Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the
public domain.
The cover for this book contains substantial text, and this text has
been included in digital form with a simplified format.
The cover contains a list labeled “CONTENTS:”; however, this is a
partial list of topics covered in the book rather than a Table of
Contents.
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
DON’T MARRY. 3
ROMANTIC MARRIAGES. 79
UNROMANTIC MARRIAGES. 101
* * * * *
DON’T MARRY; OR, ADVICE AS TO How, When and Who to Marry.
CONTENTS:
Don’t Marry for Beauty Alone.
Don’t Marry for Money.
Don’t Marry a Very Small Man.
Don’t Marry too Young.
Don’t Marry a Coquette.
Don’t Elope to Marry.
Don’t Dally About Proposing.
Don’t Marry a Drunkard.
Don’t Marry a Spendthrift.
Don’t Marry a Miser.
Don’t Marry Far Apart in Ages.
Don’t Marry too Old.
Don’t Marry Odd Sizes.
Don’t Marry a Clown.
Don’t Marry a Dude.
Don’t Marry From Pity.
Don’t Marry for an Ideal Marriage.
Don’t Break a Marriage Promise.
Don’t Marry for Spite.
Don’t Mitten a Mechanic.
Don’t Marry a Man too Poor.
Don’t Marry a Crank.
Don’t Marry Fine Feathers.
Don’t Marry Without Love.
Don’t Marry a Stingy Man.
Don’t Marry too Hastily.
Don’t be too Slow About It.
Don’t Marry a Silly Girl.
Don’t Expect too Much in Marriage.
Don’t Marry a Fop.
Don’t Marry in Fun.
Don’t Spurn a Man for His Poverty.
Don’t Marry Recklessly.
J. S. OGILVIE, PUBLISHER, 57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.
* * * * *
TWENTY-FIVE SERMONS
--ON--
The Holy Land.
--BY--
REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D.
No Series of Sermons ever delivered by this famous preacher has created
such a widespread and intense interest as this. These Sermons describe
with vivid interest the scenes, incidents and many various experiences
met with in the Holy Land, the land in which people are now more
interested than ever before.
Among the hundreds of thousands of people who have read the utterances
of this wonderfully successful preacher there are none but will be glad
to have this book. Read the following
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
1. Eve of Departure--2. I Must also See Rome--3. A Mediterranean
Voyage--4. Paul’s Mission in Athens--5. Life and Death of Dorcas--6.
The Glory of Solomon’s Reign--7. Peace, Be Still--8. The Marriage
Feast--9. Christmas Eve in the Holy Land--10. The Joyful Surprise--11.
How a King’s Life was Saved--12. The Philippian Earthquake--13.
What is in a Name?--14. The Half was not Told Me--15. I Went Up to
Jerusalem--16. On the Housetop in Jerusalem--17. The Journey to
Jericho--18. He Toucheth the Hills and They Smoke--19. Solomon in all
His Glory--20. The Journey to Bethel--21. Incidents in Palestine--22.
Among the Holy Hills--23. Our Sail on Lake Galilee--24. On to
Damascus--25. Across Mount Lebanon.
It contains 320 pages in paper cover, and will be sent by mail,
postpaid, to any address on receipt of 25 cents. Bound in Cloth, $1.50;
Half Russia, $2.00. Agents wanted. Address all orders to
J. S. OGILVIE, Publisher, 57 Rose Street, New York.
* * * * *
FOR EDITOR’S USE.
We desire to call your attention to this book, and ask that you give it
a careful review and criticism. Please send paper containing notice to
J. S. OGILVIE, PUBLISHER, 57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.
_PRICE, 25 CENTS._
* * * * *
DON’T MARRY; OR, ADVICE AS TO HOW, WHEN AND WHO TO MARRY.
By HILDRETH.
“... The tale that I relate
This lesson seems to carry,--
Choose not alone a proper mate,
But proper time to marry.”
THE SUNNYSIDE SERIES, No. 39. Issued Monthly. October, 1891. Extra.
$3.00 per year.
Entered at New York Post-Office as second-class matter.
Copyright, 1890, by J. S. Ogilvie.
NEW YORK: J. S. OGILVIE, PUBLISHER 57 ROSE STREET.
* * * * *
THE SCIENCE OF A NEW LIFE.
A BOOK ESPECIALLY ADAPTED
To All Who Are Married
Or who Contemplate taking this Important Step.
16 page descriptive Circular sent free to any address by
_J. S. OGILVIE_ Rose Street, New York.
* * * * *
DON’T MARRY.
BY HILDRETH.
It is not intended to advise against marriage, nor to draw the line too
closely as to the don’t-marry class, but simply to hint at the errors
of some persons who match badly on so long a contract.
The “yes or no” question is the vital one for all young people to
answer. Some answer too soon, others wait too long, others never reach
such a climax of happiness as to be invited by an eligible partner. The
genius of selection is the rarest of faculties.
What most puzzles the will and makes us bear the ills we have is the
theme of selection. A mother’s or father’s view of a suitor may be at
variance with the daughter’s wish and destroy the peace of both for a
lifetime. But quite generally the real trouble arises from a spiteful
choice or a hasty one, or one in some of the forms here mentioned.
Should these hints prevent one unhappy marriage, they will well repay
the little study that their brevity requires.
