The Spinster Book

By Myrtle Reed

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONSNew York and LondonThe Knickerbocker Press

1907

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COPYRIGHT, 1901BYMYRTLE REED

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Set up and electrotyped, September, 1901

Reprinted, November, 1901; April, 1902; August, 1902; April, 1903;July, 1903; September, 1903; June, 1904; October, 1904; June, 1905;September, 1905; March, 1906; September, 1906; November, 1906;July, 1907. 

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

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BY MYRTLE REED. 

 LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN. LATER LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN. THE SPINSTER BOOK. LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. PICKABACK SONGS. THE SHADOW OF VICTORY. THE MASTER'S VIOLIN. THE BOOK OF CLEVER BEASTS. AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK-O'-LANTERN. A SPINNER IN THE SUN. LOVE AFFAIRS OF LITERARY MEN. 

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Contents

 PAGE

Notes on Men 3Concerning Women 25The Philosophy of Love 49The Lost Art of Courtship 71The Natural History of Proposals 93Love Letters: Old and New 115An Inquiry into Marriage 137The Physiology of Vanity 161Widowers and Widows 183The Consolations of Spinsterhood 205

Notes on Men

[Illustration]

Notes on Men

[Sidenote: "The Proper Study"]

If "the proper study of mankind is man, " it is also the chief delight ofwoman. It is not surprising that men are conceited, since the thought ofthe entire population is centred upon them. 

Women are wont to consider man in general as a simple creation. It isnot until the individual comes into the field of the feminine telescope, and his peculiarities are thrown into high relief, that he is seen andjudged at his true value. 

When a girl once turns her attention from the species to the individual, her parlour becomes a sort of psychological laboratory in which sheconducts various experiments; not, however, without the loss of friends. For men are impatient of the spirit of inquiry in woman. 

[Sidenote: The Phenomena of Affection]

How shall a girl acquire her knowledge of the phenomena of affection, ifmen are not willing to be questioned upon the subject? What is morenatural than to seek wisdom from the man a girl has just refused tomarry? Why should she not ask if he has ever loved before, how long hehas loved her, if he were not surprised when he found it out, and how hefeels in her presence?

Yet a sensitive spinster is repeatedly astonished at finding her lovertransformed into a fiend, without other provocation than this. Heaccuses her of being "a heartless coquette, " of having "led himon, "--whatever that may mean, --and he does not care to have her for hissister, or even for his friend. 

[Sidenote: Original Research]

Occasionally a charitable man will open his heart for the benefit of thepatient student. If he is of a scientific turn of mind, with a fondnessfor original research, he may even take a melancholy pleasure in theanalysis. 

Thus she learns that he thought he had loved, until he cared for her, but in the light of the new passion he sees clearly that the others weremere, idle flirtations. To her surprise, she also discovers that he hasloved her a long time but has never dared to speak of it before, andthat this feeling, compared with the others, is as wine unto water. Inher presence he is uplifted, exalted, and often afraid, for very love ofher. 

Next to a proposal, the most interesting thing in the world to a womanis this kind of analysis. If a man is clever at it, he may change adecided refusal to a timid promise to "think about it. " The man whohesitates may be lost, but the woman who hesitates is surely won. 

In the beginning, the student is often perplexed by the magnitude of thetask which lies before her. Later, she comes to know that men, likecats, need only to be stroked in the right direction. The problem thusbecomes a question of direction, which is seldom as simple as it looks. 

[Sidenote: The Personal Equation]

Yet men, as a class, are easier to understand than women, because theyare less emotional. It is emotion which complicates the personalequation with radicals and quadratics, and life which proceeds uponpredestined lines soon becomes monotonous and loses its charm. Theinvolved _x_ in the equation continually postpones the definite result, which may often be surmised, but never achieved. 

Still, there is little doubt as to the proper method, for some of theradicals must necessarily appear in the result. Man's conceit is hissocial foundation and when the vulnerable spot is once found in thearmour of Achilles, the overthrow of the strenuous Greek is near athand. 

There is nothing in the world as harmless and as utterly joyous as man'sconceit. The woman who will not pander to it is ungracious indeed. 

Man's interest in himself is purely altruistic and springs from anunselfish desire to please. He values physical symmetry because one'sfirst impression of him is apt to be favourable. Manly accomplishmentsand evidences of good breeding are desirable for the same reason, and helikes to think his way of doing things is the best, regardless of actualeffectiveness. 

[Sidenote: Pencils]

For instance, there seems to be no good reason why a man's way ofsharpening a pencil is any better than a woman's. It is difficult to seejust why it is advisable to cover the thumb with powdered graphite, andexpose that useful member to possible amputation by a knife directeduncompromisingly toward it, when the pencil might be pointed the otherway, the risk of amputation avoided, and the shavings and pulverisedgraphite left safely to the action of gravitation and centrifugal force. Yet the entire race of men refuse to see the true value of the femininemethod, and, indeed, any man would rather sharpen any woman's pencilthan see her do it herself. 

[Sidenote: The "Supreme Conceit"]

It pleases a man very much to be told that he "knows the world, " eventhough his acquaintance be limited to the flesh and the devil--agentleman, by the way, who is much misunderstood and whose faults arepersistently exaggerated. But man's supreme conceit is in regard to hispersonal appearance. Let a single entry in a laboratory note-booksuffice for proof. 

_Time, evening. MAN is reading a story in a current magazine to the GIRLhe is calling upon. _

MAN. "Are you interested in this?"

GIRL. "Certainly, but I can think of other things too, can't I?"

MAN. "That depends on the 'other things. ' What are they?"

GIRL. (_Calmly. _) "I was just thinking that you are an extremelyhandsome man, but of course you know that. "

MAN. (_Crimsoning to his temples. _) "You flatter me!" (_Resumesreading. _)

Girl. (_Awaits developments. _)

MAN. (_After a little. _) "I didn't know you thought I was good-looking. "

GIRL. (_Demurely. _) "Didn't you?"

MAN. (_Clears his throat and continues the story. _)

MAN. (_After a few minutes. _) "Did you ever hear anybody else say that?"

GIRL. "Say what?"

MAN. "Why, that I was--that I was--well, good-looking, you know?"

GIRL. "Oh, yes! Lots of people!"

MAN. (_After reading half a page. _) "I don't think this is so veryinteresting, do you?"

GIRL. "No, it isn't. It doesn't carry out the promise of its beginning. "

MAN. (_Closes magazine and wanders aimlessly toward the mirror in themantel. _)

MAN. "Which way do you like my hair; this way, or parted in the middle?"

GIRL. "I don't know--this way, I guess. I've never seen it parted in themiddle. "

MAN. (_Taking out pocket comb and rapidly parting his hair in themiddle. _) "There! Which way do you like it?"

GIRL. (_Judicially. _) "I don't know. It's really a very hard question todecide. "

MAN. (_Reminiscently. _) "I've gone off my looks a good deal lately. Iused to be a lot better looking than I am now. "

GIRL. (_Softly. _) "I'm glad I didn't know you then. "

MAN. (_In apparent astonishment. _) "Why?"

GIRL. "Because I might not have been heart whole, as I am now. "

(_Long silence. _)

MAN. (_With sudden enthusiasm. _) "I'll tell you, though, I really dolook well in evening dress. "

GIRL. "I haven't a doubt of it, even though I've never seen you wearit. "

MAN. (_After brief meditation. _) "Let's go and hear Melba next week, will you? I meant to ask you when I first came in, but we got toreading. "

GIRL. "I shall be charmed. "

_Next day, GIRL gets a box of chocolates and a dozen AmericanBeauties--in February at that. _

[Sidenote: Dimples and Dress Clothes]

Tell a man he has a dimple and he will say "where?" in pleased surprise, meanwhile putting his finger straight into it. He has studied thatdimple in the mirror too many times to be unmindful of its geography. 

Let the woman dearest to a man say, tenderly: "You were so handsometo-night, dear--I was proud of you. " See his face light up with noble, unselfish joy, because he has given such pleasure to others!

All the married men at evening receptions have gone because they "lookso well in evening dress, " and because "so few men can wear dressclothes really well. " In truth, it does require distinction and grace ofbearing, if a man would not be mistaken for a waiter. 

Man's conceit is not love of himself but of his fellow-men. The man whois in love with himself need not fear that any woman will ever become aserious rival. Not unfrequently, when a man asks a woman to marry him, he means that he wants her to help him love himself, and if, blinded byher own feeling, she takes him for her captain, her pleasure craftbecomes a pirate ship, the colours change to a black flag with asinister sign, and her inevitable destiny is the coral reef. 

[Sidenote: Palmistry]

Palmistry does very well for a beginning if a man is inclined to be shy. It leads by gentle and almost imperceptible degrees to that mostinteresting of all subjects, himself, and to that tactful comment, dearest of all to the masculine heart; "You are not like other men!"

A man will spend an entire evening, utterly oblivious of the lapse oftime, while a woman subjects him to careful analysis. But sympathy, rather than sarcasm, must be her guide--if she wants him to come again. A man will make a comrade of the woman who stimulates him to higherachievement, but he will love the one who makes herself a mirror for hisconceit. 

Men claim that women cannot keep a secret, but it is a common failing. Aman will always tell some one person the thing which is told him inconfidence. If he is married, he tells his wife. Then the exclusive bitof news is rapidly syndicated, and by gentle degrees, the secret isdiffused through the community. This is the most pathetic thing inmatrimony--the regularity with which husbands relate the irregularitiesof their friends. Very little of the world's woe is caused by silence, however it may be in fiction and the drama. 

[Sidenote: Exchange of Confidence]

In return for the generous confidence regarding other people's doings, the married man is made conversant with those things which his wifedeems it right and proper for him to know. And he is not unhappy, for itisn't what he doesn't know that troubles a man, but what he knows hedoesn't know. 

The masculine nature is less capable of concealment than the feminine. Where men are frankly selfish, women are secretly so. Man's vices arefew and comprehensive; woman's petty and innumerable. Any man who is notin the penitentiary has at most but three or four, while a woman willhide a dozen under her social mask and defy detection. 

Women are said to be fickle, but are they more so than men? A man'sideal is as variable as the wind. What he thinks is his ideal of womanis usually a glorified image of the last girl he happened to admire. Theman who has had a decided preference for blondes all his life, finallyinstalls a brown-eyed deity at his hearthstone. If he has been fond ofpetite and coquettish damsels, he marries some Diana moulded on largelines and unconcerned as to mice. 

A man will ride, row, and swim with one girl and marry another who isafraid of horses, turns pale at the mention of a boat, and who wouldlook forward to an interview with His Satanic Majesty with more ease andconfidence than to a dip in the summer sea. 

[Sidenote: Portia and Carmen]

Theoretically, men admire "reasonable women, " with the uncommon qualitywhich is called "common sense, " but it is the woman of caprice, thesweet, illogical despot of a thousand moods, who is most often and mosttenderly loved. Man is by nature a discoverer. It is not beauty whichholds him, but rather mystery and charm. To see the one woman throughall the changing moods--to discern Portia through Carmen's witchery--isthe thing above all others which captivates a man. 

[Sidenote: The Dorcas Ideal]

Deep in his heart, man cherishes the Dorcas ideal. The old, lingeringnotions of womanliness are not quite dispelled, but in this, as inother things, nothing sickens a man of his pet theory like seeing it inoperation. 

It may be a charming sight to behold a girl stirring cheese in thechafing-dish, wearing an air of deep concern when it "bunnies" at thesides and requires still more skill. It may also be attractive to seewhite fingers weave wonders with fine linen and delicate silks, withpretty eagerness as to shade and stitch. 

But in the after-years, when his divinity, redolent of the kitchen, meets him at the door, with hair dishevelled and fingers bandaged, it issubtly different from the chafing-dish days, and the crisp chops, generously black with charcoal, are not as good as her rarebits used tobe. The memory of the silk and fine linen also fades somewhat, in thepresence of darning which contains hard lumps and patches whichimmediately come off. 

It has become the fashion to speak of woman as the eager hunter, and manas the timid, reluctant prey. The comic papers may have started it, butmodern society certainly lends colour to the pretty theory. It isfrequently attributed to Mr. Darwin, but he is at times unjustly blamedby those who do not read his pleasing works. 

The complexities in man's personal equation are caused by variants ofthree emotions; a mutable fondness for women, according to temperamentand opportunity, a more uniform feeling toward money, and the universal, devastating desire--the old, old passion for food. 

[Sidenote: The Key of Happiness]

The first variant is but partially under the control of any particularwoman, and the less she concerns herself with the second, the better itis for both, but she who stimulates and satisfies the third variantholds in her hands the golden key of happiness. No woman need envy theSphinx her wisdom if she has learned the uses of silence and never asksa favour of a hungry man. 

A woman makes her chief mistake when she judges a man by herself andattributes to him indirection and complexity of motive. When she wishesto attract a particular man, she goes at it indirectly. She makesfriends of "his sisters, his cousins, and his aunts, " and assumes aninterest in his chum. She ignores him at first and thus arouses hiscuriosity. Later, she condescends to smile upon him and he is mildlypleased, because he thinks he has been working for that very smile andhas finally won it. In this manner he is lured toward the net. 

[Sidenote: The Wise Virgin]

When a girl systematically and effectively feeds a man, she is leadingtrumps. He insensibly associates her with his comfort and thus shebecomes his necessity. When a man seeks a woman's society it is becausehe has need of her, not because he thinks she has need of him; and theparlour of the girl who realises it, is the envy of every unattacheddamsel on the street. If the wise one is an expert with thechafing-dish, she may frequently bag desirable game, while the foolishvirgins who have no alcohol in their lamps are hunting eagerly for thetrail. 

Because she herself works indirectly, she thinks he intends a tenderlook at another girl for a carom shot, and frequently a far-sightedmaiden can see the evidences of a consuming passion for herself in aman's devotion to someone else. 

Men are not sufficiently diplomatic to bother with finesse of this kind. Other things being equal, a man goes to see the girl he wants to see. It does not often occur to her that he may not want to see her, may beinterested in someone else, or that he may have forgotten all about her. 

[Sidenote: "Encouragement"]

There is a common feminine delusion to the effect that men need"encouragement" and there is no term which is more misused. A fool mayneed "encouragement, " but the man who wants a girl will go after her, regardless of obstacles. As for him, if he is fed at her house, evenirregularly, he may know that she looks with favour upon his suit. 

[Sidenote: "Platonic Friendship"]

The parents of both, the neighbours, and even the girl herself, usuallyknow that a man is in love before he finds it out. Sometimes he has tobe told. He has approached a stage of acute and immediate peril when herecognises what he calls "a platonic friendship. "

Young men believe platonic friendship possible; old men know better--butwhen one man learns to profit by the experience of another, we may lookfor mosquitoes at Christmas and holly in June. 

There is an exquisite danger attached to friendships of this kind, andis it not danger, rather than variety, which is "the spice of life?"Relieved of the presence of that social pace-maker, the chaperone, thedisciples of Plato are wont to take long walks, and further on, theyspend whole days in the country with book and wheel. 

A book is a mysterious bond of union, and by their taste in books do aman and woman unerringly know each other. Two people who unite inadmiration of Browning are apt to admire each other, and those whohabitually seek Emerson for new courage may easily find the world morekindly if they face it hand in hand. 

A latter-day philosopher has remarked upon the subtle sympathy producedby marked passages. "The method is so easy and so unsuspect. You haveonly to put faint pencil marks against the tenderest passages in yourfavourite new poet, and lend the volume to Her, and She has only toleave here and there the dropped violet of a timid, confirmatoryinitial, for you to know your fate. "

[Sidenote: The High-Priest]

A man never has a platonic friendship with a woman it is impossible forhim to love. Cupid is the high-priest at these rites of reading aloudand discussing everything under the sun. The two become so closely boundthat one arrow strikes both, and often the happiest marriages are thosewhose love has so begun, for when the Great Passion dies, as itsometimes does, sympathy and mutual understanding may yield a generousmeasure of content. 

The present happy era of fiction closes a story abruptly at the altar orelse begins it immediately after the ceremony. Thence the enthralledreader is conducted through rapture, doubt, misunderstanding, indifference, complications, recrimination, and estrangement to thelogical end in cynicism and the divorce court. 

In the books which women write, the hero of the story shoulders theblame, and often has to bear his creator's vituperation in addition tohis other troubles. When a man essays this theme in fiction, he showsclearly that it is the woman's fault. When the situation is presentedoutside of books, the happily married critics distribute condemnation inthe same way, it being customary for each partner in a happy marriage toclaim the entire credit for the mutual content. 

[Sidenote: Pursuit and Possession]

Over the afternoon tea cups it has been decided with unusual andrefreshing accord, that "it is pursuit and not possession with a man. "True--but is it less true with women?

When Her Ladyship finally acquires the sealskin coat on which she haslong set her heart, does she continue to scan the advertisements? Doesshe still coddle him who hath all power as to sealskin coats, withtempting dishes and unusual smiles? Not unless she wants something else. 

Still, it is woman's tendency to make the best of what she has, andman's to reach out for what he has not. Man spends his life in theeffort to realise the ideals which, like will-o'-the-wisps, hover justbeyond him. Woman, on the contrary, brings into her life what grace shemay, by idealising her reals. 

In her secret heart, woman holds her unchanging ideal of her ownpossible perfection. Sometimes a man suspects this, and loves her allthe more for the sweet guardian angel which is thus enthroned. Othermen, less fine, consider an ideal a sort of disease--and they areusually a certain specific. 

But, after all, men are as women make them. Cleopatra and Helen of Troyswayed empires and rocked thrones. There is no woman who does not holdwithin her little hands some man's achievement, some man's future, andhis belief in woman and God. 

She may fire him with high ambition, exalt him with noble striving, ormake him a coward and a thief. She may show him the way to the gold ofthe world, or blind him with tinsel which he may not keep. It is she wholeads him to the door of glory and so thrills him with majestic purpose, that nothing this side Heaven seems beyond his eager reach. 

[Sidenote: The Potter's Hand]

Upon his heart she may write ecstasy or black despair. Through the longnight she may ever beckon, whispering courage, and by her magic makingvictory of defeat. It is for her to say whether his face shall beworld-scarred and weary, hiding tragedy behind its piteous lines;whether there shall be light or darkness in his soul. He cannot escapethose soft, compelling fingers; she is the arbiter of his destiny--forlike clay in the potter's hands, she moulds him as she will. 

Concerning Women

[Illustration]

Concerning Women

In order to be happy, a woman needs only a good digestion, asatisfactory complexion, and a lover. The first requirement being met, the second is not difficult to obtain, and the third follows as a matterof course. 

[Sidenote: Nagging]

He was a wise philosopher who first considered crime as disease, forwomen are naturally sweet-tempered and charming. The shrew and the scoldare to be reformed only by a physician, and as for nagging, is it notallopathic scolding in homeopathic doses?

A well woman is usually a happy one, and incidentally, those around hershare her content. The irritation produced by fifteen minutes of naggingspeaks volumes for the personal influence which might be directed theother way, and the desired result more easily obtained. 

[Sidenote: Diversions]

The sun around which woman revolves is Love. Her whole life is spent insearch of it, consciously or unconsciously. Incidental diversions inthe way of "career" and "independence" are usually caused by domesticunhappiness, or, in the case of spinsters, the fear of it. 

If all men were lovers, there would be no "new woman" movement, nosociological studies of "Woman in Business, " no ponderous analyses of"The Industrial Condition of Women" in weighty journals. Still more thana man, a woman needs a home, though it be but the tiniest room. 

Even the self-reliant woman of affairs who battles bravely by day in thecommercial arena has her little nook, made dainty by feminine touches, to which she gladly creeps at night. Would it not be sweeter if it wereshared by one who would always love her? As truly as she needs her breadand meat, woman needs love, and, did he but know it, man needs it too, though in lesser degree. 

[Sidenote: The Verity and the Vision]

Lacking the daily expression of it which is the sweet unction of herhungry soul, she seeks solace in an ideal world of her own making. It isbecause the verity jars upon her vision that she takes a melancholy viewof life. 

One of woman's keenest pleasures is sorrow. Her tears are not all pain. She goes to the theatre, not to laugh, but to weep. The cleverplaywright who closes his last scene with a bitter parting is sure of alarge clientage, composed almost wholly of women. Sad books are writtenby men, with an eye to women readers, and women dearly love to wear thewillow in print. 

Women are unconscious queens of tragedy. Each one, in thought, plays toa sympathetic but invisible audience. She lifts her daily living to aplane of art, finding in fiction, music, pictures, and the stagecontinual reminders of her own experience. 

Does her husband, distraught with business cares, leave her hurriedlyand without the customary morning kiss? Woman, on her way to market, rapidly reviews similar instances in fiction, in which this firstforgetting proved to be "the little rift within the lute. "

The pictures of distracted ladies, wild as to hair and vision, are soldin photogravure by countless thousands--to women. An attraction on theboards which is rumoured to be "so sad, " leads woman to economise inthe matter of roasts and desserts that she may go and enjoy anafternoon of misery. Girls suffer all their lives long from being takento mirthful plays, or to vaudeville, which is unmixed delight to a manand intolerably cheerful to a woman. 

[Sidenote: Woman and Death]

Woman and Death are close friends in art. Opera is her greatest joy, because a great many people are slaughtered in the course of a singleperformance, and somebody usually goes raving mad for love. When Melbasings the mad scene from _Lucia_, and that beautiful voice descends bylingering half-notes from madness and nameless longing to love andprayer, the women in the house sob in sheer delight and clutch the handsof their companions in an ecstasy of pain. 

