"Too much woman," answered the grave Orientalist, and descended to
his cabin.

The young diplomatist returned to the shore thoughtful, and later in
the day a few of us discussed the matter in a far-off, dimly-lighted
corner of the club smoking-room.

Has the pendulum swung too far the other way? Could there be truth
in our Oriental friend's terse commentary? The eternal feminine!
The Western world has been handed over to her. The stranger from
Mars or Jupiter would describe us as a hive of women, the sober-clad
male being retained apparently on condition of its doing all the hard
work and making itself generally useful. Formerly it was the man who
wore the fine clothes who went to the shows. To-day it is the woman
gorgeously clad for whom the shows are organized. The man dressed in
a serviceable and unostentatious, not to say depressing, suit of
black accompanies her for the purpose of carrying her cloak and
calling her carriage. Among the working classes life, of necessity,
remains primitive; the law of the cave is still, with slight
modification, the law of the slum. But in upper and middle-class
circles the man is now the woman's servant.

I remember being present while a mother of my acquaintance was
instilling into the mind of her little son the advantages of being
born a man. A little girl cousin was about to spend a week with him.
It was impressed upon him that if she showed a liking for any of his
toys, he was at once to give them up to her.

"But why, mamma?" he demanded, evidently surprised.