To avoid much lecturing, only two examples are given at any length,
in the form of stories. These are as near to the real characters as
the writer can safely relate them, being founded on actual romantic
and unromantic marriages. As marriage is the first question that every
family will discuss, it is well to treat it with exact candor.
_Don’t marry for beauty merely._ Very few have a supply that would last
a full dozen years in a married life that should continue for three
decades.
And, more than that, beauty is not the only requisite to happiness.
Very handsome people are almost always vain, often exacting, and
generally live on their form, paying little or no attention to the
rarer qualities of manhood or womanhood.
If one seek beauty alone, he will find it in the fields and flowers
and gardens, in paintings, art works, and things of nature; while the
real pleasures of life may be found in a thousand ways outside of the
worship of beauty.
There are a dozen considerations beyond beauty that should govern the
choice of a companion. Think for a moment whom you admire most, trust
implicitly, and love more ardently than all others. Truly, it is not
the wax-doll face in a milliner’s window; were that so, why not marry
the model and get the perfection of beauty? The day will come when
the “rain beats in at the heart windows.” The time may run along so
fast till the summer is over and the winter snow-drifts shade your
locks with silver, when one by one of your friends will visit at the
fireside, when some one will love you for your mind and heart and
nobleness. Some one suited to your silver-age condition and disposition
will be beautiful without any name for beauty; as the soldier said of
Grant’s face, after Shiloh’s bloody battle, “That was the handsomest
face I ever saw;” yet it was plain and dusty and rugged.
Prize-winners in matrimony have been women of finer mould than mere
beauties. Women who have won the hearts of statesmen, and painters and
poets, and the good and great of all time, were women of fascination,
or what the Southern ladies call sweet women, and not alone noted for
their beauty.
Many a one has been known to have been plain but social; not always
unhandsome, but never beautiful. They are the best wives and noblest
mothers who have more to commend them than mere grace of features,
shade of skin, or color of eyes, or art of beautifying. Some are
frivolous, and more are flattered into danger. The most miserable man I
know is married to one of the most beautiful women. He is jealous; she
is exposed to insults unawares. Their home is a Hades six days out of
seven. I’ve heard him wish she were less attractive!
_Don’t marry a man for money._ If money is your real object, the older
and uglier he is, the better; for nothing should come between you and
the chosen idol of your affection. If you marry one for his money, he
will find it out shortly.
What sublime contempt a man must have for one who simply loves his
pocket-book! Why not love his farm, or lumber-yard, or herd of cattle?
The love of money is a miserly pretence of affection that leads to
discontent, distrust, and disgust when they find it out.
Besides, wealthy men are men of care. The wife of a noted millionnaire
has had her husband’s body stolen from its vault, has been long kept in
agony, is an object of pity to all who know her. Another wife was heard
to say, “Why, I don’t have the privilege, nor the money, nor the good
times that my girl Bridget enjoys. I am poor and anxious and depressed,
and weary of hearing my husband say, over and over again, ‘You are
fixing for the poor-house.’ He really thinks and believes we will end
life in the poor-house; and yet he enjoys a princely income.” Thousands
of such men carry their load of care, and load of wealth, and load of
anxiety, and how can they carry any burden of love?
_Don’t marry a very small man_--a little fellow far below all
proportion; try to get some form to admire, something to shape things
to, and some one who is not lost in a crowd completely, who is too
little to admire and too small for beauty. You may need strong arms
and brave hands to protect you. You will need hands to provide for
and maintain you, and a good form is a fine beginning of manhood or
womanhood.
Mental greatness is not measured by size of brain or bodily
proportions. Great men are neither always wise nor always large; they
are more often of more medium build, and well balanced in gifts of
mental and physical development. Of the two, a very large man is better
than a small one, and a medium large woman likewise.
_Don’t marry too young._ The right age to marry is a matter of
taste; twenty-one for girls, and twenty-four for men may be a little
arbitrary, but certainly is sensible. The happy early marriages are
rare. It too often happens that love is mistaken, or poorly informed,
or lacks an anchor in good judgment. There is no use of reasoning about
it,--love is love, and will marry in spite of reason, and in some cases
it runs away with its choice and repents it a thousand times soon after.
But be sensible, for a life contract should be a sensible one. What
is the use of throwing away one season--skipping girlhood or boyhood
to rush into maturity and maternity? The records of divorce courts
tell the silly and sorrowful stories of many a mismated pair, married
too young and slowly repenting of their rashness. Ask of your truest
friends; take counsel; be above foolishness.
_Don’t marry a villain._ Many a girl is ripe for an adventure, and in
appearance nothing more resembles an angel than a keen and designing
villain--a thoroughbred; not a gambler merely, but worse, a wreck! Such
men may be wary, artful, deceitful, attractive. They are crafty; their
trade compels it. They may be handsome, often so; they may be oily and
slick--most of them are. They may live rich and expensive lives for a
season; ill-gotten gains are not lasting. Heaven pity the girl that
marries one of these adventurers, for the end is bitterness! A friend
met one on the Pacific road, married him, and learned to her sorrow
that he drank to excess, swore like a pirate, lived in debauchery,
and early offered to swap wives for a season with a boon-companion.
“And that man,” she said, “was as handsome as a dude, as slick as
an auctioneer, as oily as a pedler; I loved him only one day after
marriage.”
