whether the Greek statues did not suffer more happily at the hands of fate when they lost their arms and heads and legs than we are accustomed to think; whether their dilapidation has not given them a place in our hearts instead of merely in our heads; has not couched them in our love instead of merely pedestaled them in our rever

ence.

Or, to take an illustration from a lower plane, may it not be that we get a keener pleasure out of eating an imperfect apple? It is neither the best possible apple, which would be perfect, nor the worst possible apple, which would have a kind of negative perfection; it has a worm at the core; but I wonder whether we do not enjoy it more because we have to eat the more carefully to keep from eating him. Besides, he arouses in our mind all sorts of questionings. Why is he there? What kind of worm is he? How did he get in? How would he have got out if we had not ousted him? And note this what sort of an apple would it have been if he had taken up his residence elsewhere?

I am rather proud of this little apologue of the apple. For the perfect apple could have roused no queries which the defective apple does not. The same

There is some strangeness' even 'in beauty.' The perfect rhythm is intolerable. We demand chiaroscuro in life as in color. The preciousness of the ointment is the more evident for the fly. 'We love people for their vices,' so the vices do not make them despicable.

If the gods that sit above have a sense of humor, they must find us grown men and women as funny and as sad as we find the boys and girls and dogs. Not knowing the sentiments of the gods, we have to content ourselves with those of the poets and humorists who, we fondly imagine, have in them something of the god-like vision. They look at humanity from above. And they find that the spectacle of humanity trying to be what it cannot be, facing both ways, on the threshold of heaven casting a longing, lingering look behind, is comic and tragic in its very essence; for comedy and tragedy differ chiefly in degree. In the imperfection of humanity lie its tragedy and its humor. Without it, this would be a happier world; but with it, it is a merrier.

WOMEN AND DEMOCRACY IN

SWITZERLAND

If those of us who are old enough in years, and old enough in thought and habit, and young enough in grace, to date ourselves consciously back to prehistoric times, to the days when there was a Lady of the Castle, and a Lady Abbess, and a Vanishing Lady: to the days when the Gentlewoman loomed large in life as in literature, to the days when Châtelaines were not manufacturers' daughters, when Nuns were not secularized, when Ladies were not Helps, when Woman was not writ large -if those of us, I say, could but live in this tiny corner of the most truly democratic government the world has ever seen (more truly democratic than most countries would ever desire to see!) we should be lost in amazement - so much is it a back issue here

at the heat of argument over, and the timeliness and popularity of, the Woman Question in the United States to-day. For more than a year American newspapers have brimmed with it. Reviews have published essay after essay. And as if this were not satiety, a few are even offering their readers a further year of it!

Certainly Americans when they take up an issue, whether football, athletics, or woman, take it up intensively. Otherwise the subject would be a dead issue. There would be nothing paying in it. God forbid that as a nation we should lose our sense of proportion, our sense of humor!

Now living in Switzerland, or more properly speaking living in this particular part of Switzerland (the shores of

Lake Geneva), tends to a larger, broader, because lazier, point of view. When nothing matters overmuch, when time is of no account, when to-morrow will do as well as to-day, life slips along easily, surely; old habits change, new ones are introduced, reforms come, the Lady vanishes, and no one seems to have anything in particular to say about it, or any special share in the doing of it.

C'est comme cela' - that is all. Things simply happen.

Surely this is a saner and a more advanced and restful state of affairs than the constant clamoring for things to happen, as with us; less wearing to one's nerves, and to the nerves of the country at large.

Must we then lay to our editors, conscientious, thoughtful men as they are, the responsibility for this overwhelming intensiveness with which a question, and often not a vital question, is discussed? Probably; for where would the college editor find his matter, and the city editor his, and the magazine editor his, in this day of the fifty-page sheet, and the one-hundredand-fifty-page magazine, were it not in this detailed and reiterated treatment of a theme?

