al and spiritual growth, for I declare to you that one hundred
years hence, women in my opinion will not be satisfied with this
poetic and chivalric homage: they will demand a voice in the
government. They will grow bolder, and learn to regard these chivalric
concessions to their purity and weakness as their natural rights.
Woman's rights!--that will be their watchword."

"And I suppose you would say they have no rights."

"Oh, many. Among others, the right to shape the characters and
opinions of their infant children," said Mowbray with a grave smile.

"And no more, sir?"

"Far more; but this discussion is unprofitable. What I mean is simply
this, Charles: that the middle age has left us a national idea which
is dangerous--the idea that woman should, from her very weakness, rule
and direct; especially among us gentlemen who hold by the traditions
of the past--who reject Sir Galahad, and cling to Orlando and
Amadis--who grow mad and fall down worshipping and kissing the feet of
woman--happy even to be spurned by her."

"Really, sir!--but your conversation is very instructive Who, pray,
was Sir Galahad?--for I have read Ariosto, and know about Orlando."

"Sir Galahad is that myth of the middle age, Charles, who went about
searching for the holy Graal--the cup which our Saviour drank from in
his last supper; which Joseph of Arimathea collected his precious
blood in. You will understand that I merely repeat the monkish
tradition."

"Well, what sort of a knight was this Sir Galahad; and why do you hold
him up as superior to Orlando and Amadis?"

"Because he saw the true course, and loved woman as an earthly
consoler, did not adore her as a god. Read how he fought and suffered
many things for women; see how profoundly he loved them, and smiled
whenever they crossed his path; how his whole strength and every thing
was woman's. Was she oppressed? Did brute strength band itself against
her? His chivalric arm was thrown around her. Was she threatened with
shame, or hatred and wrong? His heart, his sword, all were hers, and
he would as willingly pour out his blood for her as wander on a sunny
morning over flowery fields."

"Well," said Hoffland, "he was a true knight. Have you not finished?"

"By no means. With love for and readiness to protect the weak and
oppressed woman--with satisfaction in her smiles, and rejoicing in the
thanks she gave him--the good knight's feelings ended. He would not
give her his heart and a