_Don’t marry a hypocrite._ Of all things get sincerity. Get the genuine
article. If you get a hypocrite, he is brass jewelry, and will easily
tarnish. Make careful inquiry, see that he is all that he pretends to
be, or never trust him. The habit of deceit is one of a lifetime.
Some join churches for no other reason than to cloak iniquity. It is
not the rule by any means; it is a too common exception. One who goes
from city to city and captivates too many by his oil of blandness; one
who has no business, an idler; one who apes the rich and is ground
down in poverty; one who lacks the courage to live like himself and
had rather live a lie and deceive the world around him,--is an unfit
companion, and will bear watching.
_Don’t marry a coquette._ One that is worn out by a long list of
discarded admirers is like stale bread--worse every day and seldom
grows better by long standing. There are women, and girls sometimes,
who glory and revel in the names of discarded lovers; whose sense
of honesty has been poisoned, numbed, and frozen by cheating their
victims through pretended affection, until they have lost all heart
or honesty; who deserve to be left alone to ponder on their cruelty
for the balance of their miserable existence. Of all the worst forms
of flirting, coquetry is the most detestable. It is not only trifling
away the time of both, but casting distrust on the holiest of all
sentiments, the purity of womanhood. To steal money is honorable
compared to stealing affection.
The habit of coquetry will, or may, last long after marriage. She
who practises it will follow up in unpleasant references to her
conquests, wishing she had married at this offer or that, and wear
out the happiness of her last conquest by a frequent reminder of his
inferiority to the others.
_Don’t marry a woman for her money._ These people are tenacious to a
minute degree. They long to remind you of my house, my property, my
farm, my lots on Lincoln Avenue, my furniture, my bank account, and the
like--making one a pensioner all his life for his board and clothing.
If there is any difference, it should be with the man. He is expected
to control property. He is the master of his house, or the manager of
his expenses. Very naturally he says “my” store or “my” lots, but it
will sound far more fair and considerate even if he says “our” in lieu
of “my” sometimes.
The only fair way to act about it is to treat marriage as a partnership
where nobody owns all, but each has an equal interest. It is fair to
divide a good portion of one’s property with his wife, fair to deed her
a nice homestead and present her a given allowance--liberal as one’s
income will warrant--and let her draw from it as her own, and not be a
beggar each time she needs money.
_Don’t elope to marry._ It is a weak affection that cannot wait
awhile. Jacob served seven years, then seven more, for Rebecca. She was
a fine specimen of womanhood--as represented in paintings; housekeeping
was easy and inexpensive then, but they patiently waited and were
handsomely rewarded.
Ruth was an excellent example of girlhood. In no great hurry to marry,
taking the hardships of travel, her devotion to her mother touched the
heart of a king, and she won a splendid prize for her patience. She
might have eloped with a stage-driver or a coachman, and ended her life
with many less historical-society notices.
_Don’t dally about proposing._ What is it to ask a fine girl to marry
you? The simplest, easiest thing on earth, if you “strike while the
iron is hot.” Go about it sensibly. To begin with, you never expect
much encouragement from a discreet maiden; she is in the background;
her promise is to be invited; she is not her own spokeswoman. Think of
the embarrassment.
I venture to say, if you like her, that you will say so. Often you may
have told her how fine her eyes are, or how well you like her singing,
or talking, and her company; but when you ask a simple question, you
get down on your knees (they do in novels, not in reality) and beg for
it. Nonsense! Such a girl is unworthy. Begging is a silly fashion,
seldom now indulged in, all out of date, and no longer tolerated
outside of novels and theatres. Use a little sense about it.
Find out first if you have the right one, then settle the matter in
one of five ways: First, in the parlor (don’t propose in church, or at
a donation, or in a crowd, or on a street-car, or while the horse is
prancing), get up your resolution at the right moment and say: “Do we
understand each other, Clemantha?” Then, if she doesn’t, explain it
to her in a sensible fashion, and in little short words that cannot be
mistaken; give her time, if necessary.
The second way is, on a fine walk or drive, “Would you like to walk
always?” or, “If you were to choose whom you would walk with forever,
who would it be?” She will say, “I don’t care to be so personal.”
Certainly then you may be more explicit.
Third, suppose you are to separate, what a grand opportunity! See
that you improve it earnestly. To tell a girl that she is fairer than
flowers, clearer than coffee, and sweeter than honey is old, very old,
and uncalled-for. Tell her she is what she is, and you like her with
all her surroundings; that you can better her condition sometime. Dwell
on the “sometime.”
Be honest about it. If she doesn’t love you, let her love some one
else, and you will be surprised to find how many pure and beautiful
beings there are all around you, holding their finger-tips to hide
a smile of welcome and ready--“yes, Edgar”--eager to mate with one
worthy and ready to marry them, for marriage is a natural hope of every
right-minded woman.
This is a fourth method: read aloud of characters like Arden, Romeo,
or Abelard, or Paul and Virginia, and make your comments audibly. You
will not be long in tracing a conclusion. Be a little ingenious about
it, find out through your sister. Prepare the way and don’t ask until
you find she is unpledged, remember; or at least tarry long enough to
be reasonably certain. And what if refused? No harm done. Like the
German’s sugar, “The other pound is shust so good as the first one.”