In proportion as women enjoy sorrow, men shrink from it. A man cannotbear to be continually reminded of the woman he has loved and lost, while woman's dearest keepsakes are old love letters and the shoes of alittle child. If the lover or the child is dead, the treasures are neverto be duplicated or replaced, but if the pristine owner of the shoes hasgrown to stalwart manhood and the writer of the love letters is atender and devoted husband, the sorrowful interest is merely mitigated. It is not by any means lost. 

[Sidenote: "The Eternal Womanly"]

Just why it should be considered sad to marry one's lover and for achild to grow up, can never be understood by men. There are many thingsin the "eternal womanly" which men understand about as well as a kittendoes the binomial theorem, but some mysteries become simple enough whenthe leading fact is grasped--that woman's song of life is written in aminor key and that she actually enjoys the semblance of sorrow. Still, the average woman wishes to be idealised and strongly objects to beingunderstood. 

[Sidenote: "Tears, Idle Tears"]

Woman's tears mean no more than the sparks from an overcharged dynamo;they are simply emotional relief. Married men gradually come to realiseit, and this is why a suspicion of tears in his sweetheart's eyes meansinfinitely more to a lover than a fit of hysterics does to a husband. 

We are wont to speak of woman's tenderness, but there is no tendernesslike that of a man for the woman he loves when she is tired ortroubled, and the man who has learned simply to love a woman at crucialmoments, and to postpone the inevitable idiotic questioning till a moreauspicious time, has in his hands the talisman of domestic felicity. 

If by any chance the lachrymal glands were to be dried up, woman's lifewould lose a goodly share of its charm. There is nothing to cry on whichcompares with a man's shoulder; almost any man will do at a criticalmoment; but the clavicle of a lover is by far the most desirable. If theflood is copious and a collar or an immaculate shirt-front can bespoiled, the scene acquires new and distinct value. A pillow does verywell, lacking the shoulder, for many of the most attractive women infiction habitually cry into pillows--because they have no lover, orbecause the brute dislikes tears. 

When grief strikes deep, a woman's eyes are dry. Her soul shudders andthere is a hand upon her heart whose icy fingers clutch at the inwardfibre in a very real physical pain. There are no tears for times likethese; the inner depths, bare and quivering, are healed by no such balmas this. 

A sudden blow leaves a woman as cold as a marble statue and absolutelydumb as to the thing which lies upon her heart. When the tears begin toflow, it means that resignation and content will surely come. On thecontrary, when once or twice in a lifetime a man is moved to tears, there is nothing so terrible and so hopeless as his sobbing grief. 

Married and unmarried women waste a great deal of time in feeling sorryfor each other. It never occurs to a married woman that a spinster maynot care to take the troublous step. An ideal lover in one's heart isless strain upon the imagination than the transfiguration of a man whogoes around in his shirt-sleeves and dispenses with his collar at ninetydegrees Fahrenheit. 

[Sidenote: The Unknown Country]

If fiction dealt pleasantly with men who are unmindful of smallcourtesies, the unknown country beyond the altar would lose some of itsfear. If the way of an engaged girl lies past a barber shop, --which veryseldom has a curtain, by the way, --and she happens to think that she maysome day behold her beloved in the dangerous act of shaving himself, itimmediately hardens her heart. One glimpse of one face covered withlather will postpone one wedding-day five weeks. Many a lover hasattributed to caprice or coquetry the fault which lies at the door ofthe "tonsorial parlour. "

[Sidenote: Other Feminine Eyes]

A woman may be a mystery to a man and to herself, but never to anotherwoman. There is no concealment which is effectual when other feminineeyes are fixed upon one's small and harmless schemes. A glance at agirl's dressing-table is sufficient for the intimate friend--she doesnot need to ask questions; and indeed, there are few situations in lifein which the necessity for direct questions is not a confession ofindividual weakness. 

If fourteen different kinds of creams and emollients are within easyreach, the girl has an admirer who is fond of out-door sports and hasnot yet declared himself. If the curling iron is kept hot, it is becausehe has looked approval when her hair was waved. If there is a box ofrouge but half concealed, the girl thinks the man is a fatuous idiot andhourly expects a proposal. 

If the various drugs are in the dental line, the man is a cheerful soulwith a tendency to be humorous. If she is particular as to smalldetails of scolding locks and eyebrows, he probably wears glasses. Ifshe devotes unusual attention to her nails, the affair has progressed tothat interesting stage where he may hold her hand for a few minutes at atime. 

If she selects her handkerchief with extreme care, --one with an initialand a faint odour of violet--she expects to give it to him to carry andto forget to ask for it. If he makes an extra call in order to returnit, it indicates a lesser degree of interest than if he says nothingabout it. The forgotten handkerchief is an important straw with a girlwhen love's capricious wind blows her way. 

It is not entirely without reason that womankind in general blames "theother woman" for defection of any kind. Short-sighted woman thinks it amighty tribute to her own charm to secure the passing interest ofanother's rightful property. It does not seem to occur to her thatsomeone else will lure him away from her with even more ease. Eachsuccessive luring makes defection simpler for a man. Practice tendstowards perfection in most things; perhaps it is the single exception, love, which proves the rule. 

Three delusions among women are widespread and painful. Marriage iscurrently supposed to reform a man, a rejected lover is heartbroken forlife, and, if "the other woman" were only out of the way, he would comeback. Love sometimes reforms a man, but marriage does not. The rejectedlover suffers for a brief period, --feminine philosophers variouslyestimate it, but a week is a generous average, --and he who will not comein spite of "the other woman" is not worth having at all. 

[Sidenote: "Not Things, but Men"]

Emerson says: "The things which are really for thee gravitate to thee. "One is tempted to add the World's Congress motto--"Not things, but men. "

There is no virtue in women which men cultivate so assiduously asforgiveness. They make one think that it is very pretty and charming toforgive. It is not hygienic, however, for the woman who forgives easilyhas a great deal of it to do. When pardon is to be had for the asking, there are frequent causes for its giving. This, of course, applies tothe interesting period before marriage. 

[Sidenote: Post-Nuptial Sins]

Post-nuptial sins are atoned for with gifts; not more than once in awhole marriage with the simple, manly words, "Forgive me, dear, I waswrong. " It injures a man's conceit vitally to admit he has made amistake. This is gracious and knightly in the lover, but a married man, the head of a family, must be careful to maintain his position. 

Cases of reformation by marriage are few and far between, and men moreoften die of wounded conceit than broken hearts. "Men have died andworms have eaten them, but not for love, " save on the stage and in thestories women cry over. 

[Sidenote: "The Other Woman"]

"The other woman" is the chief bugbear of life. On desert islands and ina very few delightful books, her baneful presence is not. The girl a manloves with all his heart can see a long line of ghostly ancestors, andrequires no opera-glass to discern through the mists of the future aprocession of possible posterity. It is for this reason that men's earsare tried with the eternal, unchanging: "Am I the only woman you everloved?" and "Will you always love me?"

The woman who finally acquires legal possession of a man is haunted bythe shadowy predecessors. If he is unwary enough to let her know anothergirl has refused him, she develops a violent hatred for this inoffensivemaiden. Is it because the cruel creature has given pain to her lord? Hisgods are not her gods--if he has adored another woman. 

These two are mutually "other women, " and the second one has the best ofit, for there is no thorn in feminine flesh like the rejected lover whofinds consolation elsewhere. It may be exceedingly pleasant to be aman's first love, but she is wise beyond books who chooses to be hislast, and it is foolish to spend mental effort upon old flames, ratherthan in watching for new ones, for Cæsar himself is not more utterlydead than a man's dead love. 

Women are commonly supposed to worry about their age, but Father Time isa trouble to men also. The girl of twenty thinks it absurd for women tobe concerned about the matter, but the hour eventually comes when sheregards the subject with reverence akin to awe. There is only one terrorin it--the dreadful nines. 

[Sidenote: Scylla and Charybdis]

"Twenty-nine!" Might she not as well be thirty? There is little choicebetween Scylla and Charybdis. Twenty-nine is the hour of reckoning forevery woman, married, engaged, or unattached. 

The married woman felicitates herself greatly, unless a tall daughter ofnine or ten walks abroad at her side. The engaged girl is safe--sherejoices in the last hours of her lingering girlhood and hems tablelinen with more resignation. The unattached girl has a strange interestin creams and hair tonics, and usually betakes herself to the cloisterof the university for special courses, since azure hosiery does notdetract from woman's charm in the eyes of the faculty. 

Men do not often know their ages accurately till after thirty. Thegladsome heyday of youth takes no note of the annual milestones. Butafter thirty, ah me! "Yes, " a man will say sometimes, "I am thirty-one, but the fellows tell me I don't look a day over twenty-nine. " Scylla andCharybdis again!

[Sidenote: Perennial Youth]

Still, age is not a matter of birthdays, but of the heart. Some womenare mature cynics at twenty, while a grey-haired matron of fifty seemsto have found the secret of perennial youth. There is little to choose, as regards beauty and charm, between the young, unformed girl, whosesoft eyes look with longing into the unyielding future which gives herno hint of its purposes, and the mature woman, well-groomed, self-reliant to her finger-tips, who has drunk deeply of life's cup andfound it sweet. A woman is never old until the little finger of herglove is allowed to project beyond the finger itself and she orders hernew photographs from an old plate in preference to sitting again. 

In all the seven ages of man, there is someone whom she may attract. Ifshe is twenty-five, the boy who has just attained long trousers will notbuy her striped sticks of peppermint and ask shyly if he may carry herbooks. She is not apt to wear fraternity pins and decorate her rooms incollege colours, unless her lover still holds his alma mater in fondremembrance. But there are others, always the others--and is it lesssweet to inspire the love which lasts than the tender verses of aSophomore? Her field of action is not sensibly limited, for at twentymen love woman, at thirty a woman, and at forty, women. 

[Sidenote: Three Weapons]

Woman has three weapons--flattery, food, and flirtation, and only thelast of these is ever denied her by Time. With the first she appeals toman's conceit, with the second to his heart, which is suspected to lieat the end of the oesophagus, rather than over among lungs and ribs, andwith the third to his natural rivalry of his fellows. But the pleasuresof the chase grow beautifully less when age brings rheumatism andkindred ills. 

Besides, may she not always be a chaperone? When a political oratorrefers effectively to "the cancer which is eating at the heart of thebody politic, " someway, it always makes a girl think of a chaperone. Shegoes, ostensibly, to lend a decorous air to whatever proceedings may bein view. She is to keep the man from making love to the girl. Whispersand tender hand clasps are occasionally possible, however, for, tell itnot in Gath! the chaperone was once young herself and at times looks theother way. 

That is, unless she is the girl's mother. Trust a parent for keeping twoeyes and a pair of glasses on a girl! Trust the non-matchmaking motherfor four new eyes under her back hair and a double row of ears arrangedlaterally along her anxious spine! And yet, if the estimable lady hadnot been married herself, it is altogether likely that the girl wouldnever have thought of it. 

[Sidenote: The Chaperone]

The reason usually given for chaperonage is that it gives the girl achance to become acquainted with the man. Of course, in the presence ofa chaperone, a man says and does exactly the same things he would if hewere alone with the maiden of his choice. He does not mind making loveto a girl in her mother's presence. He does not even care to be alonewith her when he proposes to her. He would like to have some chaperoneread his letters--he always writes with this intention. At any timeduring the latter part of the month it fills him with delight to see thechaperone order a lobster after they have all had oysters. 

Nonsense! Why do not the leaders of society say, frankly: "Thischaperone business is just a little game. Our husbands are either atthe club or soundly asleep at home. It is not nice to go around alone, and it is pathetic to go in pairs, with no man. We will go with ourdaughters and their young friends, for they have cavaliers enough and tospare. Let us get out and see the world, lest we die of ennui andneglect!" It is the chaperone who really goes with the young man. Shetakes the girl along to escape gossip. 

[Sidenote: Behold his House!]

It is strange, when it is woman's avowed object to make man happy, thatshe insists upon doing it in her own way, rather than in his. He likesthe rich, warm colours; the deep reds and dark greens. Behold his house!

Renaissance curtains obscure the landscape with delicate tracery, and herealises what it might mean to wear a veil. Soft tones of rose and Nilegreen appear in his drawing-room. Chippendale chairs, upon which hefears to sit, invite the jaded soul to whatever repose it can get. Seethe sofa cushions, which he has learned by bitter experience never totouch! Does he rouse a quiescent Nemesis by laying his weary head uponthat elaborate embroidery? Not unless his memory is poor. 

[Sidenote: Home Comforts]

Take careful note of the bric-à-brac upon his library table. See the fewsquare inches of blotting paper on a cylinder which he can roll over hisletter--the three stamps stuck together more closely than brothers, generously set aside for his use. Does he find comfort here? Not verymuch of it. 

See the dainty dinner which is set before the hungry man. A cup ofrarest china holds four ounces of clear broth. A stick of bread or twocrackers are allotted to him. Then he may have two croquettes, or onesmall chop, when his soul is athirst for rare roast beef and steak aninch thick. Then a nice salad, made of three lettuce leaves and asuspicion of oil, another cracker and a cubic inch of cheese, an ounceof coffee in a miniature cup, and behold, the man is fed!

Why should he go to his club, call loudly for flesh-pots, sink into achair he is not afraid of breaking, and forget his trouble in theevening paper, while his wife is at home, alone, or having a Romanholiday as a chaperone?

It is a simple thing to acquire a lover, but it is a fine art to keephim. Clubs were originally intended for the homeless, as distinguishedfrom the unmarried. The rare woman who rests and soothes a man when heis tired has no rival in the club. Misunderstanding, sorrowful, yearningfor what she has lost, woman contemplates the wreck of her girlishdream. 

[Sidenote: The Heart of a Woman]

There are three things man is destined never to solve--perpetual motion, the square of the circle, and the heart of a woman. Yet he may go alittle way into the labyrinth with the thread of love, which his Ariadnewill gladly give him at the door. 

The dim chambers are fragrant with precious things, for through thewinding passages Memory has strewn rue and lavender, love and longing;sweet spikenard and instinctive belief. Some day, when the heart aches, she will brew content from these. 

There are barriers which he may not pass, secret treasures that he maynot see, dreams that he may not guess. There are dark corners wherethere has been torture, of which he will never know. There are shadowsand ghostly shapes which Penelope has hidden with the fairest fabrics ofher loom. There are doors, tightly locked, which he has no key to open;rooms which have contained costly vessels, empty and deep with dust. 

There is no other step than his, for he walks there alone; sometimes tothe music of dead days and sometimes to the laughter of a little child. The petals of crushed roses rustle at his feet--his roses--in the inmostplaces of her heart. And beyond, of spotless marble, with the infinitecalm of mountains and perpetual snow, is something which he seldomcomprehends--her love of her own whiteness. 

It is a wondrous thing. For it is so small he could hold it in thehollow of his hand, yet it is great enough to shelter him forever. Allthe world may not break it if his love is steadfast and unchanging, andloving him, it becomes deep enough to love and pity all the world. 

It is a tender thing. So often is it wounded that it cannot see anothersuffer, and its own pain is easier far to bear. It makes a shield of itsvery tenderness, gladly receiving the stabs that were meant for him, forgiving always, and forgetting when it may. 

[Sidenote: The Solace]

Yet, after all, it is a simple thing. For in times of deepest doubt andtrouble, it requires for its solace only the tender look, the whisperedword which brings new courage, and the old-time grace of the lover'sway. 

The Philosophy of Love

[Illustration]

The Philosophy of Love

[Sidenote: The Prevailing Theme]

A modern novelist has greatly lamented because the prevailing theme offiction is love. Every story is a love story, every romance finds itsinspiration in the heart, and even the musty tomes of history are besetby the little blind god. 

One or two men have dared to write books from which women have beenexcluded as rigorously as from the Chinese stage, but the world ofreaders has not loudly clamoured for more of the same sort. A story ofadventure loses none of its interest if there is some fair damsel to berescued from various thrilling situations. 

The realists contend that a single isolated fact should not be dweltupon to the exclusion of all other interests, that love plays but asmall part in the life of the average man or woman, and that it isunreasonable to expand it to the uttermost limits of art. 

Strangely enough, the realists are all men. If a woman ventures to writea book which may fitly be classed under the head of realism, the criticscharitably unite upon insanity as the cause of it and lament the lostwomanliness of a decadent generation. 

If realism were actually real, we should have no time for books andpictures. Our days and nights would be spent in reclaiming the people inthe slums. There would be a visible increase in the church fair--wherewe spend more than we can afford for things we do not want, in order toplease people whom we do not like, and to help heathen who are happierthan we are. 

[Sidenote: The Root of all Good]

The love of money is said to be the root of all evil, but love itself isthe root of all good, for it is the very foundation of the socialstructure. The universal race for the elusive shilling, which iscommonly considered selfish, is based upon love. 

Money will buy fine houses, but who would wish to live in a mansionalone! Fast horses, yachts, private cars, and the feasts of Lucullus, are not to be enjoyed in solitude; they must be shared. Buying jewelsand costly raiment is the purest philanthropy, for it gives pleasure toothers. Sapphires and real lace depreciate rapidly in the cloister orthe desert. 

The envy which luxury sometimes creates is also altruistic in character, for in its last analysis, it is the wish to give pleasure to others, inthe same degree, as the envied fortunately may. Nothing is happinesswhich is not shared by at least one other, and nothing is truly sorrowunless it is borne absolutely alone. 

[Sidenote: Love]

Love! The delight and the torment of the world! The despair ofphilosophers and sages, the rapture of poets, the confusion of cynics, and the warrior's defeat!

Love! The bread and the wine of life, the hunger and the thirst, thehurt and the healing, the only wound which is cured by another! Theguest who comes like a thief in the night! The eternal question which isits own answer, the thing which has no beginning and no end!

The very blindness of it is divine, for it sees no imperfections, takesno reck of faults, and concerns itself only with the hidden beauty ofthe soul. 

It is unselfishness--yet it tolerates no rival and demands all foritself. It is belief--and yet it doubts. It is hope and it is alsomisgiving. It is trust and distrust, the strongest temptation and thepower to withstand it; woman's need and man's dream. It is his enemy andhis best friend, her weakness and her strength; the roses and thethorns. 

Woman's love affairs begin in her infancy, with some childish play atsweethearts, and a cavalier in dresses for her hero. It may be a matterof affinity in later years, or, as the more prosaic Buckle suggests, dependent upon the price of corn, but at first it is certainly aquestion of propinquity. 

Through the kindergarten and the multiplication table, the pretty gamegoes on. Before she is thirteen, she decides to marry, and selects anawkward boy a little older for the happy man. She cherishes him in hersecret heart, and it does not matter in the least if she does not knowhim well enough to speak to him, for the good fairies who preside overearthly destinies will undoubtedly lead The Prince to become formallyacquainted at the proper time. 

[Sidenote: The Self-Conscious Period]

Later, the self-conscious period approaches and Mademoiselle becomessolicitous as to ribbons and personal adornment. She pleads earnestlyfor long gowns, and the first one is never satisfying unless it drags. If she can do her hair in a twist "just like mamma's, " and see theadored one pass the house, while she sits at the window with sewing orbook, she feels actually "grown up. "

When she begins to read novels, her schoolmates, for the time being, arecast aside, because none of them are in the least like the lovers whostalk through the highly-coloured pages of the books she likes best. Thehero is usually "tall and dark, with a melancholy cast of countenance, "and there are fascinating hints of some secret sorrow. The watchfulmaternal parent is apt to confiscate these interesting volumes, butthere are always school desks and safe places in the neighbourhood ofpillows, and a candle does not throw its beams too far. 

The books in which the love scenes are most violent possess unfadingcharm. A hero who says "darling" every time he opens hisfinely-chiselled mouth is very near perfection. That fondness lastswell into the after-years, for "darling" is, above all others, thefavourite term of endearment with a woman. 

Were it not for the stern parents and wholesome laws as to age, girlsmight more often marry their first loves. It is difficult to conjecturewhat the state of civilisation might be, if it were common for people tomarry their first loves, regardless of "age, colour, or previouscondition of servitude. "

[Sidenote: Age and Colour]

Age and colour are all-important factors with Mademoiselle. She couldnot possibly love a boy three weeks younger than herself, and if hereyes are blue and her hair light, no blondes need apply. 

There is a curious delusion, fostered by phrenologists and other amiablestudents of "temperament, " to the effect that a brunette must infalliblyfall in love with a blonde and vice versa. What dire misfortune mayresult if this rule is not followed can be only surmised, for thephrenologists do not know. Still, the majority of men are dark and it issaid they do not marry as readily as of yore--is this the secret of thewidespread havoc made by peroxide of hydrogen?

The lurid fiction fever soon runs its course with Mademoiselle, if sheis let alone, and she turns her attention once more to her schoolmates. She has at least a dozen serious attacks before she is twenty, and atthat ripe age, is often a little _blasé_. 

[Sidenote: The Pastime and the Dream]

But the day soon comes when the pretty play is over and the soft eyeswiden with fear. She passes the dividing line between childhood andwomanhood when she first realises that her pastime and her dream haveforged chains around her inmost soul. This, then, is what life holds forher; it is ecstasy or torture, and for this very thing she was made. 

