An Incident Which Shows That
One Should Not Talk Too Much.
Here is an incident which, to be appreciated, needs a glance at the sweet womanly face of the young Mrs. Stanton.
Mrs. Stanton was summering at Saratoga, eagerly enjoying the delights of that fascinating young watering place half a century ago – a merry young mother, in great demand for her agreeable manners and sparkling conversation, as well as for her talented performances upon the guitar.
Chatting with a friend one day, the woman question – that bugbear of the moment – was brought up.
“Isn’t it dreadful,” he remarked, “to think of a woman so unsexing herself as actually to appear before the legislature at Albany?”
Naturally enough, the heroine of this very shocking procedure protested against this interpretation of woman’s sphere; yet, amused by her friend’s faux pas, mischievously she led him on.
“What kind of a woman is this Mrs. Stanton?” she inquired.
“Oh, a dreadful kind of a woman!” was the reply. “Just the kind of woman one would expect would do such a thing.”
“Do describe her,” pleaded his tormentor. “Tell me more about her.”
And he, nothing loath, went on: “Well, she’s a large, masculine-looking woman, with high cheek-bones and a loud, harsh voice don’t you know just one of those regular woman’s rights women.”“Have you really seen her, or is this taken from the papers?” she asked, quietly.
“Of course I have seen her; did I not tell you that I heard her before the legislature?”
“How did she speak?”
“Frightfully; it was simply awful. Her strident voice and her masculine appearance should have been the death-knell to her cause.”
“What is her name, did you say?”
“Mrs. Stanton Mrs. Henry Stanton, In fact”
“Why that’s my name!” she said.
“‘Of course she’s your namesake, so I thought you would be Interested. But I knew it could be no relation of yours. Ha, ha, ha!”
Mrs. Stanton rose. “I am afraid I am she,” she said.
Of course, there was nothing for him to do but to confess and grovel.