friends. She sighs, "These creatures are unfit for public affairs; how much better men carry on business!" She does not know, poor thing, how large a part folly, cowardice, and delay play in the conduct of men organized for any purpose. The men have this advantage simply, that they have learned patience with one another, swear over vexations instead of crying over them, and go on doggedly, not envying the women, but fully convinced that they could do no better and might do much worse. The disappointed club woman takes refuge in a magazine article bristling with allusions aimed at various comrades who have thwarted some of her pet designs; and the self-complacent men who have just wrecked a party, or swamped a city government, or grabbed a public franchise, read what she says, smile greasily, and murmur: "Yes, we are it. Sensible woman!" One passage of the article has been quoted as especially brilliant: "Will the woman who quails before the departing cook stand firm before the district leader? Will the woman who submits to the tyranny of her volatile dressmaker resist the voluble walking delegate? Will the woman who has made a mess of the domestic question straighten out the tangles of the industrial and financial world? And finally will a woman who has shirked the noblest duty on God's earth not shirk the lesser duties to which she, strangely enough, aspires?" The rhetorical force of these questions lies in the assumption that a person who fails in one emergency, may not meet another and different sort of emergency, and that to prove incompetent in one duty means utter incapacity for all duties; but the lesson of life does not make good the assumption; everybody knows that the woman who quailed before her departing cook might twist the district leader round her little finger. Moreover, these questions are two edged. If we grant that the woman who quails before her cook

may not be effective in politics, then consider the case of the cook. What a splendid ward heeler she would make! And if the woman who submits to a tyrannical dressmaker be worthless in politics, think how that dressmaker would run a city convention! As for the third question, it may be said that men unable to rule their own households, have led armies to victory, and ladies like Catherine of Russia and Queen Elizabeth, who made something of a domestic mess, were distinguished as able rulers. The last question is rather vague, and one can only guess at its meaning. Jack Falstaff remarked that there was only a shirt and a half in his whole company, but added cheerfully: "There's linen enough on every hedge." And possibly the ladies at whom this mysterious rebuke is aimed may remark with flippant optimism: "There are orphan asylums everywhere."

The tone of this comment on a great theme verges too much, perchance, toward persiflage, but, instead of apologizing for the offense of lese majesty, let us aggravate it. Take the argument quoted above in the form of rhetorical questions, and apply it to man and his capacity for public affairs: "Will the man who quails before the wife who sits up to watch his home coming stand firm before the district leader? Will the man who submits (and how many of us have more than a hundred reasons for submission!) to the tyranny of a voluble tailor resist the sal-volatile walking delegate? Will the man who has made a mess of the domestic question straighten out the tangles of the industrial and financial world? And finally will the man who has shirked the noblest duty on God's earth not shirk the lesser duties to which he, strangely enough, aspires?" Well, probably not; we have no right to expect from the weak or the vicious among men or women what the

strongest and the wisest have failed to accomplish. The world seems to be better now than ever before, but new tangles in more things than industry and finance come as the old ones are unraveled; and it is not safe to deny that, in our complex civilization, as in those that have preceded it, the seeds of disaster may lurk. The feminine argument, which assumes that man has done all things wisely and well is very flattering; but— oh really-you know-we have made a few little mistakes during the thousands of years in which we have had charge of things!-January 13, 1904.

Notes on Animals

TOO MANY DOGS?

The "Country Gentleman" says that there are more dogs kept in the United States than are necessary or proper. There has been a dog census in several of the States from time to time; but the number of dogs in the country is a matter of conjecture; and this authority sets it at 7,000,000, or about one dog to every eleven people. But how are we to determine whether that proportion of dogs is unnecessary or improper, even if we admit that the guess is a good one? It may be conceded to begin with that there ought to be a good dog on every farm in the United States, for it is proper to have him as a companion, guard and assistant. Now the census of 1890 gives the number of farms in the United States at 4,564,641; and if one dog be allotted to each farm, there remain less than 2,500,000 of the conjectural dogs for all the people who do not live on farms; and the proportion of dogs is rather too small than too great. Of course there are many mongrel dogs in the country, noisy dogs, mean dogs, vicious dogs, dangerous dogs; and in their behalf there is not much to be said except in the way of an illogical retort to the effect that there are noisy men, mean men, vicious men and dangerous men also. As for the men, there seems to be no remedy, unless religion, and it is the general impression that spiritual influence, though making a gallant struggle, is not able to do more than hold evil tendencies in check; but with the dogs it is different. It is possible, through the cultivation of good breeds

and through care and kindness, to improve the quality of our canine citizenship to a very high degree. It is reported of E. Peshine Smith, that when some one spoke of "bad whiskey" in his presence, he remarked reprovingly, "Bad whiskey; why, there is no bad whiskey. Some whiskey is better than others; but all whiskey is good!" There are people who take the same view of dogs, and while willing to grant that some dogs may be better than others, deny indignantly that there are any bad dogs. The Rochesterian holds to a more moderate opinion, and asserts that even dogs may stand in need of betterment, while conceding that the average of canine virtue is far beyond that of humanity. And it is in this moral superiority of dogs that the necessity for wholesome multitudes of them in the United States is to be found. We need their kindly companionship, their eager devotion, their fidelity, their self-sacrifice. That amiable weakness, the tendency to worship men, which seems a reproach to creatures so fine as dogs, is at least an incentive to us to strive to be less unworthy of the strange adoration. Setting aside the moral influence of the dog in our civilization and taking the lower consideration of mere personal pleasure, the canine case is even stronger. Where will you find a more sympathetic comrade than a good dog; a more attentive listener when you care to talk; a more discreet follower when you are given to silence in a woodland stroll? Who so alert, watchful and interested in every movement of a household? No man is a hero to his own valet; but every man is a hero to his own dog. And there is something contagious in the creature's joy, happiness and solicitude. The dog was man's first companion in the struggle for superiority over nature; and the alliance should not be broken.—April 9, 1900.