The growth toward emancipation in the case of most of them amounts merely to the liberty to groan in print and to cry aloud in women’s convocations.  If the yoke is easier upon the wifely neck in 1896 than it was in 1846, it is because women know more of business methods, and are more competent to the management of money than they knew fifty years ago, and some husbands, appreciating the change for the better, are willing to commit funds to their keeping.  The disposition of fathers, brothers and husbands to regard the feminine portion of their families as lovely dead weights, was justified in a degree by the Lauras and Matildas, who clung like wet cotton-wool to the limbs of their natural protectors.  Dependence was reckoned among womanly graces, and insisted upon as such in Letters to Young Ladies, The Young Wife’s Manual, A Father’s Legacy to his Daughters, and other valuable contributions to the family library of half a century ago.  Julia, as betrothed, assured wooing Adolphus that absolute dependence, even for the bread she should eat, and breath she should draw, would be delight and privilege.  Julia, as wife, fretted and plained and shook her “golden chains inlaid with down,” when married Adolphus took her at her word.

It is surprising that both parties were so slow in finding out how false is the theory and how injurious the practice of the cling-and-twine-and-hang-upon school.

From my window as I write I see an object lesson that pertinently illustrates the actual state of affairs in many a home.  At the root of a stately cedar, sprang up, twenty years ago, a shoot of that most hardy and beautiful of native creepers, the wild woodbine or American ivy.  It crept steadily upward, laying hold of branch and twig, casting out, first, tendrils, then ropes, to make sure its hold—­a thing of beauty all summer, a coat of many colors in autumn, until it reached the top of the tree.  To-day, the only vestige of cedar-individuality that remains to sight, is in the trunk, the bare branches, stripped of all slight twigs, and at the extremity of one of these, a few tufts of evergreen verdure, that proclaim “This was a tree.”

In the novels and poems that set forth the eternal fitness of the cling-twine-and-depend school, the vine is always feminine, the oak (or cedar?) masculine.  Not one that I know of depicts the gradual strangling of the independent tree by the depending parasite.

Leaving the object-lesson to do its part, let us reason together calmly upon this vexed subject.  When a man solemnly, in the sight of Heaven and human witnesses, endows his wife at the altar with his worldly goods, it is either a deed of gift, or an engagement to allow her to earn her living as honestly as he earns his, a pledge of an equal partnership in whatever he has or may acquire.  That it is not an absolute gift is proved by his continued possession of his property and uncontrolled management of the same; furthermore, by his custom of bestowing upon his wife such sums, and at such periods as best suit his convenience and pleasure—­and by his expectation that she will be properly grateful for lodging, board and raiment.  If he be liberal, her gratitude rises proportionably.  If he be a churl, she must submit with Christian resignation.