If I
am an enemy to marriage far be it from me to be the champion
of sensuality. I know the sacredness of this word in the opinions
of mankind; I know how liable to be misunderstood are the ef-
forts of him who should labour to explode it. But still, is it not
possible to define with so much perspicuity, and distinguish with
so much accuracy as to preclude all possibility of mistake? I be-
lieve this possible. I deem it easy to justify the insinuation that
you yourself are desirous of subverting the marriage state.

“Proceed, said the lady. Men are at liberty to annex to words
what meaning they think proper. What should hinder you, if you
so please, from saying that snow is of the deepest black? Words
are arbitrary. The idea that others annex to the word black, you
are at liberty to transfer to the word white. But in the use of this
privilege you must make your account in not being understood,
and in reversing all the purposes of language.

“Well, said I, that is yet to appear. Meanwhile, I pray you,
what are your objections to the present system?

“My objections are weighty ones. I disapprove of it, in the
first place, because it renders the female a slave to the man. It
enjoins and enforces submission on her part to the will of her hus-
band. It includes a promise of implicit obedience and unaltera-
ble affection. Secondly, it leaves the woman destitute of proper-

―94―

ty. Whatever she previously possesses, belongs absolutely to the
man.

“This representation seems not to be a faithful one, said I,
Marriage leaves the wife without property, you say. How comes
it then that she is able to subsist? You will answer, perhaps, that
her sole dependence is placed upon the bounty of her husband.
But this is surely an error. It is by virtue of express laws that all
property subsists. But the same laws sanction the title of a wife
to a subsistence proportioned to the estate of her husband. But if
law were silent, custom would enforce this claim. The husband
is in reality nothing but a steward. He is bound to make provi-
sion for his wife, proportionately to the extent of his own reve-
nue. This is a practical truth, of which every woman is sensible.
It is this that renders the riches of an husband a consideration of
so much moment in the eye of a prudent woman. To select a
wealthy partner is universally considered as the certain means of
enriching ourselves, not less when the object of our choice is an
husband than when it is a wife.

“Notwithstanding all this, said the lady, you will not pretend
to affirm that marriage renders the property common.

“May I not truly assert, rejoined I, that the wife is legally en-
titled to her maintenance?

Yes, she is entitled to food, raiment, and shelter, if her hus-
band can supply them. Suppose a man in possession of five thou-
sand pounds a year: from this the wife is entitled to mainte-
nance: but how shall the remainder be administered? Is not the
power of the husband, over this, absolute? Cannot he reduce
himself to poverty to-morrow? She may claim a certain portion
of what she has, but he may, at his own pleasure, divest himself
of all that he has. He may expend it on what purposes he pleas-
es. It is his own, and, for the use of it, he is responsible to no
tribunal; but in reality, this pompous claim of his wife amounts,
in most cases, to nothing. It is the discretion of the husband that
must decide, as to the kind and quantity of that provision. He
may be niggardly or prodigal, according to the suggestions of his
own caprice. He may hasten to poverty himself, or he may live,
and compel his partner to live, in the midst of wealth as if he
were labouring under extreme indigence. In neither case has the
wife any remedy.

―95―

“But recollect, my good friend, the husband is commonly the
original proprietor. Has the wife a just claim to that which, be-
fore marriage, belonged to her spouse?

“Certainly not. Nor is it less true that the husband has no
just claim to that which, previously to marriage, belonged to the
wife. If property were, in all respects, justly administered, if
patrimonies were equally divided among offspring, and if the va-
rious avenues that lead to the possession of property were equal-
ly accessible to both sexes, it would be found as frequently and
extensively vested in one son as in the other. Marriage is pro-
ductive of no consequences which justify the transfer of what ei-
ther previously possessed to the other. The idea of common pro-
perty is absurd and pernicious; but even this is better than po-
verty and dependence to which the present system subjects the
female.

“But, said I, it is not to be forgotten that the household is
common. One dwelling, one table, one set of servants may justly
be sustained by a single fund. This fund may be managed by
common consent. No particle of expense may accrue without the
concurrence of both parties, but if there be a difference of opini-
on, some one must ultimately decide. Why should not this be
the husband? You will say that this would be unjust. I answer
that, since it is necessary that power should be vested in one or
the other the injustice is inevitable. An opposite procedure
would not diminish it. If this necessary power of deciding in
cases of disagreement were lodged in the wife, the injustice
would remain.

