I was sure I could not be weak enough to be held so firmly by her beauty alone, lovely as she was. Her mental equipment did not seem to furnish the ground for such a deep attachment, and I could not believe that I was good enough to be so powerfully drawn to her by the inimitable character of her spiritual nature. What, then, was the attraction? It was not far to seek. What was it that first moved me, before I had ever seen her? What accomplishment was it that always came to my mind first when I thought of her? In short, what would Mona, silent, be? I could hardly imagine. But then, she was not silent, and I knew well enough that, struggle as I night, I never could successfully resist the subtle charm of that voice.

So, as I saw no escape for me, I next began to study how I could infuse into Mona's love for me something more of the personal element. How could I teach her to love me just a little for myself alone? Evidently she had been educated in an atmosphere of the most uncompromising monotony. Where everybody loved everybody what chance could there be for lovers? I wondered what would move Mona. Some heroic action which should appeal to her sympathies would probably do it. She had been pleased with the part I had taken in discovering her retreat in the moon, and perhaps something else in that line would help me. But what was there one could possibly do in Mars which could be called heroic? I should have to ask Thorwald if he could think of anything I could do to arouse the imagination of Mona and bring her a little closer to me.

Not long after I had been indulging in these conflicting thoughts I had a more promising opportunity than I had hoped for of showing Mona that I could do something besides make love to her.

One morning she came to me and said she would like to go out for a long ride. As I never lost an opportunity of being alone with her I eagerly accepted this one and hurried off with her, lest any other member of the household should appear and propose to accompany us. Mona was as agreeable as ever, and chirruped away in her musical style as we walked down the hill in search of just the right carriage. We soon found one which pleased us, and as I was by this time perfectly at home in the management of these vehicles, we started off at a brisk pace along a road which took us through a charming section of the country. It made me happy to reflect that this pleasant ride was at Mona's suggestion. Although she had peculiar views about my manner of wooing, she did not shun my company, and I could not refuse to believe she really loved me as she said. I turned on more power, and as our speed became exhilarating I said to my companion:

"Mona, they will think we have eloped."

"Excuse me," came out in sweet notes, "you will have to explain."

"Dear me, were your people so very proper that you don't even know the meaning of that word? Didn't they ever do anything wrong?"

"Oh, is it wrong to elope?"

"That depends entirely on the point of view. But I cannot explain further without bringing up the subject which you have forbidden me to speak about."

"What subject is that? I have forgotten that I have ever put you under such a prohibition."

"Why, the subject that is always nearest my heart and nearest my lips, the subject of my great love for you, dear Mona, so different from my regard for any other person."

"Oh, I remember now, but I assure you I had forgotten all about it." And here her voice suddenly lost much of its tenderness and assumed a character which she rarely employed, as she continued, "But let us not discuss that topic again. I already know all you have to say on it, and why should we waste our time with such useless talk when there are so many more valuable things to occupy our attention?"

"Forgive me," I exclaimed. "If you will promise me not to sing in that tone again I will talk about anything you wish."

"I agree," she responded, and never did her accents sound sweeter.

Somehow I was not so much affected by Mona's coldness this time as before, and I was able to recover my cheerfulness at once. I then determined to give her no occasion for another rebuff if I could help it, but to do all in my power to entertain her with what she called sensible conversation. There were many things connected with society on the earth in which she took a lively interest, and I made a great effort to talk myself into her favor, so that she would not say again that she preferred the doctor's company to mine.

We had been riding a couple of hours or more, generally at a swift pace, when, from a high point in the road, we saw we were approaching the shore of the sea or a large lake.

Mona was so delighted with the view that I said:

"If we can find any kind of a boat on the shore we will have a ride on the water."

"Can you manage a boat?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, if it is not too large."

"But it may be some new kind, something you are not acquainted with."

"Then I shall have to study it out. But you are not afraid to go on the water with me, are you?"

"If there is anything in this pleasant world to give me fear it is water in such mass as that," she replied, stretching out her hand toward the sea.

"But I thought you were afraid of nothing," said I.

"You have taught me the word," she responded, "and I hardly know its meaning yet, but I must acknowledge that I shrink from the ocean. Its vastness, so much water, overwhelms me. You know it is many, many years since the moon had any large bodies of water."

"So it is," I exclaimed, "and everything will be new to you. What sport we shall have, and I shall make it my business to see that the water does not harm you."

We hurried down to the shore and found the prettiest little boat I had ever seen all ready for us, as if we had ordered it for the occasion. It was evidently intended for children, but was fitted with both sails and oars, and also, I was glad to find, with a little screw and an electric apparatus to turn it. I was overjoyed with our good fortune, and prepared at once to embark. But Mona plainly hesitated. She kept up her musical chatter and tried to be as cheerful as ever, but I saw she was not as eager for the trip as I was. I did not let her see that I noticed her manner, however, and went on with my preparations. When I had brought the boat around so that she could step into it conveniently, she looked in my face, and asked in a voice which trembled with excitement:

"Are you sure you understand how to manage it? It is all so strange to me."

She wanted to decline to make the venture, I thought, but her courage was too great. Now was the time when I proved myself still a son of the earth, with fallible judgment and a will too much engrossed with self. I had been wishing for an opportunity to do some difficult thing for Mona, something noble which should win her affection, and here, when the chance offered, I did not recognize it. The truly heroic action would have been to respect Mona's feeling and give up the idea entirely, for I knew she had a strong aversion to trusting herself on the water. But it was really my own pleasure and not hers that I was seeking, for in answer to her question I said hurriedly:

"Why, certainly. It is as easy to control as the carriage we have just left. We'll not put up the sails if you say so, and I promise to bring you back all safe and sound in a short time. I am sure you will enjoy the new experience, and then I want to hear how your voice sounds on the water."

"Well, I will go," she said, "on your promise to protect me; but I have the queerest sensation, I don't know what to call it. Do you think it is fear?"

"Oh, no, it can't be that, because there is nothing to fear. Are you ready now? Let me take your hand."

As she stepped in and felt the motion she realized how unstable the water really was, and sank down at my feet, emitting an involuntary note of not very joyful quality. But she showed great bravery and, as I helped her to a seat, she said she would no doubt enjoy it after a while. I now shoved the boat out and used the oars a few minutes, but soon tiring of that exercise, I looked into the operation of the electric motor and found it quite simple. Turning on the power, the screw worked to perfection and sent the boat through the water in good shape.

Mona was now recovering her spirits, seeing that no harm came to her, and at my request she sang some of her native songs. This was delightful, and I resigned myself to the full enjoyment of the occasion. It seemed to me that the excitement she had just passed through added a new and pleasing quality to her voice, if that were possible. As I sat listening and musing, my memory carried me back to the first time I had heard this marvelous singer, and I could not help contrasting the two situations. I felicitated myself on my present happiness, for when Mona was singing I wanted nothing more. I seemed to forget then that she would not listen to my tale of love, or if I thought of it I attached no consequence to it. The voice seemed to be a thing by itself, and a thing which in some way appeared to belong wholly to me, whether Mona was mine or not.

She stopped singing after a while and asked if we had better not start for home. To which I replied:

"I turned the boat around some time ago, and we are now headed directly for the place where we found it."

When she expressed surprise at this I steered about in various directions to show her how easily it was done, and then some mischievous spirit, which. I myself must have imported into Mars, put it into my head to try and see how fast our little vessel could go. My idea was partly to satisfy my own curiosity and partly to treat Mona to as great a variety of sensations as possible. The electric apparatus was extremely sensitive, and a slight movement of the lever made an instant increase in our speed. A little more, and we began to go through the water at quite a handsome rate. I enjoyed it immensely, and if Mona did not like it she had pluck enough not to make it known. This emboldened me to put on still more power, which sent the boat ploughing along at such a velocity that the spray flew all about us and the boat shook so that we kept our seats with difficulty. Not knowing what I might be led to do next, and being in reality terribly frightened, if she had only known what the feeling was, Mona now mildly expostulated with:

"Isn't this a little too fast? Something might happen."

"Don't be afraid," I replied. "I'll take care of you. The doctor must have taught you that last word, as it is not used here. You know nothing ever happens in Mars. Everything goes along in the even tenor of its way, moved by laws which are fixed and certain. This boat, you see, is strong and well able to bear the strain. The water is smooth and contains no hidden rocks, and it is perfectly easy to steer clear of the shore, which you see is some distance off yet. But now that I have given you this little excitement, which you will not regret after it is all over, I will stop the current which produces this great force and bring in an artificial law, as it were, to override the natural law now in operation. Just look at this lever and see how easily it is done."

I seized the handle, intending to shut off the power suddenly, but by some unaccountable mistake I turned it the wrong way. Instantly I saw the bow of the boat jump out of the water and go over our heads, and then Mona and I realized that something had actually happened on Mars, for we were both buried under the boat.

