"Come live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, or hills, or field, Or woods and steepy mountains yield.
"There we will rest our sleepy heads, And happy hearts, on balsam beds;And every day go forth to fish In foamy streams for ouananiche."Old Song with a new Ending.
It has been asserted, on high philosophical authority, that woman is a problem. She is more; she is a cause of problems to others.
This is not a theoretical statement. It is a fact of experience.
Every year, when the sun passes the summer solstice, the "Two souls with but a single thought,"of whom I am so fortunate as to be one, are summoned by that portion of our united mind which has at once the right of putting the question and of casting the deciding vote, to answer this conundrum: How can we go abroad without crossing the ocean, and abandon an interesting family of children without getting completely beyond their reach, and escape from the frying-pan of housekeeping without falling into the fire of the summer hotel?
This apparently insoluble problem we usually solve by going to camp in Canada.
