dependent only on him for the ſupport of my virtue, I view, with indignation, the miſtaken notions that enſlave my ſex.
I love man as my fellow; but his ſcepter, real, or uſurped, extends not to me, unleſs the reaſon of an individual demands my homage; and even then the ſubmiſſion is to reaſon, and not to man. In fact, the conduct of an accountable being muſt be regulated by the operations of its own reaſon; or on what foundation reſts the throne of God?
It appears to me neceſſary to dwell on theſe obvious truths, becauſe females have been inſulated, as it were; and, while they have been ſtripped of the virtues that ſhould clothe humanity, they have been decked with artificial graces that enable them to exerciſe a ſhort-lived tyranny. Love, in their boſoms, taking place of every nobler paſſion, their ſole ambition is to be fair, to raiſe emotion inſtead of inſpiring reſpect; and this ignoble deſire, like the ſervility in abſolute monarchies, deſtroys all ſtrength of character. Liberty is the mother of virtue, and if women are, by their very conſtitution, ſlaves, and not allowed to breathe the ſharp invigorating air of freedom, they muſt ever languiſh like exotics, and be reckoned beautiful flaws in nature;—let it alſo be remembered, that they are the only flaw.
As to the argument reſpecting the ſubjection in which the ſex has ever been held, it retorts on man. The many have always been enthralled by the few; and monſters, who ſcarcely have ſhewn any diſcernment of human excellence, have tyrannized over thouſands of their fellow creatures.
