The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-01-06
For the National Era.
M { N AND w ON { N.
Wherein Man is Greatly Magnifed.
BY GAIL HAMILTON.

BY GAIL HAMILTON.
/ am a woman. am sorry that it is so. but II
is so. l would great deal rather be a man but
am not man. If my own inclination had
been consulted, there would have been unani-
nous vote for "the opposition" but my con-
venience was quietly ignored, and the first init
nation had of the impending catastrophe was
my own existence as forlorn, dismal wailing,
girl-baby.
My masculine preferences do not arise from
the perverseness of the natural heart, prone to
be disaifected towards any existing state of
things, since am universally acknowledged to
possess a cheerful contented, and happy dis
position; nor is it the mere within Of tickle,
capricious mind. 1t is rather spontaneous
growth of the soil, springing up at all times and
seasons. 1t is the immovable granite stratum
underlying my whole life, and outcropping at
frequent points. Far back, almost 10 my infan-
cy, | remember marching around with cap on
my head, a whip in my hand, and huge pair
of boots rafting around my feet. AS the mar
with the subhmity of great principle swelling
my heart, gloried in the epithet " Tom-boy."
All feminine employments / did not despise,
but detest. Whatever kept me within the house
was disagreeable; whatever took me out of it
delightful. A broom was my aversion, bread
tub my horror, and a needle, under all circur1-
stances, my specific abomnation. To hoe, to
rake, to husk corn, to pick apples, to chase
squirrels, to leap hay mows to ride perched Ola
the top Of a wagon load of husks, were my cho-
sen employments and enjoyments; and l can
even now sympathize with my disconsolate little
girlhood, sitting in melancholy abstraction on
the top of the fve-barred gate, and wondering
why the eternal fitness of things should forbid
me the luxury of bare feet iinti. oyersslls. -
Not that l have any Intrinsic objections to
woman abstractly, or even concretely consider
ed. On the contrary, | am quite willing that
every person in the world should be woman,
except myself II fact, rather like women
effectively. What sight can be more impress
slve than one of those magnificent creations we
often read of, and occasionally see-stately,
grand, cpic-with the blackness and beauty of
night in the matchless locks that sweep over the
calm, still brow and all the starry splendor of
thousand nights in the eyes that burn beneath?
What can be more captivating than the open
ing life of a gay little blonde, from whose soft
curls the flutter never quite dies out, whose
dmpling smile is only less sweet than her ten
der pensiveness? Or, passing from these types
of an extinct womanhood, whose departing left
but few traces, see every day pretty, grace
full, and elegant women, some neat, simple, and
indistnctly limned some standing out in bold
relief, with regal adornings; and In our daily
walks we iostle against countless heroines-
self-sacrifcng wives, devoted mothers, noble
maidens, who bear hidden grief, who wrestle
with secret foe, who silently, if need be- brave
the sneer of the world, who will die and give no
sign--and we cannot choose but admire Still,
narrowing the question down To point, this is
the conclusion of the whole matter-high or
low, rich or poor, bond or free,
There is nothing splendid : "a splendid man!
/ need not search the pages of history for
facts to confirm my position. | need not point
you to Mozart king in the realms of song; to
Napoleon wrapped in the solitude of his own
originality" to John Bunyan, standing alone
on his Detachable Mountains to Milton, thrust
ing his wives behind him when he entered
Paradise. They are confessedly unapproached
and napproachable, and therefore would in no
wise strengthen my case; for they are unique,
not as regards women only, but the whole hui
man race. To be man does not necessarily
imply to be Milton. Eighteen hundred years
furnished but one Napoleon. John Smiths are
born, married. and die, by the thousands, and
nothing apparently can be more commonplace
than their lives. What then, should l have
been advantaged, had my soul been permitted
to tabernacle in the flesh of John Smith?
Precisely this. Commonplace is the life of
John Smith, the life of Mrs. j. S. is still more
so. Small as are his advantages and opportuni-
ties, hers are incomparably smaller; and so,
/ h.,
palaces or ground in the prison-house OF power
ty, put on sackcloth and ashes, bewailing my
womanhood.
Now, don't overwhelm me with a torrent Of
platitudes about womans opportunities for self
sacrifice, moral heroism, silent influence, might
of love, and all that cutanddried woman's-
spheresm pray, don't know all about it.
could write you an octave volume the sub
ject, with dedication, introduction, preface, and
appendix; but just go to your window the next
rainy day, and notice the first woman who
passes. See how she is forced to concentrate
all the energies of mind and body on herself
and her castings. One delicate hand clings
desperately to the unwieldy umbrella; the other
is ceaselessly struggling to keep firm hold Of
the multitudinous draperies; and ifbook, be-
or bundle claim a share of her attenti1
case is pitiable indeed. Down goes one.
upon the wet hag-stone, detected only by A.
omnous Tapping against the ankles when the
garment has become saturated-a loosened held
on the umbrella, of which it takes advantage,
and Immediately sways imminent over the gut
ter-a convulsive and random clutch at the
petticoats--the umbrella righted, sudden gust
of wind threatens to bear it away, and, one hand
not being sufficient to detain it, the other in.
voluntarily comes to the rescue-sweep go the
draperies down on the pavement-then another
clutch, another djustment-forwardl march
and so on to the dreary, draggled end.
k-stalk-stalk-come up the man behind
her. Stalk-stalk--heh has passed. Stalk-stalk-
stalk--he is out of sight before she has passed a
single block.
OF course he is. One sincwy hand lightly
posing his umbrella; waterproof overcoat
% close buttoned to the chin - tght-htting
trousers tucked into enormous lndia-rubber
boots. What is the storm to him? do not
think 1 am naturally Malignant but, under
| such circumstances, if could knock the man
| into the gutter, would
Ia this a small ruatter2 Beloved friend,
| smaller matters than these have swsyed