nto the world penniless, and sell
from over their mothers' heads the homes in which they had hoped to
die, obliging them to subsist or starve, as they might, upon their
meagre "thirds." Whether justice to mother or children was done or not,
depended entirely upon this one boy. And this was the brightest side of
primogeniture. In cases of entailed property, very often the entail
specified that it was to go to the heir male for all time. A father in
this case, dying without a son, could do nothing besides willing to
these girls such loose property as he might have acquired independently
of his estate. It might revert to his daughter's most bitter enemy; it
was not in his power to help it.

From the hour of a woman's birth to her death, there is a continuous
system of belittling her, which, if it does not succeed in destroying
her self-respect, thus teaching her that she may, as her only means of
retaliation, allow herself in any little meanness which may occur to
her, is so galling to that self-respect, that the wonder is that her
very nature has not become revolutionized. But women have so long been
trained in this school, that they have, to a large extent, adopted the
language expressive of their own inferiority, if not the sentiment
itself.

Emma and John, as children, play together; Emma aged five and John three
years respectively. Their toys are suited to their sex--Emma's a doll,
John's a toy carriage and ponies. For a time all goes on harmoniously;
they use each other's toys indiscriminately; for as yet their minds have
not been contaminated by outside influences. By and by, as will come in
play, both children wish entire possession of the same toy. There is a
contest, and John appeals to mother: "Emma has my carriage, and won't
give it up." "For shame!" says mother, "Emma, give John his toy
directly. Don't you know that a carriage with ponies is a toy for little
gentlemen? Besides, if you are good, when you both grow up perhaps he
will give you a ride with real carriage and live ponies." Awed by the
command, and charmed by the distant prospect of the actual ride, the
little girl--as indeed she ought--gives up the toy, and peace is
restored for the time. But presently a shrill cry is heard: "Johnnie's
rubbing all the paint off my dolly's cheeks. He won't give her to me. O,
he has broken her arm." The mother's reply to this cry is stern and
sharp. "Don't be so cross with your little brother." Then to John. "O,
Joh