seful enough to stand in no need of an apology for daring to exist.

He generally loves his children, and sometimes feels that he cannot
compete with his wife in their affections, simply because she
monopolizes them, not only when they are babies, but after they are out
of infancy. He resents it, but, as a rule, resigns himself to what he is
made to believe inevitable.

The first duty of a woman is to teach her children to love their father,
and, as they grow up, to teach them to respect him and admire him. It
is her duty to hide from her children any little thing that might cause
them to lose the least respect or admiration towards him.

But, out of one hundred women, will you find one who will not be of
opinion that mother is foremost?

When a woman has become a mother, her vanity, though often full of
repose, gets the best of her. She is a mother, and thinks she is the
most important thing in the world. Yet, as I say elsewhere, it is no
extraordinary testimonial for a woman to be fond of her children. All
mothers are fond of their children and good to them--why, even the
fiercest and cruellest of animals. The feeling is given to them by
Nature. We all profit by it; we are all happier for it. For being able
to dispense maternal love woman is to be admired and blessed, but not
congratulated. A child is part and parcel of a mother. In loving a child
a woman loves part of herself. It is not selfishness so much as
self-love. When she brings up her children for herself, for the love of
herself, without doing her utmost to see that their father gets his
share; when, thanks to her own trumpeting, her house rings only with
'God bless our mother!' she is guilty of an act of terrible injustice.

The vanity of some women is such that some expect a pedestal--nay, an
altar--when the spring-cleaning of their house is over.

I know men who work with one view only--that of bringing up their
children in comfort, giving them a University education, and starting
them in life at the cost of any sacrifice.

I know Americans who work like slaves at home so that their wives and
daughters may enjoy themselves in Paris and London. For this they demand
nothing except an occasional letter, which they sometimes get.

Mother is very tired! She has had to pay calls, go to so many 'at
homes,' so many garden-parties! She is exhausted; she wants a change of
air immediately. Father is at his office, a dingy, badly-ventilated
room. He has had n