Part 1

Transcriber’s Notes:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.

The cover for this book contains substantial text, and this text has been included in digital form with a simplified format.

The cover contains a list labeled “CONTENTS:”; however, this is a partial list of topics covered in the book rather than a Table of Contents.

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

DON’T MARRY. 3

ROMANTIC MARRIAGES. 79

UNROMANTIC MARRIAGES. 101

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DON’T MARRY; OR, ADVICE AS TO How, When and Who to Marry.

CONTENTS:

Don’t Marry for Beauty Alone. Don’t Marry for Money. Don’t Marry a Very Small Man. Don’t Marry too Young. Don’t Marry a Coquette. Don’t Elope to Marry. Don’t Dally About Proposing. Don’t Marry a Drunkard. Don’t Marry a Spendthrift. Don’t Marry a Miser. Don’t Marry Far Apart in Ages. Don’t Marry too Old. Don’t Marry Odd Sizes. Don’t Marry a Clown. Don’t Marry a Dude. Don’t Marry From Pity. Don’t Marry for an Ideal Marriage. Don’t Break a Marriage Promise. Don’t Marry for Spite. Don’t Mitten a Mechanic. Don’t Marry a Man too Poor. Don’t Marry a Crank. Don’t Marry Fine Feathers. Don’t Marry Without Love. Don’t Marry a Stingy Man. Don’t Marry too Hastily. Don’t be too Slow About It. Don’t Marry a Silly Girl. Don’t Expect too Much in Marriage. Don’t Marry a Fop. Don’t Marry in Fun. Don’t Spurn a Man for His Poverty. Don’t Marry Recklessly.

J. S. OGILVIE, PUBLISHER, 57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

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TWENTY-FIVE SERMONS

--ON--

The Holy Land.

--BY--

REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D.

No Series of Sermons ever delivered by this famous preacher has created such a widespread and intense interest as this. These Sermons describe with vivid interest the scenes, incidents and many various experiences met with in the Holy Land, the land in which people are now more interested than ever before.

Among the hundreds of thousands of people who have read the utterances of this wonderfully successful preacher there are none but will be glad to have this book. Read the following

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

1. Eve of Departure--2. I Must also See Rome--3. A Mediterranean Voyage--4. Paul’s Mission in Athens--5. Life and Death of Dorcas--6. The Glory of Solomon’s Reign--7. Peace, Be Still--8. The Marriage Feast--9. Christmas Eve in the Holy Land--10. The Joyful Surprise--11. How a King’s Life was Saved--12. The Philippian Earthquake--13. What is in a Name?--14. The Half was not Told Me--15. I Went Up to Jerusalem--16. On the Housetop in Jerusalem--17. The Journey to Jericho--18. He Toucheth the Hills and They Smoke--19. Solomon in all His Glory--20. The Journey to Bethel--21. Incidents in Palestine--22. Among the Holy Hills--23. Our Sail on Lake Galilee--24. On to Damascus--25. Across Mount Lebanon.

It contains 320 pages in paper cover, and will be sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of 25 cents. Bound in Cloth, $1.50; Half Russia, $2.00. Agents wanted. Address all orders to

J. S. OGILVIE, Publisher, 57 Rose Street, New York.

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FOR EDITOR’S USE.

We desire to call your attention to this book, and ask that you give it a careful review and criticism. Please send paper containing notice to

J. S. OGILVIE, PUBLISHER, 57 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK.

_PRICE, 25 CENTS._

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DON’T MARRY; OR, ADVICE AS TO HOW, WHEN AND WHO TO MARRY.

By HILDRETH.

“... The tale that I relate This lesson seems to carry,-- Choose not alone a proper mate, But proper time to marry.”

THE SUNNYSIDE SERIES, No. 39. Issued Monthly. October, 1891. Extra. $3.00 per year. Entered at New York Post-Office as second-class matter. Copyright, 1890, by J. S. Ogilvie.

NEW YORK: J. S. OGILVIE, PUBLISHER 57 ROSE STREET.

* * * * *

THE SCIENCE OF A NEW LIFE.

A BOOK ESPECIALLY ADAPTED

To All Who Are Married

Or who Contemplate taking this Important Step.

16 page descriptive Circular sent free to any address by

_J. S. OGILVIE_ Rose Street, New York.

* * * * *

DON’T MARRY.

BY HILDRETH.

It is not intended to advise against marriage, nor to draw the line too closely as to the don’t-marry class, but simply to hint at the errors of some persons who match badly on so long a contract.

The “yes or no” question is the vital one for all young people to answer. Some answer too soon, others wait too long, others never reach such a climax of happiness as to be invited by an eligible partner. The genius of selection is the rarest of faculties.

