[Speech of William B. Melish at a banquet given in honor of the Grand
Encampment of Knights Templars of the United States, by the Templars
of Pennsylvania, at Pittsburg, Pa., 1898. Colonel Melish, of
Cincinnati, Ohio, was assigned the toast, "Our ladies."]
MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN:--Once in three years it falls to
the lot of a few, a happy few, of us budding blossoms of the official
corps of the Grand Encampment to be discovered by a triennial committee,
and distinguished by having our names printed on the banquet lists, and
told that we are to sit among the elect at the big centre table, and to
respond to certain toasts. With all the vanity of man we gladly accept,
and care little what the toast may be. So, when the Pittsburg Committee
asked me to select my topic, I rashly said "any old thing," and they
told me I was to talk about the ladies. Then I regretted that I had said
"any old thing." [Laughter.] In vain I told them I knew but little of
the subject, delightful though it be, and that what I did know I dare
not tell in this presence. The Chairman unearthed some ancient Templar
landmark of the Crusaders Hopkins and Gobin, about "a Knight's duty is
to obey," hence as the poet says:--
"When a woman's in the case,
You know all other things give place."
Last Sunday when the Grand Master, and all the Grand officers, save
possibly the Grand Prelate, made their _triennial_ appearance in church,
I picked up a book in the pew I was in, and was impressed with the
opening chapters of a story called "The Book of Genesis." It is the
first mention made of one who was entitled to be called the "first
lady in the land." I read that the Creator "saw everything that he had
made and behold it was very good," and he rested. Then He made man and
said He was good--and He rested. He then made woman out of the rib of a
man, but no mention is made of His remarks, or of His resting--in fact
there has been no rest for mankind ever since. [Laughter.] The first
lady was called woman--"because she was taken out of man," and twenty
centuries look down upon us, and we realize that what she has taken out
of man is a plenty. As the poet Moore pleasantly remarks:--
"Disguise our bondage as we will
'Tis woman, woman rules us still."
For two thousand years the Order of Knighthood has been endeavoring to
ameliorate and elevate the condition of womankind. Among savages they
are beasts of burden, among barbarians and Mohammedans they are toys or
slaves, but among us, thanks to American manhood, they have our love and
respect, they have all our rights, all our money, and, in these days of
tailor-made garments, they have nearly all our clothes; and we smile and
smile, and wonder what next? [Laughter.]
Is it surprising that a sedate, sober-minded, slightly bald-headed,
middle-aged Templar Knight, "used only to war's alarms [laughter] and
not to woman's charms," should be at a loss what to say on an occasion
like this, or to do justice to such a subject? It is delightful to have
the ladies here. Like Timon of Athens we can truly say:--
"You have, fair ladies,
Set a fair fashion to our entertainment,
Which was not half so beautiful and kind."
In the presence of the bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and warm red lips of
the ladies it might be possible to work up to the proper degree of
enthusiasm in the short time allotted me, if it were not for the stony
glare of one which says "Beware, I am here!" [Laughter.] Now, in my
innocence, I presumed that poets were the fellows who had prepared all
the pretty things to say about the dear girls, but I find a variety of
opinions expressed. That good old Masonic bard, Bobby Burns, says:--
"And nature swears, the lovely dears,
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her 'prentice hand she tried on man
An' then she made the lasses, O."
But you will note that Dame Nature swears this, and she is not a
competent witness, as she had nothing to do with the little surgical
episode when Brother Adam lost his rib. [Laughter.] Lord Lyttleton gave
our sisters good advice, as follows:--
"Seek to be good, but aim not to be great,
A woman's noblest station is Retreat,
Her fairest virtues fly from public sight,
Domestic worth that shuns too strong a light."
Another English authority named "Howe," in his "Advice to Wives,"
says:--
"A wife, domestic, good and pure
Like snail should keep within her door,
But not, like snail, with silver track
Place all her wealth upon her back."
But who in these latter days would preach the heresies of those
old-fashioned fellows to the hundreds of ladies present, plumed in all
the titles and distinctions of the hundred and one woman's clubs of
to-day, which they represent. Perish the thought!
Woman is being emancipated. She is enthroned in the sun, crowned with
stars, and, trampling beneath her dainty feet the burnt-out moon, emblem
of a vanished despotism that denied her the companionship of her
husband, questioned her immortality, locked her up in the harem, or
harnessed her to the plough. A hundred years from now, if she does a
man's work, she will be paid a man's wages [applause], and some of us
will not have to work for a living, but can go to our clubs in peace,
take our afternoon naps, and be ready in the evening to get Mamma's
slippers ready when she comes home from the office. [Laughter.]
