id said that if everybody did
their own work other people would not be driven beyond the limits of
human endurance; and the housekeeper said that she was sick and tired of
life. My friend said it did not matter. The Child clung to the frying-
pan with passion. The book my friend was reading said that was how the
human mind was formed: the Child's instinct prompted it to seize upon
objects tending to develop its brain faculty. What the parent had got to
do was to stand aside and watch events.

The Child proceeded to black everything about the nursery with the bottom
of the frying-pan. It then set to work to lick the frying-pan clean. The
nurse, a woman of narrow ideas, had a presentiment that later on it would
be ill. My friend explained to her the error the world had hitherto
committed: it had imagined that the parent knew a thing or two that the
Child didn't. In future the Children were to do their bringing up
themselves. In the house of the future the parents would be allotted the
attics where they would be out of the way. They might occasionally be
allowed down to dinner, say, on Sundays.

The Child, having exhausted all the nourishment the frying-pan contained,
sought to develop its brain faculty by thumping itself over the head with
the flat of the thing. With the selfishness of the average
parent--thinking chiefly of what the Coroner might say, and indifferent
to the future of humanity, my friend insisted upon changing the game.

His foolish talk.

The parent does not even know how to talk to his own Child. The Child is
yearning to acquire a correct and dignified mode of expression. The
parent says: "Did ums. Did naughty table hurt ickle tootsie pootsies?
Baby say: ''Oo naughty table. Me no love 'oo.'"

The Child despairs of ever learning English. What should we think
ourselves were we to join a French class, and were the Instructor to
commence talking to us French of this description? What the Child,
according to the gentleman from Cambridge, says to itself is,

"Oh for one hour's intelligent conversation with a human being who can
talk the language."

Will not the young gentleman from Cambridge descend to detail? Will he
not give us a specimen dialogue?

A celebrated lady writer, who has made herself the mouthpiece of feminine
indignation against male stupidity, took up the cudgels a little while
ago on behalf of Mrs. Caudle. She admitted Mrs. Caudle appeared to be a
somewhat fo