I was the first to extricate myself and come to the surface, and, not seeing my companion, I thought she was surely lost. I might save her yet, though, and was just about to dive under the boat again, when her head appeared insight, only a little way from me, her eyes wide open and, really, a smile on her face.

"Can you swim, Mona?" I cried, excitedly.

She had not the breath to answer or else thought my question unnecessary. But I soon found my own answer when I saw her head sinking again just as I had reached her. I clutched her, and, as I held her head above the water, I began to understand that I had something on my hands to fulfill my promise to take care of her. At this instant I saw one of the oars from the boat floating a little way from us and managed to secure it, holding Mona with one arm and swimming with the other. I now helped my companion to half support herself by grasping the oar, while for the rest she was induced to throw an arm over my shoulder. In this way I was left free to make what progress I could through the water, and I lost no time in swimming toward the shore, since there was no hope of our being able to make use of the boat, which now lay, bottom up, on the surface.

All this was done without a word from Mona, although I had been talking to her freely, giving her directions and assuring her of my ability to save her. As this was her first experience in drowning, she had evidently been trying to sing under the water and had found it so difficult that she had determined to keep her lips closed till she was well out of it. With this thought in my mind I said to her as soon as we were under way:

"Your head is so far above water now that you can open your mouth with perfect safety. You see I can talk, and my head is much lower than yours."

She was so situated that I could not see her face easily, and therefore I do not know whether she ventured to unstop her lips or not, but no sound came from them if she did. Perhaps the water still filled her ears and made her deaf. So I called aloud:

"Can you hear me, Mona?"

No answer in words, but I imagined I felt a slight pressure of her hand on my shoulder. I toiled on, musing over her strange behavior, till it occurred to me to try a subject which had never failed to bring a response from her.

"I hope this will make you more affectionate to me, dear Mona," I said; and then, as she made no answer, I continued:

"If we reach the shore alive and get home safe you will love me more than you do Foedric, will you not?"

I thought this would bring an answer, and I was not disappointed, except in the manner in which it came. Not the faintest note escaped from her lips, but a throb of feeling came along her arm, and her hand grasped my shoulder with unmistakable vigor. I suppose she thought I would understand what this answer meant, but I was puzzled. It might mean so many things. Perhaps her heart was softening toward me and she was so much affected by her love for me, stronger and deeper than she had ever thought it could be, that she dared not speak. With this possibility in view I began to feel very tender toward her and to experience the pleasure of one whose love is returned in full measure.

But then her answer might have quite a different meaning. What if she were telling me that she had determined never to speak another word on that subject, and that my question was an offense to her? Surely she had told me often enough to talk about more sensible things, and perhaps this was only a new and forcible way of repeating the same injunction. I reflected, too, that it was hardly fair to take advantage of the present situation to force upon her a prohibited topic of conversation.

There was another possible meaning to her manner of answering me. Perhaps she was indignant because I had insisted on her getting into the boat with me against her wish, and held me strictly responsible for all that followed. With this view in mind I imagined she was saying to herself:

"I want nothing to say to you. I accept your assistance because I cannot get to shore without you, but when once out of this dreadful water I shall have nothing more to do with you."

To place against the latter theory I had the fact that Mona's face had beamed with pleasure all the time I was getting her fixed so I could swim freely. Dwelling upon this memory my mind returned to thoughts of love, and I felt that I must try once more to start that familiar song. So I said:

"Forgive me, Mona, if I have offended you, and let me hear your voice again. You are too good to punish me so severely for my fault in getting you into this trouble. Will you not cheer me with a few notes while I bear you safely to the shore?"

Again a pressure of the hand but no expression from the lips, and I was left to further conjecture over the strange mood my companion was in. I swam leisurely, so as not to exhaust my strength, and as there was a considerable distance to go I had plenty of time to think after I had found it impossible to induce Mona to enter into conversation. Although so near, my companion seemed far away, and I became extremely lonesome. In trying to determine what had occasioned such a mishap in a world where I had been taught to believe such things entirely out of date, I came to the conclusion that the Martians owe their freedom from many misfortunes to their ripened characters, rather than to anything peculiar in their physical laws. With my imperfect development I had made an error in judgment in taking Mona upon the water, and with my untrained mind I had simply made a mistake when I turned the lever of the electric apparatus the wrong way. The Martians had reached such high attainments in every direction that it was practically impossible for them to make mistakes. Thus had they freed themselves from many of the vexations which harass the people of a younger world.

I was fortunately able to endure the strain of the great task which I had undertaken, and finally succeeded in bringing my precious burden to land and helping her to a place of safety. We were both pretty well fatigued with our exertions, but felt no danger from our wet clothes, because of the mild and balmy air.

Mona's behavior still perplexed me. Her manner was delightfully pleasant and familiar. Now that we were safe she appeared to appreciate the humorous part of the situation, and I was loath to believe that she could or would affect such good nature if she were harboring unpleasant feelings toward me. But I could not account for her continued silence, for as yet no word nor sound of any kind had come from her lips. Her face and hands, however, were continually in motion, and after I had overcome my usual stupidity I discovered that she was actually making signs.

"Why, Mona," I exclaimed, "can't you speak?"

She shook her head.

"Nor sing, I mean?"

Another shake.

"Do you mean to say you have lost your voice?"

A nod.

For a moment a shadow settled upon her face, occasioned, no doubt, by my falling countenance, for I must have shown something of the great shock to my feelings. Mona without the voice of Mona! I could not at once realize the depth of my loss. And now it was her turn to attempt to restore my spirits, as we fell back to our original mode of conversing. I urged her to make an effort to sing, and she told me she had tried many times, and that it had grieved her to be so unsocial while I was toiling so hard to save her life.

"Why, my dear," I answered, "I thought you were angry with me for speaking to you again about my love."

Her reply was a look so full of tenderness that I was almost sure that, if she had had her voice, she would have used it more kindly than before. Still it may have been only compassion.

By this time we had found our carriage and were on our way home, and I am sure that if, on our arrival, our friends had judged from our looks, they would have supposed I, and not Mona, had experienced a great misfortune.

Avis had returned to her distant home several days before this, but Antonia and Foedric were at Thorwald's when we arrived, and I had the unpleasant task of relating to the whole household our sad experience. I did not spare myself, although they were all kind enough to offer every manner of excuse for me. Everybody showed sympathy with Mona in all possible ways, but she herself still exhibited the same sunny disposition as ever, although the house seemed quiet without her bright and happy song.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE EMANCIPATION OF WOMAN.

Family life in this model home went forward without a jar. Thorwald and Zenith exhibited not the least sign of restraint before us, so that what we saw from day to day we were sure was their natural and usual behavior. They never worked at cross purposes, were never impatient nor forgetful of each other, but without effort, apparently, to avoid friction, they always did what was best pleasing to themselves, and at the same time what was just suited to each other. This happy state of affairs did not come from a division of labor, by which Zenith should have nothing to do with outside matters and Thorwald nothing to say about how things should go in the house, but it seemed to proceed from their innate love of harmony, their perfect compatibility, and their practical equality. The doctor and I saw there was something here far different from anything existing in the conjugal relation on the earth, but we could not decide just what it was. The doctor was strongly of the opinion, however, that it arose in some way from the higher condition of woman.

"You know," he said, when we were alone, "the civilization of a people on our planet is pretty correctly measured by the position occupied by the women, so that here, in this exalted society, they must be held in high esteem, if there is the same analogy between the two worlds in this as in so many other things."

I quite agreed with him, and took the first opportunity when we were all together to introduce the subject.

"I should like to direct the conversation," I said, addressing our host and hostess, "to a topic of considerable interest, just now, to the people of the earth. I am sure we can learn something of value in regard to it from you, and I will introduce it, if you will pardon my impertinence, with a personal question. Will you please tell me who is the head of this household?"

"Zenith."

"Thorwald."

Two answers in one breath.

"It is very polite of you," I said, "to disclaim the honor and each one give it to the other, but, seriously, is there no head?"

"Why, no," answered Thorwald; "we never think of such a thing, and yet you must admit that things run smoothly without it."

"I will then try again, if you please," I said. "Which of you is the bread-winner?"

