I am not sure that people do not set too much store by associations. There is an old tune that most people have forgotten, I dare say; perhaps it is not very good music; in fact, I would take an affidavit that it is the nastiest, tuniest tune I ever heard, and yet it has associations for me. It recalls to me my landlady’s daughter; it was the tune she loved most and played most frequently; she was rather an ugly girl, too. But I do not value the tune any more on that account; I believe it makes me hate it more bitterly. I should think that cider must be almost cool by now, but I will give it another minute or two. I suppose it is for the sake of associations that people have their dead pets stuffed, or have portions of them made into tobacco-pouches or paper-knives. I never had any pet myself except one solitary, evil dog; he was an original dog, and was perfectly good-tempered with everybody except his master. I am thankful to say that I possess absolutely nothing which reminds me of him. The smell of tar has curious associations for me. It reminds me of a day when I drove frantically in the direction of Liverpool Street, with the intention of catching the 10.30. I had offered my cabby vast sums to get me there in time, and he certainly did his best. I did not stop to take a ticket, but dashed across the platform, and entered the train just as it was moving out. I sank back on the cushions with a sigh of relief. One gets so much pleasure out of _just_ doing a thing. Then I found out that the train which I had entered was not the 10.30, was not going to the same place, and was not thinking of stopping anywhere for some considerable time. Perhaps you wonder why the smell of tar should remind me of this. So do I. I have not the least notion why it is. One must not expect to see the reason for the connection always. Why are the girls with the biggest feet always devoted to quite inferior works of fiction? Why are clean-shaven men always cynical? Then of course there are the tender, romantic associations. A good deal might be said about them. In the meantime I can’t think where I’ve put that corkscrew. Ah! here it is, sitting under one of the cushions and laughing at me. Now for the cider, with a golden glow in it like the curls of the love-god himself. And flat--miserably flat. * * * * * As I said, _Zeitgeist_ does not care to move about much. So I have amused myself with reading the last anecdote in the “Entertainments” of Kapnides. Here it is:-- A general feeling of content prevailed in the house of Zeus & Co. “We shall declare,” said Zeus, “such a dividend as never was.” “We shall,” said Co.