But where reviews are but a few pages thick, and newspapers but a single sheet, and an infinitesimal sheet at that, quantity is not needed. And how well one can do without it! How clear one's vision becomes! What tang to the short, crisp, sparkling editorials! How quickly, too, results follow! Why, only last year the women of Switzerland secured religious suffrage with scarcely a hot word, so quietly was the campaign conducted. And as church

and national policies are closely allied here, undoubtedly Switzerland, without so much as a single militant suffragette, will be among the very first countries to give equality in political suffrage.

And 'the Lady' has vanished? Most assuredly. And no one comments on it, or wonders at it, or writes about it. One never so much as catches a glimpse of an old-time Gentlewoman! And one does n't expect to.

But surely in this land of castles, there must still be 'the Lady of the Castle'? Castles there are in plenty, - beautiful old specimens of twelfth, and thirteenth, and fourteenth-century work; massive, imposing, dignified. One meets them at every turn. Castles also of a later date, warm, sunny, terraced affairs of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but as for the Lady of the Castle, alas, there is not one!

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'What! not here, in this wonderful old building with moat and court?' No! indeed!— that châtelaine is an American! Or in this?' Again, no!only a rich merchant's daughter from Zurich! "Then here in this rounded tower, fronting terraced sweep of lake?' No! not even here an artist! And where is 'the Lady Abbess?' Gone! Gone as completely as a myth of the Middle Ages! But in her place has come the Secularized Nun, quick of wit, keen of intellect, thoroughly the modern business woman brand-new house, perhaps a city block in size; in a brand-new frock, without coif, or veil, or floating robe; with an uplifted eye, and manners to suit the times, and holding her own against all other twentieth-century competitors, as scholar, educator, philanthropist! A startling change to us of the Western world, and we stare in sheer amazement! But she lives, and achieves, and the Swiss eyelid never flickers!

- in a

And 'Woman,' plain 'Woman,' what of her? Is any career closed to her that she chooses to undertake? Apparently not one. Is there equal pay for equal work? Most certainly. Street-cleaner, field-hand, school-teacher, merchant, lawyer, doctor, dentist, woman is all this and more. Married or single, old or young, the race is to the swiftest

man or woman.

And what is the result? The result is simply justness; it could not well be less. But it is not pleasing. In courtesy, it means a complete leveling down to mutuality. Woman has her place in train or tram—and so has Man; and his is not ceded to her. She has her place on street or sidewalkand so has he; and he is careful to keep his right, and not to step aside. Should a foreign lady insist on greater ceremony, the man may give it, but public sentiment is with the man, not with the lady.

And as with courtesy, so with manners: equality, always equality! The poor man elbows the rich woman. The tenement child screams from his window, Chapeau rouge! Chapeau rouge!' if he deems the color of your hat too vivid. And neither act excites the slightest comment. Why should it? Has not Woman the same privileges as Man? Who speaks of chivalry or protection?

'Kindliness?' Ah! yes! stern kindliness there is in plenty. But always as between comrades. Never because of sex. And one more sweet and gracious element in life has passed!

take her from the field, the shop, or the parlor. There are no others. And whether from field, or shop, or parlor, she is totally ignorant of service. Each phase has to be taught her, and life is short.

If, however, as occasionally happens, one is willing to accept age, and by age is meant something approaching seventy, one may secure efficiency, loyalty, manners. And what a glorious combination these three make! At present we know of just such a treasure in 'Madame Caroline.' There is nothing that she cannot bake or brew, no service that is too hard for her. Guests are received as by a duchess. And late in the evening, as we step into the kitchen to see what she is doing, we find her, wide awake, eyes sparkling, reading Fogazzaro! Even she must march with the times. Yet - Madame Caroline never reads novels! What then will be her awakening when in time she realizes the extent of her sin, we are eagerly anticipating!

But if age brings efficiency, it has also its drawbacks, drawbacks to be considered in these days of employers' liability. Age-is brittle. So the two days a week in which Madame Caroline goes to market we live in fear and trembling of accident to life or limb. And the days she spends indoors are even more of a nightmare, for when we see her a little, gray, bent figure perched on the topmost rung of a high step-ladder, cleaning windows, we fuss, and fume, and nearly faint.