To which Zenith replied:

"That question is hardly appropriate, for you know we do not work for our daily bread. The bread would come anyway, whether we worked or not; but then, as a matter of fact, every one does work at some useful occupation, because we have found out by long experience that it is much better for us than idleness. If you reply that you have not seen us work while you have been here, I will say that our time is considered to be well employed if we can be learning anything or imparting knowledge to others, as this is supposed to add indirectly to the general well-being of society. But perhaps what you want to know is which of us does the more to benefit the world, and even this would be a difficult question to answer. Thorwald creates, we will say, an elaborate design for a noble cathedral, and as he watches its fair proportions rise under the hands of skilled men, who take an equal pride and satisfaction in their work, his heart is made glad by the thought that for many years after he has left the body the structure will be used as a place for teaching the way of life, with its graceful spires pointing men to heaven. While I, perhaps—"

"Let me tell that part," interrupted Thorwald. "While Zenith, with just as strong a feeling of responsibility for a share of the world's work, composes a beautiful song and writes the music for it, and then sings it before a vast audience, while the phonograph catches it and holds it for future generations. Is she not doing as much as I am toward earning the bread for the family?"

"It certainly cannot be denied," I answered. "But what I want to find out is, to use a homely expression common with us, which of you two holds the reins in this home?"

"Well," replied Thorwald, laughing, "that is a figure of speech which is not employed here, for we use no reins of any kind; but I know what you mean, and I will answer you by saying that we each hold one rein, and in that way drive as steadily as if we were one person."

"But when disputes arise, which one gives in?"

"Disputes never arise, and if they did we would both 'give in,' whatever that expression means."

"If not your wills, do not your wishes or inclinations sometimes oppose each other?"

"Why, no," Thorwald answered quickly. "It is impossible, and for this reason: each one of us is so intent on trying to please the other that we are saved from all temptation to selfishness, which is the root and source of all differences."

While I was considering what next to ask, the doctor broke in with:

"I think my companion will be obliged to discontinue his questions and accept the truth that here we have found an ideal household, where husband and wife are in reality equal. Let me ask if the women, all over this happy world, are treated with as much consideration as in the case before us."

"Why, what a funny question," exclaimed Zenith, before Thorwald could speak. "Why don't you ask if, all over this happy world, we treat our men with consideration and respect? But, to save you the trouble of asking, I will say that, all over this happy world, a man is held in as high esteem and is as tenderly cared for as a woman, every bit. Your words, Doctor, remind me that I have several times wanted to speak to you about a certain manner which you and your friend have exhibited toward me. No one could accuse you of disrespect to Thorwald; indeed, I think your carriage toward him is excellent, but with me you seem to be a little strained, and your manner is a trifle effusive. Pardon me for the criticism. I know your action is well meant, although it is something I am not accustomed to."

"I suppose," said the doctor, "you refer to our feeble and, it appears, stupid efforts to be polite."

"Oh, then I ought to feel complimented instead of finding fault with you. But why should you wish to be more respectful to me than to Thorwald? He is more worthy your regard than I am, and has as many rights in this house as I have, exactly."

"We have been taught to pay an extra deference to women," answered the doctor.

"Why?" asked Zenith. "Because they are superior beings?"

"Hardly that, I think."

"Then it must be because they are considered inferior, and you seek to hide your real feeling, which is one of commiseration, by a false show of politeness."

"That sounds harsh," said the doctor, "and I believe you are not correct."

"Oh, I do not mean to criticise you personally," Zenith made haste to say, "but the system. It seems to me that you, Doctor, try to be sincere; and assuming that to be so, let me ask you why you are more ceremonious in your manner to your neighbor's wife than to your neighbor's husband."

"Well, let me see. Why do I instinctively make a special show of respect in meeting a woman? I never analyzed my feeling, but I will try to do so for you. I think one principal reason is because it is so very conventional that she would expect it, and think me either piqued or ill-bred if I omitted it. Then, deeper than that is a desire to tell her that I recognize in her and admire those graces and amenities which are supposed to be peculiar to her sex. And I suppose there is, also, a little selfishness in it, as if I were asking her to take note that I knew what were the usages of good society."

"But would you not also tell her in effect by your flattery, if you will excuse the word, that she and the rest of her sex are by birth not quite equal to men, and you are trying to make up the difference all you can by politeness?"

"I am not conscious of such a feeling, I am sure," answered the doctor. "It seems to me that woman is entitled to some extra attention because she is physically weaker than man."

"True," said Zenith; "that is a good reason why she should be protected."

"And should we not maintain and practice toward her the spirit of true courtesy?"

"Most certainly. But women should also exercise the same spirit toward men. The duty is reciprocal. The days of knight-errantry, when men were chivalrous and women were merely beautiful, should not last forever; women, too, should learn to be chivalrous. Do not imagine I would have you less considerate or thoughtful of anyone, or less demonstrative in your feelings, if you will only remember that men and women are equal, have equal duties and privileges, and should have similar treatment. Great respect should go where it is deserved, whether to man or woman. If I were an inhabitant of the earth and a woman, I should try to have some such thought as this: one man of character knows another good man is his equal; therefore as they treat each other so I would have them treat me, for then I would know that they held me, also, as an equal, and not as a doll, pretty and well dressed perhaps, but brainless, nor as a child who must not be told things too deep for its mind."

"I begin to understand you," said the doctor. "You first get me to admit that women are not a superior order of beings, and then you argue that, as we do not treat them exactly as we do each other, we cannot consider them our equals, and therefore nothing remains but that we must look upon them as inferior to us."

Zenith gave a pleasant little pink laugh and answered:

"I see you have found me out. But you do not deny that my logic is correct."

"I have tried to tell you several times," returned the doctor, with a smile, "that, as for me, I do not feel guilty of harboring the least degrading sentiment toward women. But I cannot answer for the opinions of the world at large. This subject promises to be more interesting than we anticipated. I see you know a great deal about it. Have women always been accorded an equality with men, or is it a part of your mature development?"

"Now, Doctor, just see how prejudiced you are. You would never think of asking if the men of Mars had always been the equal of women. It would be quite as natural with us to ask it in one way as the other."

"I will try again, then, by asking if the two sexes have always been so happily equal as at this time."

"I will give you a direct answer to that question. They have not. But I think I have talked enough for once. Thorwald will tell you all about our tortuous course in reaching our present condition, if you wish."

"Not at all," said Thorwald. "I would like to tell it, but this is a topic that Zenith has taken a special interest in, and she shall have the pleasure of talking to you about it."

"Now then!" I said to myself, "here is a difference right away. Zenith says Thorwald must tell it; Thorwald would like to do so, but insists on sacrificing himself for Zenith's sake. Now, what if Zenith should prefer the pleasure of self-denial, and refuse to let Thorwald immolate his desire so readily? What could prevent war in this happy family? Would a quarrel be any less a quarrel because its cause was unselfishness rather than selfishness?"

But if I, with a worldly heart, was expecting a lapse from these excellent people, I was disappointed, for Zenith, with a look of wifely affection toward Thorwald, said pleasantly:

"Very well, since Thorwald is so kind, I will do my best, if you are sure you will not tire of hearing me talk."

The doctor and I expressed our pleasure with the arrangement, and Zenith began:

"I wish to say at the start that, whatever may have been your experience on this question, it is hardly possible that your mistakes have equaled ours, for the folly and wickedness of our race have been stupendous and of long continuance."

"If you will excuse the interruption," I said, "I will suggest that we can sympathize with you, as our history shows the greatest injustice to women."

"Your remark proves to me that you cannot fully sympathize with us. I did not infer, as you seem to do, that the women of Mars had been the only victims of injustice.

"But without further delay let me begin, only do not hesitate to break in upon my story with any inquiries that suggest themselves to you.

"We read that God created man, male and female; that is, there came forth from the hand of the Maker a male man and a female man, and all through that early age of gold they loved each other, and served their God with purity of heart and without a selfish thought. God was their father, they were his children, with equal privileges, equal affection, and equal ability to do faithful service. No evil spirit was near to whisper in the ear of either a suggestion of personal leadership. Ambition, that ambition which would exalt self at the expense of another, was not yet born, and neither of these happy beings could conceive it possible to achieve a higher happiness by lording it over the other.

"So they lived till sin came; and among the woes which sin brought in its train there were few more dreadful than the decree that the man should rule over the woman and that her desire should be unto her husband. For thousands of years our race struggled against that giant evil. During a long period the condition of woman was so low that we know nothing of her, and when she reappears it is only as the servant of man. Made in the image of God as the companion of man and an equal sharer in all his rights and duties, she is now his chattel, a piece of property, held for his selfish use or disposed of for his advantage.

"Even in these dark days individuals of our sex rose out of the general degradation and showed that they were fitted by nature for a higher position. But sin and ignorance kept the mass of them under the heel of their masters. As civilization advanced there came some mitigation of their lot, and where pure religion gained a foothold women began to receive recognition; but their state was deplorable indeed among all those peoples whose religion was only gross superstition and idolatry.

