There are still found in Poland remnants of that abstract worship of women, which, as long as the kingdom of Poland endured, found expression in the following description of the Madonna: Virgo Maria Regina Poloniæ. Although or perhaps because the economic emancipation of women has not been even mooted so far, gallantry towards the female sex is de rigueur. Men always rise in a tramway to give a lady a seat. And in any public place whatever, even at the most elegant receptions or balls, a chair is taken away from under one with the words, "For a lady."
In the upper ranks of society the life of the women at first sight seems to be purely idle. But in summer in the country, where patriarchal relations to a great extent still prevail, the mistress of the estate has much to do, and in Warsaw it is only apparently that she lives a life of mere amusement.
The lady of position rises between eleven and twelve o'clock in the forenoon, and goes to bed at four o'clock in the morning; she drives from one visit to another and from one party to another. But in reality she labours every day for public and national interests. Everything, the most innocent enterprises, the founding of a library, a hospital, a sewing school, no matter what it is, is made to strengthen the Polish cause. Four ladies do not meet on a charity committee without promoting the national cause under its cover.
It is forbidden to teach girls Polish in a school, but it is allowed to teach them to sew. They draw corsets on the slate in case the gendarmes should come; they have sewing materials on the table, and books under it.
Several ladies, eminent for their talents, have attempted to do more; thus the renowned authoress, Elise Orzeszkowa, even established a printing press to be carried on with a view to the education of the people. This enterprise came to an end when the government prohibited it, closed the printing office, and confined Madam Orzeszkowa for several years at Grodno. Her romances, which have attracted much attention—Meir Ezofowicz is especially worth reading—disclose a talent which is akin to that of George Sand; they are written with a melancholy patriotism inspired by an en-
