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THE CONGRESS OF WOMEN.
nean to France, I had these Moorish women constantly in mind. They seemed happy and cheerful; I had not seen an unhappy or cross looking woman from Tangiers to Algiers, save those who were actually suffering. All, from the dirty, bathing-sheet draped women of the market place, to their more fortunate and daintier sisters of the palace, seemed blessed with even tempers. They evidently had no idea of the higher education, of the fads, isms and ologies that make part of our lives. Their children, their embroideries, their clothes and jewels, their flowers and trifles seemed to fill their lives full of interest, and I asked myself this question: “Are we women of another race, striving upward and onward feverishly toward a higher goal—are we any happier, any better women than these simple-minded creatures with no interests outside of their homes?” I have not yet answered the question to my own satisfaction, and so I leave it to you.