The Woman of to-Morrow by Helen M. Winslow

What, then, of the woman of to-morrow? What part will she play in affairs of public interest? What will she do with the home? What will she do and be as an individual?

As I write, the robins and orioles and bobolinks are singing around the house, out in the orchard. Mingled with their notes comes the strain of a catbird, the "northern mocking-bird. " They are all beautiful, and combine to make a perfect harmony of music in the May sunshine; but it is the catbird's song that the ear strains to follow, with its sweet and sudden changes, its low guttural notes and its pure, uplifted tones as it tries to catch and mimic the strain of the bluebird, the thrush, the oriole. And I willingly forget the others in trying to keep count of her bewitching changes. And I wonder if it does not typify the modern woman. The others, lovely, melodious little creatures, are woman as she has been for years, woman of whom we know what to expect. But the catbird! Here we have the woman of to-day outdoing all the others, catching their song, putting forth all their captivating graces, and making herself heard and felt wherever she goes. It is the unexpectedness of her song, the spontaneous uncertainty of it combined with the knowledge that it will be well worth listening to, that holds us captive, as with strained ear we watch for what she will do next. And if she puts forth guttural or harsh notes now and again we can forgive and forget them for the sake of the sweet, entrancing ones that we know are sure to follow.