little problems which enter into it are another matter. Some of them
find expression in the choice of the right girl. And here, naturally, is
a question which no one can decide for another. It is a man's heart
which directs him to the woman whom he wants for his wife, never the
finger of the adviser. "Love pointeth surely" is an old proverb, and it
is as true to-day as upon the day it was written. Many a young man,
however, stands undecided on this question of marriage. He believes that
the only holy marriage, the only marriage from which can spring
happiness, is that born of love. The girl with whom such a marriage is
possible is perhaps within his eye. He loves her, he feels, and yet he
hesitates. Why he hesitates he cannot sometimes explain. Sometimes there
is another girl in the case, whom he acknowledges to himself he does not
love quite so well, and yet he feels that she would bring to him
something that the other girl does not: a certain social advancement,
perhaps, a furtherance of his business interests, or an advantage of one
kind or another. Again, there are young men who feel drawn toward
accepting the girl of their own heart and choice, but are withheld by
parental opposition, or, if not exactly opposition, that parental
indifference or coldness which is even more chilling and killing than
open antagonism. They want the girl, and yet they do not want to offend
their parents; or perhaps, as in some cases, it is friends that are
considered. And so hesitancy and perplexity come in. The heart leads one
way, some other interest or consideration draws another.
It is to the mind of such a young man that a girl awakens divers
feelings, many of which are mistaken for love. It is love which draws
him one way; it is an inherent sense of mere possession that draws him
the other. And I am very free in saying that some young men are actuated
in marrying simply because of this sense of mere possession. Nor do I
mean the word "possession" here as applying to property. To marry a girl
for her money is the most contemptuous act of which a man can be
capable. It dwarfs him and it dwarfs the woman upon whom he inflicts
the wrong. But it is the notion which gets into the heads of so many
young men to marry a girl because of the possession of some trait, some
art, some grace, which they have not themselves, and the girl's
possession of it attracts them. Sometimes it is the girl's talent; at
other times her education, or her traveled knowledge; again it is her
beauty, her social graces, her ability to appear well, to dress well, to
entertain well. The young man associates such a girl in his mind as a
part of an establishment which is the dream of his young manhood. She
would look well; she would always be able to entertain his friends, to
help him in achieving a certain position; and he feels that he would be
proud of her. And he would. But the satisfaction of a mere pride is not
the satisfaction of the heart. Pride is very easily satisfied; and when
it is satisfied it generally departs. In a few years he will want
something more than an ornament to his home, and then he will find it
wanting. For only in rare cases do we find the useful and the
ornamental combined in a single woman. To marry a girl because of some
possession; because he simply likes her better, perhaps, than he does
other girls; because, maybe, he respects, fancies, or admires her;
because she seems to sympathize with him, is to establish a wrong basis
for a happy marriage. Not one of these emotions can form the foundation
for any truly happy marriage. They are things which appeal to us in any
dear friend, man or woman. The girl who is to be a young man's companion
for life, to be with him and of him as long as she or he may live, and
to be the sharer of his joys or sorrows, to be a daughter to his mother
and a mother to his children, must awaken other emotions in a young
man's heart. She must awaken that true, affectionate love out of which
all of the things of which I have spoken spring, but none of which alone
or combined constitutes love itself.
The girl that a young man should marry, and the only girl he is safe to
marry, is she who fills all his life, his every thought, who guides him
in his every act, whose face comes before him in everything that he
does--the girl, in short, without whom he feels life would be a blank,
without whom he could not live. That is the girl whom he loves, and it
makes little difference whether such a girl be rich or poor, talented or
not, traveled or untraveled. Enough is it for him if she is affectionate
in her nature, sympathetic with his work, responsive to his thoughts,
appreciative of his best qualities. These are the traits in a woman
which last the longest, and remain with a man throughout his life. They
are the traits in women which make good wives and better mothers.
Knowledge is a good thing in a woman, but affection is infinitely
better. Far wiser is the young man who marries the stupidest girl in the
world, if she be affectionate, than he who marries the brightest girl in
the universe, if she be cold, clammy, and unresponsive in her
disposition. We laugh at sentiment, we men, when we are young; when we
have lived a lifetime we reverence it, and the jest becomes the tribute.
