m birth to about the age of twelve or fifteen years; the
second, from the end of the first period to about the age of
forty-five; and the third, from the last boundary to the final passage
into the unknown. The few years that are necessary for the voyage from
the first to the second period, and those from the second to the
third, are justly called critical ones. Mothers are, or should be,
wisely anxious about the first passage for their daughters, and women
are often unduly apprehensive about the second passage for themselves.
All this is obvious and known; and yet, in our educational
arrangements, little heed is paid to the fact, that the first of
these critical voyages is made during a girl's educational life, and
extends over a very considerable portion of it.

This brief statement only hints at the vital physiological truths it
contains: it does not disclose them. Let us look at some of them a
moment. Remember, that we are now concerned only with the first of
these passages, that from a girl's childhood to her maturity. In
childhood, boys and girls are very nearly alike. If they are natural,
they talk and romp, chase butterflies and climb fences, love and hate,
with an innocent _abandon_ that is ignorant of sex. Yet even then the
difference is apparent to the observing. Inspired by the divine
instinct of motherhood, the girl that can only creep to her mother's
knees will caress a doll, that her tottling brother looks coldly upon.
The infant Achilles breaks the thin disguise of his gown and sleeves
by dropping the distaff, and grasping the sword. As maturity
approaches, the sexes diverge. An unmistakable difference marks the
form and features of each, and reveals the demand for a special
training. This divergence, however, is limited in its sweep and its
duration. The difference exists for a definite purpose, and goes only
to a definite extent. The curves of separation swell out as childhood
recedes, like an ellipse, and, as old age draws on, approach, till
they unite like an ellipse again. In old age, the second childhood,
the difference of sex becomes of as little note as it was during the
first. At that period, the picture of the

"Lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
* * * * *
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing,"

is faithful to either sex. Not as man or woman, but as a sexless
being, does advanced age en