story of one of the remarkable women of our
century.

* * * * *

Ourselves and Our Neighbours is a pleasant volume of social essays from
the pen of one of the most graceful and attractive of all American
poetesses, Mrs. Louise Chandler Moulton. Mrs. Moulton, who has a very
light literary touch, discusses every important modern problem--from
Society rosebuds and old bachelors, down to the latest fashions in
bonnets and in sonnets. The best chapter in the book is that entitled
'The Gospel of Good Gowns,' which contains some very excellent remarks on
the ethics of dress. Mrs. Moulton sums up her position in the following
passage:--

The desire to please is a natural characteristic of unspoiled
womanhood. 'If I lived in the woods, I should dress for the trees,'
said a woman widely known for taste and for culture. Every woman's
dress should be, and if she has any ideality will be, an expression of
herself. . . . The true gospel of dress is that of fitness and taste.
Pictures are painted, and music is written, and flowers are fostered,
that life may be made beautiful. Let women delight our eyes like
pictures, be harmonious as music, and fragrant as flowers, that they
also may fulfil their mission of grace and of beauty. By
companionship with beautiful thoughts shall their tastes be so formed
that their toilets will never be out of harmony with their means or
their position. They will be clothed almost as unconsciously as the
lilies of the field; but each one will be herself, and there will be
no more uniformity in their attire than in their faces.

The modern Dryad who is ready to 'dress for the trees' seems to me a
charming type; but I hardly think that Mrs. Moulton is right when she
says that the woman of the future will be clothed 'almost as
unconsciously as the lilies of the field.' Possibly, however, she means
merely to emphasise the distinction between dressing and dressing-up, a
distinction which is often forgotten.

* * * * *

Warring' Angels is a very sad and suggestive story. It contains no
impossible heroine and no improbable hero, but is simply a faithful
transcript from life, a truthful picture of men and women as they are.
Darwin could not have enjoyed it, as it does not end happily. There is,
at least, no distribution of cakes and ale in the last chapter. But,
then, scientific people are not always the best judges of literature.
They seem to think t