general, her only ideal in life is to have a good time, which means continuous excitement and always varying pleasure. She has never given up an hour’s pleasure voluntarily to do a kindness: she has never done a stroke of genuine work, and never reads any book but a titillating novel. Her conversation, unless you happen to be interested in one of her many kinds of “shop,” is the abyss of dulness, and she would immediately vote anyone a dreadful bore who endeavoured to lead her thoughts beyond a ball, a card, a dance or a kiss. The war, indeed, made her better in spite of herself. Finding that she had to enjoy herself less, she did turn her thoughts to helping her country. But, whether she drove an ambulance or became a V.A.D., self was not very far away. Having a good time still remained her ideal, and many opportunities she found of having it in company with young officers. The war over, her relapse into the old habits did not take long, and she is now with us again in all her graceful insolence. Her only salvation is to marry and have children, lots of them. This will give her something to do at last, and she will learn, unwillingly, the inevitable self-denials which parenthood entails even for the most selfish. This, unfortunately, is an essentially English type, but among English women it is in a minority, though a too conspicuous one. The majority, like their men, manage to combine games, as healthy recreations worthy of serious endeavour, with useful work and more important aims in life. On the whole they are far less self indulgent in this respect than men, even the most hard-working of whom seem, as a rule, to find an orgy of games or sport necessary on their holiday, cutting themselves off from all but a minute section of their fellows as surely as if they remained in their offices. Also, Englishwomen in general do not become maniacs about their favourite form of sport, unless they hunt, and all who hunt regard that sport as a solemn profession rather than a recreation. Women do not care twopence about the achievements of professional players of games over whose performances men waste so much time and breath, nor do they learn Wisden’s Almanac by heart in their youthful enthusiasm. In short, they take a more reasonable view of games than English men, giving them no more than their proper place in the whole scheme of values and rating athletic ability no higher than it deserves. Personally, though I admit that this is little more than prejudice, I do not think the more violent games are suitable for women: and if a more than usually robust member of her sex should rise and say: “Men play this and that, why should not we?” I can only answer “Why not, indeed?” and point out in extenuation of my old-fashioned ideas that feminine graces are not the same as masculine ones, and that it is a pity to diminish them by rough usage. It is all very well for women to play cricket among themselves or the mixed cricket of country