ALL girls should marry when they can. There’s naught more useful than a
man. A husband has some faults, no doubt, and yet he’s good to have
about; and she who doesn’t get a mate will wish she had one, soon or
late. That girl is off her base, I fear, who plans to have a high
career, who sidesteps vows and wedding rings to follow after abstract
things. I know so many ancient maids who in professions, arts or trades
have tried to cut a manlike swath, and old age finds them in the broth.
A loneliness, as of the tomb, enshrouds the spinsters in its gloom; the
jim crow honors they have won they’d sell at seven cents a ton. Their
sun is sinking in the West, and they, unloved and uncaressed, must envy,
as they bleakly roam, the girl with husband, hearth, and home. Get
married, then, Jemima dear; don’t fiddle with a cheap career. Select a
man who’s true and good, whose head is not composed of wood, a man who’s
sound in wind and limb, then round him up and marry him. Oh, rush him to
the altar rail, nor heed his protest or his wail. “This is,” you’ll say,
when he’s been won, “the best day’s work I’ve ever done.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------