SELF-ANALYSIS

N.B.--This is dull and egotistical. Better skip it. That's my
advice--S. P. M.


As a tiny child I was filled with dreams of the great things I was to do
when grown up. My ambition was as boundless as the mighty bush in which I
have always lived. As I grew it dawned upon me that I was a girl--the
makings of a woman! Only a girl--merely this and nothing more. It came
home to me as a great blow that it was only men who could take the world
by its ears and conquer their fate, while women, metaphorically speaking,
were forced to sit with tied hands and patiently suffer as the waves of
fate tossed them hither and thither, battering and bruising without
mercy. Familiarity made me used to this yoke; I recovered from the
disappointment of being a girl, and was reconciled to that part of my
fate. In fact, I found that being a girl was quite pleasant until a
hideous truth dawned upon me--I was ugly! That truth has embittered my
whole existence. It gives me days and nights of agony. It is a sensitive
sore that will never heal, a grim hobgoblin that nought can scare away.
In conjunction with this brand of hell I developed a reputation of
cleverness. Worse and worse! Girls! girls! Those of you who have hearts,
and therefore a wish for happiness, homes, and husbands by and by, never
develop a reputation of being clever. It will put you out of the
matrimonial running as effectually as though it had been circulated that
you had leprosy. So, if you feel that you are afflicted with more than
ordinary intelligence, and especially if you are plain with it, hide your
brains, cramp your mind, study to appear unintellectual--it is your only
chance. Provided a woman is beautiful allowance will be made for all her
shortcomings. She can be unchaste, vapid, untruthful, flippant,