A Practice Not Devoid of Disillusionment led, with its rush of calendar pads snd mind that most teresting subject, the more T am half of the feminine population of the world can be -keapers, efficient sketchy, fall fledged or embryonic, fas the case may "Tt is rather a fascinating business, this playing at being schoolmistress over one's own shortcomings and absent-mindedness, and there are as many methods as there are individuals subscribing to them keeping lists. Some compile lists regularly, at the end of the day, including' in the neat, jottings the depressing array of things which were on the list of the day. just ended, but which, somehow fell short attainment and await the fresher outlook of to-morrow.
Others make th beginning of the day, after breakfast when the children have gone to school, or a cup of strong tea has made life less disheartening,—the point being that a list requires concentration and cheerfulness, Still others, I have been told, compose their lists before they get up in the morning, mentally reviewing what they intend to put down Iner on in accusing black and white, to be used by their own consciences against them. But oppressive, I feel sure, would thi method i¢ for most of us that supposing we did manage to drag one foot out after the other to start the day's routine, our inspira tion for writing down the list would surely have been undermined. Geniuses, it is commonly believed, content. themselves with carrying note-book us a part of their inspired capacity for taking pains, oF use odd bits of envelopes to make jottings. And there was a time when brushing the hair at was the prolix of for the morrow's fore the a daily, unpleasant realities, one could think of all kinds of worthy rosel tions pertaining to people and things tone wanted to do on the morrow; Dut, now of course, daily brushing ren loves the water-wave from the 'a practical consideration iminates a very pleasant method of composing lists.
To suppose that you have the list habit a spirit of truthfulness would compel you to admit that it is a dynamic force in your life. Once drawn up, the neat row after row of things you want to to-day ule you as completely as the mechanical man who rose up and chased his creator around the block before it settled down again to its impassive existence. To be without a list, for one who has acquired "the' habit—and in so short a while, das, is this habit acquired '—is the equivalent, for example, of stepping into a well known street and being confronted with utter absence of sound; falling breathlessly through space; like a holiday to a journalist. It leaves one stranded and unbefriended, at loss to know how to move and act until the old rut can be slipped into again, Like most of our habits, lists sometimes betray us. There is. always the chance that, compiled under the audacious invitation of a Christmas memo-book of tissue-thin paper, shopping list bearing intimate details of one's needs may flutter to the ground only to be rescued by some obliging young man, who, not quite certain as to the Ust's proprietor must needs read [it through meticulously before the matter can be cleared up.
But on the whole—I believe all Hist keepers will agree with me here lists repay us immeasurably. The sheer joy of checking things off with a sigh ist day in the week, can compensate for the other six days when one transfers dutifully the same item with a hopefulness characteristic of the human list-keeper.—L.B.W,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.