One man I know drew off a list of all his acquaintances worthy of
marriage, and went about it like a regular wheat-buyer. He was a
bachelor, of course, and very eccentric. Coming to the first, he
explained his object, concealing all names, but saying she was first
of a long list furnished him by a friend (each one was first, always);
then he would say, “I will give you a week to consider it, and no harm
done; if not then, I must pursue my list further.” Of all the sold-out
men, he was sold the cheapest! He married a whole family. The first two
were disgusted, the third or fourth accepted. This looks too much like
a purchase and sale, and don’t try the method.
The last way is sensible; by writing--many a proposal is in writing.
Even in that be a little guarded; once a no, yeses come with
reluctance. It is best not to give one an opportunity to say no, but to
parry long enough to test the opposition. If it were a race-horse to
buy, a house to contract for, or a block to purchase, it would not be
very hard to strike a bargain. So that, once finding form, character,
fitness, affection, desire to be mated, go about the rest by a direct
and sensible method, and don’t wear out the gate-hinges, burn out all
the oil, weary the old folks, or turn gray with anxiety, but do it.
_Don’t marry a drunkard._ He will promise, by all that’s good, great,
and holy, to reform. How many more like him have made just such
promises? He can’t keep such a promise if he would. Make him reform a
couple of years at least, on trial, before you marry him. It will be
time enough then to risk a life-partnership, to chain your hopes to an
unfortunate creature whose sense and judgment are corrupted, not by
will, perhaps, but by habit stronger than reason. With most men this
habit becomes a desire. They are bound to feed the fire that burns
them. They have no voice in the matter, and cannot, if they would,
break the strong fetters that bind them in irons, like the prison bars
confine their victims.
It’s a sorry picture to behold a fair young girl chained to a being
with a will all lost and debauched in appetite for drink; a section
of the land of departed evil spirits can only equal her daily misery.
Children must bear it, friends submit to it, and all of character,
sweetness of temper, or refinement in one’s nature will revolt at the
coarseness of the wrecked and wretched career of a drunkard’s life. He
is an object of pity, and a being to be shunned in matrimony, no matter
how many promises he makes or how good he is otherwise.
To avoid long sorrow, disgrace, and regret, avoid him. If you had two
lives and one to dispose of, at any cost, mate with a drunkard and die
a thousand deaths. Your health, peace, and happiness will go with his.
“Art thou mated with a clown,
Then the baseness of his nature
Will have weight to drag thee down.”
Such a man will kill his wife, burn his own child, sacrifice everything
on earth when scourged by this degrading passion. More could be urged,
but let the starving families, the criminal courts, the idiotic
children, tell the rest: the story is too dreadful to dwell upon. It is
monstrous. Life becomes a burden, and death a sweet release from such a
cross. Of all the matches on earth, the most to be dreaded and avoided
is the drunkard’s wife.
_Don’t marry a fast man or woman._ Something tells us that black logs
will darken the whitest garments. The edge of virtue once dulled
is never quite so keen afterwards. It may be very well to speak
slightingly of wild oats, but who cares to know that their oats are a
second crop? Who is willing to believe that they are the last resort of
one who has pleaded and pledged to hundreds or even dozens before her,
or waits an opportunity to make as many more pledges as occasion may
offer? Fast men are not satisfied with one vice merely, but follow on
to many. They may drink, gamble, sport, and venture, and step by step
indulge in the kindred vices of lewdness, till disease shall fasten its
clutches in their burning blood and run in their veins for a lifetime.
They are rarely satisfied with one home, one wife, and one family.
_Don’t marry a foreigner_,--one who comes from a far-away country and
returns to it. It is very uncertain; think ahead carefully. The new and
strange customs of his country may and may not be congenial. They may
be a dreary dream of home and early separation. Think of the ties of
friendship, the cords of affection twined and woven around your nature;
ties that are not severed without many pangs of sorrow. Life is a
short, strange journey, and, make it when we will or where we will, it
is pleasant to be made with company. Those who know us best will love
us most if we deserve it, and few will continue on in friendship long
after we go to strange and unknown countries. A stranger neighbor soon
comes nearer than a long-absent friend whom we never hear from.
_Don’t marry a spendthrift._ The habit of living is formed early.
Either one is bent on rising or going lower. As water seeks its level,
so men seek their ambition and find it. Prosperity comes not on silver
trays, ready-made and ready for use to everybody; most men work for
it, strive for it, and deserve it. The sons of the rich, who inherit
property and have formed the habit of useless spending, are a little
bit lower than the poor. It is not disgraceful at all to be born poor;
but to become so after once being rich, and that through reckless
spending, is a dishonor to any one. “One thing we can be proud of,”
said Ingersoll; “we’ve made some improvement on the original implements
and the common stock.”
A young man who lives on his father’s earnings has very little to
boast of, but one who squanders his inheritance in riotous living
is an object of contempt and ridicule. “He is one of the old man’s
pensioners,” said a business man lately of a rich man’s son. “But for
his father’s thrift he would be a beggar; he lives like a refined
beggar on the food furnished by another. What a brilliant genius he is!”
_Don’t marry your cousin._ It may be very tempting; relatives are often
warmly attached to each other from long and intimate acquaintance.
Remember that constantly thrown in each other’s society will often
create such attachments. With many persons, marriage of blood relations
will more or less lead to deafness, blindness, or deformity. It may
skip one generation and find another. It may result in disease and
weakness. It may be all right, but seven to eight it is risky and
uncertain, and you can’t afford to be uncertain in such matters.
