ment you would have experienced two years ago if, arriving in a European city, you had seen women running trolley cars! Supposing you had been standing at a street corner in Vienna and, with the alarm bells, a truck and ladder falling by, and on it, instead of five women. A company of firemen out in fight a fire, dandle the ladders, yield the axe, and possibly by flames! What you can see today in cities of Austria and Hungary, women wear trousers! In London and other cities, a England there are women, small mail carriers. Women post mail on motor cycles. They wear mail carriers. In Belgium, women wear the mines. It is hard work, but are gone and the women manage efficiently. They found they could not be adopted the garb of women have taken the place of the farms of England and Burroughs, till the soil, gather the flowers, too, wear trousers. Alas, heroine of many a poet's idyll, demure milkmaid! She has with the war, meandering along the roads of England, you can see the fair, rosy-cheeked milkmaid! Thomas Hardy's Tess will be no less fair, but perhaps less for, with the other milkmaids, be wearing pants! In poetry and romance, the kl has figured gentle, benign, clothed in her white garb.  With neck and soothing eyes. The romance has passed with the war. Nurses have doffed the familiaous trousers. Why? Because they have hampered and unsanitary. Skirts, syphus, and other garments. So they were done away with. 