“But a common fund and a common dwelling is superfluous.
Why is marriage to condemn two human beings to dwell under
the same roof and to eat at the same table, and to be served by
the same domestics? This circumstance alone is the source of in-
numerable ills. Familiarity is the sure destroyer of reverence.
All the bickerings and dissentions of a married life flow from no
other source than that of too frequent communication. How dif-
ficult is it to introduce harmony of sentiment, even on topics of
importance, between two persons? But this difficulty is increased
in proportion to the number and frequency, and the connection
with our private and personal deportment of these topics.

―96―

“If two persons are condemned to cohabitation, there must
doubtless be mutual accommodation. But let us understand this
term. No one can sacrifice his opinions. What is incumbent up-
on him, in certain cases, is only to forbear doing what he esteems
to be right. Now that situation is most eligible in which we are
at liberty to conform to the dictates of our judgment. Situations
of a different kind will frequently occur in human life. Many of
them exist without any necessity. Such, in its present state, is
matrimony.

“Since an exact agreement of opinions is impossible, and since
the intimate and constant intercourse of a married life requires
either that the parties should agree in their opinions, or that one
should forego his own resolutions, what is the consequence?
Controversies will incessantly arise, and must be decided. If ar-
gument be insufficient, recourse must be had to legal authority,
to brute force, or servile artifices, or to that superstition that has
bound itself by a promise to obey. These might be endured if
they were the necessary attendants of marriage; but they are
spurious additions. Marriage is a sacred institution, but it would
argue the most pitiful stupidity to imagine that all those circum-
stances which accident and custom have annexed to it are like-
wise sacred. Marriage is sacred, but iniquitous laws, by making
it a compact of slavery, by imposing impracticable conditions and
extorting impious promises have, in most countries, converted it
into something flagitious and hateful.

“But the marriage promises, said I, amount to this, that the
parties shall love each other till death. Would you impose no re-
straint on wayward inclinations? Shall this contract subsist no
longer than suits the wishes of either party? Would you grant,
supposing you exalted into a law-giver, an unlimited power of
divorces?

“Without the least doubt. What shadow of justice is there in
restraining mankind in this particular. My liberty is precious,
but of all the ways in which my liberty can be infringed, and my
actions be subjected to force, heaven deliver me from this species
of constraint. It is impossible to do justice to my feelings on this
occasion. Offer me any alternative, condemn me to the workshop
of an Egyptian task-master, imprison me in chains of darkness,
tear me into pieces, subject me to the endless repetition of toil and

―97―

stripes and contumelies, but allow me, I beseech you, the liberty,
at least, of conjugal choice. If you prohibit my intercourse with
one on whom my heart dotes, I shall not repine, the injury is in-
expressibly trivial. There is scarcely an inconvenience that will
be worth enduring for the sake of this prohibited good. My
resources must be few, indeed, if they do not afford me consola-
tion under this injustice. But if you subject me to the controul
and the nauseous caresses of one whom I hate, or despise, you
indeed inflict a calamity which nothing can compensate. There
is no form which your injustice can assume more detestable and
ugly than this.

“According to present modes, the servitude of wives is the
most entire and unremitting. She lays aside her fetters not for a
moment. There is not an action, however minute, in which her
tyrant does not assume the power of prescribing. His eyes are
eternally upon her. There is no period, however short, in which
she is exempt from his cognizance; no recess, however sacred
or mysterious, into which he does not intrude. She cannot che-
rish the friendship of a human being without his consent. She
cannot dispense a charitable farthing without his connivance.
The beings who owe their existence to her, are fashioned by his
sole and despotic will. All their dignity and happiness is lodged
in the hands that superintend their education and prescribe their
conduct during the important periods of infancy and youth. But
how they shall exist, what shall be taught, and what shall be
withholden from them, what precepts they shall hear, and what
examples they shall contemplate, it is his province to decide.

“An husband is proposed to me. I ruminate on these facts.
I ponder on this great question. Shall I retain my liberty or
not? Perhaps the evils of my present situation, the pressure of
poverty, the misjudging rule of a father, or the rare qualities of
him who is proposed to me, the advantages of change of place or
increase of fortune, may outweigh the evils of this state. Perhaps
I rely on the wisdom of my partner. I am assured that he will,
in all cases, trust to nothing but the force of reason; that his ar-
guments will always convince, or his candour be accessible to con-
viction; that he will never make his appeal to personal or legal
coersion, but allow me the dominion of my own conduct when he

―98―

cannot persuade me to compliance with his wishes. These con-
siderations may induce me to embrace the offer.

“If I am not deceived; if no inauspicious revolution take
place in his character; if circumstances undergo no material al-
teration; if I continue to love and to confide as at the first, it is
well. I cannot object to a perpetual alliance, provided it be vo-
luntary. There is nothing, in a choice of this kind, that shall ne-
cessarily cause it to expire. This alliance will be durable in pro-
portion to the wisdom with which it was formed, and the fore-
sight that was exerted.