_Don’t marry too far above or below you._ There is no such thing as
station in this country, like the titles and surroundings of Europe;
but ignorance mated with refinement must be lost and confused, and ill
at ease every hour.
Such matches are hasty, and poorly considered. They lead to gossip and
resentment of relatives, and an uncomfortable ill-feeling, seldom cured
for a full generation. If one has beauty and refinement and is poor,
never mind the poverty; the good qualities are more than a balance. But
the marriage of a millionaire’s daughter with a coachman is supreme
folly. It ends in disunion, and never in harmony. Water and oil will as
soon mix as such elements. Avoid them.
_Don’t marry a doubly divorced man or woman_: it’s risky. Something
is wrong surely. One divorce should cure any one. Two is a profusion.
It may be that the doubly divorced is innocent,--he will claim to be;
but if he seeks a new party to a possible divorce case (it will be a
habit by this time), tell him to wait a little longer. Grass widows may
be very lovable creatures, but unless their other halves were clearly
blamable, beyond reasonable question, give them a wide road and avoid
them entirely. It is a very bad sign, possibly a habit, that a man and
woman mate and divide soon after; the fault may belong to either, and
most likely relates to both, in similar proportions.
_Don’t marry a miser._ Of all the old “curmudgeons” on earth, deliver
me from crabbed, narrow-minded, pinch-penny, miserable misers.
They begrudge you your meals and clothing. They count your shillings
and control your pin purchases; they make life a burden, by owning much
and using little, and eternally twit you of every quarter used ever so
sparingly.
Life is made to live in and enjoy. We make only one journey. We need
not open up our purses and leak out the pennies, just to see them roll
around promiscuously; but cutting notches on a stick for each one of
them, and never spending, even for necessaries, without dread and
grudging, is intolerable. I had rather be poor and enjoy something.
_Don’t marry too far apart in ages._ June and December is a long, long
distance in matrimony. Some people are as young-hearted at sixty
as others are at forty. Some men at forty-five have hardly reached
their manhood. But old, white-headed men, marrying girls in their
teens--servants generally--are pitiable spectacles. To the girl it is
suicide; to the man sheer folly; no need of marrying the man. The girl
is the most interested in this don’t sentence. Why not, if you love
him? This is the reason, not jealousy,--that is a partial reason,--but
consistency. Think of a trip round the world or across the continent
with one older than your father, to be called your husband, to be your
husband! It must be humiliating. It is annoying. It is foolishly silly
and inconsistent. Money is a small compensation for such a sacrifice.
Love, and love only, should govern marriage, and I doubt its sincerity
when the difference goes beyond reason.
Marry one whom you trust, admire, respect, look up to, and confide in,
can be true to, and one whom you love from good and earnest motives.
“Respect is a cold lunch in a dark dining-room. Love is a picnic in the
woods.” Think of a picnic and an old man escort!
_Don’t marry too old._ Be in earnest about it. Here is the thought in a
nut-shell:
TOO OLD TO LOVE.
I.
“I never loved but one,” she said;
“I loved him just for fun,” she said;
And, saying this, she swung her head--
Had she been frank, they had been wed.
I saw her at a ball that night,
Her eyes so dark and face so white,
Her tone and manner wild delight;
I knew she served him not aright.
II.
“I am too old to love,” she said;
“The one I loved in fun is dead!
I plant these flowers above his head,
Here lies my idol, dead!” she said.
“’Tis sad to think it might have been;
’Tis sadder yet to feel my sin.
Love learns too late; but then, but then,
He loved me once--the best of men.
III.
“I never see a pure, good face,
Nor painting outlines ever trace,
But he is near, his love is dear,
Had I been earnest; he were here!”
She veiled her dark eyes with her hand;
I turned away,--“True love is grand,”
I murmured, in an undertone;
“Life gives no more than love of one.”
_Don’t marry odd sizes._ A tall man with a little woman looks awkward
enough; but a tall woman with a little, tiny man is a misfit, surely.
See if you can’t find someone of your size, as the school-lads say in
a wrestle. Pair off like soldiers in time of dress parade, with an eye
to unity.
This caution relates to extremes, of course, and not to small
variances. Some change and grow portly after marriage, but none get
very much taller after twenty-four.
Just for the looks of the thing, pair off in uniform lines.
_Don’t marry a man or woman without a character._ Soon enough you’ll
see the value of this caution. Character is a matter that grows through
a lifetime, but enough of it crops out early to be noticed. One is
known not only by his company but by his habits, his tastes, and his
inclinations. It is said that some whole families are born fast; some
thievish, some inclined to crabbedness, others mild, upright, honest,
and reliable. It runs in the blood in some cases.
Suppose one is to marry for virtue, purity, and uprightness, he will
seek it in the blood as much as he would look for quality in a racer.
If a woman loves a rakish “man of the world,” so called,--a name too
often used to varnish a bad character,--she will very easily find him
around the different bar-rooms of almost any crowded hotel in the city
or village. He will be after marriage what he was before.
Tell me where a man goes, and I will tell you what he is. If he is
fast, he will cultivate fast habits, live a rapid life, and earn that
character very early. If these are the traits you are looking for,
“inquire within” and you will find them. It may be a woman you are
asking about, a girl for a wife, a life-long companion. Which are you
seeking for? A dashy, fly-away dancer, or a domestic home-lover, and
one whom you can trust with your keys, your secrets, your conscience?