There is of course that recklessly modern alternative, the Lady Help! And the Swiss delight in her. There is one around the corner, doing the service of a bonne-à-tout-faire; and a little farther on, another, as lady cook for a family of eight; and still farther on, a third, as lady nurse to a group of tiny sisters; and at Geneva, in a

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charming old château, a fourth the quaintest of Kate Greenaway figures red hair, green smock, a lady gardener! But is it pleasant meeting lady help? Certainly not. It is extremely disconcerting.

So also are other things in this land of democracy. Compulsory insurance, for one. Not of jewels, or valuables, there might be sense in this; but of towels, and frocks, and trunks, and bags, and pots, and pans, and endless household nothings. Individually insured, too; a maddening process-running into pure comic opera-when the City Fathers present themselves to make the verification.

And chimneys are swept whether one will or no; at fifty centimes a chimney it is true, but by order of the municipality, and by city appointees, and as often as they please, not as we please. And the present ramoneur nearly frightened us out of our wits the other day when we caught him embracing Madame Caroline in the Hall, and on both cheeks! A scene which was fairly startling till we were told he was her son-in-law-and yet the Swiss are not held to be demonstrative!

And if one's landlord dies, one's lease is canceled. And if he sells, one's lease is canceled. And if he fails, one's lease is canceled. Danger lurks in both living and dying, and the best lawyer in the land is none too good when it comes to the question of a lease!

And should the wind blow and one's house be a châlet, municipal authorities appear, and the fires are put out and one is left to shiver and shake, and to eat cold victuals! But the house

THE OTHER SIDE

CLIMBING the hill of the years, about the twentieth turn one begins to catch glimpses of the Other Side. Youth sees only this side, its side, the absolute side. Then winds a little level path along the cliffs from which Youth gets strange mist-magnified, haze-distorted views across the valley. 'Do you know,' it whispers solemnly, 'I fear I am a sad heretic!' Or, 'When I was a child I fancied this a happy world!' Or, 'I do not like to talk about myself; nobody understands me!'

And Middle Age laughs at the little egotist. It has walked that cliff path: it knows. Now Middle Age is roaming at will, crossing new-made bridges, trying shaky stepping-stones, pushing gayly off in skiff or air-ship, and taking unmitigated, unabashed delight in these excursions to the other side. The old syllogism has come true: this side is not that side, hence this side must be the other side.

Sallie and I were discussing an acquaintance, and I gave my opinion in emphatic terms not wholly complimentary. Sallie's 'nevertheless' inaugurated a rose-colored list of our acquaintance's virtues, each item strengthening by opposition my casual views. Next day I overheard Sallie using my argument to a caller and getting well-drubbed for it; while I, trying Sallie's views on a fourth person, listened to my original opinion on our much-discussed friend. Now could anything have been more diverting? None of us cared; nobody was hurt. Our minds took contrary flexures as automatically as we 'sit light' when driving over a bump in the road, or lean in when the train curves out, or hurry our steps round the far side of Pisa's tower.

Having an invalid in the family and being asked day after day how he was, I adopted one rule of reply. When the query was couched with smiles and cheerful tones I replied that my patient was not so well. When the interrogation came dolefully, my patient was rather better. He himself was at first shocked at such levity; but, testing it, found it so provocative of amusement that I was condoned if not applauded.

His

A newspaper report of the serious illness of Judge Hoar caused a group of his friends to make inquiries of his brother. 'Oh, yes,' said the Senator genially, 'my brother was ill. family were away and I was away and there was nobody to differ from him. He was lonely as one katydid without another to cry katydid n't. I returned to town, hurried to see him, contradicted everything he said, and we had several heated arguments. Now he is better, much better; he will soon be himself again.' And he was.

'I acted like a devil,' Sallie exclaimed one day; and when I protested,