“No, sir, a woman don’t need rights. Th’ pope, imprors, kings an’ women have priv-leges; ordhin’ry men has rights. Ye niver hear iv th’ Impror of Rooshya demandin’ rights. He don’t need thim in his wurruk. He gives thim, such as they ar’re, to th’ moojiks, or whativer it is ye call thim. D’ye think anny wan wud make a gr-reat success be goin’ to th’ Czar an’ sayin’: “Czar (or sire, as th’ case may be), ye must be unhappy without th’ sufferage. Ye must be achin’ all over to go down to th’ livry stable an’ cast ye’er impeeral ballot f’r Oscaroviski K. Hickinski f’r school thrustee?” I think th’ Czar wud reply: ’Gintlemen, ye do me too much honor. I mus’ rayfuse. Th’ manly art iv sufferage is wan iv th’ most potint weepins iv th’ freeman, but I’m not used to it, an’ I wudden’t know what to do with it. It might be loaded. I think I’ll have to crawl along with me modest preerogatives iv collectin’ th’ taxes, dalin’ life an’ death to me subjicks, atin’ free, dhrinkin’ th’ best an’ livin’ aisy. But ye shall have ye’er rights. Posieotofski, lade th’ gintlemen out into th’ coortyard an’ give thim their rights as Rooshyan citizens. I think about twinty f’r each iv th’ comity an’ about a dozen exthry f’r the chairman. F’r wan iv th’ rights guaranteed to his subjicks, be me sainted father, was a good latherin’ ivry time it was comin’ to thim.’
“An’ so it is with women. They haven’t th’ right to vote, but they have th’ priv’lege iv conthrollin’ th’ man ye ilict. They haven’t th’ right to make laws, but they have th’ priv’lege iv breakin’ thim, which is betther. They haven’t th’ right iv a fair thrile be a jury iv their peers; but they have th’ priv’lege iv an unfair thrile be a jury iv their admirin’ infeeryors. If I cud fly d’ye think I’d want to walk?”
Avarice and Generosity
“I niver blame a man f’r bein’ avaricyous in his ol’ age. Whin a fellow gits so he has nawthin’ else to injye, whin ivrybody calls him ‘sir’ or ‘mister,’ an’ young people dodge him an’ he sleeps afther dinner, an’ folks say he’s an ol’ fool if he wears a buttonhole bokay an’ his teeth is only tinants at will an’ not permanent fixtures, ’tis no more thin nach’ral that he shud begin to look around him f’r a way iv keepin’ a grip on human s’ciety. It don’t take him long to see that th’ on’y thing that’s vin’rable in age is money an’ he pro-ceeds to acquire anything that happens to be in sight, takin’ it where he can find it, not where he wants it, which is th’ way to accumylate a fortune. Money won’t prolong life, but a few millyons judicyously placed in good banks an’ occas’nally worn on th’ person will rayjooce age. Poor ol’ men are always older thin poor rich men. In th’ almshouse a man is decrepit an’ mournful-lookin’ at sixty, but a millyonaire at sixty is jus’ in th’ prime iv life to a frindly eye, an’ there are no others.