"In the process of time Christ came and brought the light of heaven to this dark world, and from that hour woman can well say that her day began to dawn. One of the sweetest strains in her song of salvation is that evoked by the memory of her resurrection from misery and abasement to a position of honor among the children of men. The change, however, was very gradual, for Christianity itself was slow in gaining ground; but the gospel was ever the friend of woman, as of all the oppressed, lifting her up where she could influence the world and begin to fulfill her destiny. As fast as the nations shook off barbarism and became in any degree enlightened, the unnatural burdens were lifted from the shoulders of woman, although for a long time she was compelled to perform more than her share of severe toil even among people who thought themselves civilized.

"Then came a time when, in nations of some refinement, there was such a reaction against the injustice and degradation to which woman had so long been subjected that she suddenly became an object of sentimental regard among courtly men. Her noble qualities were exaggerated far beyond their merit, and she was set on a pedestal, to receive homage and all the outward forms of respect from those whom she so recently served as a menial. Being so poorly fitted by her long training in serfdom for such exaltation, what wonder is it that her head was turned by the flattery, and that her recovery was slow and difficult? The insincere and superfluous manners of that period remained for ages a vexation to our growing intelligence and a hindrance to our true progress; and, from what you have said, I am inclined to think you of the earth are now going through some such experience as ours.

"After that epoch had been passed, woman never fell back to her former condition, although she did not yet for a long time reach a position that was at all enviable, except as compared with the dark days of her bondage. But she was now where she could take advantage of the general uplifting of the race, and though kept in the background by man as much as was possible, she was constantly growing and learning, preparing herself for a future of which she would then dare not even to dream.

"And now I am coming, in this rapid sketch, to that period of activity and change which Thorwald has described to you in its industrial features. In portraying some of the evils of those days, arising from our almost ineradicable selfishness, he was obliged to make his picture a somber one, a necessity under which, happily, I am not placed. Looking at the times, not as compared with the present era but with what had gone before, which was the only comparison the people of that day could make, there was much room for encouragement. It was, in truth, a bright day, whose beauty, however, consisted not so much in the realization of happiness as in the promise of still brighter days to come. Material prosperity abounded, education flourished, and religion was beginning to creep down from men's heads into their hearts. Wrongs were righted, justice enthroned, and philanthropy sprang into being. Even while there was so much evil, and while some men seemed to be trying all they could to keep back the breaking dawn, the day was surely coming. The brotherhood of man, long preached as a settled principle, now became a living force, showing itself in a multitude of devices for relieving distress, lessening pain, alleviating poverty, and for the general betterment of society.

"Surrounded by such a universal spirit of improvement, woman felt the impulse of new life, and heard the call to a higher service to humanity than she had ever yet rendered. As men's minds broadened and their hearts grew more tender, and as their sympathies reached out to the weak and down-trodden of every class, it was not possible that their ancient prejudice against woman could much longer survive. Her rise from this time forward was rapid. Let us examine the position which, under the influence of this kindly feeling, she soon came to occupy. Protected by many special laws, guarded by all the legitimate forces of society, but exempt from military and police service, honored for her high and noble qualities, respected by all whose regard was of value, and loved with a true affection which scorned the question of individual rights, her lot seemed indeed a happy one. Shielded from the severe struggles of life, freed from the cares of business, released in a great measure from uncongenial work and from the dangers attending exacting labor, with the disagreeable things in life kept from her as much as possible, always seeing the best of every man's character and manners, and, more than all, being supreme in her natural domain, the home, with none to dispute her right, what more could she ask?"

"What, indeed?" I remarked, as Zenith paused a moment after her question. "The picture you have drawn looks so bright, beside your description of her former lot, that I have no doubt she was now contented and happy."

"So you think that shelter and protection and the love of husband and children and the serenity of home ought to be enough to satisfy one who was created with a spirit as restless, a brain as active, an individuality as marked, and hands as clever as those of man?"

As Zenith threw this question at me and waited for me to answer, I realized that I had been caught by her former inquiry, and found not that Zenith was about to take advanced ground on the subject before us. Wishing I had not drawn her attention so squarely to my personal opinions, and yet feeling obliged to stand up for my position, I said:

"It seems to me that woman's surest path to honor and happiness is that marked out for her by nature, a path which she adorns because so well fitted for it, and that to forsake the home and compete with man for the thousand places in the work of the world would be to cast aside the charm of her womanliness and all that makes her what she is, a solace and comfort to all the world. If she seeks for a pleasurable life, where can she find such keen and lasting pleasure as among the duties of home, and if she is ambitious to lift the world to a higher plane, where is it possible for her to have so much influence as in the nurture of the young?"

"So spoke the men of our race in the era I am describing to you," replied Zenith. "It seems as if you must have been reading some of our old writers, so closely do you follow the ideas then prevalent. I have read and reread those histories until I am quite familiar with them, and you shall hear how such views as you have expressed soon became very old-fashioned."

"I am sure your account will closely concern us," I said, "for the age of which you are now speaking must be that corresponding to our own times on the earth. The woman question is attracting special attention, and seems bound to remain with us indefinitely; but I am frank to say I think our women are making a mistake in trying to elbow their way into man's domain, whatever may have been the result of the movement in this favored world."

"I suppose you would have them stay at home where they belong," said Zenith, with a good-natured laugh, which sounded as if she were confident enough of her ability to meet any possible argument."

"Yes," I replied, "out of pure kindness to them. It is an astonishing thing to me that they can think of gaining anything by giving up all that is distinctive in their nature and becoming more like us. I am not so much in love with my own sex as to enjoy seeing our sisters and our wives and daughters trying to make themselves over into men."

I now felt that I had said enough, and so expressed myself to Zenith, but she replied pleasantly that she was glad I had told my thoughts, as it gave her an opportunity to say some things that might not otherwise have been called for.

"You seem to think," she continued, "that woman's supreme happiness is to be gained by self-effacement. I suppose her custom is with you, as it formerly was here, to renounce her own name at the marriage altar."

"It is," I replied.

"And from that hour," resumed Zenith, "she makes every effort to bury herself, to deny her personality, and to lay aside whatever individual desires and aspirations she may have had; that is, if she is what you would call a true woman. If she objects to this renunciation and attempts to make an independent career suited to her talents, then she is strong- minded and is trying to unsex herself. With the world full of work waiting for her nimble fingers and loving heart, she is compelled to suppress all secret hope of doing something to impress her own character on that world, because her only duty is in the home. A man is also called upon to be a good husband and father, but that by no means comprises all he is expected to be and do. To him it is given to strike out into untrodden fields, and, without reproach, to make a name for himself if possible.

"You say work is hard and disagreeable, but is it all dull and uninteresting? Are there not sweet moments of hope in every work, and then the joy of achievement when it is over? Do not men find this joy and the rewards of labor amply sufficient? The more difficult the task, the greater the satisfaction when it is accomplished. Business is perplexing and uncertain, you say, but what of the triumphs of success? Would any man refuse to undertake an enterprise because success was not certain? The very uncertainty adds zest to the business, and makes hope possible. From all this striving and achieving, and from all the satisfying rewards which come with success, woman is debarred. Then there are the professions and the wide range of occupations which require education and special training. What a variety for man to choose from, while you would confine woman to one; and a great many women, not being born good cooks or good housekeepers, cannot fill that one with any credit to themselves. So what can life be to them compared with what it ought to be? Think of the opportunities they might have in these higher occupations of competing for the prizes of life—honor, fame, position, riches, and, above all, the consciousness of doing some good in the world. Oh, it is impossible for you to realize anything of the longing in woman's heart to be someone, to do something, and so to be relieved from the everlasting monotony of the treadmill, which, if men were obliged to submit to it, would make the majority of them insane.

"You see I have put myself in the place of one of my sex in that olden time, and have spoken as she felt when to express her feelings would have been almost a shame to her.

"What I desire to show you is that woman had not then received all that was due her, although men seemed to think she was fully emancipated. But events moved rapidly in that stirring age, and this great question could not be kept in the background in a day when every abuse and injustice was allowed a hearing and reform was in the very air. Even the dumb beasts had such powerful advocates that cruelty and unkindness were greatly checked. What wonder then, as men's sensibilities and consciences became quickened, that they should begin to see, what they could not see before, that a fuller liberty ought to be accorded to woman? But this vision came not without help. Sometimes in our history we have known of a race being deprived of their freedom, and so benumbed by their condition that they desired nothing better, and so perforce waited for a movement for their enfranchisement to come from without. It was not so in this case. Women themselves cried out against their lot. They were not so enraptured with the calm and quiet of their conventional life but that they felt the stirrings of ambition for something different, and they did not fear to raise their voice for more liberty."

"Liberty!" I echoed. "Were they really deprived of liberty?"

"Yes, liberty to choose a calling that would suit their individual tastes and satisfy their growing ambition."

"Excuse me," I again interrupted, "but were not these women who exhibited so much restlessness unattached—that is, without many family ties? And were not the great majority so contented in the shelter of home and so engrossed in the care of husband and children that they were entire strangers to any such disturbing fancies, or ambitions as you call them? And, again, did not this large class of happy and busy wives and mothers resent the action of those self-appointed liberators who were fighting for an image of straw and crying themselves hoarse over imaginary wrongs?"

