The New Woman.

The following is the second of a series of parleys that Smad is having with distinctive women undergraduates of the College. We assure our readers that every word employed has been spoken by the subject of our interview and again offer our thanks to those who unwittingly consent to the ordeal.

No. 2. Miss Ola Nielson: "Or "Do stop me if I start talking."

"No, oh, no. I don't believe in war. Bella horrida bella. There's no sense in it and I simply can't imagine what they have them for. If people want to be soldiers they should join the Salvation Army where they can't do any harm. Guns and gas and cutting barbed wire fences at night and dug-outs falling in and brothers going about shooting each other, and all that and then the side that has the most ammunition and patience decides that it has won and makes the other sign a pact and no one can be bothered arguing any further so they call it off and everyone rejoices and then they all Suffer for it for the rest of their lives. And Trooping the Colours, too, and Land of Hope and all that.

I always feel so sorry for the poor old King, don't you. No wonder some of them think they have Divine Right. I'd have it too if I were a King and I'd live far away from Military Tattoos and foundation stones and all those businesses. I like the King. I must meet him some day. He al ways looks so fed up and philosophic and noble. I'm sure he must think war is silly too. I used to think that you won the war if you shot the King of the other side. It would be just as sensible as sending away all the youngest and fittest men to be blown up. It would be more sensible, really, if they sent the old ones—those getting on in life—men about 70, and it would do away with the Old Age Pension and Rejuvenation would become quite a secondary industry, wouldn't it, and that would provide more employment.

I wish I could do something big, but I can't think of anything just suitable. Everything seems to be too big really. I'd like to stop unemployment but you don't know just where to start, do you. page 3 I've had it explained to me. You see it's the cities. That's the cause of it all. People suddenly get the urge and they throw down their pick, axes and hoes and things and Hock to them, and that's the Urban Drift and you can't do anything to stop it. And there's no one to till the soil. I'm sure I couldn't do anything to help in that respect. It's bad enough trying to hose the garden. How do you till the soil anyway? Wouldn't it be funny to be told to go up to the oat country and till soil. Oh, dear, I mustn't start talking again. I think I had better go and till my history notes instead. If you see me talking again to-day, stop me. Goodbye."