Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1890-06-26
One Dollar Per Year.
HELPLESS MOTHERS.
Woman Powerlcss to Reotify Her Chill
dren's Wrongs Because She Can Not

Woman Powerloss to Reotify Her Chill
dren's Wrongs Because She Can Not
Vote.
My heart has been panied, says Rev.
Olympia Brown, as there have come to
me reports of horrible wrong and out
rage done to the insane and the unfor-
tunate paupers in almshouses and
eleemosynary institutions Women
come and ask us to do something about
it. But what can we women do aboutit?
We have no power. Every one of the
officers of these charities, these guar
dians of the poor, these physicians and
attendants at the insane asylums, holds
his place as a reward for services done
to some political party. Every one is
entitled to place because he has voted
Harrison up or Cleveland out, or some-
thing of that sort. If we had ballots,
| then we could remove these offensive
members, and put woman in the care of
her own sex. We have not power. The
! legislative bodies of this nation have
! been almost showed under with our pc
titions, and to no purpose. We must
keep on trying, and band ourselves to-
gether and demand the right; we must
preach and pray and exhort and never
cease; that is all we can do,
Those of you who have read Victor
| Hugo's beautiful book, "Ninetythree,"
know that the interest centers in three
little children who had been carried
away as hostages and placed in an upper
room in the great tower Of La Torgue;
and their mother has wandered for days
and weeks over the fields and through
the valleys and on the highways, in
search of them. She has besought ev-
cry one she has met TO aid her to find
her children; at last, weary, dispirited,
almost overborne, her feet bleeding
from the briers and thorns along the
way, she reaches a ravine, and over yon-
der on the other side is the tower of La
Torgue, just being besieged by the
peasant army; they have set fire to the
tower, and as the mother peers over, al
most frantic, she catches = glimpse OF
her children, looking out of an upper
window, far beyond her reach; 'ahd
there, helpless and despairing, she sends
up one great, terrible, heart-rending
cry, cry in which all maternity seems
to be centered; cry so terrible that it
pierces the hearts of all who hear.
Those hard-handed peasants pause in
their work of destruction; those soldiers
stop their bloody carnage; and one hard
man, representative of the aristocracy,
cold -blooded and violent, hating the
peasantry-that mans heart is touched
by this cry of motherhood; and he turns
back, takes the key from his pocket, un-
locks the iron door, climbs up-up-
through the flames to that upper room,
and passes down the children one by one
into the hands of their mother, amid the
shouts of the soldiers of both parties
Now, we are like that peasant woman.
We see our children hedged about with
difficulties, surrounded by temptations,
shut in with the evils of the world. We
see our sons demoralized, our daughters
outraged, and our hands are tied; there
is nothing that we can do but to cry, to
cry aloud and spare not, until our
voices shall reach from ocean to ocean;
until the very heavens shall rend
asunder; until some man shall be found,
strong enough and good enough, pierced
by our cry, to unlock the door of legis-
lation, and give to the motherhood of
America an opportunity to protect her
children