Zenith smiled again in that peculiar manner which told me, in the pleasantest possible way, that she was perfectly sure I was on the losing side, and with the smile she resumed:

"Your questions are so familiar to one who has studied this subject that they seem like another plagiarism, as it were, from our histories, but I will give you fair answers.

"It is true that the early protests came from the solitary women, unfortunately not a small class at that day, who, being without legal protectors, felt the inequalities of the law and the unjust restraints put upon their sex by society, but the truths they spoke came with added force because of their intimate acquaintance with their needs.

"You are wrong in your supposition that the mass of women were so shallow in mind as to know nothing of those longings for a fuller, more satisfying life. Deep in their nature, planted by the Creator himself, was the same lofty spirit with which man was endowed, and it could not be smothered by marriage. Taking a husband should not, and in reality does not now, change one's ambition or aim in life any more than taking a wife does, but in those benighted days men, after marriage, could go forward with their plans just as if nothing had happened, while the women were supposed to forget their high hopes and aspirations and confine themselves entirely to the trivial round of domestic duties. The men, however, were much mistaken if they thought their wives were forgetting. They but bided their time.

"In your last question you are not altogether wrong, for there were a few unthinking ones who joined with some of the men in ridiculing the whole movement as unnecessary and foolish. But this class had not much influence, and, in spite of such opposition as they offered, the reform made steady progress.

"As a help to obtain what she was striving for, woman asked for the right of suffrage, and thereupon had to undergo a fusillade of cheap criticism from those who would not understand her, and who supposed she wanted this privilege as an end and not as a means. Men were slow to grant the right to vote, but after much discussion suffrage began to be allowed in matters where the women were particularly interested. With the first concession, however, men realized that the force of all their arguments was broken, and before many years the full right was bestowed.

"And now, Thorwald, I am sure our good friends did not come so far from home to hear me talk all the time. The rest of the subject concerns your sex as much as mine, and you had better take up the story at this point."

"Oh, no," replied Thorwald, "I shall not take the narrative away from you now, you may be sure, for what is left is just the part you can best relate. I shall enjoy it as much as our friends from the earth. But I propose that we hear the rest this afternoon, and that, in the meantime, we go out for a drive."

"A drive," I asked, "what do you drive?"

"You shall see," Thorwald answered, as he stepped to the telephone. I thought I should hear his message, but found the instrument had been further improved. In the use of the telephone as I had known it, everybody in the house was much surer of hearing what was said than the person at the other end of the line was, but here the one addressed was the only one to get a word of the communication.

Thorwald talked to us a short time about other matters, and then asked us all to prepare to go out. When we reached the door the doctor and I were surprised to see a beautiful and commodious carriage, to which were attached, with the lightest possible harness, four of the handsomest horses we had ever seen. There were, besides, two fine saddle-horses for the children, who were to accompany us.

Thorwald drove, but without rein or whip, the horses being guided perfectly and easily merely by word of mouth. The animals were also so large and strong that they seemed to enjoy the sport as much as we did.

"Do you mean to say," I inquired, "that such a turnout as this can be had for the asking?"

"Certainly. I just said through the telephone that I would like a carriage for four persons, and two saddle-horses. The man who has the care of the horses is a friend of mine who likes the work better than anything else."

"The horses appear to be well broken," the doctor remarked.

"Broken," said Zenith, "what do you mean by that, Doctor?"

"Why, it is an expression by which we mean that the high spirit with which they were born has been subdued, making it easy to train them to obedience."

"They must be wild, then," spoke Zenith again, "and you are obliged to tame them. The difference here is that the horses are born tame and do not need breaking, and though they have plenty of spirit, as you see, they are so intelligent and have such solidity of character that there is never any danger that they will become unmanageable."

"That must be so," said I, "or you could not be sure of being free from accidents. But tell us, Thorwald, how it happens that we have not seen others enjoying this delightful mode of traveling."

"It is not very singular that you have not seen any horses before," said Thorwald. "They have been entirely superseded in all kinds of business, you remember, by mechanical power, and even for pleasure-riding most people are too tender of heart to enjoy using them. They fear the horses will be fatigued, and they do not like to see them straining themselves in dragging a heavy load, when there is a force that has no feeling ready to do it a great deal better.

"But you can see these horses are not working very hard, and it is a good thing for us sometimes to give up a little sentiment. There is some danger that our sympathies may carry us too far. For instance, it is probably a real kindness to these horses to give them a little work, if we are only careful not to render their service galling to them; and yet there are many people who never drive, on account of the feeling they have for the beasts."

"It would be a good thing if we had more of that sentiment on the earth," said the doctor.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE EMANCIPATION OF MAN.

After an exhilarating ride, in which the doctor and I, certainly, were not troubled by any over-sensitiveness in regard to such robust horses, we returned to the house and soon found ourselves seated in the music room listening to one of their famous dramatists reciting his own words through the phonograph. Next we had some music, and then a poem, from the same prolific instrument.

When this entertainment was over, and after lunch, Zenith, at our urgent request, seconded by Thorwald's solicitation, resumed her narrative.

"We read," she began, "that during the time when men were grudgingly bestowing the right of suffrage on our sex, woman was making rapid strides toward a position in society fitted to her talents and aspirations. One occupation after another became available, and it was no longer a disgrace or hardly a peculiarity for women to be earning their living instead of depending for support on their fathers or brothers. This tended to create in them a feeling of independence, and in many employments they had every right to be proud of their attainments, for, with so little training, they often surpassed the men at their own trades. Even then, however, some of the old prejudice against the sex seemed to remain in force, since women were discriminated against in the matter of wages. When they did the same work and did it better, still their pay was less than that of men. But this was a temporary injustice, which disappeared, as it was bound to do, when woman had acquired her full freedom and had been in the field long enough to prove her right and ability to stay.

"The work at which women excelled was that requiring a quick intelligence, nimble fingers, and the faculty of easy adaptability. In the realm of physical strength woman was not a competitor, but there was another field in which she more than made up for that loss, and in which she early began to show great native ability. That was in all pursuits demanding the education of the mind. Here is where she was to look for the greatest of her victories. Nature had endowed man with a superior strength of body and muscle, but woman with a higher order of mind."

"I must interrupt you here, Zenith," said the doctor. "This is assuredly an instance where your race differs materially from that of the earth, for with us man has by nature the stronger mind."

"How do you know?" asked Zenith.

"It has been proved so in all ages."

"Yes, but does not the expression 'all ages' include with you only the ages in which man has been the ruling spirit, and woman has been kept down and allowed but little opportunity to show the strength of her mental faculties? You know our history takes in not only a period similar to that covered by your whole career, but also other ages which we believe correspond with the years yet to come for the inhabitants of the earth. It has been during the latter era, a time which you have not yet seen, that woman has proved the truth of my assertion."

"I wish to make myself understood," said the doctor again. "I am willing to grant the equality of the sexes, as far as natural rights go; that is, that every man and every woman ought to have the opportunity to develop all their talents, untrammeled by any edict or convention of society. Perhaps I would agree with you also in believing it would be better to treat men and women alike, with open-hearted, sincere courtesy, and use equal ceremony in showing respect to individuals of either sex. But it seems to me that there is a vast difference between all that and your latest position. There are many people of our generation on the earth, and their number is rapidly increasing, who believe in the essential equality of the sexes, but I never heard one put forward anything approaching the claim you make, that woman was created with a higher order of mind than man—I believe that was your expression; and this is why I say that in this particular your race differs greatly from ours."

To which Zenith replied:

"I am not so sure of that, my dear doctor. It would seem hardly fair that man should be given both physical and mental superiority. But please tell me again why you think man has the stronger mind."

"Because he has done the thinking of the world. The intellectual achievements of woman, though occasionally brilliant, are not to be compared with those of man. This is true in every department throughout our history—in science and art, in religion, in literature, in government, and in everything that I could name. It is hardly to the point for you to say that woman would have done more if she had possessed a fuller freedom; perhaps it is true, but it seems to me a matter of conjecture. Neither is it a complete answer for you to say that in the years to come woman, being wholly enfranchised, will revolutionize the world by her unexpected powers. We can judge only by what she has done. Excuse me, Zenith, for trying to uphold my point. It is rather discouraging, when I can see by your face that you can demolish my argument in a moment, whenever you choose to attempt it."

We all laughed at the doctor's want of courage, and Zenith answered:

"I beg your pardon; I am greatly at fault if I have any such expression in my face. My confidence, if I have any, is not in any supposed ability I may have in conversation, but in our experience here on Mars. Your history matches ours so well up to your generation that I cannot but think the likeness will continue; and if it does, then woman, in your near future, will prove the truth of my statement. But before I proceed to tell you what she has done in this world, let me ask you if your women have shown any mental peculiarity which distinguishes them from men."

