When men meet they converse about
business, politics, or literature; but, says Swift, "how naturally
do women apply their hands to each others lappets and ruffles."
And very natural it is--for they have not any business to interest
them, have not a taste for literature, and they find politics dry,
because they have not acquired a love for mankind by turning their
thoughts to the grand pursuits that exalt the human race and
promote general happiness.
Besides, various are the paths to power and fame, which by accident
or choice men pursue, and though they jostle against each other,
for men of the same profession are seldom friends, yet there is a
much greater number of their fellow-creatures with whom they never
clash. But women are very differently situated with respect to
each other--for they are all rivals.
Before marriage it is their business to please men; and after, with
a few exceptions, they follow the same scent, with all the
persevering pertinacity of instinct. Even virtuous women never
forget their sex in company, for they are for ever trying to make
themselves AGREEABLE. A female beauty and a male wit, appear to be
equally anxious to draw the attention of the company to themselves;
and the animosity of contemporary wits is proverbial.
Is it then surprising, that when the sole ambition of woman centres
in beauty, and interest gives vanity additional force, perpetual
rivalships should ensue? They are all running the same race, and
would rise above the virtue of mortals if they did not view each
other with a suspicious and even envious eye.
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