mplicity and force of its fundamental principles.[1] In this, its
progress has been like that of slang, which, gaining in popularity, must
inevitably decrease in aptness and definiteness.

[Footnote 1: It was in April that I first heard of the Theory from the
Chatelaine. The following August, in Venice, a lady said to me: "Aren't
these old palaces a great deal more sulphitic in their decay than they
were originally, during the Renaissance?"]

In attempting to solve the problem which for so long was the despair of
philosophers I have made modest use of the word "theory." But to the
Sulphite, this simple, convincing, comprehensive explanation is more;
it is an opinion, even a belief, if not a _credo_. It is the
_crux_ by which society is tested. But as I shall proceed
scientifically, my conclusion will, I trust, effect rational proof of
what was an _a priori_ hypothesis.

* * * * *

The history of the origin of the theory is brief. The Chatelaine of a
certain sugar plantation in Louisiana, in preparing a list of guests
for her house-party, discovered, in one of those explosive moments of
inspiration, that all people were easily divided into two fundamental
groups or families, the Sulphites and the Bromides. The revelation was
apodictic, convincing; it made life a different thing; it made society
almost plausible. So, too, it simplified human relationship and gave
the first hint of a method by which to adjust and equalize affinities.
The primary theorems sprang quickly into her mind, and, such is their
power, they have attained almost the nature of axioms. The discovery,
indeed, was greater, more far-reaching than she knew, for, having
undergone the test of philosophical analysis as well as of practical
application, it stands, now, a vital, convincing interpretation of the
mysteries of human nature.

* * * * *

We have all tried our hands at categories. Philosophy is, itself, but a
system of definitions. What, then, made the Chatelaine's theory
remarkable, when Civilization has wearied itself with distinctions? The
attempt to classify one's acquaintance is the common sport of the
thinker, from the fastidious who says: "There are two kinds of
persons--those who like olives and those who don't," to the fatuous,
immemorial lover who says: "There are two kinds of women--Daisy, and
the Other Kind!"

* * * * *

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