_N.B._—Personally conducted parties of students taken to the theatre to see leading actresses “making great strides in their art” and “having the ball at their feet” and to watch Mr. Collins “surpassing himself.” They will afterwards be shown cases of type and instructed in the thermometrical test of the temperature at which it becomes “cold print.” ... The paper does not end here. In a special section on the language of the poster, it offers a prize for any hitherto undiscovered application of the word “amazing.” It goes on to give instructions to writers on cricket, golf, and sport, with a stock selection of anecdotes about “W.G.” and “E.M.,” and a plan to scale of the Dormy House and Mr. Harry Tate’s moustache when he addresses the ball and the audience. But these are awful mysteries which I dare not follow the paper in profaning. NINETEENTH-CENTURY WOMAN The serious research that some contemporary French students are devoting to our English literature is one of the most valuable by-products of the Entente. We have had of recent years remarkable French monographs on Wordsworth, on Cowper, on Crabbe, on Hazlitt, which are fully as authoritative as any of our native commentaries. And, turning over the new volumes at a French bookseller’s the other day, I came across another Gallic tribute of this kind, with a rather lengthy title, “La Femme Anglaise au XIXᵉ siècle et son évolution d’après le roman anglais contemporain,” by Mme. Léonie Villard. Mme. Villard seems to have read all our modern English novels, from Richardson’s “Pamela” down to the latest piece of propagandism of Mr. H. G. Wells. Of course mere literary curiosity could never have carried any human being through all that; Mme. Villard is an ardent “feminist,” and, like her sisters, capable of miraculous physical endurance for the “cause.” A mere man may “devour whole libraries,” but it takes a fair feminist to swallow the huge mass of English fiction.