But it is
less useful to speculate as to mankind's past and future than to
observe men. And you will have observed with me in the club-room that
young men at most times look solemn, whereas old men or men of middle
age mostly smile; and also that those young men do often laugh loud
and long among themselves, while we others--the gayest and best of us
in the most favourable circumstances--seldom achieve more than our
habitual act of smiling. Does the sound of that laughter jar on us? Do
we liken it to the crackling of thorns under a pot? Let us do so.
There is no cheerier sound. But let us not assume it to be the
laughter of fools because we sit quiet. It is absurd to disapprove of
what one envies, or to wish a good thing were no more because it has
passed out of our possession.
But (it seems that I must begin every paragraph by questioning the
sincerity of what I have just said) has the gift of laughter been
withdrawn from me? I protest that I do still, at the age of forty-
seven, laugh often and loud and long. But not, I believe, so long and
loud and often as in my less smiling youth. And I am proud, nowadays,
of laughing, and grateful to any one who makes me laugh. That is a bad
sign. I no longer take laughter as a matter of course. I realise, even
after reading M.
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