Some man exists whom she will follow to the end of the world, rightroyally if she may, but on her knees if she must. The burning sands ofthe desert will be as soft grass if he walks beside her, his voice willmake her forget her thirst, and his touch upon her arm will change herweariness into peace. 

When he beckons she must answer. When he says "come, " she must not stay. She must be all things to him--friend, comrade, sweetheart, wife. Whenthe infinite meaning of her dream slowly dawns upon her, is it strangethat she trembles and grows pale?

Soon or late it comes to all. Sometimes there is terror at the suddenmeeting and Love often comes in the guise of a friend. But always, itbrings joy which is sorrow, and pain which is happiness--gladness whichis never content. 

A woman wants a man to love her in the way she loves him; a man wants awoman to love him in the way he loves her, and because the thing isimpossible, neither is satisfied. 

[Sidenote: The Strongest Passion]

Man's emotion is far stronger than woman's. His feeling, when it isdeep, is a force which a woman may but dimly understand. The strongestpassion of a man's life is his love for his sweetheart; woman's greatestlove is lavished upon her child. 

"One is the lover and one is the loved. " Sometimes the positions arereversed, to the misery of all concerned, but normally, man is thelover. He wins love by pleading for it, and there is no way by which awoman may more surely lose it, for while woman's pity is closely akin toLove, man's pity is a poor relation who wears Love's cast-off clothes. 

There are two other ways in which a woman loses her lover. One is bymarrying him and the other by retaining him as her friend. If she cankeep him as her friend, she never believes in his love, and husbands andlovers are often two very different possessions. 

A man's heart is an office desk, wherein tender episodes arepigeon-holed for future reference. If he is too busy to look them over, they are carried off later in Father Time's junk-wagon, like other andmore profane history. 

All the isolated loves of a woman's life are woven into a singlecontinuous fabric. Love itself is the thing she needs and the man whooffers it seldom matters much. Man loves and worships woman, but womanloves love. Were it not so, there would be no actor's photograph uponthe matinée girl's dressing-table, and no bit of tender verse would befastened to her cushion with a hat pin, while she herself was fancyfree. 

[Sidenote: Gift and Giver]

All her life long she confuses the gift with the giver, and loving withthe pride of being loved, because her love is responsive rather thanoriginal. 

[Sidenote: The Forgotten Harp]

She demands that the lover's devotion shall continue after marriage;that every look shall be tender and every word adoring. Failing this, she knows that love is dead. She is inevitably disappointed in marriage, because she is no longer his fear, intoxication, and pain, but ratherhis comrade and friend. The vibrant strings, struck from silence anddreams to a sounding chord, are trembling still--whispering lingeringmusic to him who has forgotten the harp. 

When a woman once tells a man she loves him, he regards it as somechemical process which has taken place in her heart and he neverconsiders the possibility of change. He is little concerned as to itsexpression, for he knows it is there. On the contrary, it is only byexpression that a woman ever feels certain of a man's love. 

Doubt is the essential and constant quality of her nature, when once sheloves. She continually demands new proof and new devotion, consolingherself sometimes with the thought that three days ago he said he lovedher and there has been no discord since. 

As for him, if his comfort is assured, he never thinks to question her, for men are as blind as Love. If she seems glad to see him and is notdistinctly unpleasant, she may even be a little preoccupied withoutarousing suspicion. A man likes to feel that he is loved and a womanlikes to be told. 

The use of any faculty exhausts it. The ear, deafened by a cannon, isincapable for the moment of hearing the human voice. The eyes, momentarily blinded by the full glare of the sun, miss the delicateshades of violet and sapphire in the smoke from a wood fire. We soonbecome accustomed to condiments and perfume, and the same law applies tosentiment and emotion. 

[Sidenote: The Lover's Devotion]

Thus it seems to women that men love spasmodically--that the lover'sdevotion is a series of unrelated acts based upon momentary impulse, rather than a steady purpose. They forget that the heart may need morerest than the interval between beats. 

[Sidenote: Attraction and Repulsion]

If a man and woman who truly loved each other were cast away upon adesert island, he would tire of her long before she wearied of him. Thesequence of attraction and repulsion, the ultimate balance of positiveand negative, are familiar electrical phenomena. Is it unreasonable tosuppose that the supreme form of attraction is governed by the same law?

Strong attractions frequently begin with strong repulsions, sometimesmutual, but more often on the part of the attracting force. A man seldomdevelops a violent and inexplicable hatred for a woman and later findsthat it has unaccountably changed to love. 

Yet a woman often marries a man she has sincerely hated, and theexplanation is simple enough, perhaps, for a woman never hates a manunless he is in some sense her master. Love and hate are kindredpassions with a woman and the depth of the one is the possible measureof the other. 

She is wise who fully understands her weapon of coquetry. She will sendher lover from her at the moment his love is strongest, and he willoften seek her in vain. She will be parsimonious with her letters andcaresses and thus keep her attraction at its height. If he is foreverunsatisfied, he will always be her lover, for satiety must precederepulsion. 

No woman need fear the effect of absence upon the man who honestlyloves her. The needle of the compass, regardless of intervening seas, points forever toward the north. Pitiful indeed is she who fails to be amagnet and blindly becomes a chain. 

The age has brought with it woman's desire for equality, at least in thematter of love. She wishes to be as free to seek a man as he is to seekher--to love him as freely and frankly as he does her. Why should shewithhold her lips after her heart has surrendered? Why should she keepthe pretence of coyness long after she has been won?

[Sidenote: The Old, Old Law]

Far beneath the tinsel of our restless age lies the old, old law, andshe who scorns it does so at the peril of all she holds most dear. Legislation may at times be disobeyed, but never law, for the breakingbrings swift punishment of its own. 

Too often a generous-hearted woman makes the mistake of full revelation. She wishes him to understand her every deed, her every thought. Nothingis left to his imagination--the innermost corners of her heart are laidbare. Given the woman and the circumstances, he would infallibly knowher action. This is why the husbands of the "practical, " the"methodical, " and the "reasonable" women may be tender and devoted, butare never lovers after marriage. 

If Alexander had been a woman, he would not have sighed for more worldsto conquer--woman asks but one. If his world had been a clever woman hewould have had no time for alien planets, because a man will never losehis interest in a woman while his conquest is incomplete. 

The woman who is most tenderly loved and whose husband is still herlover, carefully conceals from him the fact that she is fully won. Thereis always something he has yet to gain. 

[Sidenote: A Carmen at Heart]

After ten years of marriage, if the old relation remains the same, it isbecause she is a Carmen at heart. She is alluring, tempting, cajolingand scorning in the same breath; at once tender and commanding, inspiring both love and fear, baffling and eluding even while she isleading him on. 

She gives him veiled hints of her real personality, but he neverpenetrates her mask. Could he see for an instant into the secret depthsof her soul, he would understand that her concealment and her coquetry, her mystery and her charm, are nothing but her love, playing a desperategame against Time and man's nature, for the dear stake of his own. 

Dumas draws a fine distinction when he says: "A man may have twopassions but never two loves: whoever has loved twice has never loved atall. " If this is true, the dividing line is so exceedingly fine that itis beyond woman's understanding, and it may be surmised that even mandoes not fully realise it until he is old and grey. 

[Sidenote: The Cords of Memory]

Yet somewhere, in every man's heart, is hidden a woman's face. To thatinner chamber no other image ever finds its way. The cords of memorywhich hold it are strong as steel and as tender as the heart-fibre ofwhich they are made. 

There is no time in his life when those eyes would not thrill him andthose lips make him tremble--no hour when the sound of that voice wouldnot summon him like a trumpet-call. 

No loyalty or allegiance is powerful enough to smother it within his ownheart, in spite of the conditions to which he may outwardly conform. Other passions may temporarily hide it even from his own sight, yet inreality it is supreme, from the day of its birth to the door of hisgrave. 

He may be happily married, as the world counts happiness, and She may bedead--but never forgotten. No real love or hate is wrought upon byLethe. The thousand dreams of her will send his blood in passionate flowand the thousand memories of her whiten his face with pain. Friendshipis intermittent and passion forgets, but man's single love is eternal. 

Because woman's love is responsive, it never dies. Her love of love iseverlasting. Some threads in the fabric she has woven are like shiningsilver; others are sombre, broken, and stained with tears. When a manhas once taught a woman to believe his love is true, she is already, though unconsciously, won. 

All the beauty in woman's life is forever associated with her love. Violets bring the memory of dead days, when the boy-lover brought themto her in fragrant heaps. Some women say man's love is selfish, butthere is no one among them who has ever been loved by a boy. 

[Sidenote: Some Lost Song]

Broken, hesitant chords set some lost song to singing in her heart. Thebreak in her lover's voice is like another, long ago. Summer days andsummer fields, silver streams, and clouds of apple blossoms set againstthe turquoise sky, bring back the Mays of childhood and all the childishdreams. 

This is another thing a man cannot understand--that every littletenderness of his wakes the memory of all past tenderness, and for thatvery reason is often doubly sweet. This is the explanation of suddensadness, of the swift succession of moods, and of lips, shut on sobs, that sometimes quiver beneath his own. 

Woman keeps alive the old ideals. Were it not for her eager efforts, chivalry would have died long ago. King Arthur's Court is said to be amyth, and Lancelot and Guenevere were only dreams, but the knightlyspirit still lives in man's love for woman. 

[Sidenote: The Lady of the Court]

The Lady of the Court was wont to send her knight into danger at hersweet, capricious will. Her glove upon his helmet, her scarf upon hisarm, her colours on his shield--were they worth the risk of horse andspear? Yet the little that she gave him, made him invincible in thefield. 

To-day there is a subtle change. She is loved as dearly as wasGuenevere, but she gives him neither scarf nor glove. Her love in hisheart is truly his shield and his colours are the white of her soul. 

He needs no gage but her belief, and having that, it is a trust only acoward will betray. The battle is still to the strong, but just assurely her knight comes back with his shield untarnished, his coloursunstained, and his heart aglow with love of her who gave him courage. 

The centuries have brought new striving, which the Lady of the Courtcould never know. The daughter of to-day endeavours to be worthy of theknightly worship--to be royal in her heart and queenly in her giving; tobe the exquisitely womanly woman he sees behind her faulty clay, so thatif the veil of illusion he has woven around her should ever fall away, the reality might be even fairer than his dream. 

Through the sombre pages of history the knights and ladies move, asthough woven in the magic web of the Lady of Shalott. Tournament andshield and spear, the Round Table and Camelot, have taken on the mysteryof fables and dreams. 

[Sidenote: By Grace of Magic]

Yet, by the grace of magic, the sweet old story lives to-day, unforgotten, because of its single motive. Elaine still dies for love ofLancelot, Isolde urges Tristram to new proofs of devotion, andGuenevere, the beautiful, still shares King Arthur's throne. Forchivalry is not dead--- it only sleeps--and the nobleness and valour ofthat far-off time are ever at the service of her who has found herknight. 

The Lost Art of Courtship

[Illustration]

The Lost Art of Courtship

[Sidenote: Liberty of Choice]

Civilisation is so acutely developed at present that the old meaning ofcourtship is completely lost. None of the phenomena which precede aproposal would be deemed singular or out of place in a platonicfriendship. This state of affairs gives a man every advantage and allpossible liberty of choice. 

Our grandparents are scandalised at modern methods. "Girls never didso, " in the distant years when those dear people were young. If a youngman called on grandmother once a week, and she approved of him and hisprospects, she began on her household linen, without waiting for themomentous question. 

Judging by the fiction of the period and by the delightful tales of oldNew England, which read like fairy stories to this generation, thecourtships of those days were too leisurely to be very interesting. Ten-year engagements did not seem to be unusual, and it was notconsidered a social mistake if a man suddenly disappeared for four orfive years, without the formality of mentioning his destination to theyoung woman who expected to marry him. 

[Sidenote: Faithful Maidens]

We have all read of the faithful maidens who kept on weaving stores offine linen and making regular pilgrimages for the letter which did notcome. Years afterward, when the man finally appeared, it was all right, and the wedding went on just the same, even though in the meantime therecreant knight had married and been bereaved. 

Two or three homeless children were sometimes brought cheerfully intothe story, and assisted materially in the continuation of theinterrupted courtship. The tears which the modern spinster sheds oversuch a tale are not at the pathos of the situation, but because it ispossible, even in fiction, for a woman to be so destitute of spirit. 

[Sidenote: Without Saying a Word]

"In dem days, " as Uncle Remus would say, any attention whatever meantbusiness. Small courtesies which are without significance now werefraught with momentous import then. In this year of grace, among allraces except our own, there are ways in which a man may definitelycommit himself without saying a word. 

A flower or a serenade is almost equivalent to a proposal in sunnySpain. A "walking-out" period of six months is much in vogue in otherparts of Europe, but the daughter of the Anglo-Saxon has no such guideto a man's intentions. 

Among certain savage tribes, if a man is in love with a girl and wishesto marry her, he drags her around his tent by the hair or administers asevere beating. It may be surmised that these attentions are notaltogether pleasant, but she has the advantage of knowing what the manmeans. 

Flowers are a pretty courtesy and nothing more. The kindly thought whichprompts them may be as transient as their bloom. Three or four menserenade girls on summer nights because they love to hear themselvessing. Books, and music, and sweets, which convention decrees are theonly proper gifts for the unattached, may be sent to any girl, withoutaffecting her indifference to furniture advertisements and January salesof linen. 

If there is any actual courtship at the present time, the girl does justas much of it as the man. Her dainty remembrances at holiday time havelittle more meaning than the trifles a man bestows upon her, though thegift latitude accorded her is much wider in scope. 

[Sidenote: Furniture]

When a girl gives a man furniture, she usually intends to marry him, butoften merely succeeds in making things interesting for the girl who doesit in spite of her. The newly-married woman attends to the personalbelongings of her happy possessor with the celerity which is taught inclasses for "First Aid to the Injured. "

One by one, the cherished souvenirs of his bachelor days disappear. Pictures painted by rival fair ones go to adorn the servant's room, through gradual retirement backward. Rare china is mysteriously broken. Sofa cushions never "harmonise with the tone of the room, " and thecovers have to be changed. It takes time, but usually by the firstanniversary of a man's marriage, his penates have been nobly weededout, and the things he has left are of his wife's choosing, generouslypurchased with his own money. 

Woe to the girl who gives a man a scarf-pin! When the bride returns theinitial call, that scarf-pin adds conspicuously to her adornment. Thecalm appropriation makes the giver grind her teeth--- and the brideknows it. 

In the man's presence, the keeper of his heart and conscience will say, sweetly: "Oh, my dear, such a dreadful thing has happened! Thatexquisitely embroidered scarf you made for Tom's chiffonier is utterlyruined! The colours ran the first time it was washed. You have no ideahow I feel about it--it was such a beautiful thing!"

The wretched donor of the scarf attempts consolation by saying that itdoesn't matter. It never was intended for Tom, but as every stitch in itwas taken while he was with her, he insisted that he must have it as asouvenir of that happy summer. She adds that it was carefully washedbefore it was given to him, that she has never known that kind of silkto fade, and that something must have been done to it to make thecolours run. 

[Sidenote: A Pitched Battle]

The short-sighted man at this juncture felicitates himself because thetwo are getting on so well together. He never realises that a pitchedbattle has occurred under his very nose, and that the honours are abouteven. 

If Tom possesses a particularly unfortunate flash-light photograph ofthe girl, the bride joyfully frames it and puts it on the mantel whereall may see. If the original of the caricature remonstrates, the happywife sweetly temporises and insists that it remain, because "Tom is sofond of it, " and says, "it looks just like her. "

Devious indeed are the paths of woman. She far excels the "HeathenChinee" in his famous specialty of "ways that are dark and tricks thatare vain. "

Courtship is a game that a girl has to play without knowing the trump. The only way she ever succeeds at it is by playing to an imaginary trumpof her own, which may be either open, disarming friendliness, or simpleindifference. 

When a man finds the way to a woman's heart a boulevard, he has takenthe wrong road. When his path is easy and his burden light, it is timefor him to doubt. When his progress seems like making a new way to theKlondike, he needs only to keep his courage and go on. 

For, after all, it is woman who decides. A clever girl may usually marryany man she sees fit to honour with the responsibility of her bills. Theardent lover counts for considerably less than he is wont to suppose. 

[Sidenote: The Only One They Know]

There is a good old scheme which the world of lovers has unanimouslyadopted, in order to find out where they stand. It is so simple as tomake one weep, but it is the only one they know. This consists of anintentional absence, judiciously timed. 

Suppose a man has been spending three or four evenings a week with thesame girl, for a period of two or three months. Flowers, books, andchocolates have occasionally appeared, as well as invitations to thetheatre. The man has been fed out of the chafing-dish, and also withaccidental cake, for men are as fond of sugar as women, though they areashamed to admit it. 

Suddenly, without warning, the man misses an evening, then another, thenanother. Two weeks go by, and still no man. The neighbours and thefamily begin to ask questions of a personal nature. 

It is at this stage that the immature and childish woman will write theman a note, expressing regret for his long absence, and trusting thatnothing may interfere with their "pleasant friendship. " Sometimes thenote brings the man back immediately and sometimes it doesn't. He veryseldom condescends to make an explanation. If he does, it is merely acasual allusion to "business. " This is the only excuse even a bright mancan think of. 

[Sidenote: "Climbing a Tree"]

This act is technically known among girls as "climbing a tree. " When aman does it, he wants a girl to bring a ladder and a lunch and pleadwith him to come down and be happy, but doing as he wishes is no way toattract a man up a tree. 

Men are as impervious to tears and pleadings as a good mackintosh tomist, but at the touch of indifference, they melt like wax. So when herquondam lover attempts metaphorical athletics, the wise girl smiles andwithdraws into her shell. 

She takes care that he shall not see her unless he comes to her. Shedraws the shades the moment the lamps are lighted. If he happens to passthe house in the evening, he may think she is out, or that she hascompany--it is all the same to her. She arranges various evenings withgirl friends and gets books from the library. This is known as"provisioning the citadel for a siege. "

[Sidenote: Pride and Pride]

It is a contest between pride and pride which occurs in every courtship, and the girl usually wins. True lovers are as certain to return asBo-Peep's flock or a systematically deported cat. Shame-faced, butsurely, the man comes back. 

Various laboratory note-books yield the same result. A single entryindicates the general trend of the affair. 

_MAN calls on GIRL after five weeks of unexplained absence. She asks noquestions, but keeps the conversation impersonal, even after he showssymptoms of wishing to change its character. _

MAN. (_Finally. _) "I haven't seen you for an awfully long time. "

GIRL. "Haven't you? Now that I think of it, it has been some time. "

MAN. "How long has it been, I wonder?"

GIRL. "I haven't the least idea. Ten days or two weeks, I guess. "

MAN. (_Hastily. _) "Oh no, it's been much longer than that. Let's see, it's"--(_makes great effort with memory_)--"why, it's five weeks! Fiveweeks and three days! Don't you remember?"

GIRL. "I hadn't thought of it. It doesn't seem that long. How time doesfly, doesn't it!" (_Long silence. _)

MAN. "I've been awfully busy. I wanted to come over, but I justcouldn't. "

GIRL. "I've been very busy, too. " (_Voluminous detail of her affairsfollows, entirely pleasant in character. _)

MAN. (_Tenderly. _) "Were you so busy you didn't miss me?"

GIRL. "Why, I can't say I missed you, exactly, but I always thought ofyou pleasantly. "

MAN. "Did you think of me often?"

GIRL. (_Laughing. _) "I didn't keep any record of it. Do you want me tocut a notch in the handle of my parasol every time I think of you? Ifall my friends were so exacting, I'd have time for nothing else. I'dneed a new one every week and the house would be full of shavings. Allmy fingers would be cut, too. "

MAN. (_Unconsciously showing his hand. _) "I thought you'd write me anote. "

[Sidenote: His Short Suit]

GIRL. (_Leading his short suit. _) "You could have waited on your frontsteps till the garbage man took you away, and I wouldn't have writtenyou any note. "

MAN. (_With evident sincerity. _) "That's no dream! I could do justthat!" (_Proposal follows in due course, MAN making full and completeconfession. _)

If he is foolish enough to complicate his game with another girl, heloses much more than he gains, for he lowers the whole affair to thelevel of a flirtation, and destroys any belief the girl may have had inhim. He also forces her to do the same thing, in self-defence. Flirtation is the only game in which it is advisable and popular totrump one's partner's ace. 

He who would win a woman must challenge her admiration, prove himselfworthy of her regard, appeal to her sympathy--and then wound her. Sheis never wholly his until she realises that he has the power to make hermiserable as well as to make her happy, and that love is an infinitecapacity for suffering. 

A man who does it consciously is apt to overdo it, out of sheerenthusiasm, and if a girl suspects that it is done intentionally, thehurt loses its sting and changes her love to bitterness. A succession ofattempts is also useless, for a man never hurts a woman twice in exactlythe same way. When he has run the range of possible stabs, she is out ofhis reach--unless she is his wife. 

[Sidenote: A State Secret]

The intentional absence scheme is too transparent to succeed, andtemporary devotion to another girl is definite damage to his cause, forit indicates fickleness and instability. There is only one way by whicha man may discover his true position without asking any questions, andthat is--a state secret. Now and then a man strikes it by accident, butnobody ever tells--even brothers or platonic friends. 

