Men ought to begin to feel a sort of respect for their mothers and wives and sisters by this time.  The women deserve a change of attitude like that, for they have wrought well.  In forty-seven years they have swept an imposingly large number of unfair laws from the statute books of America.  In that brief time these serfs have set themselves free essentially.  Men could not have done so much for themselves in that time without bloodshed—­at least they never have; and that is argument that they didn’t know how.  The women have accomplished a peaceful revolution, and a very beneficent one; and yet that has not convinced the average man that they are intelligent, and have courage and energy and perseverance and fortitude.  It takes much to convince the average man of anything; and perhaps nothing can ever make him realize that he is the average woman’s inferior—­yet in several important details the evidences seems to show that that is what he is.  Man has ruled the human race from the beginning—­but he should remember that up to the middle of the present century it was a dull world, and ignorant and stupid; but it is not such a dull world now, and is growing less and less dull all the time.  This is woman’s opportunity—­she has had none before.  I wonder where man will be in another forty-seven years?

In the New Zealand law occurs this:  “The word person wherever it occurs throughout the Act includes woman.”

That is promotion, you see.  By that enlargement of the word, the matron with the garnered wisdom and experience of fifty years becomes at one jump the political equal of her callow kid of twenty-one.  The white population of the colony is 626,000, the Maori population is 42,000.  The whites elect seventy members of the House of Representatives, the Maoris four.  The Maori women vote for their four members.

November 16.  After four pleasant days in Christchurch, we are to leave at midnight to-night.  Mr. Kinsey gave me an ornithorhynchus, and I am taming it.

Sunday, 17th.  Sailed last night in the Flora, from Lyttelton.

So we did.  I remember it yet.  The people who sailed in the Flora that night may forget some other things if they live a good while, but they will not live long, enough to forget that.  The Flora is about the equivalent of a cattle-scow; but when the Union Company find it inconvenient to keep a contract and lucrative to break it, they smuggle her into passenger service, and “keep the change.”

They give no notice of their projected depredation; you innocently buy tickets for the advertised passenger boat, and when you get down to Lyttelton at midnight, you find that they have substituted the scow.  They have plenty of good boats, but no competition—­and that is the trouble.  It is too late now to make other arrangements if you have engagements ahead.

It is a powerful company, it has a monopoly, and everybody is afraid of it—­including the government’s representative, who stands at the end of the stage-plank to tally the passengers and see that no boat receives a greater number than the law allows her to carry.  This conveniently-blind representative saw the scow receive a number which was far in excess of its privilege, and winked a politic wink and said nothing.  The passengers bore with meekness the cheat which had been put upon them, and made no complaint.