Another point, as I hinted above, which sometimes enters into a young
man's thoughts of marriage is what is called by the world the "social
station" of the girl he loves. Now what is termed "social station" is a
very difficult thing to define. The habit of social distinction which so
many families endeavor to engender and develop in contemplated marriage
is, I think, one of the most unfortunate tendencies of the times. A
social aristocracy has always been impossible in America, and it is
never more impossible than at the present time. We need not be
extremists in our beliefs, and refuse to admit that there exist grades
and classes in American society. Our social lines are sufficiently drawn
for individual protection, as they rightly should be, and must be in any
great nation. But for any grade of society to refuse a humane and
proper recognition to a girl foreign, perhaps, to our special modes of
living, is a piece of snobbery unworthy of any American family which
thrives and prospers under American privileges and resources. We have in
this country a class of people whose social standards are beneath
contempt, and who consider it almost infectious to brush their mantles
against the plainer cloaks of what they choose to call "the lower
classes." We can, if we so choose, amuse ourselves in this country by
believing that there is such a thing as American lineage. But when we
permit this harmless amusement to become a settled belief and seriously
discuss it, as I have heard it in some drawing-rooms, the matter passes
out of the amusing and assumes the ridiculous. The great social strength
of this country, the real substantial strength, hope, and life of this
nation, lies with what is designated as the great average middle class;
and from this class springs not only the mental, physical, and moral
bone and sinew of this republic, but the best type of womanhood which
ornaments the American home to-day. The man or woman who to-day sneers
at or casts a discreditable innuendo upon that class stamps himself or
herself unworthy of being classed among intelligent people.
The truest, best, and sweetest type of the American girl of to-day does
not come from the home of wealth; she steps out from a home where exists
comfort rather than luxuries. She belongs to the great middle
class--that class which has given us the best American wifehood; which
has given help-mates to the foremost American men of our time; which
teaches its daughters the true meaning of love; which teaches the
manners of the drawing-room, but the practical life of the kitchen as
well; which teaches its girls the responsibilities of wifehood and the
greatness of motherhood. These girls may not ride in their carriages,
they may not wear the most expensive gowns, they may even help a little
to enlarge the family income; but these girls are to-day the great
bulwark of American society, not only present, but of the future. They
represent the American home and what is best and truest in sweet
domestic life, and they make the best wives for our American men. I have
no patience with those theories that would seek to place the average
American girl in any other position than that which she occupies,
ornaments, and rightfully holds: the foremost place in our respect, our
admiration, and our love. She is not the society girl of the day, and
she is better for it. She knows no superficial life; she knows only the
life in a home where husband, wife, and children are one in love, one in
thoughts, and one in every action. She believes no woman to be so sweet
as her mother; no man so good as her father. She believes that there are
good women and true men in the world, and her belief is right. And that
young man will ever be happiest who takes such a girl for his wife.
I seek not to disparage the home life of the wealthy of our land. Some
of my best friends live in homes of luxury, are deemed by the world
wealthy and fortunate, and the atmosphere of their homes is as pure and
elevating as is their family life representative of every element that
makes good women and men. Nor have I one word to say against honest
ancestral pride. On the contrary, I believe in it. I think if we had
more of it in this country it would be better. It is one of the greatest
stimulants to a young man to know that he comes of a good family and
that he is expected to so carry himself as to add respect and pride to
the name of his family. A good family name is one of the strongest
safeguards to a young man's respectability. We cannot underestimate the
value of heredity. We should be proud of an honorable ancestry. But we
should not boast of it, or use it to a detrimental comparison of the
ancestry of others. That spirit is vulgar; certainly it is un-American.
Nor should any of us, who have been a little more favored with this
world's goods, refuse to recognize good in those not possessed of equal
possessions. I care not how tenderly the favored son of a wealthy home
may have been reared; with what care and precision his mental and moral
development may have been guarded and watched; what hopes may be
centered in him: I will match his worth any hour of the day with a girl
from a plainer home and of lesser advantages. "But her social position?"
the proud mother asks. Social station? What is social station? So long
as a girl is respectable, so long as she is good, so long as she is a
loving, tender, and true woman, by what social standard can she be
measured? What right have we to apply superficial standards to worth and
character? What comparison can a social standard bear to the highest
standard of morality, to good womanhood, to the best wifehood, to the
truest conception of motherhood? Is the girl in an office less of a
woman than the girl who rides in her carriage? Is she less capable of
making a good wife? Why do we marry? To please society? To uphold social
standards as false as they are mythical? False pride has made enough
trouble in this world without letting it bring grief into our homes. Let
the young men of this country be sufficiently broad-minded not to
measure a girl by her surroundings, but to judge her for herself. True
worth lasts longer and wears to the end. The loving heart of a good girl
is better than all the wealth and social accomplishments which she can
bring to a man. It is something that comes back to a man three hundred
and sixty-five times in a year. We can get along with a little money in
this world if we will; but love is a quality of which we can scarce have
too much.