Look to her character. In either case, the man or woman has lived
somewhere. Find out about it,--how long, how well, how faithfully.
A well-to-do widow, was crazy to marry a man that she fancied, and
who actually refused to give more than his name and hotel, and no
references. On careful inquiry such a person was known by no less
than two to four names,--changed to suit circumstances. The spell was
broken, the match ended.
Men and women often rush into matrimony as game is run into a trap, for
the little tempting bait set to catch them (a catch-as-catch-can race).
They marry and risk a life-long happiness on less actual information
of each other’s real nature than a good horseman would exact of his
carriage horse’s pedigree. This may do in the country, but never will
answer in a city. Sense and reason dictate that men and women, to enjoy
each other’s society, should see well to the match beforehand. A fine
hand, a small foot, a becoming hat, a twist of the head, a simper,
or a half-witty saying will do well in their places; but colors must
_wash_ and _wear_ to stand a lifetime.
_Don’t marry a clown._ A silly fellow that jokes on every subject never
did amount to anything, and never will. All he says may be very funny,
very; but how many times can he be funny?
Fun will grow stale and threadbare; one cannot live by it. Life is a
trip that costs car fare, wash bills, board bills, trinkets, notions,
and actual outlays. Real providers are never clowns; the clownish
fellow is a favorite in school-days. He is so cute, just as cute as a
cotton hat, so cunning, so witty, so nice. Is he? Wait a few years,
until his nice nonsense turns to active business!
_Don’t marry a dude._ Of all milk-and-water specimens, a dude is
the lowest,--a little removed from nothing; a dressed-up model for
a tailor-shop (sometimes it’s in woman form); a street flirt, a
hotel-step gazer, an eye-glass ogler, a street strut; one who finds his
enjoyment in the looking-glass--a masher.
Very many are called, but few are chosen. The many that are called are
ridiculed. The time will come when a tailor’s suit and a fancy outfit
will no more make one respectable than it would make a gentleman of a
wooden Indian in front of a cigar-stand.
Men, real men of business, and men fit to marry, are not dudes, but
manly, upright beings, with sense, integrity, and genius or industry;
who come upon the stage of life as real actors in its affairs, not as
“supes” and sham soldiers in “Pinafore” battle-scenes, where a few
parade in fancy feathers as commodores for the amusement of spectators.
Life is too earnest to spend on silly, tawdry, fancy colors or showy
clothing; and the one who has the less of it is the most likely to be
marked for a gentleman, and the brand will be correctly designated.
With women, no less than men, is this silly street-walking habit quite
prevalent. A flirting woman on a public street is a sorry picture;
even one who stoops to notice her must secretly know her measure. She
deceives no one, for her character, like the dude’s, is so transparent
that no one mistakes its meaning. The habit of going nowhere for
nothing is as foolish as it is injurious.
Character grows out of little things. It may be that being seen with a
disreputable person three times, or even once, will change the whole
current of our career. Don’t practise the vices of dudes nor the habits
of street flirts.
_Do not marry a boy or girl who is not good at home._ That is the
golden test of duty,--to do one’s duty alone, away from the eyes of
men and the notice of the world; to be good from a right disposition.
There is no safer rule to marry by than this: “She loves her mother,
and isn’t afraid to work. She has a good name at home among her near
neighbors. She is neat, sweet, and tidy. Seven days each week she is
never off guard, always a lady.”
And of a man may it be said, “He is a man, take him all in all; he
is manly, he is truthful; he loves his home; he treats his sisters
and mother kindly. He is capable of good deeds, and incapable of mean
ones. He has a good name.” He deserves success, and it will follow
him. He is plain, perhaps, but man outgrows it. He is not a painting,
an imitation, a counterfeit, but simply a man. He will do to marry; so
will she, the last-named.
_Don’t marry from pity._ It may be akin to love, but the kinship
is quite distant. Many a weak woman has so married, and only once
regretted it--each and every day afterwards. A life-long regret must
follow. What a cold respect is that compliment to any woman, “I took
pity on her!” Away with such base uses of pity! Many a woman has had
pity on a rakish man or a drunkard and married him to reform his
nature. Better, far better, trust a child with a runaway horse or a
mad dog. Danger seen and not avoided is criminal carelessness. Surely
you can save one life, and its happiness, in such cases. One is quite
enough to be sacrificed. Let bravery be shown by demanding a full
surrender and reasonable atonement.
_Don’t marry for an ideal marriage only._ The girlish dream of marriage
is so wide of the reality as to be dangerous. She is to grow up and
go away, off to Italy, or some far-away clime of sunshine; there to
be taught music and the classics. On some clear moonlight evening,
in a summer-time, where birds sing all day long, near a brook or
flower-garden, she is to be surprised by a creature of form and make
and mental endowment that shall thrill her whole being into rapturous
joy. They will go to the parlor, and there, by a grand-piano, she will
unseal the pent-up currents of her heart, till tears flow from all eyes
around her; there she will seem to hear the childhood melodies, the
song of departed friends, the harmony of all the senses, mingling in
one sweet welcome to her new-found happiness.
