altruist who refrains from devoting himself to one woman in order that he may scatter sweetness and light amongst the multitude.

   There is nothing quite so intriguing to a bachelor as flirting with the "

    idea of marriage

   "—with his fingers crossed. He just loves to "consider marrying" in the abstract and to go about pitying himself for being so "lonely."

   There are three kinds of bachelors: the kind that must be driven into matrimony with a whip; the kind that must be coaxed with sugar; and the kind that must be blindfolded and backed into the shafts.

   If you want to be chosen to brighten a bachelor's life, first make it dark and dreary; so long as women are willing to make his existence one long sweet song, naturally he isn't anxious to exchange it for a lullaby.

   When a man actually asks a girl to marry him in these days of bachelor comforts and the deification of single-blessedness, she has a revelation of human unselfishness that stands as the eighth wonder of the world.

   That tired expression on a bachelor's face is not so often the result of brain-fag from an overworked mind as of heart-fag from overworking the emotions.

   Lovers look at life through rose-colored curtains; old bachelors see it through a fog.

   Somehow, a bachelor never quite gets over the idea that he is a thing of beauty and a boy forever!

   A bachelor fancies that it is his wonderful sixty-horse will-power that keeps him from marrying, whereas it is nothing but his little one-horse

    won't-power

   .

   One consolation in marrying a bachelor over forty is that he has fought so long and so hard to escape the hook that there is no more fight left in him.

   Never give up hope as long as a bachelor declares definitely, "No woman can

    get

   me!" Wait until he is so sure of his immunity that he sighs regretfully, "No woman will

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