discussions upon the latest patterns in trousers and arguments as to
what Mr. Jones' coat was made of and whether it fitted him. It is a
glorious prospect--for idle fellows.



ON BEING IN LOVE.

You've been in love, of course! If not you've got it to come. Love
is like the measles; we all have to go through it. Also like the
measles, we take it only once. One never need be afraid of catching
it a second time. The man who has had it can go into the most
dangerous places and play the most foolhardy tricks with perfect
safety. He can picnic in shady woods, ramble through leafy aisles,
and linger on mossy seats to watch the sunset. He fears a quiet
country-house no more than he would his own club. He can join a
family party to go down the Rhine. He can, to see the last of a
friend, venture into the very jaws of the marriage ceremony itself.
He can keep his head through the whirl of a ravishing waltz, and rest
afterward in a dark conservatory, catching nothing more lasting than a
cold. He can brave a moonlight walk adown sweet-scented lanes or a
twilight pull among the somber rushes. He can get over a stile
without danger, scramble through a tangled hedge without being caught,
come down a slippery path without falling. He can look into sunny
eyes and not be dazzled. He listens to the siren voices, yet sails on
with unveered helm. He clasps white hands in his, but no electric
"Lulu"-like force holds him bound in their dainty pressure.

No, we never sicken with love twice. Cupid spends no second arrow on
the same heart. Love's handmaids are our life-long friends. Respect,