it, make them all good at the same time. I do not apologise for the
suggestion. I used to think all women beautiful and good. It is
their own papers that have disillusioned me. I used to look at this
lady or at that--shyly, when nobody seemed to be noticing me--and
think how fair she was, how stately. Now I only wonder who is her
chemist.

They used to tell me, when I was a little boy, that girls were made
of sugar and spice. I know better now. I have read the recipes in
the Answers to Correspondents.

When I was quite a young man I used to sit in dark corners and
listen, with swelling heart, while people at the piano told me where
little girl babies got their wonderful eyes from, of the things they
did to them in heaven that gave them dimples. Ah me! I wish now I
had never come across those ladies' papers. I know the stuff that
causes those bewitching eyes. I know the shop where they make those
dimples; I have passed it and looked in. I thought they were
produced by angels' kisses, but there was not an angel about the
place, that I could see. Perhaps I have also been deceived as
regards their goodness. Maybe all women are not so perfect as in the
popular short story they appear to be. That is why I suggest that
Science should proceed still further, and make them all as beautiful
in mind as she is now able to make them in body. May we not live to
see in the advertisement columns of the ladies' paper of the future
the portrait of a young girl sulking in a corner--"Before taking the
lotion!" The same girl dancing among her little brothers and
sisters, shedding sunlight through the home--"After the three first
bottles!" May we not have the Caudle Mixture: One tablespoonful at
bed-time guaranteed to make the lady murmur, "Good-night, dear; hope