Her prisoned soul is no longer grovelling in common themes; all the
latent power of her being is to burst forth in gladness; and music of
the heart is to bear her up until the cottage walls are narrow, till
flowers and falling water, brilliant company, ease and riches, smile
upon her glad career.
She is to be lifted up, and raised to heights before unknown to
mortals. He of whom she dreams of now is fit for Paradise. Finer and
finer every day will his genius grow, and nearer to her liking every
hour. There is just such joy and just such glory in a new-born love,
that seems to reach a grander height each moment, as on eagle’s wings.
And this is but the generous dream that Nature gives, as a preface to
a real life after,--so very, very different. The girl that twines her
tender arms around her mother’s neck, and thrills with joyous pride in
telling of the brilliant prize that’s offered her, thinks not of rainy
days ahead. Perhaps it is just as well; who would begrudge her such
half-hours of happiness? But, seeing sometime she must break the spell
and know all, it may be safe to drop a hint in season, and say, This
way lies safety, that way danger!
_Don’t marry a man of even doubtful character._ No matter how handsome
or brilliant, a bad man has in him elements that are always repulsive;
they are poison to his blood and his surroundings, and the only safe
guide is his character.
No matter how many promises of reformation; you need not turn reformer
for his sake. If you will take the risk, do it after he proves himself
reformed, and be in no great haste about it.
No amount of spicing and seasoning can make tainted meat palatable, and
no amount of promising will reclaim a character tainted with vicious
habits once seated.
Young ladies who enter upon the reforming mission furnish more women
and children for prisons, later in life, by their own misfortunes than
any one class. Cases of reclaimed men after marriage are so rare as to
be exceptional. It’s always a dangerous experiment.
_Don’t marry too cautiously as to perfection._ It has before been fully
stated that men and women are human, and imperfect. That is, if you are
hunting angels it’s a fool’s errand; there are none unpledged. If you
look for tall, handsome, rich, manly, cultivated, talented, brilliant
men, or pure, refined, fascinating, beautiful women, and one for each
man the world over, the supply never equals the demand of either sex.
But to presume that the persons marked under head of “don’t marry”
cover all the rest is unreasonable. There are thousands of noble women
and men, possessed of sterling sense, strong bodies, affectionate
natures, ability to conduct a home, become a genial companion, raise a
family, shine in society, and bear their full share of life’s earnest
work. Occasionally a man or woman will tower above their fellows, but,
generally, the real difference is less than is often supposed. The
great majority are good, and live and go to their reward unheard of
outside of their neighborhood.
One has put it rather strongly in this, to many: “The lives of men
and women, the best of them, are marred and ruined by uncongenial
marriages. They mostly suffer in silence, ashamed to complain of
the chain they cannot break. Men and woman cannot know what their
sweethearts will be after marriage. I have known a sensitive man,
a genius with a soul like a star, whose life was a pilgrimage over
burning coals, because his wife was a coarse termagant. Many a gifted
woman, fit to be a queen or an empress, is chained to a clod of a
husband, whose forced companionship is to her the tortures of Inferno.”
_Don’t marry expecting all the virtues in one person._ If you do, the
disappointment will be startling. There are no perfect characters.
History gives none since the Saviour. Even Joseph was willing to
punish his enemies.
The majority of men and women are good and pure and fair-looking.
The numbers who go to the bad are few compared to the good. Take the
country population, and ninety per cent will be good; and sixty per
cent of all cities are people of fair characters.
It is a mistake to think that most people are bad because the bad
ones get so often chronicled in public journals. The good, like the
virtuous, live and die and demand no praise of their virtue. The great
mass of men are sensible, and honest and upright and sober, and worthy
to marry.
_Don’t break a marriage abruptly._ This is the wrong way to break a bad
match. It intensifies affection. It leads to elopement, or that slow
canker in a girl’s nature ending in melancholy, or insanity.
Love is a plant so tender that to uproot or transplant it may touch a
vital part. There are ways enough to change its current; but of all
food to increase its growth, give it a little opposition. Tell a child
to leave something alone, and he sulks to touch it. Tell a girl that
the man she admires is distasteful to her relatives, and she half
despises them from a simple motive of resentment. Lead her by reason to
see with her own eyes, and she will be convinced.
The great London actor, Garrick, played the drunkard to disenchant a
girl, and succeeded. Her parents might have tried it a lifetime and
failed. Human nature is queer. It will lead when the way is enticing.
It will magnify discoveries, but they must be discovered in the right
manner. Remove not the prop till the safety of the structure is secure
without it.
_Don’t oppose one’s marriage choice suddenly._ Should a girl fall in
love with one of bad character, it is best not to call him so at one
breath; but say, “What are his habits? Is he good enough and worthy of
so pure and comely a person as you are?” Let this task be performed by
some girl of same age and class as the one you seek to change. Let them
be often together, and find ways of expressing the objections by this
method--coming from a classmate, a friend, a chum or companion--and
your object may be easily accomplished. A proposed absence without
showing why, a long journey with genial company, may have the desired
effect. At least use one caution; see that the girl knows the real
habits and character of the man you are opposed to her marrying. It
will do more than all the urging, scolding, coaxing, or threatening.
_Don’t marry for spite._ Why should you? If the one whom you loved most
has deceived you and taken another, it will be folly to try to punish
him by hanging yourself, or committing a double suicide in a loveless
marriage.
