No, No; Women, Old Or Young, Should

Money Is Time. With Money I Buy For Cheerful Use The Hours Which Otherwise Would Not In Any Sense Be Mine; Nay, Which Would Make Me Their Miserable Bondsman.

This Writer, Who Is Horribly Perspicacious And Vigorous, Demonstrates The Certainty Of A Great European War, And Regards It With The Peculiar Satisfaction Excited By Such Things In A Certain Order Of Mind. His Phrases About "dire Calamity" And So On Mean Nothing; The Whole Tenor Of His Writing Proves That He Represents, And Consciously, One Of The Forces Which Go To Bring War About; His Part In The Business Is A Fluent Irresponsibility, Which Casts Scorn On All Who Reluct At The "inevitable." Persistent Prophecy Is A Familiar Way Of Assuring The Event.

And Why Should Any Man Who Writes, Even If He Writes Things Immortal, Nurse Anger At The World's Neglect? Who Asked Him To Publish? Who Promised Him A Hearing? Who Has Broken Faith With Him? Your Poem, Your Novel, Who Bargained With You For It?

I Hate And Fear 'science' Because Of My Conviction That, For Long To Come If Not For Ever, It Will Be The Remorseless Enemy Of Mankind. I See It Destroying All Simplicity And Gentleness Of Life, All The Beauty Of The World; I See It Restoring Barbarism Under A Mask Of Civilization; I See It Darkening Men's Minds And Hardening Their Hearts.

The Truths Of Life Are Not Discovered By Us. At Moments Unforeseen, Some Gracious Influence Descends Upon The Soul, Touching It To An Emotion Which, We Know Not How, The Mind Transmutes Into Thought.