and rowing. If, by any extraordinary chance, there was no war going,
then they got up a deadly family feud with the next-door neighbor, and
if, in spite of this, they still had a few spare moments on their
hands, they occupied them with discussions as to whose sweetheart was
the best looking, the arguments employed on both sides being
battle-axes, clubs, etc. Questions of taste were soon decided in
those days. When a twelfth-century youth fell in love he did not take
three paces backward, gaze into her eyes, and tell her she was too
beautiful to live. He said he would step outside and see about it.
And if, when he got out, he met a man and broke his head--the other
man's head, I mean--then that proved that his--the first
fellow's--girl was a pretty girl. But if the other fellow broke _his_
head--not his own, you know, but the other fellow's--the other fellow
to the second fellow, that is, because of course the other fellow
would only be the other fellow to him, not the first fellow who--well,
if he broke his head, then _his_ girl--not the other fellow's, but the
fellow who _was_ the-- Look here, if A broke B's head, then A's girl
was a pretty girl; but if B broke A's head, then A's girl wasn't a
pretty girl, but B's girl was. That was their method of conducting
art criticism.

Nowadays we light a pipe and let the girls fight it out among
themselves.

They do it very well. They are getting to do all our work. They are
doctors, and barristers, and artists. They manage theaters, and
promote swindles, and edit newspapers. I am looking forward to the
time when we men shall have nothing to do but lie in bed till twelve,
read two novels a day, have nice little five-o'clock teas all to
ourselves, and tax our brains with nothing more trying than