For years the pages of the New Statesman have been enlivened, week by week, with an article (a 'Middle' is the technical term) mysteriously signed ' Y. Y.' It is an open secret now that beneath those cryptic initials hides the name of the literary editor of a London daily and one of the best essayists of our time, Robert Lynd. Like good conversation, the good essay depends far more upon the manner of its telling than upon the matter told. Thus, Mr. Lynd can lend an air of 'worth-whileness' to almost any subject under the sun: Whether he writes of gnats or an apple before breakfast, dirt-track racing or the advantages of a monarchy, cabbages or kings, the effect upon the reader will be the same - that of having engaged in friendly conversation with one whose mind is stored with a long experience that has bred commonsense and good humour.