Love casts the same glamor over everything, it is true, glorifying and deifying all it touches; but the freshness, the newness, the very childish unquestioningness, are charms that cease with maturity. We learn to weigh our affections cautiously and prudently, balancing the matters of loss and gain, without being aware of it. We call it the prudence of age, and smile furtively at the children about us, speaking in an apologetic fashion of the thoughtlessness of youth.