And when the conditions are reversed, and the young man's income or
financial possessions are taken into account, the same general principle
is true. There is not a more cruel standard by which to measure a young
man than the position he is able to offer the girl of his choice. I am
not an advocate of the "love-in-a-cottage" theory by any means; but I do
believe in the good old-fashioned theory of a young couple starting out
in the world with a moderate income, and then climbing upward together.
I know this sounds visionary, and like the sort of reading we find in
stories; but the truth is there just the same. I give it as my earnest
conviction that a young girl will be far safer in the hands of a young
man born of parents in moderate circumstances, honest in his principles,
energetic and industrious, than she would with a young man who has known
only the luxuries of life, and to whom work is an incidental matter
rather than the aim and purpose of life. I do not care how poor a young
man may be; if he has good health, sound principles, is respectful of
sacred things, is temperate in his habits, and is not afraid to work,
and work hard, and face the world with a determination to succeed, that
young man can be trusted with the best and sweetest girl ever reared in
an American home.
At the same time I believe that no young man has a right to ask a girl
to be his wife until he has reached a certain point in his life. And I
would apply this both to his age and to his prospects. As to age, I
think a young man should wait until he is at least twenty-five before he
marries. Before that time his impressions and his fancies are apt to be
fleeting. He drifts and flounders in almost everything he
does--wife-choosing included--before he is twenty-five. He himself
rarely knows what he wants in anything. He does not know the world nor
its people. He may think he does--a young man between eighteen and
twenty-five generally does--but he does not all the same. It requires
him to reach and pass the twenty-five-year period to find out how little
he knew before. After he passes twenty-five he begins to learn, and
from that time things come to have a meaning to him. The difference
before and after this twenty-five-year period is that before he is
twenty-five he wonders that he is so much more mature than others and
knows so much; while after he passes twenty-five he wonders that he is
so immature and knows so little. And when a young man reaches that point
where he is convinced that he knows very little, then his time of
learning commences. Young men generally think they know "a great deal
about girls" when they are twenty-one, and can easily choose a wife. But
the wisdom of twenty-one on that point is a little slippery, and I would
advise no young man to test it.
Then, too, a young man has no conception of his capabilities before he
reaches twenty-five. He has no fixed purpose in mind; he has no idea
what he is capable of doing; he does not know the business world nor its
chances. He has had no opportunity of showing his employers his capacity
to fill a more important position. He has, therefore, no practical idea
of his prospects, and he can form none. The period between the ages of
twenty and twenty-five is the formative period in his life, and during
that time it is better that he has no additional responsibilities upon
him other than his own struggles will demand. But when he reaches
twenty-five he generally begins to develop. His opinions on matters
begin to be listened to--casually, it is true, at first, but they
command attention, nevertheless, where formerly they were ignored, and
justly so. From this time his career begins, and he can, with a greater
degree of accuracy, decide for himself whether he can ask the girl of
his choice to share his life with him. Between twenty-five and thirty a
young man should, if he hopes to amount to anything, choose his path in
life and test his capabilities. And then it is that the love of a good
wife and her counsel will mean everything to him. If we look at current
statistics we find at once that the greater majority--I think it is
something like seventy per cent.--of our young men are marrying between
twenty-five and thirty, with a leaning toward the latter age. Years ago
it was different, and the marrying age for young men was between
twenty-two and twenty-five.
But, likewise, a young man cannot afford to wait too long in this
question of marriage; and when I say too long I mean beyond the age of
thirty. After a man passes thirty years his habits are very likely to
become fixed, and from that time it will be harder for him each year to
tear away from his bachelor habits. For marriage demands a few
sacrifices from a man, and he must be prepared to meet them, just as the
girl gives up many of her girlish pleasures. Marriage is not a lark, as
some young people are apt to suppose, and it should not be entered into
just for the fun of the thing, nor for the sake of being married. Better
is it for a young man never to marry than to marry simply for the sake
of marrying, or because he feels that he is getting along in years.
There is only one safe rule for a young man to follow in this whole
question of marriage, and it solves the problem of the girl and the age:
wait until the right girl comes along and then marry her. But, if
possible, don't marry her this side of twenty years, and don't you marry
this side of twenty-five.
Regarding the question of engagements, I believe thoroughly in their
short duration. This whole question of matrimonial engagements might be
changed somewhat by young people themselves, and to their own benefit.