Some men select a wife as they would a horse, paying due attention toappearance, gait, disposition, age, teeth, and grooming. High spiritsand a little wildness are rather desirable than otherwise, if both areyoung. Men who have had many horses or many wives and have grown oldwith both, have a slight inclination toward sedate ways and domestictraits. 

[Sidenote: The "Woman's Column"]

Modern society makes it fully as easy to choose the one as the other. Incommunities where the chaperone idea is at its prosperous zenith, a manmay see a girl under nearly all circumstances. The men who conduct the"Woman's Column" in many pleasing journals are still writing of theeffect it has on a man to catch a girl in curl papers of a morning, though curl papers have been obsolete for many and many a moon. 

Cycling, golf, and kindred out-door amusements have been the death ofcareless morning attire. Uncorseted woman is unhappy woman, and the girlof whom the versatile journalist writes died long ago. Perhaps it isbecause a newspaper man can write anything at four minutes' notice anddo it well, that the press fairly reeks with "advice to women. "

The question, propounded in a newspaper column, "What Kind of a GirlDoes a Man Like Best, " will bring out a voluminous symposium which addsmaterially to the gaiety of the nation. It would be only fair to havethis sort of thing temporarily reversed--to tell men how to make homehappy for their wives and how to keep a woman's love, after it has oncebeen given. 

Some clever newspaper woman might win everlasting laurels for herself ifshe would contribute to this much neglected branch of human knowledge. How is a man to know that a shirt-front which looks like a railroad mapdiverts one's mind from his instructive remarks? How is he to know thata cane is a nuisance when he fares forth with a girl? It is true thatsisters might possibly attempt this, but the modern sister is heavilyoverworked at present and it is not kind to suggest an addition to hercares. 

[Sidenote: Neglected By His Kind]

There is no advice of any sort given to men except on the single subjectof choosing a wife. This is to be found only in the books in theSabbath-School library, or in occasional columns of the limited numberof saffron dailies which illuminate the age. Surely, man has beenneglected by his kind!

[Sidenote: Indecision]

The general masculine attitude indicates widespread belief in thepromise, "Ask, and ye shall receive. " A man will tell his best friendthat he doesn't know whether to marry a certain girl. If she hears ofhis indecision there is trouble ahead, if he finally decides in theaffirmative, and it is quite possible that he may not marry her. 

After the door of a woman's heart has once swung on its silent hinges, aman thinks he can prop it open with a brick and go away and leave it. Astorm is apt to displace the brick, however--and there is a heavy springon the door. Woe to the masculine finger that is in the way!

A man often hesitates between two young women and asks his friends whichhe shall marry. Custom has permitted the courtship of both and neitherhas the right to feel aggrieved, because it is exceedingly bad form fora girl to love a man before he has asked her to. 

Now and then a third girl is a man's confidante at this trying period. Nothing so bores a person as to be a man's "guide, philosopher andfriend" in his perplexities with other girls. To one distinct class ofwomen men tell their troubles and the other class sees that they haveplenty to tell. It is better to be in the second category than in thefirst. 

Sooner or later, the confidante explains the whole affair to thesubjects of the confidence and strange, new kinds of trouble immediatelycome to the rash man. It is a common failing to expect another person tokeep a secret which we have just proved is beyond our own capability. 

[Sidenote: The Adamantine Fortress]

When a man has once deeply wounded a woman's pride, he may just as wellgive up his hope of winning her. At that barrier, the little blind godmay plead in vain. Love's face may be sad, his big, sightless eyes softwith tears, and his helpless hands outstretched in pleading and prayer, but that stern sentinel will never yield. Wounded love is easilyforgiven, wounded belief sometimes forgotten, but wounded pride--never. It is the adamantine fortress. There is only one path which leads to thehouse of forgiveness--that of understanding, and it is impassable ifwoman's pride has come between. 

A girl never knows whether a courtship is in progress or not, unless aman tells her. He may be interested and amused, but not in love. It isonly in the comic papers that a stern parent waits upon the continuouscaller and demands to know his "intentions, " so a girl must, perforce, be her own guide. 

[Sidenote: The Continuous Caller]

A man may call upon a girl so constantly and so regularly that theneighbours daily expect wedding invitations, and the family inquire whyhe does not have his trunk sent to the house. Later, quite casually, hewill announce his engagement to a girl who is somewhere else. Thisfiancée is always a peculiarly broad-minded girl who knows all about herlover's attentions to the other and does not in the least object. Shewants him to "have a good time" when he is away from her, and he isnaturally anxious to please her. He wants the other girl to know hiswife--he is sure they will be good friends. 

Lasting feminine friendships are not built upon foundations of thatkind. It is very unfortunate, for the world would be gladdened by manymore than now exist. 

According to geometry, "things which are equal to the same thing areequal to each other, " and it would seem, from the standpoint of purereason, that people who are fond of the same people would naturally becongenial and take pleasure in being together. 

But a sensitive spinster is often grieved when she discovers that hermen friends do not readily assimilate. If she leaves two of them toentertain each other, the conversation does not flow with desirablespontaneity. There is no lack of courtesy between them, however, even ofthat finer sort which keeps them both there, lest one, by leaving, should seem to remind his companion that it was late. 

On the contrary, if a man is fond of two different girls, they areseldom to be seen apart. They exchange long visits regularly and thisthoughtfulness often saves him from making an extra call. 

[Sidenote: A Happy Triumvirate]

A happy triumvirate is thus formed and the claws of it do not show. Sometimes it is hard to decide between them, and he cuts the Gordianknot by marrying someone else, but the friendship is never the sameafterward. The girls are no longer boon companions and when the mancrosses their paths, they manage to convey the impression of greatdistance. 

[Sidenote: Narrowed Down to Two]

In the beginning, almost any number may join in the game, but theinevitable process of selection eventually narrows it down to two. Society has given men a little the best of it, but perhaps woman's finersight compensates her for the apparent disadvantages--and even Love, whodeals the cards, is too blind to see the fatal consequences of hismistakes. 

The Natural History of Proposals

[Illustration]

The Natural History of Proposals

[Sidenote: The Inquiring Spinster]

There is no subject which presents more difficulties to the inquiringspinster. Contemporary spinsters, when approached upon the topic, areanything but encouraging; apparently lacking the ability to distinguishbetween impertinent intrusion into their personal affairs and thescientific spirit which prompts the collection of statistics. 

Married women, when asked to repeat the exact language of the lover atthe happy moment, are wont to transfix the sensitive aspirant forknowledge with lofty scorn. Mothers are accustomed to dissemble and saythey "have forgotten. " Men in general are uncommunicative, thoughoccasionally some rare soul will expand under the influence of food andfreely give more valuable information than can be extracted from anindefinite number of women. 

One's own experience is naturally limited, even though proposalsconstitute the main joy and excitement of the spinster's monotonouslife. Emerson says: "All is sour if seen as experience, " though thegentle sage was not referring especially to offers of marriage. Nevertheless, there is a charm about other people's affairs which wouldrender life beautiful indeed if it could be added to one's own. 

Nothing strengthens a woman's self-confidence like a proposal. One is awonder, two a superfluity, and three an epidemic. Four are proof ofunusual charm, five go to the head, and it is a rare girl whom six orseven will not permanently spoil. 

[Sidenote: Disillusion]

To the girl fed upon fiction, the first proposal comes in the nature ofa shock. Disillusion follows as a matter of course. Men, evidently, donot read fiction, or at least do not profit by the valuable hints to befound in any novel. 

A small book entitled: _How Men Propose_, was eagerly sought by youngwomen who were awaiting definite experience. This was discovered to be acollection of proposals carefully selected from fiction. It was donewith care and discernment, but was not satisfying. The naturalinference was that the actual affairs were just like those in the book. 

[Sidenote: "In Books?"]

Nothing can exceed the grace and tenderness with which men propose--inbooks. Such chivalrous worship, such pleasing deference is accorded--inbooks! Such pretty pleading, such knightly vows of eternal allegiance, as are always found--in books!

The hero of a few years back was wont to make his offer on his knees. Healso haunted the home of the beloved maiden, deeming himself well repaidfor five hours wait if he had a fleeting glimpse of her at the window. Torn hair was frequent, and refusal drove men to suicide and madness. 

The young women who were the cause of all this trouble were never morethan eighteen or twenty years of age. Mature spinsters of twenty-fivefigured as envious deterrents in the happy affair. Many a story-bookmarriage has been spoiled by the jealousy of the wrinkled rival oftwenty-five. 

[Sidenote: The First Proposal]

The violent protestations of the lover in the novel were indeedsomething to be awaited with fear and trembling. With her anticipationsaroused by this kind of reading and her eagerness whetted byinterminable years of waiting, Mademoiselle receives her first offer ofmarriage. 

She is in doubt, at first, as to whether it is a proposal. It seems likesome dreadful mistake. Where is the courtly manner of the lover in thebook? What is the matter with this red-faced boy? Where is the prettypleading, the gracious speech? Why should a lover stammer and confusehis verbs?

Mademoiselle recoils in disgust. This, then, is what she has beenwaiting for. It is not at all like the book. Her lover is entirelydifferent from other girls' lovers--so different that he is pathetic. 

Her faith in the gospel of romance is sadly shaken, when the nextexperience is a great deal like the first. No one, in the book, coulddoubt the lover's meaning. Yet in the halting sentences and confusedmetaphors of actual experience, there is sometimes much question as towhat he really means. A girl often has to ask a man if he has justproposed to her, that she may accept or refuse, in a gracious and properway. 

[Sidenote: The Ordeal]

In a girl's early ideas on the subject, she has much sympathy for theman who has to undergo the ordeal of asking a woman to be his wife. Shethinks he must contemplate the momentous step for weeks, await theopportunity with expectant terror, and when his lady is in a happy mood, recite with fear and trembling, the proposal which he has written outand learned, appropriately enough, by heart. 

Later, she comes to know that after the first few times, men propose asthoughtlessly and easily as they dress for dinner, that they devote noparticular study to the art, that constant practice makes themproficient, and that almost any girl will do when the proposal mood ison. 

She discovers that they often do it simply to make a pleasing impressionupon a girl, with no thought of acceptance. Many an engagement is moreof a surprise to the man than to anybody else. 

Because fiction comes very near to the heart of woman, she invariablyfollows its dictates and shows great astonishment at every proposal. Thewomen who have been thus surprised are even more rare than days inJune. 

[Sidenote: The False and the True]

When a man begins to compare a girl to a flower, a baby, or a kitten, she knows what is coming next. She spends her mental energy indistinguishing the false from the true--which is sufficient employmentfor anyone. There is not enough cerebral tissue to waste much of it uponunnecessary processes. 

It is very hard to tell whether a man really means a proposal. It mayhave been made under romantic circumstances, or because he was lonesomefor the other girl, or, in the case of an heiress, because he was tiredof work. Longing for the absent sweetheart will frequently cause a manto become engaged to someone near by, because, though absence may make awoman's heart grow fonder, it is presence that plays the mischief with aman. No wise girl would accept a man who proposed by moonlight or justafter a meal. The dear things aren't themselves then. 

Food, properly served, will attract a proposal at almost any time, especially if it is known that the pleasing viands were of the girl'sown making. Cooking and love may seem at first glance to be widelyseparated, but no woman can have one without the other. The brotherlylove for all creation, which emanates from the well-fed man, overflows, concentrates, and naturally becomes a proposal. 

[Sidenote: Written Proposals]

Other things being equal, a written proposal is apt to be genuine, especially if it is signed with the full name and address of the writer, and the date is not omitted. Long and painful experience in the courtsof his country has made man wary of direct evidence. 

But a written proposal is extremely bad form. A girl never can be surethat her lover did not attempt to fish it out of the letter-box after ithad slipped from his fingers. The author of _How to Be Happy, ThoughMarried_, once saw a miserable young man attempting to get hisconvicting letter back by means of a forked stick. The sight must bequite common everywhere. Proposing in haste and repenting at leisure isnot by any means unusual. 

Then, too, a girl misses a possible opportunity of seeing a man blushand stammer. One does not often get a chance to see a man willinglymaking himself ridiculous, and the spectacle is worth waiting for. 

[Sidenote: Confusion and Awkwardness]

Confusion and awkwardness are high trumps with a woman, for theyindicate inexperience and uncertainty. The man who proposes in afinished and nonchalant manner, as if he had done it frequently and weresure of the result, is now and then astonished at a refusal. It is alsoa risk to offer a ring immediately after acceptance. The suspicion isthat the ring has been worn before, or else the man was sure enough ofthe girl to invest heavily in his future. 

Sometimes a man will disclose to a platonic friend the form hehabitually employs in proposals. The hero of battle engagements hasproverbial charm for woman, and the hero of matrimonial engagements ismeat and drink to the spinster athirst for knowledge. 

Feed the man, and when the brotherly love for the entire universe beginsto radiate, approach him gently upon the subject. 

"Why, bless your little heart, " the man will say, "of course I'll tellyou about it. Yes, you're right in supposing that I know more about itthan anyone else you know. I've never been refused in my life and Iknow I've asked a hundred. I've had medals for that. 

"I always try to make each one different, " he will continue. "Girlssometimes compare notes and it makes it awkward. The girl I'm engaged tonow doesn't know any of my other girls, though, so I'm safe enough. 

[Sidenote: "One of the Best Proposals"]

"I'll never forget the way I did that. I think it was one of the bestproposals I ever made. She's a mighty pretty little thing, --blue eyesand black hair, --a regular Irish type. I must tell you first, though, how I came to know her. 

"The one I was engaged to just before I asked her, had just broken itoff on account of property which her children would lose if she marriedagain. She was a widow, you know. I've told you about her--the one withred hair. Between you and me, that's the only woman in God's world myheart ever went out to. That is the love of my life. Her little girl, eleven years old, was in love with me, too. She used to tremble when Ikissed her, and was jealous of her mother. But this little girl I'mengaged to now, why I just love the ground she walks on. 

[Sidenote: "A Very Peculiar Affair"]

"Well, " after a pause, "this was a very peculiar affair. Of course I wasall broken up over losing her--couldn't eat nor sleep--I was a perfectwreck. This old friend of mine happened along, and he says, 'You'll haveto brace up, old man. Come on out to my house in the country and rest upa bit. ' So I went, and met his daughter. 

"Five days after I met her, I asked him for her hand. I explained it tohim just as I would to my own father, and he understood all right. He'sa fine fellow. He said I could have her. Of course I'd asked her first. 

"Yes--I'm getting to that. I took her out for a walk one afternoon, andwhen we came to the river, we sat down to talk. It was a perfect day. Ibegan by saying how sad it was to see a beautiful flower and to knowthat it was out of one's reach, or to see anything beautiful and knowthat one never could possess it. I led up to the subject by gentledegrees, and then I said: 'You must have seen that I love you, and youknow without my telling you, that I want you to be my wife. I don't sayI want you to marry me, because I want you to do more than that--I wantyou to be my wife. ' (Fine distinction that!)

"Well, she was very much surprised, of course, but she accepted me allright. Yes, I told her about the other woman, but in such a way that sheunderstood it perfectly. Lots of other fellows wanted her and I snatchedthe prize from right under their very noses. I don't suppose I'll everpropose any more now. I'd never propose to you, even if I were free todo so, because I know you'd refuse me. You'd refuse me, wouldn't you?Somebody else might just as well have me, if you don't want me. "

[Sidenote: In Spite of Varied Resources]

Yet in spite of the varied resources at woman's command, we sometimeshear of one who yearns for the privilege of seeking man in marriage. Thewoman who longs for the right to propose is evidently not bright enoughto bring a man to the point. 

Still worse than this, there are cases on record where women, notreigning queens, have actually proposed to men. The men who are thussought in the bonds of matrimony are not slow to tell of it, confiningthemselves usually to their own particular circle of men friends. Butthe news sometimes filters through man's capacity to keep a secret, andthe knowledge is diffused among interested spinsters. 

[Sidenote: Hints]

What men term "hints" are not out of place, for the proposal marketwould be less active, were it not for "hints. " But these are seldomgiven in words--unless a man happens to be particularly stupid. 

When the proposal habit is not firmly fastened upon a man, and he beginsto have serious designs upon some one girl, she knows it long before hedoes. Incidentally, the family and the neighbours have their suspicions. 

Woman, with her strong dramatic instinct, wishes the proposal to occuraccording to accepted rules. Hence, if a man shows symptoms ofwhispering the momentous question in a crowd, he is apt to be delicatelydiscouraged, and if the girl is not satisfied with her own appearance, there will also be postponement. No girl wants to be proposed to whenher hair is dishevelled, her collar wilted, and her soul distraught bypestiferous mosquitoes. 

But an ambitious and painstaking girl will arrange the stage for aproposal, with untiring patience, months before it actually happens. When she practices assiduously all the morning, that she may executedifficult passages with apparent ease in the evening, and willinglyturns the freezer that there may be cooling ice opportunely left afterdinner, to "melt if somebody doesn't eat it, " she expects something tohappen. 

When the man finally appears, and the little brother marches off like awell-trained soldier, with two nickels jingling in his pocket, even thevictim might be on his guard. When the family are unceremoniously putout of the house, and father, mother, and sisters are seen in the summertwilight, wandering in disconsolate pairs, let the neighbours keep awayfrom the house under penalty of the girl's lasting hate. 

Sometimes, when the family have been put out, and the common humaninterest leads intimate spinster friends to pass the house, there isnothing to be seen but the girl playing accompaniments for the man whilehe sings. 

Yet the initiated know, for if a girl only praises a man's singingenough, he will most surely propose to her before many moons havepassed. The scheme has a two-fold purpose, because all may see that hefinds the house attractive, and if no engagement is announced, theentire affair may easily be explained upon musical and platonic grounds. 

[Sidenote: A Formal Proposal]

Owing to the distorted methods of courtship which prevail at the presentday, a girl may never be sure that a man really cares for her until hemakes a formal proposal. If a man were accepted the minute he proposed, he would think the girl had been his for some time, and wouldunconsciously class her as among those easily won. 

The insinuation that she has been easily won is the thing which is notto be borne. It may have been simple enough, in fact, but let a manbeware how he trifles with this delicate subject, even after fifty yearsof marriage. 

[Sidenote: On Probation]

Consequently, it is the proper thing to take the matter under advisementand never to accept definitely without a period of probation. This isthe happiest time of a girl's life. She is absolutely sure of her loverand may administer hope, fear, doubt, and discouragement to her heart'scontent. 

The delicate attentions which are showered upon her are the envy ofevery spinster on the street who does not know the true state of theaffair. Sometimes, with indifferent generosity, she divides her rosesand invites the less fortunate to share her chocolates. This alwayspleases the man, if he knows about it. 

Also, because she is not in the least bound, she makes the best of thislast freedom and accepts the same courtesies from other men. Nothing isso well calculated to sound the depths of original sin in man's nature, as to find his rival's roses side by side with his, when a girl has himon probation. And he never feels so entirely similar to an utter idiot, as when he sees a girl to whom he has definitely committed himself, flirting cheerfully with two or three other men. 

Woe be to him if he remonstrates! For Mademoiselle is testing him withthis end in view. If he complains bitterly of her outrageous behaviour, she dismisses him with sorrowful dignity, jealousy being the one thingshe cannot tolerate in men. 

[Sidenote: Opportunity for Fine Work]

There is opportunity for fine work in the situation which the youngwoman immediately develops. A man may take his choice of the evils whichlie before him, for almost anything may happen. 

He may complain, and if he shows anger, there is war. If he betraysjealousy, there is trouble which marriage will accentuate, rather thanlessen. If he shows concern because his beloved is so fickle, andinsinuates that so unstable a person will not make a good wife, hetouches pride in a vital spot and his cause is no more. Let him bemanfully unconcerned; as far above jealousy and angry reproach as a St. Bernard is above a kitten--and Mademoiselle is his. 

Philosophers laugh at woman's fickleness, but her constancy, when onceawakened, endures beyond life and death, and sometimes beyond betrayal. But this is not to be won by a jealous man, for jealousy is themother-in-law of selfishness, and a woman never permits a man to rivalher in her own particular field. 

[Sidenote: Another Danger]

If a man safely passes the test of probation, there is yet anotherdanger which lies between him and the realisation of his ambition. Thisis the tendency of women to conduct excavations into a man's previousaffairs. 

He needs the wisdom of the serpent at this juncture, for under thesmiling sweetness a dagger is often concealed. If the point is allowedto show during an engagement, the whole blade will frequently flashduring marriage. 

"Yes, dearest, " a man will say, tenderly, "I have loved before, but thatwas long ago--long before I met you. She was beautiful, tall, dark, majestic, with a regal nature like herself--Good Heavens, how I lovedher!"

This is apt to continue for some little time, if a man gets thoroughlyinterested in his subject and thinks he is talking rather well, beforehe discovers that his petite blonde divinity is either a frozen statue, or a veritable Niobe as to tears. And not one man in three hundred andnineteen ever suspects what he has done!

[Sidenote: The Thought of Defection]

A woman is more jealous of the girls a man has loved, whom she has neverseen, than of any number of attractive rivals. In the blind adorationwhich he yields her, she takes no thought of immediate defection, forher smile always makes him happy--her voice never loses its mystic powerover his senses. 

On the contrary, a man never stoops to be jealous of the men who havepleaded in vain for what he has won, nor even of possible fiancés whomlater discretion has discarded. He is sure of her at the present momentand his doubt centres itself comfortably upon the future, which isalways shadowy and unreal to a man, because he is less imaginative thanwoman. 

