I have gone back to
flippity-floppity skirts and long gowns and all the rest of the "flesh
pots." Browning says of a certain class of people: "The dread of shame
has made them tame," and I am one of the tame ones. A domestic tabby
couldn't be tamer, nor a yellow bird fed on lump sugar. I expect
nothing but that my winter's hat will be adorned with a chubby green
parrot, and that I shall walk the street leading a brimstone dog by a
magenta ribbon. If one is forced to eat, drink and sleep with the
Romans, perhaps it is better for one's peace of mind not to be too
pronounced a Greek!
L.
I SHALL MEET HIM SOME DAY.
I shall meet the man who ties his horse's nose in a bag, some day, in
single combat, and there will be only one of us left to tell the tale
of the encounter. Wouldn't I love to see that man forced to take his
dinner while tied up in a flour bag! I should love to deal out his
coffee through a garden hose, and serve his vegetables through a
long-distance telephone. There is nothing like turn about to incite
justice in the human breast. While we are afflicted with such an
epidemic of strikes, why not have one that has some sense in it. Let
the overworked horses, straining themselves blind with terrible loads,
go on a strike. Let the persecuted dogs, deprived of water and
scrimped for food, stoned and hounded as mad when they are only crazed
by man's inhumanity, go on a strike.
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