Pleasure of Curiosity.

Few of the human passions can be guaranteed to last. Sooner or later we all grow too old for love, and even the Joys of eating and drinking depend upon the caprices of our digestion. Tobacco? Yes, possibly, but the only pleasure we can absolutely count on to last as long as life itself is the one which distinguishes us from the beasts, the pleasure of curiosity; and, of all the exciting and interesting things which happen round about us, the behaviour of our neighbours is the most fascinating. I know that there are people who would rather find a lesser spotted woodpecker in a wood than their churchwarden with a chorus girl in a teashop, but these are the real eccentrics.

Then again, a lot of us have work we are interested in, but that's shop, and what a bore the fellow is who will talk shop in general company, the stockbroker who holds forth about bulls and bears to people who have never got nearer one than the Zoo—so un-English, don't you think? Or the lady who insists on giving you the latest bulletins from her nursery: the baby-snob, she's a terror.

No; shop can be the most absorbing of all forms of conversation, but for heaven's sake let's keep it in its proper place.

But you and I, I hope, are not bored. Whatever our consciences may say, whenever we meet our friends, as soon as the conventional inquiries about health and babies are over, we settle down to a cosy little gossip.

I saw John the other day. You know he's engaged.

I did hear something about it. She's very rich, isn't she?

Yes, her parents are perfectly furious. He turned up at a party at their house in a hired dress suit!

How's that friend of his? The one who's so [unclear: worried] about his hair?

Oh. David, you mean. I saw him last week at a [unclear: cocktail] party. He was tight, and insisted on talking French all the time. But It wasn't very good French. He'll be as bold as a coot in a few years' time. Talking of David, how's Helen?

Not drinking quite as much as she used to. I think she's lovely, don't you?

Yes. But, Christmas! How stupid!

That's the trouble. She knows she's a bore.

The one I'm sorry for is that child of hers, left alone all day with that ogre of a nurse. My dear, she positively eats him. And so on and so on. We all do it, and no policeman or clergyman will over stop us. But gossip Is still listed officially as a vice, the kind of thing we do ourselves, hut punish children for doing.