“But if a change take place, if I were deceived, and find inso-
lence and peevishness, rigour and command, where I expected
nothing but sweet equality and unalterable complaisance; or if
the character be changed, if time introduce new modes of think-
ing and new systems of action to which my understanding refuses
to assimilate, what is the consequence? Shall I not revoke my
choice?

“The hardships of constraint in this respect are peculiarly se-
vere upon the female. Her's is the task of submission. In every
case of disagreement it is she that must yield. The man still re-
tains, in a great degree, his independence. In the choice of his
abode, his occupations, his associates, his tasks and his pleasures,
he is guided by his own judgment. The conduct of his wife, the
treatment of her offspring, and the administration of her property
are consigned to him. All the evils of constraint are aggravated
by the present system. But if the system were reformed, if the
duties of marriage extended to nothing but occasional interviews
and personal fidelity, if each retained power over their own ac-
tions in all cases not immediately connected with the sensual in-
tercourse, the obligation to maintain this intercourse, after prefer-
ence had ceased, would be eminently evil. Less so, indeed, than
in the present state of marriage, but still it would be fertile in mi-
sery. Have you any objections to this conclusion?

“I cannot say that I have many. You know what is common-
ly urged in questions of this kind. Men, in civil society are, in
most cases, subjected to a choice of evils. That which is injuri-
ous to one, or a few individuals, may yet be beneficial to the
whole. In an estimate, sufficiently comprehensive, the good may
overweigh the ill. You have drawn a forcible picture of the in-

―99―

conveniences attending the prohibition of divorces. Perhaps if
entire liberty in this respect were granted, the effects might con-
stitute a scene unspeakably more disastrous than any thing hi-
therto conceived.

“As how, I pray you?

“Men endeavour to adhere with a good grace to a contract
which they cannot infringe. That which is commonly termed
love is a vagrant and wayward principle. It pretends to spurn
at those bounds which decorum and necessity prescribe to it,
and yet, at the same time, is tamely and rigidly observant of
those bounds. This passion commonly betides us when we have
previously reasoned ourselves into the belief of the propriety of
entertaining it. It seldom visits us but at the sober invitation of
our judgment. It speedily takes its leave when its presence be-
comes uneasy, and its gratification ineligible or impossible. Youth
and beauty, it is said, have a tendency to excite this passion, but
suppose those qualities are discovered in a sister, what becomes
of this tendency? Suppose the possession to be already a wife.
If chance place us near an object of uncommon loveliness and
we are impressed with a notion that she is single and disenga-
ged, our hearts may be in some danger. But suppose better in-
formation has precluded this mistake, or that it is immediately
rectified, the danger in most cases, is at an end. I am married
and have no power to dissolve the contract. Will this considera-
tion have no power over my sensations in the presence of a stran-
ger? If care, accomplishments, and inimitable loveliness attract
my notice, after my lot is decided, and chained me to one, with
whom the comparison is disadvantageous, I may indulge a faint
wish that my destiny had otherwise decreed; a momentary sigh
at the irrevocableness of my choice, but my regrets will instantly
vanish. Recollecting that my fate is indeed decided, and my lot
truly irrevocable, I become cheerful and calm.

“It is true that harmony cannot be expected to subsist for ever
and in every minute instance between two persons, but how far
will the consciousness that the ill is without remedy, and the con-
dition of affairs unchangeable, tend to foster affection and gene-
rate mutual compliance. Human beings are distinguished by no-
thing more than by a propensity to imitation. They contract af-
fection and resemblance with those persons or objects that are

―100―

placed near them. The force of habit, in this respect, is admira-
ble. Even inanimate objects become, through the influence of
this principle, necessary to our happiness. They that are constant
companions fail not to become, in most respects, alike, and to be
linked together by the perception of this likeness. Their modes
of acting and thinking might, at first, have jarred, but these modes
are not in their own nature, immutable. The benefits of concur-
rence, the inconveniences of opposition, and the opportunities of
comparing and weighing the grounds of their differences cannot
be supposed to be without some tendency to produce resemblance
and sympathy.

“This is plausible, said the lady, but what is your aim in sta-
ting these remarks? Do you mean by them to extenuate the evils
that arise from restraining divorces?

“If they contribute to that end, answered I, it is proper to
urge them. They promote a good purpose. Your picture was
so terrible that I am willing to employ any expedient for soften-
ing its hues.

