I remember seeing, either at New York or Boston, a wooden figure of a neat young woman, as large as life, standing at a desk with a ledger before her, and looking as though the beau ideal of human bliss were realized in her employment.  Under the figure there was some notice respecting female accountants.  Nothing could be nicer than the lady’s figure, more flowing than the broad lines of her drapery, or more attractive than her auburn ringlets.  There she stood at work, earning her bread without any impediment to the natural operation of her female charms, and adjusting the accounts of some great firm with as much facility as grace.  I wonder whether he who designed that figure had ever sat or stood at a desk for six hours; whether he knew the dull hum of the brain which comes from long attention to another man’s figures; whether he had ever soiled his own fingers with the everlasting work of office hours, or worn his sleeves threadbare as he leaned, weary in body and mind, upon his desk?  Work is a grand thing—­the grandest thing we have; but work is not picturesque, graceful, and in itself alluring.  It sucks the sap out of men’s bones, and bends their backs, and sometimes breaks their hearts; but though it be so, I for one would not wish to throw any heavier share of it on to a woman’s shoulders.  It was pretty to see those young women with spectacles at the Boston library; but when I heard that they were there from eight in the morning till nine at night, I pitied them their loss of all the softness of home, and felt that they would not willingly be there, if necessity were less stern.

Say that by advocating the rights of women, philanthropists succeed in apportioning more work to their share, will they eat more, wear better clothes, lie softer, and have altogether more of the fruits of work than they do now?  That some would do so there can be no doubt; but as little that some would have less.  If on the whole they would not have more, for what good result is the movement made?  The first question is, whether at the present time they have less than their proper share.  There are, unquestionably, terrible cases of female want; and so there are also of want among men.  Alas! do we not all feel that it must be so, let the philanthropists be ever so energetic?  And if a woman be left destitute, without the assistance of father, brother, or husband, it would be hard if no means of earning subsistence were open to her.  But the object now sought is not that of relieving such distress.  It has a much wider tendency, or at any rate a wider desire.  The idea is that women will ennoble themselves by making themselves independent, by working for their own bread instead of eating bread earned by men.  It is in that that these new philosophers seem to me to err so greatly.  Humanity and chivalry have succeeded, after a long struggle, in teaching the man to work for the woman; and now the woman rebels against such teaching—­not because she likes the work, but because she desires the influence which attends it.  But in this I wrong the woman—­even the American woman.  It is not she who desires it, but her philanthropical philosophical friends who desire it for her.