"Yes," answered the doctor, "their intuitive perceptions appear to be more developed than those of men, probably because they use them more. A man may reach a certain conclusion by a course of reasoning, while a woman will often arrive at the same point much quicker by intuition. That is, a man will tell you why he knows a thing, when a woman simply knows it because she knows it."

"Is that faculty akin to anything else with which you are acquainted?"

"Yes, we call it instinct in animals."

"Is not the possession by woman of that quality a silent but powerful suggestion to you of the fact that she was treated like an animal in the dark days of her inthrallment?"

"I had not thought of it," returned the doctor, "but it certainly may be looked upon as a sad commentary on that rude age."

"Do you consider this instinct an advantage to woman?" asked Zenith.

"Certainly; it is a great help to her, often serving with much success in place of other faculties."

"Would it be a valuable quality to add to man's mental equipment?"

"Yes, indeed, if he could retain all his other powers of mind."

"Well, now let me ask you what would come to pass if the women of the earth, possessed already of that quickness of thought, that ability to discern the truth by direct apprehension, should, by thorough education and many years of patient training, acquire the power of reasoning, the judgment, the strength of mind, and all the intellectual powers now held by your men?"

"That is a very large 'if,' and I cannot tell you what would happen," answered the doctor.

"I have only described," continued Zenith, "what actually took place on our planet. When the movement for giving woman a higher education began, men looked at the subject just as you do now. Women were supposed to be of inferior mental capacity, and it was thought to be a foolish thing to attempt to educate them. 'Better educate the boys,' men said, 'and let the girls learn to cook and sew and to play the piano; that is all that will ever be required of them.' But, in spite of every discouragement, the girls improved their opportunities so well that they were soon taking the prizes away from the boys. Broadminded philanthropists of both sexes endowed schools for them, and the highest institutions of learning opened their doors to them. When the young women, almost from the start, began to be successful in competitive contests in different departments of scholarship, it was generally thought that such cases were exceptional and would not be apt to be repeated very often. But this was a great mistake. These instances proved to be no exception. It was found that woman's facility of thought and native acuteness gave her an immense advantage over the masculine mind in mastering any ordinary course of study. But this was surface education. The reasoning power and the solidity of mind for which men were distinguished in mature life came later, but they came.

"At first, only here and there a girl was fortunate enough to be offered a liberal education; but when it was found that in almost every instance they brought great credit on themselves, the number increased with rapidity, until a college course was the customary and expected close of almost every girl's school-days. For it was not the rich only that had this advantage, since by this time education was free, being provided either by the public or by universities richly endowed.

"All this time the boys seemed to find a great attraction in business and the trades, and appeared to be willing that the girls should have a monopoly of the higher education. One circumstance that greatly helped this state of things was the extraordinary furor that prevailed just then in the matter of manual training. This system had received more or less attention from educators for many years, and it had been introduced into schools as an addition to the regular course of study. That was a material age. Men desired first of all to be practical, and the new method of teaching, being eminently practical, became exceedingly popular with the boys. The parents, not dreaming where it would end, and seeing the eager interest with which their sons now crowded into the schools, encouraged them in it.

"Schools of technique, in which the literary branches were entirely subordinate, sprang up on every hand, and two or three years spent in these institutions took the place of a college course. The old universities tried to meet the changing sentiment by paying more attention to science, by giving the students a free choice of studies, and by shortening the course when desired. But the mechanical idea in the new education seemed to be the attraction. The boys were seized with a passion for doing something with their hands, and their inventive faculties were quickened, increasing in a remarkable degree their interest in their work and studies.

"For a long time this movement was thought to be a great advance in education. It was such an improvement on the old way, to find the young men learning something useful, rather than wasting their time over the dead languages and other things they would never need after finishing school. And it must be acknowledged that all this industrial impulse was of advantage to the world in its way. It multiplied labor-saving machinery, added to the people's comforts in many ways, and increased the general prosperity and well-being of society as far as material improvements could do it.

"But there was another side to the picture. So much time could not be given to training the hand and hardening the muscle without detracting from the attention due to the cultivation of the brain. To be sure, the brain was active enough, but it was receiving a one-sided development, which boded it no permanent good.

"I have spoken at such length of this almost universal rage for technical education, because it was a chief factor in turning the world over."

We all smiled at this expression, and the doctor asked:

"How did it overturn the world?"

"By aiding in taking the real brain work away from the men and giving it to the women."

"Did this actually happen?"

"Certainly it did. Not in a day, but in the process of time. How could it be otherwise, when the women alone had been for many years going through that long, patient mind-drilling which is the only preparation for a thorough education? When the young men observed that a civil engineer, a superintendent of a factory, or even a skilled mechanic could earn a larger salary than a college graduate, it took away much of the incentive for the old-fashioned education, and they were perfectly willing to see their sisters take what they had not time for.

"And so it came about that the women began to crowd into the learned professions; and, as there was not one which they could not adorn, the prejudice against them soon wore off, and before many years they were competing with men in all the grandest fields of human action. Even in the matter of government woman's power was felt. Men were so engrossed in the endeavor to develop to their fullest extent the material resources of the planet that they became careless of the higher duties of citizenship, especially after the women began to take control of things. They saw affairs were well managed, and seemed to be relieved to have them taken out of their hands, not dreaming that they were forging chains for themselves which it would take long years to break. Although the world was constantly growing better, it was far from a perfect age. Human nature was still a synonym for selfishness, and with men and women measuring swords on every intellectual battlefield a contest for supremacy was inevitable.

"Man was absorbed in his chosen work, he was indifferent to public affairs, and he was, in his way, proud of the position woman was taking in the world, but he could not let her assume his place as acknowledged leader without a struggle. He said he had given her her rights, and now she wanted to deprive him of his rights.

"There was too much truth in this, for society had not reached a state where the sexes could live in perfect equality. It was admitted by all that there must be a head, both in the household and in the state, and it long remained a question which should rule. But was there ever a struggle of long continuance on the earth in which mind did not triumph at last?"

"I must answer in the negative," replied the doctor, "although I perceive it will help your argument."

"Why, this is not an argument," continued Zenith. "It is simply a story of what has taken place on this planet. If you have any doubt of it, ask Thorwald. You have known him longer than you have me, and, perhaps, would have more confidence in what he would say. He ought to have told this part of the story himself. I know you think I am exaggerating, because you see I am making my sex come out ahead."

Zenith said this in a playful manner, which showed she was as far as possible from being offended, but the doctor pretended to take her seriously, and replied with feeling:

"Do forgive me, Zenith, for my thoughtless expression, and pray do not stop in your narrative at this interesting point. I will tell you how I came to use the word to which you object. While you were talking I was thinking how one would be received on the earth, who should attempt an argument to show the probability that anything like what you are telling us should ever come to pass there."

"Well, how would such an argument be received?" asked Zenith.

"It would probably be passed by without any notice whatever, if you will excuse me for telling the truth," answered the doctor. "It certainly would not be looked upon as serious, and I fear it would not even receive the dignity of being called funny. Even the women would laugh feebly at the extravagant notion, and think no more of it. But we were talking of Mars, not of the earth, and I am exceedingly anxious to know how affairs progressed here, though there is no likelihood that they will ever be paralleled among us."

"I would not be too sure, Doctor," spoke up Thorwald. "Better wait till Zenith is through."

"I shall wait longer than that before I believe the earth will ever go through such an experience. But now I am ready to listen."

"When I speak of woman assuming leadership," resumed Zenith, "do not misunderstand me. Although society was not perfect, still it was not a gross age, and there was no return to the manners of those rude times when women were cruelly treated and men took all the good in the world to themselves. Oh, no, there was no absence of good manners. Women treated men with the greatest courtesy, showing them every mark of outward respect, and being much more polite to them than to each other. And it was not all show, either; for, in spite of the fact that the men were patronized unmercifully, the women really thought a great deal of them, and often remarked to each other that the world would be a dull and uninviting place without them. They admired their robust strength of body, their brawny arms and well-trained hands, as well as their many excellent qualities of mind; and they never tired of telling them in honeyed words how necessary they were to their happiness.

"The women were very considerate also in the matter of laws. The rights of the men were well looked after. To be sure, they were not allowed to vote and hold office, but in their fortunate, happy condition it was incredible that they should care about a little thing like that. Were they not perfectly protected by the law, and did they not have as much to do already as was good for them? The women argued that if the men were given the right of suffrage it would only be the cranks who would avail themselves of it, for the great mass of the men were perfectly satisfied with their condition.