And yet--there is no more dangerous companion for a woman than the manwho has loved her. It is easier to waken a woman's old love than toteach her a new affection. Strangely enough, the woman a man has onceloved and then forgotten is powerless in the after years. A man's deadfriendship may dream of resurrection, but never his dead love. 

Jealousy and distrust have never yet won a doubting heart. Bitternessnever accomplishes miracles which sweetness fails to do. Too often menand women spend their time in wondering why they are not loved, tryingvarious schemes and pitiful experiments, and passing by the simplemethod of trying to be lovable and unconscious of self. 

[Sidenote: "The Milk of Human Kindness"]

"The milk of human kindness" seldom produces cream, but there is onlyone way by which love may be won or kept. Perfection means a continualshifting of standards and must ever be unattainable, but the man orwoman who is simply lovable will be wholly taken into otherhearts--faults and all. 

Now and then a man's love is hopeless, from causes which are innate andbeyond control. Sometimes regret strikes deep and lasts for more than aday, as in the pages of the story books which women love to read. Sometimes, too, a tender-hearted woman, seeing far into the future, willdo her best to spare a fellow-creature pain. 

[Sidenote: The Wine of Conquest]

But this is the exception, rather than the rule. The average womanregards a certain number of proposals as but a just tribute to her owncharm. Sometimes she sees what she has unconsciously done when it is toolate to retreat, but even then, though pity, regret, and honest painmay result from it, there is one effect more certain still--theintoxication of the wine of conquest, against which no woman is proof. 

Love Letters: Old and New

[Illustration]

Love Letters: Old and New

[Sidenote: The Average Love Letter]

The average love letter is sufficient to make a sensitive spinster weep, unless she herself is in love and the letter be addressed to her. Thefirst stage of the tender passion renders a man careless as to hispunctuation, the second seriously affects his spelling, and in the lastperiod of the malady, his grammar develops locomotor ataxia. The singleblessedness of school-teachers is largely to be attributed to thiscause. 

A real love letter is absolutely ridiculous to everyone except thewriter and the recipient. A composition, which repeats the same term ofendearment thirteen times on a page, has certainly no particular claimto literary art. 

When a man writes a love letter, dated, and fully identified by name andaddress, there is no question but that he is in earnest. A large numberof people consider nothing so innocently entertaining as love letters, read in a court-room, with due attention to effect, by the counsel forthe other side. 

Affairs of that kind are given scarlet headlines in the saffronjournals, and if the letters are really well done, it means the sale ofan "extra. " No man can hope to write anything which will possess suchgeneral interest as his love letters. If Shakespeare had writtenvoluminously to his sweetheart--to any of his sweethearts--and theletters should be found by this generation, what a hue and cry would beraised over his peaceful ashes!

[Sidenote: Sins of Commission]

Doing the things which ought not to be done never loses fascination andcharm. The rare pleasure thus obtained far exceeds the enjoyment ofleaving undone things which ought to be done. Sins of commission are farmore productive of happiness than the sins of omission. 

[Sidenote: For Posterity]

Thus people whose sense of honour would not permit them to read an openletter which belonged to someone else will go by thousands to purchasethe published letters of some famous man. Dr. Arbuthnot, in speaking ofthe publication of letters, said that it added a new terror to death, sotrue it is that while a man may think for the present, he unavoidablywrites for posterity. 

No passion is too sacred to be hidden from the eagle eye of the public. The death of anyone of more than passing fame is followed by a volume of"letters. " It is pathetic to read these posthumous pages, which shouldhave been buried with the hands that wrote them, or consigned to thenever-failing mercy of the flames. 

Burial has not always sufficed. The manuscript of one well-known book ofpoems was buried with the lady to whom they were written, but in lateryears her resting-place was disturbed, with the consent of her lover, for this very manuscript. 

Her golden hair had grown after her death, and was found closelyentwined with the written pages--so closely that it had to be cut. Theloving embrace which Death would not break was rudely forced to yield. Even in her "narrow house" she might not keep her love letters in peace, since the public wanted to read what had been written for her alone andthe publisher was waiting for "copy. "

[Sidenote: Letters in a Grave]

In a paper of the _Tatler_, written by Addison or Steele, or possiblyby both, is described a party in a country village which is suddenlybroken into confusion by the entrance of the sexton of their parishchurch, fresh from the digging of a grave. The sexton tells themerrymakers how a chance blow of his pickaxe has opened a decayedcoffin, in which are discovered several papers. 

These are found to be the love letters received by the wife of SirThomas Chichley, one of the admirals of King William. Most of theletters were ruined by damp and mould, but "here and there, " says the_Tatler_, "a few words such as 'my soul, ' 'dearest, ' 'roses, ' and 'myangel, ' still remained legible, resisting the corrupting influence ofTime. "

One of these letters in a grave, which Lady Chichley had requested mightbe buried with her in her coffin, was found entire, though discolouredby the lapse of twenty years. Its words were these:

"Madam:

"If you would know the greatness of my love, consider that of your ownbeauty. That blooming countenance, that snowy bosom, that gracefulperson, return every moment to my imagination; the brightness of youreyes hindered me from closing mine since I last saw you. You may stilladd to your beauties by a smile. A frown will make me the most wretchedof men, as I am the most passionate of lovers. "

[Sidenote: The Advertisement]

Death is the advertisement, at the end of an autobiography, whereinpeople discover its virtues. The public which refused a bare subsistenceto the living genius will make his children comfortable by generouslypurchasing his letters, which were never meant for them. 

The pathetic story of the inner struggle, which would have crucified thesensitive soul were it known to any save his dearest friends, is proudlyblazoned forth--in print! Hopes and fears and trials are no longerconcealed. Illness, poverty, and despair are given rubricated pages. Thesorrowful letter to a friend, asking for five or ten dollars, isreproduced in facsimile. 

[Sidenote: The Soldier of the World]

That it shows the human side of the genius is no excuse for thedesecration. What of the sunny soul who always sang courage, while hehimself was suffering from hope deferred! What of him who wrote in anattic, often hungry for his daily bread, and took care to give theimpression of warmth and comfort! Why should his stern necessity bedisclosed to the public that would not give him bread in return for hissongs? It is enough to make the gallant soldier of the world turnuneasily in his grave. 

In this way a bit of the greatness so bravely won is often lost, andsometimes illusions are dispelled which all must regret. For years, wehave read with delight Mrs. Browning's exquisite poem beginning:

 "I have a name, a little name Uncadenced for the ear. "

Throughout the poem there is no disclosure, but, so sure is her art, that there is no sense of loss or wonder. But the pitiless searchlightof the century is turned upon the Browning love letters, and thus welearn that Mrs. Browning's pet name was _Ba_!

Pretty enough, perhaps, when spoken by a lover and a poet, or in shadednooks, to the music of Italian streams, but quite unsuited to thepresent, even though it were to be read only by lovers equally fond. 

 "Though I write books, it will be read Upon the page of none--"

Poor Mrs. Browning! Little did she know!

[Sidenote: With the Future in View]

There have been some, no doubt, who have written with the future inview, though Abelard, who broke a woman's heart, could not have foreseenthat his only claims to distinction would rest upon his letters toloving, faithful Héloise. The life which was to be too great for her toshare is remembered now only because of her. Mocking Fate has broughtthe wronged woman an exquisite revenge. 

That delightful spendthrift and scapegrace, Richard Steele, has left alarge number of whimsical letters, addressed to the lady he married. Shemight possibly object to their publication, but not Steele! Indeed, shewas a foolish woman to keep this letter:

"Dear Prue:

"The afternoon coach will bring you ten pounds. Your letter shows thatyou are passionately in love with me. But we must take our portion oflife without repining and I consider that good nature, added to thebeautiful form God has given you, would make our happiness too great forhuman life. Your most obliged husband and most humble servant, Rich. Steele. "

Alexander Pope was another who wrote for posterity. In spite of hisdeformity, he appears to have been touched to the heart by women, butvanity and selfishness tinged all of his letters. 

[Sidenote: Systematic Lovers]

Robert Burns was a systematic lover of anything in petticoats, and hasleft such a mass of amatory correspondence that his biographer wassorely perplexed. There could not have been a pretty maid in the BritishIsles, to whom chance had been kind, who had not somewhere the usualpacket of love letters from "Bobby" Burns. 

Laurence Sterne was no less generous with his affection, if the storiesare true. At twenty, he fell in love with Elizabeth Lumley, and from hisletters to her, one might easily fancy that love was a devastating andhopeless disease. There was a pretty little "Kitty" who claimed hisdevotion, and countless other affairs, before "Eliza" appeared. "Eliza"was a married woman and apparently the last love of the heart-scarredSterne. 

[Sidenote: Left by the Dead]

No earthly thing is so nearly immortal as a love letter, and nothing isso sorrowful as those left by the dead. The beautiful body may be dustand all but forgotten, while the work of the loving hands lives on. Eventhose written by the ancient Egyptians are seemingly imperishable. Theclay tablet on which one of the Pharaohs wrote a love letter, asking thehand of a foreign princess, is to-day in the British Museum. 

The first time a woman cries after she is married, she reads over allthe love letters the other men have written her, for a love letter issomething a tender-hearted woman cannot bring herself to destroy. 

[Sidenote: The New Child]

The love letters of the man she did not marry still possess lingeringinterest. The letters of many a successful man of affairs are stillhidden in the treasure-box of the woman he loved, but did not marry. Both have formed other ties and children have risen up to call themblessed, or whatever the children may please, for even more dreadfulthan the new woman is the new child. Between them, they are likely toproduce a new man. 

The new child is apt to find the letters and read them aloud to thewrong people, being most successfully unexpected and inopportune. A boxof old letters, distributed sparingly at the doors of mutual friends, isthe distinguishing feature of a lovely game called "playing postman. "Social upheavals have occurred from so small a cause as this. 

It sometimes happens, too, that when a girl has promised to marry a manand the wedding day is set, she receives from a mutual friend a packageof faded letters and a note which runs something like this:

"My Dear:

"Now that my old friend's wedding day is approaching, I feel that I haveno longer the right to keep his letters. They are too beautiful andtender to be burned and I have not the heart to make that disposition ofthem. Were I to return them to him, he would doubtless toss them intothe fire, and I cannot bear to have them lost. 

"So, after thinking about it for some time, I have concluded to sendthem to you, who are the rightful keeper of his happiness, as well as ofhis letters. I trust that you may find a place for these among thosewhich he has addressed to you. Wishing you all happiness in the future, believe me to be

"Very sincerely and affectionately yours. "

[Sidenote: On the Firing Line]

The dainty and appropriate wedding gift is not often shown to the happyman, but every page and every line is carefully read. Now and then thebride-elect advances boldly to the firing line and writes a letter ofthanks after this fashion:

"It is very sweet and thoughtful of you, my dear friend, to send me theletters. Of course I shall keep them in with mine, though I have butfew, for the dear boy has never been able to leave me for more than aday, since first we met. 

"Long before we became engaged, he made me a present of your letters tohim, which he said were well worth the reading, and indeed, I havefound them so. I shall arrange them according to date and sequence, though I observe that you have written much more often than he--Isuppose because we foolish women can never say all we want to in oneletter and are compelled to add postscripts, sometimes days apart. 

"Believe me, I fully appreciate your wishes for our happiness. I trustyou may come to us often and see how your hopes are fulfilled. With manythanks for your loving thought of me, as ever, Affectionately yours. "

[Sidenote: If a Girl is in Love]

If a girl is in love, she carries the last letter inside her shirt-waistin the day time, and puts it under her pillow at night, therebyexpecting dreams of the beloved. 

But the dispenser of nocturnal visions delights in joking, and thoughimpalpable arms may seem to surround the sleeping spinster and a tenderkiss may be imprinted upon her lips, it is not once in seventeen daysthat the caresses are bestowed by the writer of the letter. It is apolitician whose distorted picture has appeared in the evening paper, some man the girl despises, the postman, or worse yet, the tramp who hasbegged bread at the door. 

[Sidenote: When a Man is in Love]

When a man is in love, he carries the girl's last letter in his pocketuntil he has answered it and has another to take its place. He stoops tono such superstition as placing it under his pillow. Neither is it readas often as his letters to her. 

A woman never really writes to the man she loves. She simply records herfleeting moods--her caprice, her tenderness, and her dreams. Because ofthis, she is often misunderstood. If the letter of to-day is differentfrom that of yesterday, her lover, in his heart at least, accuses her offickleness. 

A man's letters to a girl are very frequently shown to her most intimatefriend, if they are sufficiently ardent, but a man never shows theletters of a woman he truly cares for, unless he feels the need of someother masculine intellect to assist him in comprehending the lady of hisheart. 

"Nothing feeds the flame like a letter. It has intent, personality, secrecy. " But that is love indeed which stands the test of longseparation--and letters. 

[Sidenote: A Single Drop of Ink]

With a single drop of ink for a mirror, the old Egyptian sorcererpromised to reveal the past and foretell the future. The single drop ofink with which a lover writes may sadly change the blissful future ofwhich he dreams. 

The written word is so sadly different from that which is spoken! Themalicious demon concealed in the ink bottle delights in wrecking love. Misunderstandings and long silences follow in rapid succession, tenderness changes to coldness, and love to bitter regret. 

Someone has said that the true test of congeniality is not a matter oftastes, but of humour. If two people find the same things amusing, theircomradeship is a foregone conclusion, but even so, it requires unusualinsight to distinguish the playful parts of a letter from the seriouspassages. If the separated lovers would escape the pit of destruction, let all jokes be plainly marked with a cross or a star. 

A letter is an unfair thing. It follows its own mood blindly withoutreference to others. If penned in sadness it often makes a sunny day acloudy one, and if written in jest it may be as inopportune as mirth ata funeral. 

[Sidenote: Misunderstood]

A letter betraying anger and hurt pride may often crystallise a yieldingmood into determination and summon evil spirits which love cannotbanish. The letter asking forgiveness may cross the path of the onewhich puts an end to everything. It would seriously test the power ofthe Egyptian to foretell what might result from a single letter, writtenin all love and tenderness, perhaps, but destined to be completelymisunderstood. 

Old love letters often mean tears, because they have been so wronglyread. Later years, with fine irony, sometimes bring new understanding ofthe loving heart behind the faulty lines. After all, it is theinexpressible atmosphere of a letter which is felt, rather than themeaning which the phrases ostensibly convey. 

[Sidenote: The Postman]

Tender secrets are concealed in the weather-worn bag of the postman. Thelovers may hide their hearts from all but him. Parents, guardians, andeven mature maiden aunts may be successfully diverted, but not thepostman!

He knows that the girl who eagerly watches for him in the morning hasmore than a passing interest in the mail. He knows where her lover is, how often he writes, when she should have a letter, and whether all iswell. 

Sometimes, too, he knows that it is better to take a single letter tothe house three or four times in succession, rather than to leave it inthe hands of one to whom it is not addressed. 

Blessed be the countless Cupids in the uniform of the postal service!The little blind god is wont to assume strange forms, apparently atwill. But no stern parent could suspect that his sightless eyes wereconcealed behind the spectacles of a sedate postman, nor that his wickedarrows were hidden under piles of letters. 

The uninitiated wonder "what there is to write about. " A man may haveseen a girl the evening before, and yet a bulky letter comes in theafternoon. And what mysterious interest can make one write three or fourtimes a week?

Where is the girl whose love letter was left in pawn because she couldnot find her purse? The grizzled veteran never collects the "two centsdue" on the love letters that are a little overweight. He would not puta value upon anything so precious, and he is seldom a cynic--perhapsbecause, more than anyone else, he is the dispenser of daily joy. 

The reading of old love letters is in some way associated withhair-cloth trunks, mysterious attics, and rainy days. The writers may beunknown and the hands that laid them away long since returned to dust, but the interest still remains. 

[Sidenote: Dead Roses]

Dead roses crumble to ashes in the gentle fingers that open the longfolded pages--the violets of a forgotten spring impart a delicatefragrance to the yellowed spot on which they lay. The ink is faded andthe letter much worn, as though it had lain next to some youthfulbreast, to be read in silence and solitude until the tender words weregraven upon the heart in the exquisite script of Memory. 

The phrasing has a peculiar quaintness, old fashioned, perhaps, but witha grace and dignity all its own. Through the formal, stately sentencesthe hidden sweetness creeps like the crimson vine upon the autumnleaves. Brave hearts they had, those lovers of the past, who were makinga new country in the wilderness, and yet there was an unsuspectedsoftness--the other "soul side" which even a hero may have, "to show awoman when he loves her. "

There are other treasures to be found with the letters--olddaguerreotypes, in ornate cases, showing the girlish, sweet face of herwho is a grandmother now, or perhaps a soldier in the trappings of war, the first of a valiant line. 

There are songs which are never sung, save as a quavering lullaby tosome mite who will never remember the tune, and fragments of nocturnesor simple melodies, which awaken the past as surely as the lost shellbrings to the traveller inland the surge and thunder of the distant sea. 

[Sidenote: The Mysteries of Life and Death]

All the mysteries of life and death are woven in with the letters; thosepathetic remembrances which the years may fade but never destroy. Thereare old school books, dog-eared and musty, scraps of rich brocade andrustling taffeta, the yellowed sampler which was the daily trial ofsome little maid, and the first white robe of someone who has grownchildren of his own. 

[Sidenote: Memory's Singing]

Give Memory an old love letter and listen to her singing. There is quietat first, as though she were waiting for some step to die away, or somechildish laughter to cease. Then there is a hushed arpeggio, struck fromstrings which are old and worn, but sweet and tender still. 

Sometimes the song is of an old farmhouse on the western plains, wherelife meant struggle and bitter privation. Brothers and sisters, in thetorn, faded clothes which were all they had; father's tremulous "Godbless you, " when someone went away. Mother's never-ending toil, and theday when her roughened hands were crossed upon her breast, at rest forthe first time, while the children cried in wonder and fear. 

Then the plaintive minor swells for a moment into the full major chord, when Love, the King, in royal purple, took possession of the desolateland. Corn huskings and the sound of "Money Musk, " scarlet ears andstolen kisses under the harvest moon, youth and laughter, and theeternal, wavering hope for better things. Long years of toil, withinterludes of peace and divine content, little voices, and sometimes alittle grave. Separation and estrangement, trust and misgiving, heartache and defeat. 

[Sidenote: A Magic in the Strings]

The tears may start at Memory's singing, but as the song goes on therecomes peace, for there is a magic in the strings which changes sadnessinto something sweet. Memory's eyes are deep and tender and her heart isfull of compassion. So the old love letters bring happiness afterall--like the smile which sometimes rests upon the faces of the dead. 

An Inquiry into Marriage

[Illustration]

An Inquiry into Marriage

[Sidenote: Like a Grape]

Marriage appears to be somewhat like a grape. People swallow a greatdeal of indifferent good for the sake of the lurking bit of sweetnessand never know until it is too late whether the venture was wise. 

Chaucer compared it to a crowded church. Those left on the outside areeager to get in, and those caught inside are straining every nerve toget out. There are many, in this year of grace, who have safely madetheir escape, but, unfortunately, the happy ones inside say little aboutit, and do not seem anxious to get out. 

Fate takes great pleasure in confusing the inquiring spinster. Some ofthe disappointed ones will advise her never to attempt it, and in thevoluble justification which follows, she sees clearly that the discordwas not entirely caused by the other. Her friends, who have been marrieda year or so, regard her with evident pity, and occasionally suggest, delicately enough, to be sure, that she could never have had a proposal. 

[Sidenote: The Consistent Lady]

Among her married friends who are more mature, there is usually one whochooses her for a confidant. This consistent lady will sob out herunhappiness on the girl's shoulder, and the next week ask her why shedoesn't get married. Sometimes she invites the girl to her house to meetsome new and attractive man--with the memory of those bitter tears stillin her heart. 

A girl often loses a friend by heartily endorsing the things the weepersays of her husband. The fact that he is an inconsiderate brute isfrequently confided to the kindly surface of a clean shirt-waist, regardless of laundry bills. The girl remarks dispassionately that shehas noticed it; that he never considers the happiness of his wife, andshe doesn't see how the tearful one stands it. Behold the instant andpainful transformation! It is very hard to be a popular spinster whenone has many married friends. 

That interesting pessimist, Herr Arthur Schopenhauer, advocatesuniversal polygamy upon the theory that all women would thus besupported. To the unprejudiced observer who reads the comic papers andgoes to afternoon receptions, it would seem that each woman should haveseveral husbands, to pay her bills and see that she is suitably escortedto various social affairs. 

[Sidenote: Seven Husbands]

If a woman had seven husbands, for instance, it is possible that someone of them would be willing to take her out whenever she wanted to go. If she yearned for a sealskin coat or a diamond pin and no one of themwas equal to the occasion, a collection could be taken up. Two or threemight contribute to the good cause and be so beautifully rewarded withsmiles and favourite dishes that the remainder of the husbands would beinspired to do something in the same line. 

At least five of them could go out every night in the week. The mattercould be arranged according to a simple system of rotation, or theymight draw lots. There could be a club-room in the house, where theymight smoke without affecting the curtains and Madam's temper. Politicsand poker make more widows than war, but no woman could find it in herheart to object to the innocent pastime under such happy circumstances, because she would be deprived of nothing--not even her husband'ssociety. Six of them might play, while the other read to their wife, andthose who won could buy some lovely new china for the house. 