“If it were just, you ought to have admitted its justice. We
see the causes of these evils. They admit of an obvious remedy.
A change in the opinions of a nation is all that is requisite for
this end. But let us examine your pleas, or rather, instead of
reasoning on the subject, let us turn our eyes on the world and
its scenes, and mark the effect of this spirit by which human be-
ings are prompted to adopt the opinions, and dote upon the pre-
sence of those whom accident has placed beside them. It would
be absurd to deny all influence to habit and all force to reflections
upon the incurableness of the evil, but what is the effect they
produce? In numberless cases the married life is a scene of
perpetual contention and strife. A transient observer frequent-
ly perceives this, but in cases where appearances are more spe-
cious, he that has an opportunity to penetrate the veil which
hangs over the domestic scene, is often disgusted with a specta-
cle of varied and exquisite misery. Nothing is to be found but
a disgusting train of mean compliances, despicable artifices, pe-
vishness, recriminations and falsehood. It is rare that fortitude
and consideration are exercised by either party. Their misery
is heightened by impatience and tormenting recollections, but
the few whose minds are capable of fortitude, who estimate the

―101―

evil at its just value, and profit by the portion of good, whatever
it be, that remains to them, experience indeed, sensations less
acute, and pass fewer moments of bitterness; but it is from the
unhappy that patience is demanded. This virtue does not anni-
hilate the evil that oppresses us, but lightens it. It does not de-
stroy in us the consciousness of privileges of which we are desti-
tute, or of joys which have taken their flight. Its office is to pre-
vent these reflections from leading us to rage and despair; to
make us look upon lost happiness without relapsing into phrenzy;
to establish in our bosoms the empire of cold and solemn indif-
ference.

“If the exercise of reason and the enjoyment of liberty be va-
luable; if the effusions of genuine sympathy and the adherence
to an unbiassed and enlightened choice, be the true element of
man, what shall we think of that harmony which is the result of
narrow views and that sympathy which is the offspring of con-
straint?

“I know that love, as it is commonly understood, is an empty
and capricious passion. It is a sensual attachment which, when
unaccompanied with higher regards, is truly contemptible. To
thwart it is often to destroy it, and sometimes, to qualify the vic-
tims of its delusions for Bedlam. In the majority of cases it is
nothing but a miserable project of affectation. The languishing
and sighing lover is an object to which the errors of mankind
have annexed a certain degree of reverence. Misery is our title
to compassion, and to men of limited capacities the most deli-
cious potion that can be administered is pity. For the sake of
this, hundreds are annually metamorphosed into lovers. It is
graceful to languish with an hopeless passion; to court the mu-
sic of sighs and the secrecy of groves. But it is to be hoped that
these chimeras will, at length, take their leave of us.

“In proportion as men become wise, their pursuits will be
judiciously selected, and that which they have wisely chosen will
continue for a certain period, to be the objects of their choice.
Conjugal fidelity and constancy will characterize the wise. But
constancy is meritorious only within certain limits. What re-
verence is due to groundless and obstinate attachments? It be-
comes me to make the best choice that circumstances will ad-
mit, but human affairs will never be reduced to that state in

―102―

which the decisions of the wisest man will be immutable. Al-
lowance must be made for inevitable changes of situation, and
for the nature of man, which is essentially progressive: That is
evil which hinders him from conforming to these changes, and
restrains him from the exercise of his judgment.

“Let it be admitted that love is easily extinguished by re-
flection. Does it follow that he ought to be controuled in the
choice of his companion? Your observations imply, that he that
is now married to one woman, would attach himself to
another, if the law did not interpose. Where are the benefits
of interposition? Does it increase the happiness of him that is
affected by it? Will its succour be invoked by his present con-
sort? That a man continues to associate with me contrary to his
judgment and inclination is no subject of congratulation. If law
or force obliged him to endure my society, it does not compel
him to feign esteem, or dissemble hatred or indifference. If the
heart of my husband be estranged from me, I may possibly re-
gard it as an evil. If in consequence of this estrangement,
we separate our persons and interests, this is a desirable conse-
quence. This is the only palliation of which the evil is sus-
ceptible.

“It cannot be denied that certain inconveniences result
from the disunion of a married pair, according to the present
system. You have justly observed that men are reduced, in
most cases, to a choice of evils. Some evils are unavoidable.
Others are gratuitous and wantonly incurred. The chief evils
flowing from the dissolution of marriage, are incident to the
female. This happens in consequence of the iniquitous and
partial treatment to which women in general are subjected. If
marriage were freed from all spurious obligations, the inconve-
niences, attending the dissolution of it, would be reduced to
nothing.

