ominent women novelists," the
Colonel went on, "for months the best-selling book in the country, and
also undoubtedly the work of an artist sincerely interpreting the world
according to her lights, we are presented with a distressing scene, an
incident holy horror at which would make a thrilling and delicious
success of any tea party. An undisciplined young pup who is the
husband comes home a bit late one night, and, as a man would describe
it, somewhat 'lit up.' An earnest student of this story cannot find
that this misguided youth was any worse than is ordinarily the case in
such delinquencies. It is intimated, however, that he has been this
way before. The horror, the loathing, which the humorous young scamp's
weakness inspires in his wife, a young woman of thoroughly feminine
loftiness of character, is dramatic indeed, and partakes of the nature
of that which so frequently is occasioned by the nervous organism of
women, a 'scene.' The total lack of large-hearted and intelligent
'understanding' of human nature displayed by the conduct of the young
man would send any connubial craft on to the rocks."

The Colonel mopped his brow with a large bandanna handkerchief. "Sir,"
he resumed, "obnoxious as it is to a sensible man to do so, let us
glance at the hero type of the most popular recent novels by women, the
figure which strikes admiration into the feminine soul. Now," he
roared (and I declare, my hair rose on end), "the most awful thing any
nigger can call another is a 'nigger.' So we all rebel against what we
feel to be the weaknesses of our own position. None so quick as the
vulgar to denounce 'no gentleman.' And so on. Thus, as we see, there
is nothing the weaker sex so much despises in a man as weakness of
character, and, as is consistent with all such reactions of feeling,
nothing which so much attracts it as a firmness and strength of will
beyond itself. Naturally, the adored figures in the popular women's
fiction are always of the 'strong man' type, in feminine eyes. And
here we come to a most extraordinary obliquity of the feminine eye.

"What," he demanded, "are the marks by which you are to know a 'strong
man'--in the feminine picture? A strong man, of course, is a man with
the bark on; polish is incompatible with rugged strength. An
exhilarating air of brusqueness breathes from all strong men. They are
as ignorant of manners as they are of the effete conventions of
grammar. They have fough