But the problem for to-night is how to consider the various relations
which women bear to us weak, frail men--as mother or mother-in-law, as
sweetheart or wife. We are somewhat in the predicament of the green
bridegroom at Delmonico's who said: "Waiter, we want dinner for two."
"Will ze lady and ze gentleman haf table d'hote or a la carte?" "Oh,
bring us some of both, with lots of gravy on 'em!" Oh, ye Knights! Take
the advice of the philosopher who is talking to you, and be on the best
of terms with your mother-in-law. [Laughter.] Only get her on your side,
and you have a haven to fly to when all others fail to appreciate you,
and when some one of the others feels appointed a special agent to tell
you about it. Now, it isn't everybody that knows this, and I commend it
to you. [Laughter.]
Some men are like the two darkies I heard discussing the question of
what a man should do if he were in a boat on a wide river, with his
mother and his wife, and the boat should sink, and he could only save
one woman. "Johnson," said Billy Rice, "who would you save, yo' mudder
or yo' wife?" Johnson thought and said: "Billy! I would save my mudder.
I could get anudder wife, but where under the blue canopy of hebben
could I get anudder dear old mudder?" "But look here, Billy! 'Spose you
was in de boat, in de middle of de river, wid yo' wife and yo'
mudder-in-law?" "Oh, what a cinch!"--said Billy. "And de boat,"
continued Johnson, "was to strike a snag and smash to pieces, and
eberybody go into de water, who would you save?" "My wife, dar! my
mudder-in-law dar! and de boat strike a snag?" "Yes!" "I would save de
snag," said Billy. "I could get anudder wife, I might den have anudder
mudder-in-law, but where under de blue canopy of hebben could I find
anudder dear, thoughtful old snag?" [Laughter.]
It has been well said that "all a woman has to do in this world is
contained within the duties of a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a
mother." She has sustained at least one of these relations to even the
poorest of us; but I wonder if there is a man here to-night so miserably
abject and forlorn and God-forsaken as not, some time in his life, to
have been able to regard her in the delightful relation of sweetheart? I
hope not. I would rather he had had a dozen, than no sweetheart at all.
The most unselfish devotion we may ever know is that of our mother; a
sweet affection is that of our sisters, a most tender love is that of
our daughters, but the love and affection we all want, and without which
we are never satisfied, is that of the sweethearts who reward our
devotion--out of all proportion to our deserts--by becoming our wives
and the mothers of our daughters. [Applause.]
It is not less the pleasure than the duty of every man to have a
sweetheart--I was almost tempted to say, the more, the merrier--and the
sooner he makes one of his sweethearts his wife, the better for him. If
he is a "woman-hater," or professes to be (for, as a matter of fact,
there is no such anomaly as a genuine "woman-hater" at liberty in this
great and glorious country), let him beware, as I believe with
Thackeray, that a "woman, with fair opportunities, and without an
absolute hump, may _marry_ whom she likes. [Laughter.] Only let us be
thankful that the darlings are like the beasts of the field, and don't
know their own power." As the poet--what's-his-name--so beautifully and
feelingly and touchingly observes:--
"Oh, woman, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,"--
"But seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace."
Next to God, we are indebted to woman for life itself, and then for
making it worth living. To describe her, the pen should be dipped in the
humid colors of the rainbow, and the paper dried with the dust gathered
from the wings of a butterfly. There is one in the world who feels for
him who is sad a keener pang than he feels for himself; there is one to
whom reflected joy is better than that which comes direct; there is one
who rejoices in another's honor more than in her own; there is one upon
whom another's transcendent excellence sheds no beam but that of
delight; there is one who hides another's infirmities more faithfully
than her own; there is one who loses all sense of self in the sentiment
of kindness, tenderness, and devotion to another--that one is she who is
honored with the holy name of wife. [Applause.] With the immortal
Shakespeare we may say:
"Why, man, she is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold."
I can do no greater justice to my subject, the occasion, and myself,
than by closing with the words of Shelley: "Win her and wear her if you
can. She is the most delightful of God's creatures. Heaven's best gift;
man's joy and pride in prosperity; man's support and comfort in
affliction." I drink her health. God bless her. [Prolonged applause.]