The sweetness of the lady of their several hearts would be increasedseven-fold, while her frowns would be equally divided among them. Therewould be a large and enviable freedom accorded everyone. There wouldalways be enough at home so dinner need not wait, and Madam would bespared one great annoyance. If the servants left suddenly, as is notunusual, there would be men enough to cook a dinner Epicurus might envy, each one using his own chafing-dish. Men make better cooks than womenbecause they put so much more feeling into it. 

The spirit of gentle rivalry, which would thus be developed, is wellworth considering. Some one of the seven would always be a lover. Tosustain the old relation continuously after marriage undoubtedlyrequires gifts of tact and temperament which are not often vouchsafedto men, and this would not prove so irksome if the tender obligationwere shared. Marriage would no longer be the cold potato of love. 

Different men always admire different qualities of the same woman, andthe beauty of the much-married lady would be developed far beyond thatof her who had only one husband, because a recognised virtue isstimulated. 

If a man admires a woman's teeth, she gets new kinds of dentifrice andconstantly endeavours to add to their whiteness. If he speaksapprovingly of her hair, various tonics are purchased. If he alludes toher mellow voice, she tries conscientiously to make it more beautifulstill. 

There is a suspected but not verified relation between a man's affectionand his digestion. With this ideal method of marriage in force, thedyspeptics could go off by themselves until they felt better, and not bebothered with tender inquiries concerning their health. If the latch keyunaccountably refused to work at two o'clock in the morning, some othermember of the husband could always assist the absent ones in, and Madamwould never know how many were late. 

[Sidenote: The Financial Burden]

The financial burden would indeed be light. The household expenses mightbe divided equally and relieving the wife's necessities would be thehappiness of all. One might assume the responsibility of her gowns, another of her hats and gloves, another might keep her supplied withbonbons, matinée tickets, flowers, and silk stockings, another mightattend to her jackets and her club dues, her jewels might be the care ofanother, and so on. It would be the joy of all of them to see theirpeerless wife well dressed, and when she wanted anything in particular, she need only smile sweetly upon the one whose happy lot it was to havecharge of that department of expense. 

There would be no friction, no discord. Madam would be blissfullycontent, and men have claimed for years that they could live togethermuch more amicably than women, and that they never quarrel amongthemselves, save in rare instances. This, they say, is because they areso liberal in their views, but a great many men are so broad-minded thatit makes their heads flat. 

It is strange that this happy form of polygamy did not occur to HerrSchopenhauer. It may be because he was a pessimist--and a man. 

[Sidenote: The Most Nervous Time]

The most nervous time of a man's life is the day of his wedding. Thebachelors and benedicts give different reasons for this when they aregently approached upon the subject, but the majority admit, with lovableand refreshing conceit, that it is because of their innate modesty andtheir aversion to conspicuous prominence. 

If this is truly the reason, the widespread fear may be much lessened, for in the grand matrimonial pageant, the man is the most obscure memberof the procession. People are not apt to think of him at all until theceremony is over and the girl has a new name. What he wears is of noconsequence, and he has no wedding gifts, though he may be rememberedfor a moment if he gives a diamond star to the bride. Yet it is thisceremony which changes him from a vassal to a king. Before marriage heis a low and useless trump, but afterward he is ace high in the game. 

[Sidenote: A Trip Down Town]

A latter-day philosopher has beautifully likened marriage to a tripdown-town. A man leaves the house in the morning, his mind alreadyactive concerning the affairs of the day. His newspaper is in hispocket, he has plenty of time to reach the office, and his breakfast hasbegun to assimilate. Suddenly he sees a yellow speck on the horizon. 

He calculates the distance to the corner and quickens his pace, his eyesnobly fixed meanwhile upon the goal of his ambition. Anxiety develops, then fear. At last he surrenders all dignity and gallops madly towardthe approaching car, with his coat tails spread to the morning breezeand tears in his eyes. Out of breath, but triumphant, he swings on justas farther pursuit seemed well-nigh hopeless. 

Does he stop to chat cheerily with the conductor? Does he dwell upon theluxurious aspect of his conveyance? Does the comfort which he has justsecured fill his heart with gladness? Does the plush covering of theseat appeal to his æsthetic sense? No mere woman may ever hope to know, for he grudgingly gives the conductor five pennies, one of them badlybattered and the date beaten out of it--and devotes himself to hispaper. 

[Sidenote: The Masculine Mental Process]

The thing which appears unattainable is ever desired by man. A girl whowears an engagement ring upon her finger has a charm for which theunattached sigh in vain. The masculine mental process in such a case, briefly summarised, is something like this. 

I. "Wonder who that girl is over there? Red hair and quite a bit ofstyle. Never cared much for red hair--suppose she's got freckles too. Now she's coming this way. Why, there's a solitaire on her finger; she'sengaged. Well, he can have her--I won't cut him out. Wonder who she is!

II. "Really, she isn't so bad--I've seen worse. She knows how to dress, and she hasn't so many freckles. Brown eyes--that means temper whenassociated with red hair. Must be quite a little trick to tame a girllike that. She doesn't look as though she were quite subdued. 

III. "He probably doesn't know how to manage her. I could train her allright. I wouldn't mind doing it; I haven't anything much on hand in thegirl line. So that's the cad she's engaged to? Poor little girl!

IV. "I feel sorry for that girl, I honestly do. She's throwing herselfaway. She can't love that fellow. She'll get over it when she's married, and be miserable all the rest of her life. I suppose I ought to save herfrom him. I think I'll talk to her about it, but it will have to be donecautiously. 

V. "Fine young woman, that. Broad-minded, bright, vivacious, and nothalf bad to look at. Seemed to take my advice in good part. Those great, deep brown eyes are pathetic. That's the kind of a girl to be shieldedand guarded from all the hard knocks in the world. 

VI. "The more I see of that girl, the more I think of her. Those Frenchytouches of dress and that superb red hair make her beautiful. I alwaysdid like red hair. Honestly, I think she's the prettiest girl I eversaw. And her womanliness matches her beauty. Any man might be proud ofwinning a girl like that. 

VII. "The irony of Fate! The one soul in all the universe that is deepenough to comprehend mine, the peerless queen of womankind, she forwhom I have waited all my life, is pledged to another! I shall go mad ifI bear this any longer. I simply must have her. 'All is fair in love andwar'--I'll go and ask her!"

[Sidenote: Gold-Brick Tactics]

When one man alludes to another as a "confidence man, " it is nodistinguishing mark, for they instinctively adopt gold-brick tacticswhen seeking woman in marriage. 

Those exquisite hands shall never perform a single menial task! Yet, after marriage, Her Ladyship finds that she is expected to be a cook, nurse, housekeeper, seamstress, chambermaid, waitress, and practicalplumber. This is an unconscious tribute to the versatility of woman, since a man thinks he does well if he is a specialist in any one line. 

Her slightest wish shall be his law! Yet not only are wishes of noavail, but even pleading and prayer fall upon deaf ears. It will be hisdelight to see that she wants for nothing, yet she is reduced to thenecessity of asking for money--even for carfare--and a man will do forhis bicycle what his wife would ask in vain. 

Many of the matrimonial infelicities of which both men and womenbitterly complain may be traced to the gold-brick delusion. A womanmarries in the hope of having a lover and discovers, too late, that shemerely has a boarder who is most difficult to please. 

[Sidenote: A Certain Pitiful Change]

There is a certain pitiful change which comes with marriage. The soundof her voice would thrill him to his finger-tips, the touch of her handmake his throat ache, and the light in her eyes set the blood to singingin his veins. With possession, ecstasy changes to content, and theloving woman, dreaming that she may again find what she has so strangelylost, tries to waken the old feeling by pathetic little ways which womenread at once, but men never know anything about. 

In a way, woman is to blame, but not so much. Her superior insightshould give her a better understanding of courtship. A man may mean whathe says--at the time he says it--but men and seasons change. 

[Sidenote: Value and Proportion]

The happiness of the after-years depends largely upon her sense of valueand proportion. No woman of artistic judgment would crowd her roomswith bric-à-brac, even though comfort were not lacking. Pictures hungtogether so closely that the frames touch lose beauty. Space hasdistinct value, and solid colours, judiciously used, create a harmonyimpossible to obtain by the continuous use of figured fabrics. 

Yet many a woman whose house is a model of taste, whose rooms arespacious and restful, insists upon crowding her marriage with thebric-à-brac of violent affection. She is not content with undecoratedspaces; with interludes of friendship and the appreciation which isfelt, rather than spoken. She demands the constant assurances, theunfailing devotion of the lover, and thus loses her atmosphere--and hercontent. 

It seems to be a settled thing that men shall do the courting beforemarriage and women afterward. Nobody writes articles on "How to Make aWife Happy, " and the innumerable cook books, like an army ofgrasshoppers, consume and devastate the land. 

If women did not demand so much, men in general would be morethoughtful. If it were understood that even after marriage man wasstill to be the lover, the one who sent roses to his sweetheart wouldsometimes bring them to his wife. The pretty courtesies would not sooften be forgotten. 

[Sidenote: The Tender Thought]

If the tender thought were in some way shown, and the loving word whichleaps to the lips were never forced back, but always spoken, marriageand even life itself would take on new beauty and charm. If a woman hasdaily evidence of a man's devotion, no matter in how small a way, herhunger and thirst for love are bountifully assuaged. Misunderstandingsrapidly grow into coldness and neglect, and foolish woman, blind withlove, adopts retribution and recrimination as her weapons. There are agreat many men who love their wives simply because they know they wouldbe scalped if they didn't. 

Making an issue of a little thing is one of the surest ways to spoilhappiness. One's personal pride is felt to be vitally injured bysurrender, but there is no quality of human nature so nearly royal asthe ability to yield gracefully. It shows small confidence in one's ownnature to fear that compromise lessens self-control. To considerconstantly the comfort and happiness of another is not a sign ofweakness but of strength. 

[Sidenote: Spoiled Children]

Too many men and women are only spoiled children at heart. The littlemaid of five or six takes her doll and goes home because her playmateshave been unkind. Twenty years later she packs her trunk and goes to hermother's because of some quarrel which had an equally childishbeginning. 

But the hurts of the after-years are not so easily healed. The childrenkiss and make up no later than the next day, but, grown to manhood andwomanhood, they consider it far beneath their dignity and importance tosay "Forgive me, " and thus proceed to the matrimonial garbage box by wayof the divorce court. 

Lovers are wont to consider a marriage license a free ticket toParadise. Sometimes happiness may be freely given by the dispenser ofearthly blessings, but it is more often bought. It is a matter oftemperament rather than circumstance, and is to be had only by the twowho work for it together, forgiving, forgetting, graciously yielding, and looking forward to the perfect understanding which will surelycome. 

Matches are not all made in heaven. Even the parlour variety sometimessmell of brimstone, and Cupid is blamed for many which are made bycupidity. The gossips and the busybodies would die of mal-nutrition wereit not for marriage and its complications. 

[Sidenote: The Tabbies]

Two people who have quarrelled cheerfully before marriage and whoseengagement has been broken three or four times often surprise thetabbies who prophesy misfortune by settling down into post-nuptialcontent. Two who are universally pronounced to be "perfectly suited toeach other" are soon absolutely miserable. Marriage is the one thingwhich everyone knows more about than people who are intimatelyconcerned. 

[Sidenote: "Unequal Marriages"]

We hear a great deal of "unequal marriages, " not merely in degree offortune, but in taste and mental equipment. A man steeped to hisfinger-tips in the lore of the ancients chooses a pretty butterfly whodoes not know the difference between a hieroglyph and a Greek verb, andto whom Rome and Carthage are empty names. His friends predict misery, and wonder at his blindness in passing by the young woman of equaloutward charm who delivered a scholarly thesis at her commencement andhas the degree of Master of Arts. 

A talented woman marries a man without proportionate gifts and thetabbies call a special session. It is decided at this conclave that "sheis throwing herself away and will regret it. " To everyone's surprise, she is occasionally very happy with the man she has chosen, though aboutsome things of no particular importance she knows much more than he. 

The law of compensation is as certain in its action as that ofgravitation, though it is not so widely understood. Nature demandsbalance and equality. She is constantly chiselling at the mountain tolower it to the level of the plain, and welding heterogeneous elementsinto homogeneous groups. 

[Sidenote: The Certain Instinct]

The pretty butterfly may easily prove a balance wheel to the man of muchwisdom. She will add a vivid human interest to his abstract pursuits andkeep him from growing narrow-minded. He chose the element he needed tomake him symmetrical, with the certain instinct which impels isolatedatoms of hydrogen and oxygen to combine in the proportion of two to one. 

It never occurs to the tabbies that no talent or facility can everstifle a woman's nature. The simple need of her heart is never takeninto account in the criticism of these marriages which are deemed"unequal. " If a woman holds an assistant professorship of mathematics ina university, it is a foregone conclusion that she should fall in lovewith someone who is proficient in trigonometry and holds his tangentsand cosines in high esteem. Happy evenings could then be spent with abook of logarithms and sheets of paper specially cut to accommodate aproblem. 

Similarity of tastes may sometimes prove an attraction, but very seldomsimilarity of pursuit. Musicians do not often intermarry, and artistsand writers are more apt to choose each other than exponents of theirown cult. 

[Sidenote: Appreciation and Accomplishment]

It is not surprising if a man who is passionately fond of music falls inlove with a woman who has a magnificent voice, or a power which amountsto magic over the strings of her violin. Appreciation is as essentialto happiness as accomplishment, and when the two are balanced inmarriage, comradeship is inevitable. An artist may marry a woman whodoes not understand his pictures, but if she had not appreciated him inways more vital to his happiness, there would have been no marriage. 

It is pathetic to see what marriage sometimes is, compared with what itmight be--to see it degraded to the level of a business transaction whenit was meant to be infinitely above the sordid touch of the dollar andthe dime. It is a perverted instinct which leads one to marry for money, for it will not buy happiness, though it may secure an imitation whichpleases some people for a little while. 

There is nothing so beautiful as a girl's dream of her marriage, andnothing so sad as the same girl, if Time brings her disillusion insteadof the true marriage which is "a mutual concord and agreement of souls, a harmony in which discord is not even imagined; the uniting of twomornings that hope to reach the night together. "

The world is full of pain and danger for those who face it alone, andhome, that sanctuary where one may find strength and new courage, mustbe built upon a foundation of mutual helpfulness and trust. No one canmake a home alone. It needs a man's strong hands, a woman's tenderhands, and two true hearts. 

[Sidenote: The Light upon the Altar]

The light which shines upon the bridal altar is either the white flameof eternal devotion or the sacrificial fire which preys hungrily uponsomeone's disappointment and someone's broken heart. But to the utterrout of the cynic, the dream which led the two souls thither sometimesbecomes divinely true. 

Marriage is said to be sufficient "career" for any woman, and it isequally true of men. Like Emerson's vision of friendship, it is fit "notonly for serene days and pleasant rambles, but for all the passages oflife and death. "

It is to make one the stronger because one does not have to go alone. Itis to make one's joy the sweeter because it is shared. It is to take thesting away from grief because it is divided, and the dear comfort of theother's love lies forever around the sore and doubting heart. 

[Sidenote: Fire and Snow]

It is to be the light in the darkness, the belief in the distrust, thenever-failing source of consolation. It is to be the gentlest offorgiveness for all of one's mistakes--strength and tenderness, passionand purity, the fire and the snow. 

It is to make one generous to all the world with one's sympathy andcompassion, because in the sanctuary there is no lack of love. It is"the joining together of two souls for life, to strengthen each other inall peril, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to eachother in all pain, to be one with each other in silent, unspeakablememories at the moment of the last parting. "

The Physiology of Vanity

[Illustration]

The Physiology of Vanity

[Sidenote: Conceit and Vanity]

"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" It is the common human emotion, theroot of the personal equation, the battling residuum in the lastanalysis of social chemistry. There is a wide difference between conceitand vanity. Conceit is lovable and unconcealed; vanity is supremeselfishness, usually hidden. Conceit is based upon an unselfish desireto please; vanity takes no thought of others which is not based uponegotism. 

Vanity and jealousy are closely allied, while conceit is a naturaldevelopment of altruistic virtue. Conceit is the mildest of vices;vanity is the worst. Men are usually conceited but infrequently vain, while women are seldom afflicted with the lesser vice. 

Man's conceit is the simplest form of self-appreciation. He thinks he isextremely good-looking, as men go; that he has seen the world; that heis a good judge of dinners and of human nature; that he is one of thefew men who may easily charm a woman. 

The limits of man's conceit are usually in full view, but eye noropera-glass has not yet approached the end of woman's vanity. Thedisease is contagious, and the men who suffer from it are usually thosewhose chosen companions are women. 

Woman's vanity is a development of her insatiate thirst for love. Hersmiles and tears are all-powerful with her lover, and nothing goes soquickly to a woman's head as a sense of power. She forever defies theSalic law--each woman feels that her rightful place is upon a throne. 

[Sidenote: The One Object]

The one object of woman's life is the acquirement of power through love. It is because this power is freely recognised by the men who seek her inmarriage that her vanity seldom has full scope until after she ismarried. 

[Sidenote: The Destroyer]

After marriage, a great many women begin the slow process of alienatinga man from his family, blind to the fact that by lessening his love forothers, they add nothing to their own store. The filial and fraternallove is not to be given to anyone but mother and sisters--they have noplace in a man's heart that another woman could fill. The destroyersimply obliterates that part of his life and offers nothing in itsplace. 

The achievement sometimes takes years, but it is none the less sure. Later, it may be extended to father and brothers, but they are alwaysthe last to be considered. 

It is most difficult of all to break the tie which binds a man to hismother. The one who bore him is not faultless, for motherhood brings newgifts of feeling, sometimes sacrificing judgment and clear vision toselfish unselfishness. It is only in fiction and poetry that such loveis valued now, for the divine blindness which does not question, whichasks only the right to give, has lost beauty in our age of reason andrestraint. 

He had thought that face the most beautiful in all the world--until hefell in love. Now he sees his mother as she is; a wrinkled old woman, perverse, unreasonable, and inclined to meddle with his domesticaffairs. The hands that soothed his childish fretting are no longerlovely. Inattention to small details of dress, which he never noticedbefore, are painfully evident. The eyes that have watched him all hislife with loving anxiety, shining with pride at his success andsoftening with tenderest pity at his mistakes, are subtly different now. He wonders at his blindness. It is strange, indeed, that he has notrealised all this before. 

[Sidenote: The Awakening]

To most men the awakening comes too late if it comes at all. Only whenthe faded eyes are closed and the worn hands folded forever; when"mother" is beyond the reach of praise or blame, her married boyrealises what has been done. With that first shock comes bitterestrepentance--and he never forgives his wife. Many a woman who complainsof "coldness" and "lost love" might trace it back to the day herhusband's mother died, and to the sudden flash of insight, theadjustment of relation, which comes with death. 

The comic papers have made the mother-in-law a thing to be dreaded. Sheis the poster attached to the matrimonial magazine which inspireswould-be purchasers with awe. Many an engaged girl confides to her bestfriend that her fiancé's mother is "an old cat. " She usually goes stillfurther, and gives jealousy as the cause of it. 

No right-minded mother was ever jealous of the woman her son chose forhis wife. But she has seen how marriage changes men and naturally fearsthe result. The altar is the grave of many a boy's love for his mother. Neither of the women most intimately concerned is blind to the impendingpossibilities; it is only man who cannot see. 

[Sidenote: One in a Thousand]

There are some girls who realise what it means, but they are few and farbetween. One in a thousand, perhaps, will openly acknowledge her debt tothe woman who for twenty-five or thirty years has given her best thoughtto the man she is about to marry. 

Is he strong and active, healthy and finely moulded? It is his mother'scare for the first sixteen years of his life. It is the result of heranxious days and of many a sleepless night, while the potential man wasracked with fever and childish ills. His chivalrous devotion to the girlhe loves is wholly due to his mother's influence. His clean andopen-hearted manliness is a free gift to her, from the woman nowcharacterised as "an old cat. "

It is seldom that the mother receives credit for his virtues, but she isinvariably blamed for his faults. Too many women expect a man to be cutout by their pattern. The supreme mental achievement is the ability tojudge other people by their own standards, and a crank is notnecessarily a person whose rules of life and conduct do not coincidewith our own. 

[Sidenote: The Thirst for Power]

To this thirst for power may be traced all of woman's vanity. It iscommonly supposed that she dresses to please others, but she oftenvalues fine raiment principally because it shows how much her husbandthinks of her. If a man's coat is shiny at the seams and he postponesthe new one that his wife may have an extra hat, she is delicatelyflattered by this unselfish tribute to her charm. 

From a single root vanity spreads and flowers until its poisonous bloomsaffect all social life. A woman becomes vain of her house, her rugs, hertapestries, her jewels, horses, and even of the livery of her footman. The things which should be valued for their intrinsic beauty and thepleasure-giving quality, which is not by any means selfish, soon becomefood for a vice. 

She gradually grows to consider herself a very superior person. She isso charming and so much to be desired, that some man works night and dayin his office, sacrificing both pleasure and rest, that she may have thebaubles for which she yearns. 

It is not far from absolute self-satisfaction, in either man or woman, to generous bestowal of enlightenment upon the unfortunate savages wholinger on the outskirts of one's social sphere. 

