Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 January 1887 — Women Who Hate Women. [ARTICLE]

Women Who Hate Women.

It is a fallacy to imagine they never do. You may have heard a woman wishing there were no men in the world. They would soon all commit suicide, until there would be none left to tell the doleful tale, were they given the earth to inhabit alone. There are women who hate women so persistently they get into a rage doing it. The intensity with which the other women in their boxes hate that woman who persists in ornamenting her opera box in New York with a slimy, crawling crocodile, is absolutely paralyzing. They hate her for making them look at the ugly thing. They hate her because she does an outlandish act they can not legally prevent. In other words, they hate her because she defies them. They hate her because she attracts attention by moans of an unwomanly freak. The unmitigated hatred with which a girl hates the sister of the young man she admires is also morally shocking. The sister takes occasion to remark, it may be in her presence, that she wonders what any girl of ordinary intelligence could ever see in her brother to try to encourage his admiration. That does the whole business. The insuited damsel forgets how she despises her own brother, and in her secret heart hates the sister as intensely as she does her mother-in-law- -when she legally gets one. If there is anything that enrages a woman it is to go rushing into a store to buy, in a great hurry, a bunch of pins, and to be met with a dead stare from the bangbrowed saleslady, who, after stupidly listening to the request, saunters away to wait on some one else. The savage hate of a wildcat is tame in comparison with that woman’s affection. Can you measure the feelings of the woman whose back hair is contrariness itself never will twist, coil or curl with a particle of style—whose best beau incidentally remarks that Laura’s frounced hair is his idea of loveliness? Now, she knows Laura doesn’t take half the trouble to arrange it that she does on hers; that Laura looks coquettish from under that Russian bang on purpose to inveigle Augustus; that it is the look as much as the coiffure he is ad-

miring. If it were the days of double-dis-tilled secret poison, or sharp cold steel, Laura should tremble in her Saratoga ties. There has been so much said about it that perhaps yon slightly realize how an actress hates another one who, can rant more artistically, er a diva who hears of a rising singer who goes her an octave higher. Women hate women who try to patronize them. They hate those women who look younger but who are really older than themselves; those who get their next dress made exactly like her latest one. High-tempered women always hate goodnatured, namby-pamby, non-explosive women. But a grand, broad-spirit d woman looks with pity and compassion upon all these soul-fretted, temper-har-rowed sisters, and prays to be delivered from all such follies.