THE MIRRORS OF THE GOLD COAST

It would take a blind man, a hypocrite, or a total abstainer from Boston parties to deny that there is not at least a germ of truth in the picture which Miss Lowella Cabot paints in the Advocate of the Harvard man off on a tear in Boston. Overdrawn the picture is, of course, but no more off the plumb line than is necessary for good satire.

The advent of frankness and the departure of chivalry, both characteristics, generally speaking, of the present age, are the targets for Miss Cabot's shafts. The cause of our lost manners, our disrespect for women, has been discussed before, and though it has in most cases been done in a sensational, non-scientific manner, the subject is perhaps of more significance than such Elinor Glyn articles would lead one to believe. There is no doubt that frankness has its virtues, and no one would care particularly to bring back the old days when there were unmentionables galore, "worse than death's," and "you mean-'s". On the other hand, there is something to be said for the common, or garden variety, of politeness. It used to be said that a woman could travel from one end of this country to the other without meeting with discourtesy or insult--now it appears, even Mr. Auburn Street is not wholly safe. No one perhaps wants to go back to the days of "that's fighting talk" and "When you say that, smile", but there are certain obligations which the male still, if one be at all old fashioned, owes the gentler sex.

But Lowella seems to bear no grudge; her attitude is that of a best friend and severest critic. Obviously she is a close friend of Montgomery Higginson, the leading figure of that distinguished coterie of literati which counts among its number such important names a Essenz von Bierschaum, Jan Rotterdam, and Major Polonius Pringle. In such company as this, Lowella should be safe even at the Lamb's Club.