While hosts of women have turned to journalism, they are seldom found in the fields to which the woman movement should have directed them: in the field of sociological and psychological research. Nearly all significant works upon the normal, the abnormal, the criminal psychic life of children, young people and women have been written by men. They have unfortunately treated the feminine spiritual life in “scientific” works also, in which the author dares speak of “woman” even though he knows nothing of her except what his own happy or unhappy experiences in a mother or sister, wife or sweetheart, have taught him. The slight title of men to their “scientific method” when they venture upon the terra incognita which the soul of woman still is for them, explains why they extol, as “scientific,” works of women about women which are quite as superficial as those of men themselves. With a few exceptions, it is not the physiological-psychological books written by women about women which have really taught the present something new about womankind in general and the new woman in particular. No, in the form of romances, of lyrics or in voluntary confessions, woman has contributed the most valuable documents about her sex: on the one hand those which indicate the transformations which the woman movement has occasioned in woman’s nature, on the other hand those which demonstrate the extent to which her fundamental nature has remained unchanged, even though this elementary material exhibits many more facets in the modern woman than in the woman of any previous time; facets resulting from the manifold contacts and frictions with life to which woman now exposes herself or is exposed. From a literary point of view, these books of confession have seldom a value which could be compared with that of the, in outer sense, objective, classic works which talented women writers of the present have produced. Often, however, one of these confessions, in which the writer has candidly given her own history, has been of real literary value. But even when the works contain mendacities and self-extenuations, crass injustice toward men or toward other women, as revelations of the modern woman soul they are more valuable for the future than the clarified, artistically perfect works of women, mentioned above. For the truth about woman in the century of the woman is found only in the impassioned books in which the hard struggles for freedom, work, right, or fame are recited; or in those works impassioned in another way, in which the soul or the blood or both cry out their yearning, ever unappeased, in spite of freedom and work, right and fame. What we may _to-day_ rightly protest against in these books is their recklessness which may _in the future_ be regarded as their greatest value.