And what about the borrower? Well, firstly, he carries off your loan in a fine glow of gratitude for your kindness, and fully intending to send it back speedily. He even goes so far as to hand it, all dripping with rain, into the servant’s hand with an injunction, “Take care of this umbrella, for it is borrowed.” To-morrow he will call and leave it with graceful thanks. But to-morrow is fine, and an umbrella is a nuisance on a bright day; it really shall be sent soon. And how can he carry two umbrellas on a rainy day? So the tiny germ of honest intention withers under delay, till in the end the borrower _almost_ forgets that he is not owner. There is pointed satire to many jarred sensibilities in the hyphenless advertisement so frequently seen, “Umbrellas Recovered in Twenty Minutes!” Vain are all inquiries. You call at his house; it has gone out on service or has got “mislaid.” And, finally, you abandon the quest and purchase another. One melancholy fact you realize: any five-pound note is equal to any other five-pound note, but no other umbrella suits you so well as the old favorite. Everybody knows the comfort of finding a pen that suits the busy writer. Even the elaborate gold nib may be a failure; and as to quills, every mending is one in ten on the chance of being too hard or too soft for a fastidious taste. Yet the virtue of generosity often requires self-abnegation to the extent of lending the treasure which lightens labor with ease of tool. You know perfectly well that the pen will be ruined for your use by being lent to the friend who borrows it, “only for a moment,” while he scribbles a hasty note, or signs his name to the carrier. But just that moment does the mischief, and you, patiently or impatiently, as the case may be, resign yourself to a damaged pen, or waste time in seeking another. And of books! What about lending books?