This bit of verse appeared in the respected San Francisco News Letter at a time when agitation for the woman's right to vote in the United States was quite high. It is not known if this verse refers generally to women's rights activists, or suffragists, of the era, or to a specific San Francisco activist.

It does, however, give a most revealing look into the upper-class view of the woman's rights movement of the late 19th century.

She believed in the dress reform skirt
And she wore what resembled a shirt;

She'd a will of her own

and a deal of backbone,
And despised any girl who would flirt.

She insisted on wearing short hair,
Which gave her a masculine air,

And she carried a cane

With an air of distain
That made people turn round and stare.

To her club she devoted her nights,
Where she lectured about woman's rights.

In detailing the woes

Of her sex and her clothes,
She would rise to Depewian heights.

She'd a husband whose first name was Steve
Who oft at her conduct would grieve,

But like the old, old coon

Who fell from the balloon,
He was "not in it," you may believe.

Her children all trembled with fear
Whenever their mother came near;

It was her delight

To give them a fright,
Which I think–don't you? was quite queer.

She was well up in Latin and Greek,
And could several languages speak;

When her tongue was let loose

She would pour out abuse
Upon women who talked with a squeak.

But this woman whom every one feared,
Was completely and dreadfully "queered"

Whene'er she addressed

The simplest request
To her cook, who in Erin was reared.

For the cook–she was Irish–oh my!
And she had a bad look in her eye,

And a single "black look"

From that big Irish cook
Made the woman's rights woman just fly.