s,
their imagination worn threadbare by the friction of experience; men who
ought to be so amusing, and alas!...

And now, having fulfilled my programme, as was my duty, let me return to
my pleasure, which, at this moment (and whenever the opportunity
presents itself) consists in falling foul of the superfine. The
superfine are those who deserve (and frequently attain) the condition of
that Renaissance tyrant who lived exclusively on hard-boiled eggs
(without salt) for fear of poison. The superfine are those who will not
eat walnuts because of the shell, and are pained that Nature should have
been so coarse as to propagate oranges through pips. The superfine
are.... But no. Let us be true to our principle of not neglecting the
delightful things of this world by fixing our too easily hypnotized gaze
on the things which are not delightful--disagreeable things which
should be examined only with a view to their removal; or if they prove
obstinate fixtures in our reality, be all the more resolutely turned out
of the sparsely-furnished, delectable chambers of our fancy.

IN PRAISE OF COURTSHIP

There is too little courtship in the world. I do not mean there is not
enough marrying and giving in marriage, or that the preliminaries
thereunto are otherwise than they should be. Quite the reverse. As long
as there is love and youth, there is sure in the literal sense to be
courtship. But what I ask is that there be courtship besides that
literal courtship between the Perditas and Florizels; that there be
"being in love" with a great many things, even stocks and stones,
besides youth and maiden; which would result, on the whole, in all of us
being young in feeling even when we had grown old in years.

For courtship means a wish to stand well in the other person's eyes,
and, what is more, a readiness to be pleased with the other's ways; a
sense on each side of having had the better of the bargain; an
undercurrent of surprise and thankfulness at one's good luck.

There is not enough courtship in the world. This thought has been
growing in my mind ever since the silver wedding of two dear friends:
that quarter of a century has been but a prolonged courtship.

Why is it not oftener so? One sees among married folk a good deal of
affection, of kindliness, even of politeness; a great deal too much
mutual dependence, degenerating, of course, into habitual boredom. But
none of this can be called courtship. Perhaps this was the