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not for the society of women and other men with whom I have more in common,
I could not bear my life. When we first met as boy and girl, and fell in

love, we danced and rode together and seemed to have everything in common;
now we have nothing. I respect him and I believe he respects me, but that

is all!" It is, perhaps, only in close confidences between man and man and
woman and woman that this open sore, rising from the divergence in

training, habits of life, and occupation between men and women is spoken
of; but it lies as a tragic element at the core of millions of modern

conjugal relations, beneath the smooth superficial surface of our modern
life; breaking out to the surface only occasionally in the revelations of

our divorce courts.)
It is a gracious fact, to which every woman who has achieved success or

accomplished good work in any of the fields generally apportioned to men
will bear witness, whether that work be in the field of literature, of

science, or the organised professions, that the hands which have been most
eagerly stretched our to welcome her have been those of men; that the

voices which have most generously" target="_blank" title="ad.慷慨地">generously acclaimed her success have been those of
male fellow-workers in the fields into which she has entered.

There is no door at which the hand of woman has knocked for admission into
a new field of toil but there have been found on the other side the hands

of strong and generous men eager to turn it for her, almost before she
knocks.

To those of us who, at the beginning of a new century, stand with shaded
eyes, gazing into the future, striving to descry the outlines of the

shadowy figures which loom before us in the distance, nothing seems of so
gracious a promise, as the outline we seem to discern of a condition of

human life in which a closer union than the world has yet seen shall exist
between the man and the woman: where the Walhalla of our old Northern

ancestors shall find its realisation in a concretereality, and the
Walkurie and her hero feast together at one board, in a brave fellowship.

Always in our dreams we hear the turn of the key that shall close the door
of the last brothel; the clink of the last coin that pays for the body and

soul of a woman; the falling of the last wall that encloses artificially
the activity of woman and divides her from man; always we picture the love

of the sexes, as, once a dull, slow, creeping worm; then a torpid, earthy
chrysalis; at last the full-winged insect, glorious in the sunshine of the

future.
Today, as we row hard against the stream of life, is it only a blindness in

our eyes, which have been too long strained, which makes us see, far up the
river where it fades into the distance, through all the mists that rise

from the river-banks, a clear, a golden light? Is it only a delusion of
the eyes which makes us grasp our oars more lightly and bend our backs

lower; though we know well that long before the boat reaches those
stretches, other hands than ours will man the oars and guide its helm? Is

it all a dream?
The ancient Chaldean seer had a vision of a Garden of Eden which lay in a

remote past. It was dreamed that man and woman once lived in joy and
fellowship, till woman ate of the tree of knowledge and gave to man to eat;

and that both were driven forth to wander, to toil in bitterness; because
they had eaten of the fruit.

We also have our dream of a Garden: but it lies in a distant future. We
dream that woman shall eat of the tree of knowledge together with man, and

that side by side and hand close to hand, through ages of much toil and
labour, they shall together raise about them an Eden nobler than any the

Chaldean dreamed of; an Eden created by their own labour and made beautiful
by their own fellowship.

In his apocalypse there was one who saw a new heaven and a new earth; we
see a new earth; but therein dwells love--the love of comrades and co-

workers.
It is because so wide and gracious to us are the possibilities of the

future; so impossible is a return to the past, so deadly is a passive
acquiescence in the present, that today we are found everywhere raising our

strange new cry--"Labour and the training that fits us for labour!"
End


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