situation, this lady said,--

"You see, my dear, she was between Celery on one side and Cherubs on the
other! You know about Celery and Cherubs, don't you? They was two rocks
somewhere; and if you didn't hit one, you was pretty sure to run smack on
the other."

This describes, as a clever writer in the New York "Tribune" declares, the
present condition of women who "agitate." Their Celery and Cherubs are
tears and temper. It is a good hit, and we may well make a note of it. It
is the danger of all reformers, that they will vibrate between
discouragement and anger. When things go wrong, what is it one's impulse to
do? To be cast down, or to be stirred up; to wring one's hands, or clench
one's fists,--in short, tears or temper.

"Mother," said a resolute little girl of my acquaintance, "if the dinner
was all spoiled, I wouldn't sit down, and cry! I'd say, 'Hang it!'" This
cherub preferred the alternative of temper, on days when the celery turned
out badly. Probably her mother was addicted to the other practice, and
exhibited the tears.

But as this alternative is found to exist for both sexes, and on all
occasions, why charge it especially on the woman-suffrage movement? Men
are certainly as much given to ill temper as women; and, if they are less
inclined to tears, they make it up in sulks, which are just as bad.
Nicholas Nickleby, when the pump was frozen, was advised by Mr. Squeers to
"content himself with a' dry polish;" and so there is a kind of dry despair
into which men fall, which is quite as forlorn as any tears of women. How
many a man has doubtless wished at such times that the pump of his
lachrymal glands could only thaw out, and he could give his emotions
something more than a "dry polish"! The unspeakable comfort some women feel
in sitting for ten minutes with a handkerchief over their eyes! The
freshness, the heartiness, the new life visible in them, when the crying is
done, and the handkerchief comes down again!

And, indeed, this simple statement brings us to the real truth, which
should have been more clearly seen by the writer who tells this story. She
is wrong in saying, "It is urged that men and women stand on an equality,
are exactly alike." Many of us urge the "equality:" very few of us urge the
"exactly alike." An apple and an orange, a potato and a tomato, a rose and
a lily, the Episcopal and the Presbyterian churches, Oxford and Cambridge,
Yale and Harvard,--we may surely grant equality in