. They always imply some
_moral_ loss which will happen to young people if they do not follow
their elders' advice. But youth would be far more impressed if age
drew a vivid picture of their own physical and digestive decrepitude.
But, of course, age won't do that. Why should it? No one likes to
think that their "every movement tells a story."

Personally, I can foresee a new profession open to those elderly people
who are the victims of their own early indiscretions. Why should they
not tour the country as a collection of _awful warnings_! Fancy the
joy there would be in the hearts of all those who, as it were, stand
bawling at the cross-roads that the "narrow path" is the broader one in
the long run, if they woke up and saw on the hoardings some such
announcement as this:--

Coming! Coming!! Coming!!!

FOR ONE WEEK ONLY!

The Awful End of the Man who
Gobbled his Food!

Mary of the Hooked Figure; or, the Girl who Wouldn't
Change her Wet Socks!

A Picture of Living Vermin; or, the Man who
Never Washed!

The End of the Girl who Would Take the
Wrong Turning!

Parents, Free. Children, One Penny. Schools and
Large Parties by Arrangement.

It would ease the burden of parenthood enormously. It might even "Save
the Children." Maybe they would thank their mother from the bottom of
their hearts because she took them to see these living examples of
youthful folly instead of lugging them to a dull lecture on hygiene.
For half the silly things we do, we do because we don't realise the
consequences. The man who _knows everything_ would gladly give up all
his knowledge if he could turn back the hands of the clock, and,
instead of studying the origin of Arabic, learn to recognise a pair of
damp sheets when he got in between them; while a Woman of a Thousand
Love Affairs would forego the memory of nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine of
these if she could return to the early days and drink a glass of hot
water between every meal! For, as I said before, Love leaves us and
enthusiasms die; but Old Age which can sit down to a good dinner and
thoroughly enjoy it without having to have a medical bulletin stuck up
outside its bedroom door for days afterwards, is an Old Age which no
one can call really unhappy. To eat is, at last, about the only joy
which is left to us. The "romantic" will shudder at my philosophy, I
know; but the "romantic" have generally such a lot to live for beside
their me