WOMAN’S NERVE.

Marlborough Daily Times, Volume II, Issue 144, 6 August 1880, Page 1 (Supplement)

WOMAN’S NERVE.

-'V tail jady with a saturnine countenance came into the * Cnronicle’ to-day and demanded of one of the reporters if Virginia ollcrcd a good held for a scries of a dozen lectures on woman’s suffrage. I don t think the Comstockers have thought much about female suffrage,’ replied the reporter frankly. ‘Don’t say female,’ said the tall lady sharply. ‘ \v iiy not ?’ asked the reporter, in innocent surprise. ‘Because, sir, a term that is used to describe sex in animals should not bo applied to women. ’ 1 The reporter admitted, in greathumiliatior, that the point was well taken, and looked up in some alarm at the severe countenance of the lady, who was a head taller than himself, and manifestly able to thrash him in the interest of progress, if so disposed. The stern countenance softened somewhat at the signs of confessed inferiority, however, and the lady continued : ‘The cause of woman is the cause of humanity'. The cause of humanity embraces aK progress ; why, then, should the people of Virginia be indifferent to woman. ? ’ | hey re not,’ cried the small reporter nastily ; ‘far from it, Yv oman is the boss of this camp. Everything she wants she gets, and not one in a hundred has to do a lick of work.'

‘Merc toys,’said the tall one, with deep scorn. ‘ Playthings for an idle hour. You ccrer woman with silks and gauds, and sink her soul into insignificance by circumscribing her sphere and allowing her no mission in life.

A ell, admitted the small reporter, ‘ that’s about the way wo look at it up here’ that's a fact. Women haven’t got the nerve to rastle for themselves like the men.’ ‘ Xer-r-r-ve ? ’ she uttered this word in a terrific tone, so terrific that the small reporter half rose from his chair. ‘Nerve! "’hat is there requiring nerve that you do that I am incapable of ! ’ ‘ No offence madame, no offence ? I meant nothing personal,’ I assure you.’ ‘Am I not stronger than you?’ she demanded, scorning the apology. ‘Am I not gifted with as great a brain ? Why do you despise my sex? V c can bear more pain, and are, therefore, your superiors in courage.’ The small reporter was gazing fixedly at a dark corner of tho room, and made no answer.

‘ Nerve, indeed ! ’ continued the tall lady, ' why, women have infinitely’more nerve than men. < July yesterday I saw a woman ’ ‘ i oats the biggest rat I. over saw in the office,’ said the small reporter, staring intently at tho dark corner. The screams that rent the air brought in all the printers and several citizens from the street. When they arrived the tall one was standing on a chair, with one hand covering her eyes and the other convulsively clutching at her skirts as she gathered them close around her. The small reporter wisely took advantage of the crowd to slip out, and he telegraphed from Gold Iliil that he was going down to Carson to work up a big item. ‘ Virginia City (Nevada) Chronicle.’

Old Baron Rothschild gave a louis to a charity fund, and the person receiving it said, ‘Ah, Monsieur Ic Baron, you gave only a lotus, and your son gave five!’— ‘And reasonably enough,’ said the Baron; ‘his father is a millionnare, and I am only 'a poor orphan. ’ the train had just emerged from a tunnel, and a vinegar-faced maiden of tiii-ty five summers remarked to her gentleman companion, funnels arc> such bores !’—which nobody can deny. A young lady of about sweet eighteen, who sat in a seat immediately in trout of the ancient party, adjusted her hat, brushed her frizzes back, and said to tho perfumed young man besido her—‘l think tunnels are awfully nice I ’