In the infinite vastness of creation, where innumerable worlds moveaccording to the fiat of majestic Law, there lies one called Earth. There are planets within reach of the scientific vision of itsinhabitants that are many times larger. There are some which have moremoons, more mountains and rivers, longer days, and longer years. Countless suns, the centres of other vast planetary systems, lie in theinconceivable distances beyond. 

[Sidenote: A Mote in the Sun]

In the midst of this unspeakable greatness, Earth swings like one of themotes which a passing sunbeam illumines. Upon this mote, one fifth ofthe inhabitants have assumed supreme knowledge and understanding, giventhem, doubtless, because of their innate superiority. This preferment, also, is theirs by the grace of an infinitely just and merciful God. 

The other four fifths are supposedly in total darkness, though the sameheavens are over their heads, the same earth under their feet, andthough the light of sun and moon and the gentle radiance of the starsare freely given to all. 

There are the same opportunities for development and civilisation, butthey have not received The Enlightenment. To them must go the foreignmissionaries, to teach the things which have been graciously given themon account of their innate superiority. 

[Sidenote: Narrowing Circles]

Man's life is a succession of narrowing circles. He admits the force ofthe heliocentric idea, for it is the sun which gives light and heat. Then the circle narrows, almost imperceptibly, for, of all the planetswhich circle around the sun, is not Earth the chief?

This point being gained, he is inside the geocentric circle. Earth isthe centre of creation. Sun, moon, and stars are auxiliary forces, bountifully arranged by the Giver of all Good for Earth's beauty andcomfort. Of all the creatures who share in this, is not man the mostimportant? Thus he retreats to the anthropocentric circle. 

[Sidenote: By Strength of Mind and Arm]

Man is the centre of organic life, and it is easily seen that his raceis far superior to the others. Their skins are not the same colour, their ships are not so mighty, their cunning with weapons is infinitelyless. His race is dominant by strength of mind and arm. 

The dark-skinned races must be taught civilisation, with fire and sword, with cannon and bayonet, with crime and death. They must be civilisedbefore they can be happy. The naked savage who sits beneath a palm tree, with his hut in the distance, while his wife and children hover aroundhim, is happy only because he is too ignorant to know what happiness is. 

In order to be rightly happy, he must have a fine house, carriages, andservants, and live in a crowded city where tall buildings and smokelimit one's horizon to a narrow patch of blue. He must struggle dailywith his fellows, not for the necessaries of life, but for small piecesof silver and bits of green paper, which are not nearly as pretty asglass beads. 

The savage, unaccustomed to refinement, stabs or beheads his enemy. Civilisation will teach him the uses of poison, and that putting typhoidgerms into the drinking water of an Emperor is much more delicate andfully as effectual. 

[Sidenote: The Sublime Egotism]

From this small circle, it is only a step to the centre and to thatsublime egotism which has been named Vanity. 

Man repeats in his own life the development of a nation. He progressesfrom unquestioning happiness to childish inquiry and wonder, from fairytales of princes and dragons to actual knowledge; through inquiry todoubt, through faith to disbelief, through civilisation to decay. 

He is not content to let other nations and others races pursue theirnormal development. He insists that the work of centuries be crowdedinto a generation. And in the same manner, the growth and strivings ofhis fellows call forth his unselfish aid. Having infinite treasures ofmental equipment, gained by superior opportunity and wider experience, he will generously share his noble possessions. 

[Sidenote: Personal Vanity]

It is personal vanity of the most flagrant type which intrudes itself, unasked, into other people's affairs. There are few of us who do notfeel capable of ordering the daily lives of others, down to the mostminute detail. 

We know how their houses should be arranged, how they should spend andinvest their money, how they should dress, how they should comportthemselves, and more definitely yet do we know the things they shouldnot do. We know what is right and what is wrong, while they, poorthings! do not. We know whom and when they should marry, how theirchildren should be educated and trained, and what servants they shouldemploy. 

We know for what pursuit each one is best fitted and how each shouldoccupy his spare time. We know to what church all should go; what creedall should believe. We know what particular traits are faults and howthese can be corrected. We know so much about other people that we oftenhave not time to give due attention to ourselves. We neglect our ownaffairs that we may unselfishly direct others, and sometimes suffer inconsequence, for nobody but a lawyer makes a good living by attending toother people's business. 

[Sidenote: Theoretically]

Theoretically, this should be pleasing to each one. Every person ofsense should be delighted at being told just what to do. It wouldrelieve him from all care, all responsibility; the necessity forthought, planning, and individual judgment would be wholly removed. 

The musical student would not have to select his own instrument, his ownteacher, nor even his own practice time. Every author would know justhow and when to write, and in order to become famous, he need only actupon the suggestions for stories and improvement of style which aregratuitously given him from day to day, by people who cannot write aclear and correct sentence. This thing actually happened; consequentlyit is just the theme for fiction. This plot, suitably developed, wouldmake the nations sit up, and send the race by hundred thousands to thecorner bookstore. 

The cares incident to selecting a wardrobe would be wholly removed. Every woman knows how every other should dress. Her sure taste selectsat a glance the thing which will best become the other, and over whichthe Unenlightened may ponder for hours. 

[Sidenote: A Common Vanity]

There is no more common vanity than claiming to "know" some particularperson. We are "all things to all men. " The two who love each otherbetter than all the world beside, have much knowledge, but it is not byany means complete. "Souls reach out to each other across the impassablegulfs of individual being. " And yet, daily, people who have no sympathywith us, and scarcely a common interest, will assume to "know" us, whenwe do not fully know ourselves, and when we earnestly hide our realselves from all save the single soul we love. 

To assume intimate knowledge of the hundred considerations which make upa single situation, the various complexities of temperament anddisposition which the personal equation continually produces in humanaffairs, of the imperceptible fibres of the web which lies between twosouls, preventing always the fullest understanding, unless Love, themagician, gives new sight--amounts to the proclamation of practicalOmnipotence. 

[Sidenote: "I Told You So"]

There is no position in life which is secure. No complication ever comesto our friends, which our advice, acted upon, would not immediatelysolve. If our most minute directions are not thankfully received and putinto effect, there is always the comforting indication ofsuperiority--"I told you so. "

And when the jaded soul revolts in supreme defiance, declaring its rightto its own life, its own duties, its own friendships, and its own loves, there is much expressed disgust, much misfortune predicted, and, saddestof all, much wounded vanity. 

The dominant egotism forbids that anything shall be better than itself. No success is comparable to one's own, no life so wisely ordered, andthere is nothing so sad as the fame attained by those who do not followour advice. 

Adversity is commonly accepted as the test of friendship, but there isanother more certain still--success. Anyone may bestow pity. It isfatally easy to offer to those less fortunate than ourselves; whosecapabilities have not proved adequate, as ours have; but it requiresfine gifts of generous feeling to be genuinely glad at another's goodfortune, in which we cannot by any possibility hope to share. 

[Sidenote: Advice]

Advice is usually to be had for the asking. In the case of a corporationattorney or a specialist, there is a high value placed upon it, but itis to be freely had from those who love us, and, strangely enough, fromthose who do not. 

It is one of the blessings of love, that all the experience of another, all the battles of the other soul, are laid open for our betterunderstanding of our own path. But there is a subtle distinction betweenthe counsel of love and that of vanity. The one is unselfishly glad ofour achievements, taking new delight in every step upward, while theother passes over triumphs in silence and carps upon the misfortuneuntil it is not to be borne. 

From the intimate union of two loving souls, Vanity is forever shut out. Jealousy dare not show her malignant face. These two are facing theworld together, side by side and shoulder to shoulder, each the other'sstrength and shield. 

Success may come only after many failures; the tide may not turn tillafter long discouragement and great despair. But in the union with thatother soul, so gently baring its inmost dream that the other mayunderstand, defeat loses its sting. 

[Sidenote: The Sanctuary of that Other Soul]

Ambition forever beckons, like a will o' the wisp. When realisationseems within easy reach, the dream fades, or another, seeminglyunattainable, mockingly takes its place. But in the sanctuary of thatother soul, there is always new courage to be found. Long aisles andquiet spaces lessen the fever and the unrest. Darkness and cool shadowssoothe the burning eyes, and in the clasp of those loving arms there iscertain sleep. 

Vanity cares for nothing which is not in some way its own, and it isperhaps an amorphous vanity, as carbon is akin to a diamond, that makesa hard-won victory doubly dear. 

There are always sycophants to fawn and flatter, there are hands thatwill gladly help that they may claim their share of the result, but thatrealised dream is wholly sweet in which only the dreamer and the othersoul have fully believed. Failure, even, is more easily borne if it isentirely one's own; if there is no one else to be blamed. 

[Sidenote: The Bitter Proof]

"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. " So spake the prophet in Jerusalemand the centuries have brought the bitter proof. Vanity has rearedpalaces which have vanished like the architecture of a mirage. Vanityhas led the hosts against itself. 

Where are Babylon and Nineveh; the hanging gardens and the splendour offorgotten kings? Where are Cæsar and Cleopatra; Trianon and MarieAntoinette? Where is the lordly Empire of France? Is it buried withmilitary honours, in the grave of the exiled Napoleon?

Vanity's pomp endureth for a day, but Vanity itself is perennial. Vanitysets whole races of men in motion, pitting them against each otheracross intervening seas. 

One woman has a stone, no larger than a pea, brought from a mine inSouth Africa. Vanity sets it proudly upon her breast and leads otherwomen to envy her its possession, for purely selfish reasons. Onewoman's gown is made from a plant which grows in Georgia and she isunhappy because it is not the product of a French or Japanese worm. 

One woman's coat is woven from the covering of a sheep, and she is notcontent because it has not cost a greater number of silver pieces andmore bits of green paper, besides the life of an Arctic seal, that neverharmed her nor hers. 

Vanity allows a tender-hearted woman, who cannot see a child or a dumbbrute in pain, to order the tails of her horses cut to the fashionablelength and to wear upon her hat the pitiful little body of a song-birdthat has been skinned alive. 

Vanity permits a woman to trim the outer garments of the little strangerfor whose coming she has long waited and prayed, with pretty, fluffy furtorn from the unborn baby of another mother--who is only a sheep. Vanitypermits a woman to insist that her combs and pins shall be realtortoise-shell, which is obtained from the quivering animal by roastingit alive before a slow fire. 

[Sidenote: All is Vanity]

"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" The mad race still goes on. It isinsatiate vanity which wrecks lives, ruins homes, torments one'sfellows, and blinds the clear vision of its victims. It harms others, but most of all one's self. 

[Sidenote: The Conqueror]

There is only one place from which it is shut out--from the union withthat other soul. Great as it is, there is still a greater force; thereis the inevitable conqueror, for Vanity cannot exist side by side withLove. 

Widowers and Widows

[Illustration]

Widowers and Widows

Next to burglars, mice, and green worms, every normal girl fears awidow. Courtships have been upset and expected proposals have vanishedinto thin air, simply because a widow has come into the game. There isonly one thing to do in such a case; retreat gracefully, and leave thefield to her. 

[Sidenote: The Charm]

A widow's degree of blandishment is conservatively estimated attwenty-five spinster power. At almost every session of spinsters, thequestion comes up for discussion. It is difficult to see just where thecharm lies. 

A widow has, of course, a superior knowledge of ways and means. She hasfully learned the value of silence, of food, and of judicious flattery. But these accomplishments may be acquired by the observing spinster whogives due attention to the subject. 

The mystery lies deeper than is first suspected. It is possible that theknowledge of her own limitations has something to do with it. A girlwho has been flattered, adored, placed upon a pedestal and worshipped, naturally comes to the conclusion that she belongs there. She issues hercommands from that height and conveys to man various delicate remindersof his servility. 

[Sidenote: The Pedestal Idea]

When the same girl is married and by due operation of natural lawbecomes a widow, she doubtless has come to a better understanding of thepedestal idea. Hence she does not attempt the impossible, and satisfiesherself with working those miracles which are comparatively simple. 

A widow has all of the freedom of a girl, combined with the liberty of amarried woman. She has the secure social position of a matron withoutthe drawback of a husband. She is nearer absolute independence thanother women are ever known to be. 

Where a girl is strong and self-reliant, a widow is helpless andconfiding. She can never carry her own parcels, put on her ownovershoes, or button her own gloves. A widow's shoe laces have neverbeen known to stay tied for any length of time, unless she has shapelessankles and expansive feet. 

A widow's telegrams must always be taken to the office by some man. Time-tables are beyond her understanding and she never knows abouttrains. It frequently takes three or four men to launch a widow upon atwo-hundred-mile journey, while a girl can start across the continentwith considerably less commotion. 

[Sidenote: The Inference]

The inference is, of course, that she has been accustomed to thesedelicate attentions--that the dear departed has always done such things. The pretty way in which she asks favours carries out the delusion. Hewould be a brute, indeed, who could refuse the little service for whichshe pleads. 

The dear departed, naturally, was delighted to do these things, or hewould not have done them--such being the way of the married man. Consequently, the lady was very tenderly loved--and men follow eachother like sheep in matters of the heart. 

The attraction a widower has for a girl is in inverse proportion to awidow's influence over a man. It is true that the second wife is usuallybetter treated than the first, and that the new occupant of a man'sheart reaps the benefit of her predecessor's training. But it is notuntil spinsterhood is fully confirmed by grey hair and the family Biblethat a girl begins to look with favour upon the army of the detached. 

[Sidenote: The Food of her Soul]

It seems to her that all the romance is necessarily gone--and it isromance upon which her soul feeds. There can be none of that deardelight in the first home building, which is the most beautiful part ofmarriage to a girl. Her pretty concern about draperies and colours isall an old story to the man. She may even have to buy her kitchen wareall alone, and it is considered the nicest thing in the world to have aman along when pots and pans are bought. 

If widowers and widows would only mate with each other, instead oftrespassing upon the hunting grounds of the unmarried! It is anexceptional case in which the bereaved are not mutually wary. They seemto prefer the unfair advantage gained by having all the experience onone side. 

The normal man proposes with ease and carelessness, but the ceremony issecond nature to a widower. If he meets a girl he likes, he proceeds atonce to business and is slow indeed for his kind if he does not offerhis hand and heart within a week. 

A clever man once wrote a story, describing the coming of a girl to awidower's house. With care and forethought, the dying wife had left aletter for her successor, which the man fearlessly gave her before shehad taken off her hat, because, as the story-teller naïevely adds, "shewas twenty-eight and very sane. "

[Sidenote: A Nice Letter]

This letter proved to be various admonitions to the bride and earnesthopes that she might make her husband happy. It was all very pretty andit was surely a nice letter, but no woman could fail to see that it wasan exquisite revenge upon the man who had been rash enough to installanother in the place of the dead. 

There was not a line which was not kind, nor a word which did notcontain a hidden sting. It would be enough to make one shudder all one'slife--this hand of welcome extended from the grave. Yet everythingcontinued happily--perhaps because a man wrote the story. 

A woman demands not only all of a man's life, but all of his thoughtsafter she is dead. The grave may hide much, but not that particularquality in woman's nature. If it is common to leave letters forsucceeding wives, it is done with sinister purpose. 

Romance is usually considered an attribute of youth, and possibly theyears bring views of marriage which are impossible to the youngergeneration. No girl, in her wildest moments, ever dreams of marrying awidower with three or four children, yet, when she is well on in herthirties, with her heart still unsatisfied, she often does that verything, and happily at that. 

[Sidenote: The Hidden Heartache]

Still, there must be a hidden heartache, for woman, with her love oflove, is unable to understand the series of distinct and unrelatedepisodes which make up the love of a man. It is hard to take the crumbsanother woman has left, especially if a goodly portion of a man's heartis suspected to lie in the grave. 

It is harder still, if helpless children are daily to look into herface, with eyes which are neither hers nor his, and the supremecrucifixion in the life of a woman whose ideals have not changed, is togo into a home which has been made by the hands of a dead and dearlyloved wife. 

To a woman, material things are always heavily laden with memories. There is not a single article of furniture which has not its ownindividuality. She cannot consider a piece of embroidery apart from thedead hands that made it, nor a chair without some association with itsprevious occupants. 

Sometimes the rooms are heavily laden with portraits which are toconfront her from day to day with the taunting presence. She is obligedto tell callers that the crayon upon the opposite wall is "the firstMrs. ----. " There are also pictures of the first wife's dead children, and here and there the inevitable photograph, of years gone by, of brideand groom in wedding garments--the man sitting down, of course, whilehis wife stands behind him, as a servant might, with her hand upon hischair. 

[Sidenote: Day by Day]

Day by day, those eyes are fixed upon her in stern judgment. Herfailings and her conscious virtues are forever before that other woman. Her tears and her laughter are alike subjected to that remorselessscrutiny. 

[Sidenote: A Sheeted Spectre]

Does she dare to forget and be happy? The other woman looks down uponher like a sheeted spectre conveying a solemn warning. "You may die, "those pictured lips seem to say, "and some other will take your place, as you have taken mine. " When the tactlessness, bad temper, or generalmulishness of man wrings unwilling tears from her eyes, there is nosympathy to be gained from that impalpable presence. "You should nothave married him, " the picture seems to say, or; "He treated me the sameway, and I died. "

She is not to be blamed if she fancies that her husband also feels thepresence of the other. As she pours his coffee in the morning and helooks upon her with the fond glance which men bestow upon women about togive them food, she may easily imagine that he sees the other in herplace. Even the clasp of her hand or the touch of her lips may bring alonging for that other, hidden in the far-off grave. 

Broadly speaking, widowers make better husbands than widows do wives. The presence of the dead wife may be a taunting memory, but seldommore. It is not often that she is spoken of, unless it is to praise hercooking. If she made incomparable biscuits and her coffee was fit to bethe nectar of the gods, there are apt to be frequent and tactlesscomparisons, until painful experience teaches the sinner that this willnot do. 

[Sidenote: "A Shining Mark"]

On the contrary, a widow's second husband is often the most sinceremourner of her first. As time goes on, he realises keenly what a dolefulday it was for him when that other died. "Death loves a shining mark, "and that first husband was always such a paragon of perfection that itseems like an inadvertence because he was permitted to glorify thissodden sphere at all. She keeps, in heart at least, and often by outwardobservance, the anniversaries of her former engagement and marriage. Thelove letters of the dead are put away with her jewels and bits of reallace. 

Small defections are commented upon and odious parallels drawn. Her homeis seen to be miserably inadequate beside the one she once had. Hersupply of pin money is painfully small, judged by the standard which hashitherto been her guide. Callers are entertained with anecdotes of "myfirst husband, " and her dinner table is graced with the same storiesthat famous raconteur was wont to tell. 

If her present husband pays her a compliment, he is reminded that hispredecessor was accustomed to say the same thing. The relatives of thefirst wife are gently made aware that their acquaintance is not desired. His manner of life is carefully renovated and his old friendships putaway with moth balls and camphor, never to see the light again. 

[Sidenote: The Best Advertisement]

Yet the best possible advertisement of matrimony is the rapidity withwhich the bereaved seek new mates. There is no more delicate complimentto a first marriage than a second alliance, even when divorce, ratherthan death, has been the separating agency. A divorced man has morepower to charm than a widower, because there is always the suppositionthat he was not understood and that his life's happiness is still tocome. 

[Sidenote: Forgetting]

Forgetting is the finest art of life and is to be desired more thanmemory, even though Mnemosyne stands close by Lethe and with her dewyfinger-tips soothes away all pain. The lowest life remembers; to thehighest only is it given to forget. 

Yet, when the last word is said, this is the dread and the pity ofdeath. It is not "the breathless darkness and the narrow house, " but thecertain knowledge that one's place can almost instantly be filled. Thelips that quiver with sobs will some day smile again, eyes dimmed bylong weeping will dance with laughter, hearts that once ached bitterlywill some day swell and overflow with a new love. 

This knowledge lies heavily upon a woman's soul and saddens, thoughoften imperceptibly, the happiest marriage. All her toil and strivingmay some day be for naught. The fruits of her industry and thrift maysome day gleam in jewels upon the white throat of another woman. Silksand laces which she could not have will add to the beauty of thepossible woman who will ascend her vacant throne. 

Sometimes a woman remains faithful to a memory, and sometimes, thoughrarely, a man may do the same. There is only one relation in life whichmay not be formed again--that between a mother and her child. 

[Sidenote: The Child Upon Her Breast]

The little one may have lived but a few days, yet, if it has once lainupon her breast, she has something Death may never hope to destroy. Other children, equally dear, may grow to stalwart manhood and graciouswomanhood, but that face rises to immortality in a world of endlesschange. 

No single cry, no weak clasp of baby fingers is ever forgotten. Throughall the years, unchanging, and taking on new beauty with every fleetingday, the little face is still before her. And thus in a way Death bringsher a blessing, for when the others have grown she has it still--thechild upon her breast. 

Love's best gifts are not to be taken away. Tender memories must alwaysbe inwoven with the sad, and the sympathy and unselfishness which greatloves ever bring are left to make sweet the nature of one who ischastened by sorrow. Grief itself never stings; it is the accusingconscience which turns the dagger remorselessly in the heart. 

[Sidenote: Our unsuspected Kindness]

Life, after all, is a masquerade. We fear to show our tenderness and ourlove. We habitually hide our best feelings, lest we be judged weak andemotional, and unfit for the age in which it is our privilege to move. Sometimes it needs Death to show us ourselves and to teach our friendsour deep and unsuspected kindness. 