"A man was allowed the right of dower in his deceased wife's estate, and he could hold property in his own right, even after marriage. His wife could not even deed away her real estate without his consent. By this you see how carefully the men were shielded from the liability of coming to want.

"In matters of the heart it was not considered modest for a man to make a direct proposal, but in reality the affair was in his hands, for no woman could make any advance unless she received encouragement from the object of her affections."

"How about the home?" asked the doctor. "Did man take the place of woman there?"

"He did whatever he was asked to do in the home. You must know that at this time domestic duties were quite different from what they formerly were. Men had not given up all their thought and time to handicraft for nothing. The drudgery had pretty well disappeared under the full play of the inventive faculties, so that the home duties were not exacting. What work there was, was shared by the sexes, each doing that which was appropriate. The management of the home was, of course, in the hands of the women."

"Was there no department in which the men were masters?" inquired the doctor.

"Not one. They thought they were in full charge in their peculiar field of labor, but here, as everywhere, the women dictated their terms when they chose."

The doctor was bound to learn all he could about this curious state of things, and asked again:

"What effect did all this strain upon the mind have on woman's physical nature? You have admitted that she was weaker in body than man, and it seems to me she must have been ill prepared for the struggle you have narrated. From the experience we have had in educating women, we believe it is a positive injury to them to attempt to reach that high degree of culture which is easily and safely compassed by men. Our idea is that nature never intended that they should study much, for their minds are really not any stronger than their bodies. Too much brain work has already ruined the health of a good many girls, and when we left the earth the reaction against the higher education of woman had fairly begun. For we believe that her mental faculties can be developed only at the expense of her physical powers, and that if she were to persist in such an abnormal cultivation of her intellect it would be sure to result in the deterioration of her offspring and disaster to the race. So, for the sake of the generations unborn, we—that is, the male men of the earth—who still retain our grip on affairs, have about decided to put a stop to this foolish mania among our young women. We will probably pass laws, setting a limit in the several branches of study beyond which girls shall not be allowed to go, either at school or privately."

We all laughed heartily at this idea, including the doctor himself, who continued:

"Well, what else can we do to stop them? Stop them we must, or we shall soon become a race of weaklings and mental imbeciles."

Thorwald had been getting more and more interested, as I could see by his face, and now broke out with:

"Doctor, you surprise me. I have acquired such a respect for your intelligence that I can hardly believe you serious. If Zenith will excuse me, I should like to answer your question. Hard study did not hurt our young women, and it never hurts anyone. It is careless living and a disregard of the laws of health that do the harm. Physical training was an important part of the education of our women. They could never have accomplished what they did without sound bodies, and it must be unnecessary for me to say that the more highly cultured they became the more our race improved. Learning never made poor mothers. Ignorance does that. Do not keep education out of the home. Keep out folly, low desires, sordid ambitions, uncultivated tastes, narrow-mindedness, envy, strife, wastefulness, inordinate pleasures, and every evil thing that comes from an empty, ignorant mind. Keep out the darkness; let in the light. It is not God's way to give capacity and desire for noble things, and then shut the door to their attainment."

"Many thanks, Thorwald," exclaimed Zenith, "for your good help. And now, Doctor, will you ask anything further?"

"I must admit," answered the doctor, "that your experience gives you more knowledge of the subject than we possess, and perhaps we are wrong. Of course, we want that to come to pass which will be best for our race. But let me ask if the gentler sex, as we call them, did not lose, by such superior culture, their gentleness and their charm. The masculine type of woman is not at all popular with us."

"This question, Doctor," answered Zenith, "shows that you have a poor conception of our condition at that time. This great change in society had been gradual, and I must remind you that by the time it was accomplished the world was much improved in every way, although, as we have seen, it was by no means perfect. In her treatment of man there was none of that domineering spirit which you might expect; and the victory she had achieved was never used harshly. Her reign, if firm, was mild. And woman herself, in the general betterment of things, had improved, even in the direction you mention. Instead of becoming less womanly, in her changed condition, every admirable quality in her had ripened toward perfection, while she had thrown off much that was disagreeable and unlovely in her disposition. In personal appearance the advance had been remarkable. Being relieved of the severe labor and sordid cares which were once her lot, and with her mind set free by high culture and her artistic tastes developed, nature asserted itself by making her truly a delight to the eye and a comfort to the heart of mankind. Whatever charms she possessed in her old life were now doubled, making her indeed a blessing to the world and preparing her for the next great change, which came with the advent of the present age."

"In spite of the sweetness and beauty surrounding them, did not men fret at the firm hand that held them down?"

"At first, yes. But as time went on it came to be looked upon so naturally that it was hardly thought of as a thing which should not be."

"How long did such a state of things continue?"

"It continued until our race had outgrown all such trivial things as selfish ambition and personal strife, until our characters had ripened for a higher service than the old world had ever dreamed of, and until love reigned in our hearts, supreme and unquestionable."

"What makes the situation seem so strange to you is because it is so contrary to your experience. Let me see if I cannot make it look more reasonable to you by epitomizing our history on the subject in this way:

"Our career is made up of three eras. The first was one of brute force, when man ruled by strength of body and subdued the world to our use. Everything weaker than himself, even woman, his natural helper, was made to feel the power of his arm. This age lasted long, but its rigor slowly passed away, and it merged gradually into the second era, which was one of mind. Here, too, man thought to rule, claiming the leadership by right of possession and natural endowment. But woman's sharpness of intellect was more than a match for him when it was given full opportunity, and she won, as we have seen, after a long struggle. The third and present era is a spiritual one. In the realm of the spirit men and women are equally endowed, and hence it is that in this age you find the two sexes living in perfect equality.

"Comparing the words you have spoken with what I have read of our history, I conclude that the earth is now passing from the first to the second era. The struggle is on. Soon your sex will be considering the question of the emancipation of man. You have the sincere sympathy of both Thorwald and myself, and that you may emerge from your trials as happily as we have from ours is our heartfelt wish."

Zenith closed, and the doctor was silent.



CHAPTER XXXV.

AN EXALTED THEME.

The doctor and I had not forgotten that Thorwald still held in store for us a talk on the most important theme of all. We wondered why he did not give it to us, as he had many opportunities in those days of quiet pleasure. He seemed to take great delight in hearing from us everything we chose to tell, asking numerous questions which showed a growing knowledge of the earth and its inhabitants.

It was the doctor who finally inquired when we were going to hear what he had promised us.

"I suppose I have been waiting," answered Thorwald, "for you to ask for it. I could listen to your talk a great deal longer with pleasure and profit. It is astonishing how closely your history matches ours up to your times. The period you have been describing to me as that in which you live corresponds with a similar age here. It was a time of great activity and rapid change, and one whose records make a deep impression on many of our writers, judging from the attention they give to it. It was an enviable time to live in, if you compare it with the previous ages, but chiefly on account of the promise it contained of the glorious day to come.

"Doctor, are you sure you desire to hear about the growth of Christianity in this world and the blessings it has brought us?"

"Most certainly," answered my companion. "I want to learn all I can of your history and present condition, and, as religion seems to occupy a chief place in both, anything you may say on the subject will be listened to with delight."

Perhaps Thorwald was a little disappointed because the doctor did not give a more personal reason; but he failed to show it if he was, and, after calling to Zenith to come and sit with us, he began:

"Fair shines the sun on this fair world. So shines the sun on other fair worlds. Its piercing rays dart out in all directions from the great glowing mass, and as they fly outward they lose in brilliancy and intensity every second. In eight minutes some of these rays are intercepted by the earth and find there an atmosphere well adapted to receive them. In twelve minutes some strike this world, and although they are less powerful than those that fall on the earth, the conditions here are favorable for their reception. At varying distances from the center other rays find other planets as ready to welcome them, no doubt, as ours are.

"As the sun is in the physical universe, so is the Sun of righteousness in the domain of the spirit. Infinite in power, wisdom, and love, he comes wherever there are souls to save, shedding light in every dark spot, bringing life and hope and comfort, and lifting men out of the darkness of sin up to a condition of peace and happiness. Many ages ago he came to this planet, and started into life those forces which have brought us to our present state. Then he came to the earth, and you are at this time beginning to feel more intensely the impulse of his mission."

"Your illustration is a forcible one," said the doctor, as Thorwald paused a moment, "and weakens my former position, which would make it necessary for me to believe that all the rays of the sun, except the few that fall on Mars and the earth, are lost. It seems to me now quite reasonable that some do their beneficent work on other planets also."

"Yes," answered Thorwald, "whenever they are ready to receive them. And now I hope to lead you to see that the same intelligence that made the sun and gave to its rays such power has been present as a personal force in this world, molding it to his use and raising up a people here for his service and glory.

