The Endowment of the daughter.

Auckland Star, Volume XIX, Issue 142, 16 June 1888, Page 3 (Supplement)

The Endowment of the daughter.

ABSTRACT OF AN ARTICLE BY MR WALTER

IJESANI

K"ot long ago Mr Besant -wrote a story to show the terrible struggle to live which is day by day going on in our midst among women of the middle classes. In this month's "Longman's Magazine" he once more take 3Up the question, and suggest 8 another solution. Having called attention to the existence of necessitous gentlewomen in the land—which he attributes to the depression of agriculture, to the enormous increase of the cultivated classes, to large families of girls, and to the revolution of opinion as regards woman's work — Ml' Besant sums up the present state of things as follows : —

The world contains a great open.Market, where the" demand for \ first-clas;; work of every kind ispractically; inexhaustible. In literature everything really good commands instant afctsntidn,' respect, atid payment. But it must be really good. Publishers are always looking about for genius. Editors —■ even the much-abused editors-—are' aUVays looking about for good and popular writers. Butthe worldis critical; to.'tiecbirle popular requires a ddrtibinatidn of qualities", which include special training, education, and natural aptitude. Art, again|ih; every possible' branch, offers recognition—and pay — for good v/ook. But it must be really good. The world is even more .critical, in art than in literature. In the theatre managers are. always looking about for good plays, good actors,".arid good actresses. In scholarship, women who have taken Honours at Cambridge command good salaries and an honourable position if they carl' teach. In music, a really good composer, player, or singer is always received with joy, and the usdaFsolia rria'iks of approval. "

This is one kind of market—a most wonderful market, truly—a market full of most splendid prizes of both praise and pudding. But there is another very different kind of market outside. Here there are long lines of stalls, behind which stands the gentlewomen eagerly ofi'ermc their wares. Alas 1 Hef'e is Art in every shape, but it is not the Art which we can buy. Here are paintings and drawings, here are coloured photographs, painted china, art embroideries, and fine work. Here are offered original songs and original music. Here are standing long lines oi those who want to teach and are most melancholy because they Have do degree or diploma and know nothing. Here are Standing those who wait to be hired and will do anything in which "general intelligence'- will show the way. Lastly, there is a . whole quarter — at least a quarter—of the niar'keb filled with kails covered with MSS., and there are thousands of women offering • these MSS. The publishers and editors walk slowJy along before the stalls and receive the MSS., which they look at. and then lay down, though their writers- Weep and wail and wring their hands. Presently there comes along a man greatly r&embling in the expression of life face 5 the wild and savage frolf trying to smile. (He represents some literary society or publishing agency.) His habit is to take up a MS., and presently to express, with the aid of strange oaths and ejaculations, wonder and admira-^ tion. ' 'Fore Gad, madam !' he says, 'tis' fine ! 'twill take the town by storm. 'Tis an immortal pieco ! Your own, madam ? Truly 'tis wonderful! Nay, madam, but I must have it. 'Twill cos'i; ySu for the printing of it a paltry sixty p.ounds or so. And for return, believe me, 'twill-prove a mere Potosi " Triis is the confidence trick under another form. "The .unfortunate woman !besfs and, borrows fhe mdiiey. of winch, she will never again see one farthing ; and if her book be produced, no oiie will ever buy a ctitiv The women at these stalls .La^avscnlh-pg. They grow tired of waiting; when no one will buy they ao away A fe"' nlay ,be I fcraced^ They become type-writer. ; they become cashiers in shops: they sit m the.outer office of photographers and receive .the visitors ; they 'devil' for literary men ;. they What becomes of the rest no man can toll.

This is how matters stand at present. And now Mr Besant comes to '' certain preventative steps which may be applied— not for those who are now in this hell, but for those innocent Children whosslot it may be to join the hapless band." There is, of course, ,the absolute duty of teaching girls, who may some day have to work for themselves, some trade or profession. The duty is obvious, but it is not practised. Therefore, Mr Besant relies more upon the extension of the French system of providing a dot. His scheme shall be stated in his own words :—

Take a thousand pounds — thirty-five pounds a year—as a minimum. Take the case of a professional man who cannot save much, but who is resolved on endowing his daughters with an annuity of at least £35 a year. There are ways and means of doing this which are advertised freely and placed in everybody's hands. Yet they seem to fail in impressing the public. One does hear among one s professional friends of the endowment of girl?. Yet one does hear, constantly, that someone is dead and has left his daughters without a penny. First of all, the rules and regulations of the Post Office, which are published every quarter, provide what seems the most simple of these ways. I take one table only, that of the cost of an annuity deferred for twenty-five years. If the child is five years of age, and under six, an annuity of £1, beginning after twenty-five years, can be purchased for a yearly premium of 12s 7d t or for a payment of £12 3s Bd. The premium to be returned in case of the child's death. An annuity of £32, therefore, would cost a yearly premium of £22 Os od, or lump sum down of £426 8a 4d.

There are many insurance offices also which make provision for the endowment of children. Mr Besant instances one ; bub we have quoted enough to show in what his scheme really consists. He considers it essentially a woman's question—one which mothers should look to.

And for my own part (he adds), I think that no woman should bo forced to work at all, except at such thing as pleases her. When a woman marries, for instance, she voluntarily engages herself to do a vast quantity of work. To look aftev the house and bring up the children involves daily, unremitting labour and thought. If she has a vocation for any kind of work, as for art, or letters, or teaching, let her obey the call, and find her happiness. Generally, she has none. The average woman—l make this statement with complete confidence—hates compulsory Work ; she hates and loathes it. There are, it is true, some kinds of work which must be done by women. Well, there will always be enough for these occupations among women who prefer work to idleness. . . My brothers, let our girls Work if they wish ; perhaps they will be happier if they work; let them work' at whatever kind of work they may desire; but not—oh ! not—because they must.