The woman who hungers throughout her marriage for the daily expressionof her husband's love, often looks longingly towards the day to come, when hot tears will fall upon her upturned face and that for which shehas vainly thirsted will be laid upon her silent lips. But swiftly uponthe vision comes the thought, that even so, it would be of shortduration; that the newly awakened love would soon be the portion ofsomeone else. 

It would be a beautiful world, indeed, if we were not at such pains tohide our real selves--if all our kindly thoughts were spoken and all ourgenerous deeds were done. No one of us would think of Death as our bestfriend, if we were not all so bitterly unkind. Yet we put into whitefingers the roses for which the living might have pleaded in vain, andtoo often, with streaming eyes, we ask pardon of the dead. 

[Sidenote: Atonement]

Atonement is not to be made thus. A costly monument in a public squareis tardy appreciation of a genius whose generation refused him bread. Aman's tears upon a woman's hands are not enough, when all her life shehas prayed for his love. 

There is no law so unrelenting as that of compensation. Gravitationitself may be more successfully defied. It is the one thing which isabsolutely just and which is universal in its action, though sometimesas slow as the majestic forces which change rock to dust. 

We cannot have more joy than we give--nor more pain. The eternal balanceswings true. The capacity for enjoyment and the capacity for sufferingare one and the same. He who lives out of reach of sorrow has sacrificedhis possible ecstasy. "He has seen only half the universe who has notbeen shown the House of Pain. "

[Sidenote: Emerson's "Compensation"]

"And yet the compensations of calamity are made apparent to theunderstanding also after long intervals of time. A fever, a mutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of friends, seems at the moment unpaidloss and unpayable. But the sure years reveal the deep remedial forcethat underlies all facts. The death of a dear friend, wife, brother, lover, which seemed nothing but privation, somewhat later assumes theaspect of a guide or genius; for it commonly operates revolutions in ourway of life, terminating an epoch of infancy or youth which was waitingto be closed, breaks up a wonted occupation or a household or style ofliving, and allows the formation of new ones more friendly to the growthof character. It permits or constrains the formation of newacquaintances, and the reception of new influences that prove of thefirst importance to the next years; and the man or woman who would haveremained a sunny garden flower, with no room for its roots and too muchsunshine for its head, by the falling of the walls and the neglect ofthe gardener is made the banian of the forest, yielding shade and fruitto wide neighbourhoods of men. "

[Sidenote: Upon the Upland Ways]

That life alone is worth the living which sets itself upon the uplandways. To steel one's self against joy to be spared the inevitable hurt, is not life. We are afraid of love, because the might and terror of ithas sometimes brought despair. We are afraid of belief, because ourtrust has been betrayed. We are afraid of death, because we have seenforgetfulness. 

We should not fear that someone might take our place in the heart thatloves us best--if we were only loved enough. The same love is nevergiven twice; it differs in quality if not in degree, and when once madeone's own, is never to be lost. 

There are some natures whose happiness is a matter of persons andthings; some to love and some to be loved; the daily needs amplysatisfied, and that is enough for content. 

There are others with whom persons and things do not suffice, whose loveis vital, elemental, and indestructible. It has no beginning and no end;it simply is. With this the Grey Angel has no power; the grave is robbedof its victory and death of its sting. 

"Love never denied Death and Death will not deny Love. " When the bond isof that finer sort which does not rely upon presence for its permanence, there is little bereavement to be felt. For mutely, like a guardianangel, that other may live with us still; not as a shadowy presence, but rather as a dear reality. 

That little mound of earth upon the distant hill, over which the sun andstars pass in endless sequence, and where the quiet is unbroken throughthe change of spring to autumn, and the change of autumn to spring, hasnot the power to destroy love, but rather to make it more sure. 

The one who sleeps is forever beyond the reach of doubt andmisunderstanding. Separation, estrangement, and bitterness, which aresometimes concealed in the cup that Life and Love have given, areforever taken out by Death, who is never cruel and who is often kind. 

[Sidenote: The Wanderer's Rest]

We tread upon earth and revile it, forgetting that at last it hides ourdefects and that through it our dead hearts climb to blossom in violetsand rue. Death is the Wanderer's Rest, where there is no questioning, but the same healing sleep for all. In that divine peace, there is noroom for regret, since the earthly loves are sure of immortality. 

[Sidenote: While the Dream Seemed True]

As much as is vital will live on, unchanging, changeless, and taking onnew sweetness with the years. That which is not wholly given, which isours only for a little time, will fade as surely as the roses in themarble hands. Death has saved many a heartache, by coming while thedream still seemed true. 

In a single passage, Emerson has voiced the undying beauty and theeverlasting truth which lie beneath the perplexities of life. 

"Oh, believe as thou livest, that every sound which is spoken over theround world, which thou oughtest to hear, will vibrate on thine ear. Every proverb, every book, every byword which belongs to thee for aid orcomfort, shall surely come home, through open or winding passages. Everyfriend, whom not thy fantastic will, but the great and tender heart inthee craveth, shall lock thee in his embrace. And this, because theheart in thee is the heart of all; not a valve, not a wall, not anintersection is there anywhere in nature, but one blood rollsuninterruptedly an endless circulation through all men, as the water ofthe globe is all one sea, and, truly seen, its tide is one. "

[Sidenote: The Everlasting Love]

Sometimes, into two hearts great enough to hold it, and into two soulswhere it may forever abide, there comes the Everlasting Love. It iselemental, like fire and the sea, with the depth and splendour of thesurge and the glory of the flame. It makes the world a vast cathedral, in which they two may worship, and where, even in the darkness, there isthe peace which passeth all understanding, because it is of God. 

When the time of parting comes, for there is always that turning in theroad, the sadness is not so great because one must go on alone. Lifegrows beautiful after a time and even wholly sweet, when a man and awoman have so lived and loved and worked together, that death is notgood-bye, but rather--"auf wiedersehen. "

The Consolations of Spinsterhood

[Illustration]

The Consolations of Spinsterhood

[Sidenote: "A Great Miration"]

The attached members of the community are wont to make what Uncle Remuscalled "a great miration, " when a woman deliberately choosesspinsterhood as her lot in life, rather than marriage. 

There is an implied pity in their delicate inquiries, and always theinsinuation that the spinster in question could never have had an offerof marriage. The husband of the lady leading the inquisition may havebeen one of the spinster's first admirers, but it is never safe to sayso, for so simple a thing as this has been known to cause trouble infamilies. 

If it is known positively that some man has offered her his name and histroubles, and there is still no solitaire to be seen, the logicalhypothesis is charitably advanced, that she has been "disappointed inlove. " It is possible for a spinster to be disappointed in lovers, butonly the married are ever disappointed in love. 

[Sidenote: A Cause of Stagnation]

The married women who ask the questions and who, with gracious kindness, hunt up attractive men for the unfortunate young woman to meet, are, allunknowingly, one great cause of stagnation in the marriage-licensemarket. 

Nothing so pleases a woman safely inside the bonds of holy matrimony asto confide her sorrows, her regrets, and her broken ideals to herunattached friends. Many a woman thinks her ideal is broken when it isonly sprained, but the effect is the same. 

Was the coffee weak and were the waffles cold, and did Monsieur expresshis opinion of such a breakfast in language more concise than elegant?Madame weeps, and gives a lurid account of the event to the visitingspinster. By any chance, does a girl go from her own dainty and orderlyroom into an apartment strewn with masculine belongings, confounded uponconfusion such as Milton never dreamed? Does she have to wait while herfriend restores order to the chaos? If so, she puts it down in hermental note-book, upon the page headed "Against. "

The small domestic irritations which crowd upon the attached woman fromday to day, leaving crow's feet around her eyes and delicate tracery inher forehead, have a certain effect upon the observing. But worse thanthis is the spectre of "the other woman, " which haunts her friend fromday to day, to the grave--and after, if the dead could tell theirthoughts. 

If she has been safely shielded from books which were not written forThe Young Person, Mademoiselle believes that marriage is a bond which isnot to be broken except by death. It is a severe shock when she firstdiscovers that death changes nothing; that it is only life whichseparates utterly. 

[Sidenote: That Pitiful Story]

That pitiful story of "the other woman" comes from quarters which theuninitiated would never suspect. With grim loyalty, married women hidetheir hearts from each other. Many a smile conceals a tortured soul. When the burden is no longer to be borne, a spinster is asked to shareit. 

A woman will forgive a man anything except disloyalty to herself. Crimeswhich the law stands ready to punish rank as naught with her, if thelove between them is untarnished by doubt or mistrust. Any offenceprompted by her own charm, even a duel to the death with a rival suitor, is easily condoned. But though God may be able to forgive disloyalty, inher heart of hearts no woman ever can. 

[Sidenote: An Idle Flirtation]

More often than not, it is simply an idle flirtation, or, at the most, apassing fancy which the next week may prove transient and unreal. Thewoman with the heartache will say, with wet eyes and quivering lips: "Iknow, positively, that my husband has done nothing wrong. I would go tothe stake upon that belief. He is only weak and foolish and a littlevain, perhaps, and some day he will see his mistake, but I cannot bearto see him compromise himself and me in the eyes of the world. Ofcourse, _I_ know, " she will say, proudly, "but there are others who donot, --who are always ready to suspect, --and I will not have them pityme!"

When nearly all the married friends a spinster has have come to her withthe same story, the variations being individual and of slight moment, she begins to have serious doubts of matrimony as a satisfactorycareer. Women who have been married five, ten, and even twenty years;women with children grown and whom the world counts safely and happilymarried, will sob bitterly in the embrace of the chosen girl friend. 

[Sidenote: Indifference]

Indifference is the only counsel one has to offer, but even so, itgradually becomes the first of the steppes upon the heart-way which leadto an emotional Siberia. 

Of course there are women who are insanely jealous of their husbands, and, more rarely, men who are jealous of their wives. Jealousy may beexplained as innate vanity and selfishness or as a defect intemperament, but at any rate, it is a condition which is far past thetheoretical stage. 

It is hard for a spinster to understand why any woman should wish tohold a man against his will. A dog who has to be kept chained, in orderto be retained as a pet, is never a very satisfactory possession. Itseems natural to apply the same reasoning to human affairs, for surelyno love is worth having which is not a free gift. 

No girl would feel particularly flattered by a proposal, if it were putin this form: "Will you marry me? No one else will. " Yet the same girl, married, would gladly take her husband to a desert island, that shemight be sure of him forever. 

[Sidenote: Behind Prison Bars]

Love which needs to be put behind prison bars, that it may not escape, is not love, but attraction, fascination, or whatever the psychologistsmay please. A man chooses his wife, not because there are no otherwomen, but in spite of them. It is a pathetic acknowledgment of his poorjudgment, if he lets the world suspect that his choice was wrong. 

There are some souls that hie them faraway from civilisation, toconvents, monasteries, and western plains, that they may keep away fromtemptation. In the same fashion, woman tries to isolate her lord andmaster. If he meets women at all, they are those invisibly labeled "notdangerous. "

The world makes as many saints as sinners, and the man who needs to bekept away from any sort of temptation is weak indeed. There are many ofhis kind, but he is the better man in the end who meets it face to face, fights with it like a soldier, and wins like a king. 

[Sidenote: The Thousand Foes]

The mother of Sparta bade her son return with his shield or on it, andthe thought has potential might to-day. If a man honestly loves a woman, she need have no fear of the thousand foes that wait to take him fromher. If he does not, the sooner she understands the truth, the better itis for both. There are many people who consider love a dream, but theyusually grow to think of marriage as the cold breakfast. 

Men are but children of a larger growth. A small boy forgets his promiseto stay at home and tears madly down the street in the discordant wakeof a band. The same boy, in later years, will follow his impulses withequal readiness, for he is taught conformity to outward laws, but veryseldom self-control. 

The fear of "the other woman" may be largely assuaged by a spinster'sconfidence in her ability to cope with the difficult situation, shouldit ever present itself, but there are other considerations which act asa discouragement to matrimony. 

The chains of love may be sweet bondage, but freedom is hardly lessdear. The spinster, like the wind, may go where she listeth, and thereis no one to say her nay. A modern essayist has pointed out that "if amortal knows his mate cannot get away, he is apt to be severe andunreasonable. "

The thought of being compelled to ask for money, and perhaps to meetwith refusal, frequently acts as a deterrent upon incipient love. A manis often generous with his sweetheart and miserly with his wife. In thedays of courtship, the dollars may fly on wings in search of pleasurefor the well-beloved, and yet, after marriage, they will be squeezeduntil the milling is worn smooth, the eyes start from the eagle, anduntil one half-way expects to hear the noble bird scream. 

[Sidenote: Unlimited Credit]

There are girls in every circle, married to men not by any meansinsolvent, who have unlimited credit, but never any money of their own. They have carriages but no car fare; fine stationery, monogrammed andblazoned with a coat of arms, but not by any chance a postage stamp. 

Many a woman in such circumstances covenants with the tradespeople tocharge as merchandise what is really cash, and sells laces and ribbonsto her friends a little below cost. When a girl is approached with aplea to have her purchases charged to her friend's account, and to payher friend rather than the merchant, is it not sufficient to postponepossible matrimony at least six months? Adversity has no terrors for awoman; she will gladly share misfortune with the man she loves, butsimple selfishness is a very different proposition. 

[Sidenote: "Wedded to their Art"]

There are also the dazzling allurements offered by various "careers"which bring fame and perhaps fortune. The glittering triumphs of a primadonna, a picture on the line in the Salon, or a possible book whichshall sell into the hundred thousands, are not without a certain charm, even though people who are "wedded to their art" sometimes get a divorcewithout asking for it. 

The universal testimony of the great, that fame itself is barren, isthrust aside as of small moment. She does not realise that it is lovefor which she hungers, rather than fame, which is the admiration of themany. Sometimes she learns that "the love of all is but a small thing tothe love of one" and that in a right marriage there would be noconscious sacrifice. If she were not free to continue the work that sheloved, she would feel no deprivation. 

Happiness is often thrust aside because of her ideals. She demands allthings in a single man, forgetting that she, too, is human and not byany means faultless. Some day, perhaps too late, she understands thatlove and criticism lie far apart, that love brings beauty with it, andthat the marks of individuality are the very texture of charm, as thesplendour of the opal lies in its flaws. 

[Sidenote: The Vital Touch]

There is always the doubt as to whether the seeker may be the one of allthe world to find the inmost places in her heart. Taste and temperamentmay be akin, position and purpose in full accord, and yet the vitaltouch may be lacking. Sometimes, in the after-years, it may be found bytwo who seek for it patiently together, but too often dissonance growsinto discord and estrangement. 

The march of civilisation has done away with the odium which wasformerly the portion of the unattached woman. It is no disgrace to be aspinster, and apparently it is fitting and proper to be an old maid, since so many of them have "Mrs. " on their cards, and since there areso many narrow-minded and critical men who fully deserve theappellation. 

There is no use in saying that any particular girl is a spinster fromnecessity rather than choice. One has but to look at the peculiarspecimens of womankind who have married, to be certain that there is noone on the wide earth who could not do so if she chose. 

[Sidenote: "A Discipline"]

Some people are fond of alluding to marriage as "a discipline, " andsometimes a grey-haired matron will volunteer the information that "thefirst years of marriage are anything but happy. " To one who has hithertoregarded it from a different point of view, the training-school idea isnot altogether attractive. 

Men and women who have been through it very seldom hold to their firstopinions. It is considered as a business arrangement, a socialcontrivance, sometimes as an easy way to make money, but by very few asthe highest form of happiness. 

[Sidenote: Small Extravagances]

The consolations of spinsterhood are mainly negative, but the minus signhas its proper place in the personal equation. "The other woman" doesnot exist for the spinster, save as a shadowy possibility. She is notasked what she did with the nickel which was given her day beforeyesterday, and thus forced to make confession of small extravagances, orto reply, with such sweetness as she may muster, that she bought a loton a fashionable street with part of it, and has the remainder out atinterest. She does not have to stay at home from social affairs becauseshe has no escort, for the law has not apportioned to her a solitaryman, and she has a liberty of choice which is not accorded her marriedfriend. 

She is not subjected to the humiliation of asking a man for money to payfor his own food, his own service, and even his own laundry bill. Shecan usually earn her own, if the gods have not awarded her sufficientgold, and there is no money which a woman spends so happily as thatwhich she has earned herself. 

The "career" lies before her, and she has only to choose the thing forwhich she is best fitted, and work her way upward from the lowest ranksto the position of a star of the first magnitude. Opportunity is butanother name for health, obstacles make firm stepping-stones, and thatwhich is dearly bought is by far the sweetest in the end. Of coursethere are "strings to pull, " but no one needs them. Success is morelasting if it is won in an open field, without favour, and in spite ofgenerous measures of it bestowed upon the opposition. 

[Sidenote: The Greatest Consolation]

But of all the consolations of spinsterhood, the greatest is this, --thatout of the dim and uncertain future, perchance in the guise of adivorced man or a widower with four children, The Prince may yet come. 

"On his plain but trusty sword are these words only--Love andUnderstand. " Across the unsounded, estranging seas, with a whole worldlying immutably between, he, too, may be waiting for the revelation. Hemay come as a knight of old, with banners, jewels, and flashing steel, to the clarion ring of trumpet or cymbal, or softly, in the twilight, like one whose presence is felt before it is made known. 

Out of the city streets The Prince may come, tired of the endlessstruggle, when the tide of the human has beaten heavily upon his jadedsoul, or through the woods, with the silence of the forest still uponhim. His path may lie through an old garden, where marigold and larkspurare thickly interwoven, and shadowy spikes of mignonette make all thesummer sweet, or through the frosty darkness, when the earth is dumbwith snow and the midnight stars have set the heavens ablaze with spiresof sapphire light. 

[Sidenote: At the First Meeting]

Sometimes, at the first meeting The Prince is known, by that mysteriousalchemy which lies in the depths of the maiden soul and often, afterlong waiting, a friend throws off his disguise and royalty standsrevealed. Sometimes he is the comrade of the far-off childish years, theschoolmate of a later time, or someone whose hand has proved a strengthand solace in times of deepest grief. 

"To Love and Understand!" All else may be forgiven, if he has but thesetwo gifts, for they are as the crest and royal robe. Bare and empty hishands may be, but these are the kingly rights. 

Slowly, and sometimes with a strange fear which makes her tremble, theresteals into her heart a great peace. With it comes infinite tendernessand an unspeakable compassion, not only for him, but for all the world. Love's laughter changes to questioning too deep for smiles or tears--theboundless aspiration of the soul toward all things true. 

Playthings and tinsel are cast away. The music of the dance dies inlingering, discordant fragments, and in its place comes the full tone ofan organ and the majestic movement of a symphony. The web of the dailyliving grows beautiful in the new light, for the Hand that set thepattern has been gently laid upon her loom. 

[Sidenote: Through all the Years to Come]

Through all the years to come, they are to be together; he and she. There will be no terror in the wilderness, no sting in poverty ordefeat--hunger and thirst can be forgotten. Wherever Destiny may pointthe way, they are to fare together--he and she. 

Somewhere, in a world whose only shame is its uncleanliness, they twoare to make a home and keep the little space around them wholly clean. Somewhere, they two will show the world that the old ideals are notlost; that a man and a woman may still live together in supreme andlasting content. Somewhere, too, they will teach anew the old lesson, that it is unyielding Honour at the core of things that keeps them soundand sweet. 

There is nothing in all life so beautiful as that first dream of Home; aplace where there is balm for the tortured soul, new courage for thewavering soul, rest for the tired soul, and stronger trust for the soulcaught in the snares of doubt and disbelief--a place where one may bewholly and joyfully one's self, where one's mistakes are never faults, where pardon ever anticipates the asking, where love follows swiftlyupon understanding and understanding upon love. 

[Sidenote: The Sceptre of the King]

"To Love and Understand!" He who holds the sceptre of the king may ruleright royally. There is solace for the tired traveller within thecloister of that other heart, and the pitiful chains which some callmarriage would rust and decay at the entrance to that holy place. 

The spotless peace within the inner chamber is his alone. There hismotives are never questioned, nor his words distorted beyond theirmeaning, and his daily purposes are ever read aright. 

The dream is forever centred upon the coming of The Prince. Sometimes, with the grim irony of Fate, he is seen when both are bound--and thereare some who deem a heartache too great a price to pay for therevelation. Now and then, after many years, he comes to claim his own. 

[Sidenote: The Grey Angel and the Prince]

And sometimes, too, when one has long waited and prayed for his coming;when the sight has grown dim with watching and the frosty rime of winterhas softly touched the dark hair, the Grey Angel takes pity and closesthe tired eyes. 

The lavender and the dead rose-leaves breathe a hushed fragrance fromthe heaps of long-stored linen; the cricket and the tiny clock keep uptheir cheery song, because they do not know their gentle mistress can nolonger hear. The slanting sunbeams of afternoon mark out a delicatetracery upon the floor, and the shadow of the rose-geranium in thewindow is silhouetted upon the opposite wall. And then, into the quiethouse, steals something which seems like an infinite calm. 

[Sidenote: The Exquisite Peace]

But the dainty little lady who lies fast asleep, with the sun restingcaressingly upon her, has gained, in that mystical moment, bothunderstanding and love. For there comes an exquisite peace upon her--asthough she had found The Prince. 

THE END.