You will learn this lesson all too dearly when it’s over. Life is too
short for those who love it and are well mated; but many a miserable
marriage has made one or the other wish for death a million times, to
be rid of its burden.
You are the one most interested. You will find out, after the knot is
tied, that there are many conditions in life better and easier to be
endured than a silly marriage to spite some one. You will spite them
better by showing what a noble choice they had missed when they took
another in your place.
_Don’t propose on a wash-day, in the rain, at breakfast, or in a
tunnel._ There is no room for fainting in the former, and a narrow
chance for time in the latter.
Many ladies have singular notions on how proposals should be accepted,
and to such any rudeness is extremely shocking. A very modest fellow,
in deep anxiety, took up his fair lady’s cat, and said, “Pussy, may I
marry your mistress?” when the young lady replied, “Say yes, pussy,
when he gets brave enough to ask for her.” More than likely this
brought the young fellow to his senses. It certainly brought matters to
a crisis.
Most young people talk to each other as though a tall stone wall stood
between them and they must find a door in it. Strange enough, the
difference in views vanishes at the merest mention of each other’s
sentiments.
_Don’t mitten a mechanic_, simply on account of his business. If he is
worthy, never mind his business. He can grow out of it, and will grow
out of it. Collier was a blacksmith, Wilson a shoemaker, Andrew Johnson
a tailor, Peter Cooper a glue-maker, Grant a tanner, and Lincoln the
humblest of farmers. In this country it is not a question what a man
was, but what he is; not even what he is, but what he may be, and what
he is capable of yet attaining.
Many a girl has turned away a mechanic and married a rich loafer, only
to find in good season that the mechanic was at heart a gentleman, with
growing possibilities, and the loafer remained such for all time.
Advice is seldom heeded in such matters, but it may do to mention it.
The true test of manhood is seen in the mettle of boyhood. If you wish
to forecast the future, study the past history of your subject. If one
is selfish, tyrannical, and overbearing by being rich, he will be a bad
man to marry. If, on the other hand, he is pleasant, kind, genial, and
forbearing, loves his kind, is attentive to his mother and sisters, and
has made friends and character in early life, he is not very likely
to change his notions later. There is often more manhood in a poor
one-armed man than a rich athlete.
_Don’t marry a man too poor._ It is the height of folly to mate,
and attempt to raise seven children on what will bring up three
indifferently. Have a little discretion. Think that eating, dressing,
etc., cost something, and no one can live happily without some of these
common comforts. If they cannot buy them single, it is folly to double
one’s misery by marrying in the jaws of starvation. It is suicide: it
is worse,--it is double suicide, and may lead to pauperism and crime
and disgrace.
_Don’t marry where the woman is older than the man._ Men are restless
creatures and exacting. They expect grace, beauty, and refinement; they
prefer youth to age, generally. At least it is the fashion to marry a
wife some years younger than the husband. Women mature earlier; they
have less expectancy of long life, and on an average live seven to ten
years less, and show age at fifty more than a man does at sixty-five.
Of the two, a woman should look smaller and younger and better than a
man. This accords with the belief of all refined people.
_Don’t marry a crank._ This class of men will be wordy and persuasive.
They tell all sorts of stories of life,--how the world is mismade; how
they could improve upon this thing or that; how marriages should be
made between blondes and brunettes; how, with their philosophy, society
would reach perfection.
Such men are invariably tyrannical. They are exacting to the last
degree; they have neither faith, hope, nor charity, but run in one
groove. They distrust the powers that be, and generally mount some
hobby, and forever prattle about the rights of free love or the wrongs
of government. Avoid them as you would a tramp.
_Don’t marry fine feathers._ Chesterfield was _well up_ on manners,
and gave his son this rule, among his twenty-one maxims to marry by:
“Let not the rustling of silk entrap you into matrimony.” Fine clothing
has a certain fascination to many. Some choose a wife by the becoming
effect of a tasty garment. Some select a fine dancer; others rely upon
a small hand or a petite form. These points may be all well noted,
but they are but parts of a greater whole that should govern a wise
selection.
_Don’t marry a “masher”--man or woman._ A regular professional flirt
will never settle down to love one woman or one man. Habits once formed
will cling to them in after-life. They are like runaway teams--liable
to take fright and go when least expected.
Civil attention, by a lady or gentleman, to the other sex is natural
and courteous, but the thought that every fair lady is common prey
is repulsive. The traveller who avoids all vacant car-seats but the
nearest to a handsome young woman, and forces his conversation against
her will, has an eye to his business of one more conquest; but the too
often insulted woman who complains of over-attention from gentlemen is
generally one who walks much unattended and shows some willingness to
be not wholly unnoticed.
_Don’t marry without love._ It will be plain enough after a while.
You will not mind it at first, perhaps, but the time will come when,
by a song, or a face, or a voice, or a form, you will awake as from a
dream, to find you have chosen carelessly. It will be too late then.
A loveless marriage may stand throughout a honeymoon. It may last in
youth, but not when storms and trials come in after-years. It
lacks that something which words do not well express,--continuity,
heart-bound devotion, and endurance.
No matter how plain each or either may be, if they love each other
they will overlook little things, and live patiently and happily to
the end. But once, at least, must come this joy and glory of wedlock,
that seems to be the wise design of Nature,--a love for one another.
It endures through age and trouble, and is a more lasting tie than all
others together.