In many cases the young become engaged too soon, and then they are
restless because they cannot marry; whereas, if the period of
acquaintanceship were made longer, and the engagement time shorter,
things would be much improved. Long engagements are never advisable; in
fact, they are bad from every point of view; long periods of
acquaintance previous to an engagement are far better. So far as
actually knowing each other is concerned--well, for that matter, what
woman has ever known a man until after she is married to him, or what
man has ever known a woman?
Touching the question of a young man's income when he marries, no rule
can be laid down. There are thousands of married people who are living
the happiest of lives on six hundred dollars per year, while there are
thousands, on the other hand, who struggle to keep out of debt on six
thousand a year. And so it goes. Everything depends upon the people.
Hundreds of men constantly ask the question, "Can I marry on six
hundred, eight hundred, or a thousand dollars per year?" No one can
determine this question but the young fellow himself, and particularly
the girl whom he loves. As I wrote to a young fellow who asked me if I
believed it would be safe for him to marry on a thousand dollars per
year, so do I say to all young men who are asking the question,
irrespective of the amount involved: no one can tell you. You and the
girl in question must settle that. But, on general principles, I think
the sooner we look at this question of marriage from some other than
this strictly mercenary standpoint the better. I do not believe, as I
said a few paragraphs back, in the theory of love in a cottage, with
nothing else. But I do believe in young people starting at the lowest
rung in the ladder and then climbing up. Nothing else in the world knits
the interests of two people so closely together, or insures such
absolute happiness in the future as their lives progress. I cannot
advise any young fellow what to do, but I know if I were earning six
hundred, eight hundred, or a thousand dollars a year, and I really loved
a girl--felt, in other words, as if I could not live without her--and
the girl was of the right kind--that is, sensible in her ideas, frugal
in her tastes, and of a marriageable age--I would let her settle my
doubt for me. Girls have a very interesting way of settling doubts of
this kind--when they are fond of the fellow in doubt. One thing is
certain: the greatest safety in this world for a man is to place his
interests in the keeping of the woman who loves him.
These are the only points which I or any other writer can possibly
advance regarding this question of marriage. Every young man must
necessarily settle it for himself; all that a writer can do is to lay
down the best and what he considers to be the safest general principles,
and each reader must apply those principles to his own individual needs
and condition.
But there is one thing which a writer can safely do, and that is to
counsel in every young man a firm belief in womanhood and an honest
faith in marriage. He must not paint the marriage relation all of a
rose-colored hue. Necessarily it has its purple lights; sometimes its
black shadows. No condition of life is without its little trials, its
vexations, or its anxieties, and marriage is not an exception to this
rule. But it is through the marriage state, through the love of woman,
as I have said before, that man has reached his present status. Married
to a woman, he may wonder now and then a little whether she is not
rather expensive. Her ways may not always be his ways. Occasionally he
may frown a little, and perhaps scold a bit. He may leave home in the
morning and go to his office without the customary farewell kiss. He may
sometimes get provoked because she is "so slow in getting ready" when he
goes out with her. He may want to stay at home when she wants to go out.
He may be led to say once in a great while, "Women are queer, and you
are one of the queerest!" He may fly into a passion, only to feel sorry
for it afterward. He may feel piqued at times because she is not home
when he comes from the office; that dinner is not ready just at the
precise moment when he wants it; that she wants to retire about three
hours earlier than he does. But, "after all," he says to himself, "I
tell you what, my wife is an angel. She always seems to know what is
best for me, and what is not. She looks at nothing in the light of a
sacrifice. When I have been tired for three hours she keeps going. Well,
she is my daily joy; sick, my comfort, and the best of nurses; in
trouble, my star of hope. When I want to be rash she is cautious. I
could stake my life on the honesty of a man; she, at a glance, has read
his innermost thoughts and knows his character. And take her year in and
year out she is the most patient, most loving, and dearest of women.
Faults? Of course she has, but so have I--lots of them, too. I notice
all she has, but some way or other she never seems to see mine, and
talks only of my best side. And, after all, is she not right?" And then,
as a pair of arms are twined around him from behind, as he sits in a
comfortable chair, a soft, fluffy sleeve just rubs gently against his
face, a pair of eyes look into his eyes as he raises them, a pair of
lips lovingly press his, a gentle, loving voice says, "Do you know,
dear, you look very comfortable and happy," everything that is good
swells up in him and finds its expression in the typical Americanism:
"You bet I am!"