But vain such instructions, if women may scan
And quote texts of Scripture to favor their plan.
Our grandmothers' learning consisted of yore
In spreading their generous boards;
In twisting the distaff, or mopping the floor,
And obeying the will of their lords.
Now, misses may reason, and think, and debate,
Till unquestioned submission is quite out of date.
Our clergy have preached on the sin and the shame
Of woman, when out of "her sphere,"
And labored divinely to ruin her fame,
And shorten this horrid career;
But for spiritual guidance no longer they look
To Fulsom, or Winslow, or learned Parson Cook.
Our wise men have tried to exorcise in vain
The turbulent spirits abroad;
As well might we deal with the fetterless main,
Or conquer ethereal essence with sword;
Like the devils of Milton, they rise from each blow,
With spirit unbroken, insulting the foe.
Our patriot fathers, of eloquent fame,
Waged war against tangible forms;
Aye, their foes were men — and if ours were the same,
We might speedily quiet their storms;
But, ah! their descendants enjoy not such bliss —
The assumptions of Britain were nothing to this.
Could we but array all our force in the field,
We'd teach these usurpers of power
That their bodily safety demands they should yield,
And in the presence of manhood should cower;
But, alas! for our tethered and impotent state,
Chained by notions of knighthood — we can but debate.
Oh! shade of the prophet Mahomet, arise!
Place woman again in "her sphere,"
And teach that her soul was not born for the skies,
But to flutter a brief moment here.
This doctrine of Jesus, as preached up by Paul,
If embraced in its spirit, will ruin us all.
On reading the "Pastoral Letter," our Quaker poet, John Greenleaf Whittier, poured out his indignation on the New England clergy in thrilling denunciations. Mr. Whittier early saw that woman's only protection against religious and social tyranny, could
