he number obtained by boys.

When I heard that statement, I said this to myself (kindly follow my
little argument): 'Is it not just possible that the young American
boys, when they saw what those girls next to them could do, said to
themselves, "Heaven! who would have thought so?"'

Is it not also possible that the young American girls, when they saw
what those boys next to them could do, exclaimed, 'Good gracious! is
that all?'

Does not that, to a certain extent, explain to you the respect that
young boys acquire at school for young girls, and perhaps, also, that
little mild absence of respect that girls get for boys? I believe there
is something in it.

Ah, my dear European men, who clamour at the top of your voices for the
higher education of women, be careful! You will be found out, and, like
your fellow-men of America, by-and-by you will have to take the
back-seat.

CHAPTER XXV

THE AMERICAN WOMAN--III

Opinions and impressions--An answer to criticism.

Whenever I read a testimonial given to a candidate for some vacant
post, I invariably take it for granted that the candidate does not
possess the virtues, attainments, or qualities which are not mentioned
in that testimonial.

This must have evidently been what that clever American writer, Mrs.
Winifred Black, thought when she read an article of mine on American
women which appeared in the Editorial section of the _New York Sunday
Journal_ some time ago. My admiration for American women is, I think,
pretty well known to the public, but more particularly to my most
intimate friends. In that article I said: 'I firmly believe the
American women to be the most fascinating, the most interesting, and
the most brilliant women in the world; and I do not see why I could not
proclaim it from the housetops, if I like, even in America.' And after
mentioning the respect which woman inspires in American men of all
classes, the liberty she enjoys, the attentions that are lavished upon
her, I concluded the article by exclaiming: 'If I could choose again my
sex and my birthplace, I would shout to the Almighty at the top of my
voice: "Oh, please make me an American woman!"'

'Now,' exclaims Mrs. Winifred Black, 'look between the words of that
cleverly constructed sentence, and he who runs may read that Max O'Rell
means to say in the still small voice of his innermost convictions:
"Make me anything on earth except an American man!"'

'And,' she goes on, 'ou