ghter, who is
still only a nine days' wonder--so young that she doesn't even know what
you are doing to her. But you are not going to have the laugh on me by
luring me into resolutions. I know my weaknesses. I know that I shall
probably continue to annoy newsdealers by reading the magazines on the
stalls instead of buying them; that I shall put off having my hair cut;
drop tobacco cinders on my waistcoat; feel bored at the idea of having
to shave and get dressed; be nervous when the gas burner pops when
turned off; buy more Liberty Bonds than I can afford and have to hock
them at a grievous loss. I shall continue to be pleasant to insurance
agents, from sheer lack of manhood; and to keep library books out over
the date and so incur a fine. My only hope, you see, is resolutely to
determine to persist in these failings. Then, by sheer perversity, I may
grow out of them.

[Illustration]

What avail, indeed, for any of us to make good resolutions when one
contemplates the grand pageant of human frailty? Observe what I noticed
the other day in the Lost and Found column of the New York _Times_:

LOST--Hotel Imperial lavatory, set of teeth. Call or communicate
Flint, 134 East 43d street. Reward.

Surely, if Mr. Flint could not remember to keep his teeth in his mouth,
or if any one else was so basely whimsical as to juggle them away from
him, it may well teach us to be chary of extravagant hopes for the
future. Even the League of Nations, when one contemplates the sad case
of Mr. Flint, becomes a rather anemic safeguard. We had better keep Mr.
Flint in mind through the New Year as a symbol of human error and
disappointment. And the best of it is, my dear Time, that you, too, may
be a little careless. Perhaps one of these days you may doze a little
and we shall steal a few hours of timeless bliss. Shall we see a little
ad in the papers:

LOST--Sixty valuable minutes, said to have been stolen by the
unworthy human race. If found, please return to Father Time, and no
questions asked.

Well, my dear Time, we approach the Zero Hour. I hope you will have a
Happy New Year, and conduct yourself with becoming restraint. So live,
my dear fellow, that we may say, "A good Time was enjoyed by all." As
the hands of the clock go over the top and into the No Man's Land of
the New Year, good luck to you!

Your obedient servant!

WHAT MEN LIVE BY

What a delicate and rare and gracious art is the art of con