because no one is forced to read; but it is no laughing matter when she transfers her literary powers to some public body, and inflicts essays on the members.  Her life on a School Board may be summarised as consisting of a battle and a screech; she has the bliss of abusing individual Men rudely—­nay, even savagely—­and she knows that chivalry prevents them from replying.  But she is worst when she rises to read an essay; then the affrighted males flee away and rest in corners while the shrew denounces things in general.  It is terrible.  Among the higher products of civilisation the literary shrew is about the most disconcerting, and, if any man wants to know what the most gloomy possible view of life is like, I advise him to attend some large board-meeting during a whole afternoon while the literary shrew gets through her series of fights and reads her inevitable essay.  He will not come away much wiser perhaps, but he will be appreciably sadder.

And so this long procession of shrews passes before us, scolding and gibbering and dispensing miseries.  Is there no way of appealing to reason so that they may be led to see that inflicting pain can never bring them anything but a low degree of pleasure?  No human creature was ever made better or more useful by a shrew, for the very means by which the acrid woman tries to secure notice or power only serves to belittle her.  Take the case of a vulgar schoolmistress who is continually scolding.  What happens in her school?  She is mocked, hated, tricked, and despised; real discipline is non-existent; the bullied assistants go about their work without heart; and the whole organisation—­or rather disorganisation—­gradually crumbles, until a place which should be the home of order and happiness becomes an ugly nest of anarchy.  But look at one of the lovely high schools which are now so common; read Miss Kingsley’s most fervent and accurate description of the scholars, and observe how poorly the scolding teacher fares in the comparison.  Who ever heard of a girl being scolded or punished in a good modern high school?  Such a catastrophe is hardly conceivable, for one quiet look of reproach from a good teacher is quite sufficient to render the average girl inconsolable until forgiveness is granted.  This illustrates my point—­the shrew never succeeds in doing anything but intensifying the fault or evil which she pretends to remove.  The shrew who shrieks at a drunkard only makes him dive further into the gulf in search of oblivion; the shrew who snaps constantly at a servant makes the girl dull, fierce, and probably wicked; the shrew who tortures a patient man ends by making him desperate and morose; the shrew who weeps continually out of spite, and hopes to earn pity or attention in that fashion, ends by being despised by men and women, abhorred by children, and left in the region of entire neglect.  Perhaps if public teachers could only show again and again that the shrew makes herself more unhappy, if possible, than she makes other people, then the selfish instinct which is dominant might answer to the appeal; but, though I make the suggestion I have no great hope of its being very fruitful.