I should like to see the time come when women shall help to make the laws.  I should like to see that whip-lash, the ballot, in the hands of women.  As for this city’s government, I don’t want to say much, except that it is a shame—­a shame; but if I should live twenty-five years longer—­and there is no reason why I shouldn’t—­I think I’ll see women handle the ballot.  If women had the ballot to-day, the state of things in this town would not exist.

If all the women in this town had a vote to-day they would elect a mayor at the next election, and they would rise in their might and change the awful state of things now existing here.

WOMAN-AN OPINION

          Addressat an early banquet of the Washington
          correspondents’ club

          The twelfth toast was as follows:  “Woman—­The pride of any
          profession, and the jewel of ours.”

Mr. President,—­I do not know why I should be singled out to receive the greatest distinction of the evening—­for so the office of replying to the toast of woman has been regarded in every age.  I do not know why I have received his distinction, unless it be that I am a trifle less homely than the other members of the club.  But be this as it may, Mr. President, I am proud of the position, and you could not have chosen any one who would have accepted it more gladly, or labored with a heartier good-will to do the subject justice than I—­because, sir, I love the sex.  I love all the women, irrespective of age or color.

Human intellect cannot estimate what we owe to woman, sir.  She sews on our buttons; she mends our clothes; she ropes us in at the church fairs; she confides in us; she tells us whatever she can find out about the little private affairs of the neighbors; she gives us good advice, and plenty of it; she soothes our aching brows; she bears our children—­ours as a general thing.  In all relations of life, sir, it is but a just and graceful tribute to woman to say of her that she is a brick.

Wheresoever you place woman, sir—­in whatever position or estate—­she is an ornament to the place she occupies, and a treasure to the world. [Here Mr. Clemens paused, looked inquiringly at his hearers, and remarked that the applause should come in at this point.  It came in.  He resumed his eulogy.] Look at Cleopatra! look at Desdemona!—­look at Florence Nightingale!—­look at Joan of Arc!—­look at Lucretia Borgia! [Disapprobation expressed.] Well [said Mr. Clemens, scratching his head, doubtfully], suppose we let Lucretia slide.  Look at Joyce Heth!—­look at Mother Eve!  You need not look at her unless you want to, but [said Mr. Clemens, reflectively, after a pause] Eve was ornamental, sir —­particularly before the fashions changed.  I repeat, sir, look at the illustrious names of history.  Look at the Widow