“What think you, said I, of the duty we owe to our children.
Is not their happiness materially affected by this species of liberty?

“I cannot perceive how. I would, however, be rightly un-
derstood. I confess that, according to the present system, it
would, and hence arises a new objection to this system. The
children suffer, but do their sufferings, even in the present state
of things, outweigh the evils resulting from the impossibility of

―103―

separation? The evil that the parents endure, and the evils ac-
cruing to the offspring themselves?

“If children stand in need of the guidance and protection of
their elders, and particularly of their parents, it ought to be
granted. The parental relation continues notwithstanding a di-
vorce. Though they have ceased to be husband and wife to each
other, they have not ceased to be father and mother to me.
My claims on them are the same, and as forcible as ever. The
ties by which they are bound to me, are not diminished by this
event. My claim for subsistence is made upon their property.
But this accident does not annihilate their property. If it im-
poverish one, the other is proportionably enriched. There is the
same inclination and power to answer my claim: The judgment
that consulted for my happiness and decided for me, before their
separation, is no whit altered or lessened. On the contrary, it is
most likely to be improved. When relieved from the task of
tormenting each other, and no longer exposed to bickerings and
disappointment, they become better qualified for any disinterested
or arduous office.

“But what effects, said I, may be expected from the removal
of this restraint, upon the morals of the people? It seems to open
a door to licentiousness and profligacy. If marriages can be dis-
solved and contracted at pleasure, will not every one deliver
himself up to the impulse of a lawless appetite? Would not changes
be incessant? All chastity of mind perhaps, would perish. A ge-
neral corruption of manners would ensue, and this vice would
pave the way for the admission of a thousand others, till the
whole nation were sunk into a state of the lowest degeneracy.

“Pray thee, cried the lady, leave this topic of declamation to
the school boys—Liberty, in this respect, would eminently con-
duce to the happiness of mankind. A partial reformation would
be insufficient. Set marriage on a right basis, and the pest that
has hitherto made itself an inmate of every house, and ravaged
every man's peace, will be exterminated. The servitude that has
debased one half of the tyranny that has depraved the other half
of the human species will be at an end.

“And with all those objections to the present regulations on
this subject, you will still maintain that you are an advocate of
marriage?

―104―

“Undoubtedly I retain the term, and am justified by common
usage in retaining it. No one imagines that the forms which law
or custom, in a particular age or nation, may happen to annex to
marriage are essential to it, if lawgivers should enlarge the pri-
vilege of divorce, and new modify the rights of property, as they
are affected by marriage. Should they ordain that henceforth
the husband should vow obedience to the wife, in place of the
former vow which the wife made to the husband, or entirely
prohibit promises of any kind; should they expunge from the
catalogue of conjugal duties that which confines them to the same
dwelling, who would imagine that the institution itself were sub-
verted? In the east, conjugal servitude has ever been more abso-
lute than with us, and polygamy legally established. Yet, who
will affirm that marriage is unknown in the east. Every one
knows that regulations respecting property, domestic govern-
ment, and the causes of divorce are incident to this state, and do
not constitute its essence.

“I shall assent, said I, to the truth of this statement. Per-
haps I may be disposed to adventure a few steps further than you.
It appears to me that marriage has no other criterion than custom.
This term is descriptive of that mode of sexual intercourse,
whatever it may be, which custom or law has established in
any country. All the modifications of this intercourse that have
ever existed, or can be supposed to exist, are so many species
included in the general term. The question that we have been
discussing is no other than this: what species of marriage is most
agreeable to justice—Or, in other words, what are the princi-
ples that ought to regulate the sexual intercourse? It is not likely
that any portion of mankind have reduced these principles to
practice. Hence arises a second question of the highest mo-
ment: what conduct is incumbent upon me, when the species of
marriage established among my countrymen, does not conform
to my notions of duty.

“That indeed, returned she, is going further then I am wil-
ling to accompany you. There are many conceivable modes of
sexual intercourse on which I cannot bestow the appellation of
marriage. There is something which inseparably belongs to it.
It is not unallowable to call by this name a state which compre-
hends, together with these ingredients, any number of append-

―105―

ages. But to call a state which wants these ingredients marriage,
appears to me a perversion of language.

“I pry'thee, said I, what are these ingredients! You have
largely expatiated on the non-essentials of matrimony: Be good
enough to say what truly belongs to this state?

“Willingly, answered she. Marriage is an union founded
on free and mutual consent. It cannot exist without friend-
ship. It cannot exist without personal fidelity. As soon as the union
ceases to be spontaneous it ceases to be just. This is the sum.
If I were to talk for months, I could add nothing to the com-
pleteness of this definition.”