"In the perfect plan of that omniscient being the advent of the Savior occurred at the most opportune moment. Deep in the heart of one nation, firmly grounded in their nature by ages of discipline and suffering, lay the belief in one only God. The other nations of the world, surfeited with sinful pleasure and worn out with a vain pursuit of happiness, were ready to abandon the gods of their imaginations. Some lofty souls among them, following intently every prompting of their better nature, had developed high characters, while of God's peculiar people many pure hearts waited, with joyful expectancy, the coming of the promised Savior.

"He came, the lowly, patient one, and, although the world was made by him, it knew him not. The greatest event in the history of the globe passed almost without notice; but the seed was planted, and in God's own time the growth began, which has filled our happy world with the perfect flower of Christianity.

"The religion which Jesus taught aimed to save the race. It was universal, not only as adapted to all nations, but as fitted to regenerate and perfect the whole nature of man—body, mind, and soul. It would take me too long to tell all the changes it wrought. It found the heart hard and unfeeling, and made it tender and loving. It found men filled with every evil passion and almost without a desire to be better, and it gave them a longing to be free from sin and pure in heart. It found the race in darkness and despair, and brought them hope and light and comfort. Above all, it attacked the demon of selfishness and gave men the promise that in time they should be entirely free from its power.

"Slowly the truths of Christianity spread. The missionary spirit was born and the gospel was carried to remote lands. It was ever God's way to work through the agency of his creatures, whether these be brute forces or intelligent beings. And so through imperfect men the perfect rule of life made feeble progress. But as it was the work of the Spirit, there was never any danger, even in the darkest ages, that the gospel would not triumph over all the sin and degradation of the world, and lift men to a higher plane.

"For a long period the truth lay buried beneath ignorance and superstition. Then came an awakening, and men, with their minds more enlightened and their consciences quickened, began to catch something of the true spirit of the gospel. Christianity now became a dominant power. Under its benign sway civilization advanced, intelligence spread, and Christian nations outstripped all others and extended their power to every part of the globe.

"Soon the ameliorating influences of the gospel were felt on every hand. Government began to be administered with more regard for the interest of the governed, and men came to receive consideration simply because they were men. All the aggravated forms of oppression ceased under the newborn spirit of human brotherhood, a sentiment brought into the world by the founder of Christianity.

"This brings us, my friends, up to that intense age of which I have spoken before, and which you say you recognize as that corresponding with the time in which you are living on the earth. Let me state briefly the condition of some of our affairs of that period.

"The industrial world was in a ferment, as we have seen, and it was only in a general and impersonal way that the Christian religion shed its influence on the majority of the actors in that drama. Individuals, among both employers and workmen, had good impulses and indulged them as much as they could, and I am inclined to think this class was larger than most of our writers admit. But we read that the greater part were moved chiefly by motives of self-interest. Still, Christianity was a growing force among them, and they could not entirely escape its influence. They were born under its elevating power, and, even if they did not acknowledge its sway, they were quite different men from those who lived before Jesus began to preach the law of love. This remark will apply to all the people of that day who were born under Christian skies, and yet acknowledged no personal allegiance to the Savior. They were the unconscious heirs of a priceless inheritance."

"I just want to say, Thorwald," the doctor interrupted, "that I can accept that idea fully now, with respect to the people of the earth, though at one time I should not have been willing to do so."

Thorwald smiled his answer, and without further reply continued:

"Let us look at the business situation. National and local governments had begun to extend their powers beyond what had before been considered legitimate. With one excuse or another they had taken out of private hands many branches of business, and there was a strong tendency toward a continuance of the policy. There was no difference in principle between carrying the mails and carrying freight and passengers, or between giving the people cheap water in their houses and furnishing them with cheap coal.

"It was acknowledged that there were certain things which the city or state could do better than private enterprise, and the difficulty was to decide where to draw the line. While this uncertainty existed in the minds of most people, there was a small but aggressive party who were in favor of not drawing the line at all, but of putting everything into the hands of the government. They would have had the people, in their corporate capacity as a nation, raise and distribute the products of the soil, do all the manufacturing and dispose of the goods to consumers, conduct all the trades and professions, and, in fact, carry on every kind of business necessary to the well-being of society."

Of course, this woke up the doctor, whose practical mind could see nothing attractive in such an arrangement as that, and he was moved to say:

"I trust, Thorwald, that your ancestors did not adopt that crazy scheme as an experimental step in their development. But I beg your pardon for using such vigorous language without knowing whether they did or not."

Thorwald smiled, as he answered:

"You are safe, Doctor. From actual experience we cannot tell what the result of such a trial would be, for the vast majority of the writers, and the people too, of the period were opposed to the plan, and no doubt with good reason.

"But I do not wonder that this idea had a fascination for some right- minded people, in the promise it gave of doing away with the evils arising from competition, to which I have before referred."

Thorwald paused here, as if to invite one of us to speak, if he wanted to do so. I accepted, by saying:

"I wish you would tell us a little more on that subject. Competition is said to be the life of trade with us, an accepted principle of honest business. And yet you speak of it as something that should be done away with."

"If you could know," answered Thorwald, "how repugnant the idea is to us of the present day, you would understand how truly you have voiced my feelings."

"I have no doubt," I said, "that your experience has taught you much on the subject that we do not know, but this is the way it looks from our standpoint: There is born in us a passion for getting that which belongs to others, or that which others are trying to get. In some of us this instinct is developed more than in others, and some are unprincipled enough to indulge it unjustly; but let me ask you if it is wrong to follow the leadings of such a desire if we are strictly honest in all our dealings."

"We might differ over the meaning of the phrase 'strictly honest,' but I will answer your question by saying it is certainly wrong."

"But it seems to be a part of our very nature."

"Do you offer that as a reason for its being right? I never heard you claim that human nature was perfect," said Thorwald.

"Then," I returned, "in our present state, with which you are now pretty well acquainted, is it not possible to carry the principles of Christianity into business?"

"To answer that as I should be obliged to do would make me appear to you too arbitrary, and so perhaps I had better let you find your own answer in the questions which I will ask you. Is not unselfishness one of the first principles of Christianity? Now, the very essence of competition is a regard for self-interest, with no room for thought about the interests of others. In an ideal state of society the rules of life given by Jesus are fully obeyed. In such a state, would a transaction be right where each person was trying to do what was best for himself, although it might be to the damage or loss of another? It might be called honest to own slaves, and probably in the history of the earth a great many sincere Christian people have owned them, but you have now reached that condition, I think, where you can see it is wrong. So your way of doing business may be honest, but in our more ideal state we see that it is not right. Our remote ancestors, through the various stages of our development, did a thousand things with clear consciences which we could not do now. I understand your situation perfectly, and am sure your race will outgrow its imperfections."

I thanked Thorwald for his faith in us, and he resumed his narrative.

"In the age of which I am speaking," he said, "the church was taking a prominent place in the world, but had not assumed the leading position which it afterward reached. Many nations were still without the light of the gospel, and even in nominal Christian lands the actual supporters of the church were in the minority. In the midst of much evil and many discouragements the church was trying to regenerate society, but it had a difficult task, partly on account of the great perversity of the human heart, and partly because the church itself was not free from the imperfections of the age. Its members represented all shades of spirituality, the great majority of them having but a faint appreciation of the glorious cause in which they had enlisted. They called themselves soldiers of the cross, but were so burdened with the ordinary but more pressing duties and occupations of life that they never dreamed of the grandeur of the service, nor of the brilliant deeds of which the church was soon to show itself capable.

"One chief hindrance to the growth of the church and to the spread of its influence was the spirit of division within itself. Theoretically, all believers, the world over, were one body, or church, but in point of fact there were many churches, and in some particulars they were quite sharply opposed to each other. This evil was in full force in that age, but there were signs in the air that it was not to remain forever a stumbling-block to the faith of the world."

"We are afflicted in the same way," said I, "and some of us are hopeful enough to look forward to a really united church. But many think it is a part of our nature to differ, and are not able to see how all can ever come to think alike. They say that if by a miracle all should be brought into one church, and then left to their own inclinations, in a short time there would be as many sects as there are now."

"And so there would," returned Thorwald, "with your present ways. Your imperfect nature must change under the softening influence of the gospel. The differences that cause such trouble come from each individual's selfish regard for his own opinion. All must learn not only to respect but to embrace the opinions of each other when they are right opinions. Two streams may run in parallel channels forever if each persists in following strictly its own course. If one turns toward the other and the other turns away, they will still be kept apart; but let each turn toward the other, and how quickly they come together."

I told Thorwald I could apply his illustration to our condition and we would try to profit by it.

"One of the promising features of the religious situation," he continued, "was the good start the church had made in missionary work. In the zeal with which this was taken up it was quite a new departure for the church, for not long before this time good men believed that if God intended to save the heathen he would do it without any help from man. But now success had come in the work in sufficient measure to greatly encourage the faithful souls engaged in it.