times go on the moors, if they want to.
But, at the same time, I _quite_ understand that they are horribly in
the way, and I am not surprised that the men don't want women about
them when they are shooting. But couldn't they arrange to have a day
now and then, when they could shoot all the morning, and devote
themselves to amusing the women on the moors after lunch? Otherwise, I
think there ought to be a rule that no women are to be invited to
shooting-boxes. It is generally very dull for the women, and I feel
sure the men would be quite as happy without them. I suppose the host
might want his wife to be there, to look after things; but _she ought
to strike_, and ask her lady-friends to do the same; and then they
could go abroad, or to some jolly place, and enjoy themselves in their
own way. Really we often get quite angry--at least I do--when men
treat us as if we were so many dolls, and patronise us in their heavy
way, and expect us to believe that the world was made entirely for
them and their shooting-parties. There must be more give and take.
And, if _we_ are to give you our sympathy and attention, _you_ must
take our companionship a little oftener. We get so dull when we are
all together.

Your sincere admirer, A LADY LUNCHER.

I confess this simple letter touched an answering chord in my heart. I
scarcely knew how to answer it. At last a brilliant thought struck me.
I would show it to my tame Hussar-Captain, SHABRACK. That gallant son
of Mars is not only a good sportsman, but he has, in common with many
of his brother officers, the reputation of being a dashing, but
discriminating worshipper at the shrine of beauty. At military and
hunt balls the Captain is a stalwart performer, a despiser of mere
programme engagements, and an invincible cutter-out of timid youths
who venture to put forward their claims to a dance that the Captain
has mentally reserved for himself. The mystery is how he has escaped
scathless into what his friends now consider to be assured
bachelor-hood. Most of his contemporaries, roystering, healthy, and
seemingly flinty-hearted fellows, all of them, have long since gone
down, one after another, before some soft and smiling little being,
and are now trying to fit their incomes to the keep of perambulators,
as well as of dog-carts. But SHABRACK has escaped. I found him at his
Club, and showed him the letter, requesting him at the same time to
tell me what he thought of it. I think he was fla