e of the exceptions: 'That people should
laugh over the same sort of jest,' he says, 'and have many an old joke
between them which time cannot wither or custom stale is a better
preparation for life, by your leave, than many other things higher and
better-sounding in the world's ears. You could read Kant by yourself,
if you wanted; but you must share a joke with someone else.'

In a beautiful poem, Stephen Phillips describes how a bereaved lover can
think calmly of his dead, when he looked at her possessions, the things
she had worn, even when he read her letters; and her saddest words had
no power to pain him, but when he came to--

'A hurried, happy line!
A little jest too slight for one so dead:
This did I not endure--
Then with a shuddering heart no more I read,'

In truth, the little joke shared, the old allusion at which both are
accustomed to laugh, is a more potent bond than many a deeper feeling.
One can recall these trifles long after one has forgotten the poignant
moments of passion, the breathless heartbeats, the wild embraces which
at the time seemed to promise such deathless memories. All, all are
forgotten, but the silly little joke has still the power to bring tears
to our eyes if the one with whom we shared it is lost to us.

* * *

A great many people are wretched who would have been perfectly happy
with another partner. 'In the inequalities of temperament lies the main
cause of unhappiness in marriage. Want of harmony in tastes counts for
much, but a misfit in temperament for more.' So ludicrously mismated are
some couples that one wonders how they could ever have dreamed of
finding happiness together. This again is frequently the fault of our
absurd conventions, which make it so difficult for single young men and
women to really get to know each other. However, things have improved so
much in this direction during the last decade or two that we ought not
to grumble, but, even now, if a man show a decided preference for a
girl's company his name is at once coupled with hers in a manner which
can but alarm a youth devoid of matrimonial intentions. That relic of
the dark ages, the intention-asking parent, is by no means extinct, and
many a promising friendship that might have ended in a happy marriage is
spoilt by the clumsy intervention of this barbaric relative.

A young barrister friend of mine--we will call him Anthony--once tried,
for reasons of professional policy, to make hi