DEAR SIR,--May I draw your attention to a series of domestic occurrences
which illustrate the distressing and increasing tendency of this
_fin-de-siècle_ age? I say _fin-de-siècle_ because as it has got to come
in somehow, it may as well be said at once. At breakfast yesterday the
bacon was wretchedly cooked. My wife said, "It's the fault of the New
Cook," which was all the satisfaction or explanation that I got. I found
my study disguised in an apparent tidiness, achieved at the cost of a
complete confusion of my papers, which had been tidied away in a manner
that completely defied detection. My wife only answered, "Oh, it's that
New Housemaid." That night we went to the theatre. The name of the play
was _The New Woman_. Then I understood the true inwardness of all my
previous experiences. The moral is so clear that I do not propose to
draw any.
_The Cedars, Sept. 29._