same
time. And then there will be no more writing of epigrams on Woman. For
it is evident that there can be no point to an epigram if its assertions
must be qualified. The situation will become impossible when students of
psychology, instead of writing, "Woman likes the truth for the same
reason that she likes olives--to satisfy a momentary craving," will be
compelled to write, "Some women tell the truth, and some women do not,"
"Some women mean yes when they say no, and some women mean no," "Some
women think with their hearts, and some think with their minds." That
little word "some" will settle the epigram writer's business, and an
interesting form of literature will disappear.

Not that in some respects its disappearance will fail to arouse regret.
These books amused very many people in the writing, and they never did
very much harm. And it is something to have a universal topic that every
one can write on, just as it is stimulating to have a universal appetite
like eating, or a universal accomplishment like walking. How many other
subjects besides Woman have we on which the schoolboy and the sage can
write with equal confidence, fluency, and approach to the truth?
Possibly even women will regret that they are no longer the subject of
universal comment. Who knows? A woman will forgive injury, but never
indifference.

XII

THE FANTASTIC TOE

When we reach the year 1910 [Harding dreamt he was reading in the
_Weekly Review_ for 1952], we find the art of dancing well on its way
toward establishing itself as the predominant mode of expression. The
next few years marked a tremendous advance. The graceful _danseuses_ who
interpreted Mendelssohn's "Spring Song," Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony,
and Shakespeare's "Tempest" were the pioneers of a vast movement. We can
do nothing better than recall a few typical public performances given in
New York during the season of 1912-13.

In a splendid series of matinees extending over two months, Professor
William P. Jones danced the whole of Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire." The first two volumes were danced in slow time, to the
accompaniment of two flutes and a lyre. The poses were statuesque rather
than graceful, and the gestures had in them a great deal of the antique.
But, beginning with the story of the barbarian invasions in the third
volume, Professor Jones's interpretation took on a fury that was almost
bacchantic. The sack of Rome by the Vandals in t