What most puzzles the will and makes us bear the ills we have is the theme of selection. A mother’s or father’s view of a suitor may be at variance with the daughter’s wish and destroy the peace of both for a lifetime. But quite generally the real trouble arises from a spiteful choice or a hasty one, or one in some of the forms here mentioned. Should these hints prevent one unhappy marriage, they will well repay the little study that their brevity requires.

To avoid much lecturing, only two examples are given at any length, in the form of stories. These are as near to the real characters as the writer can safely relate them, being founded on actual romantic and unromantic marriages. As marriage is the first question that every family will discuss, it is well to treat it with exact candor.

_Don’t marry for beauty merely._ Very few have a supply that would last a full dozen years in a married life that should continue for three decades.

And, more than that, beauty is not the only requisite to happiness. Very handsome people are almost always vain, often exacting, and generally live on their form, paying little or no attention to the rarer qualities of manhood or womanhood.

If one seek beauty alone, he will find it in the fields and flowers and gardens, in paintings, art works, and things of nature; while the real pleasures of life may be found in a thousand ways outside of the worship of beauty.

There are a dozen considerations beyond beauty that should govern the choice of a companion. Think for a moment whom you admire most, trust implicitly, and love more ardently than all others. Truly, it is not the wax-doll face in a milliner’s window; were that so, why not marry the model and get the perfection of beauty? The day will come when the “rain beats in at the heart windows.” The time may run along so fast till the summer is over and the winter snow-drifts shade your locks with silver, when one by one of your friends will visit at the fireside, when some one will love you for your mind and heart and nobleness. Some one suited to your silver-age condition and disposition will be beautiful without any name for beauty; as the soldier said of Grant’s face, after Shiloh’s bloody battle, “That was the handsomest face I ever saw;” yet it was plain and dusty and rugged.

Prize-winners in matrimony have been women of finer mould than mere beauties. Women who have won the hearts of statesmen, and painters and poets, and the good and great of all time, were women of fascination, or what the Southern ladies call sweet women, and not alone noted for their beauty.

Many a one has been known to have been plain but social; not always unhandsome, but never beautiful. They are the best wives and noblest mothers who have more to commend them than mere grace of features, shade of skin, or color of eyes, or art of beautifying. Some are frivolous, and more are flattered into danger. The most miserable man I know is married to one of the most beautiful women. He is jealous; she is exposed to insults unawares. Their home is a Hades six days out of seven. I’ve heard him wish she were less attractive!

_Don’t marry a man for money._ If money is your real object, the older and uglier he is, the better; for nothing should come between you and the chosen idol of your affection. If you marry one for his money, he will find it out shortly.

What sublime contempt a man must have for one who simply loves his pocket-book! Why not love his farm, or lumber-yard, or herd of cattle? The love of money is a miserly pretence of affection that leads to discontent, distrust, and disgust when they find it out.

Besides, wealthy men are men of care. The wife of a noted millionnaire has had her husband’s body stolen from its vault, has been long kept in agony, is an object of pity to all who know her. Another wife was heard to say, “Why, I don’t have the privilege, nor the money, nor the good times that my girl Bridget enjoys. I am poor and anxious and depressed, and weary of hearing my husband say, over and over again, ‘You are fixing for the poor-house.’ He really thinks and believes we will end life in the poor-house; and yet he enjoys a princely income.” Thousands of such men carry their load of care, and load of wealth, and load of anxiety, and how can they carry any burden of love?

_Don’t marry a very small man_--a little fellow far below all proportion; try to get some form to admire, something to shape things to, and some one who is not lost in a crowd completely, who is too little to admire and too small for beauty. You may need strong arms and brave hands to protect you. You will need hands to provide for and maintain you, and a good form is a fine beginning of manhood or womanhood.

Mental greatness is not measured by size of brain or bodily proportions. Great men are neither always wise nor always large; they are more often of more medium build, and well balanced in gifts of mental and physical development. Of the two, a very large man is better than a small one, and a medium large woman likewise.

_Don’t marry too young._ The right age to marry is a matter of taste; twenty-one for girls, and twenty-four for men may be a little arbitrary, but certainly is sensible. The happy early marriages are rare. It too often happens that love is mistaken, or poorly informed, or lacks an anchor in good judgment. There is no use of reasoning about it,--love is love, and will marry in spite of reason, and in some cases it runs away with its choice and repents it a thousand times soon after.

But be sensible, for a life contract should be a sensible one. What is the use of throwing away one season--skipping girlhood or boyhood to rush into maturity and maternity? The records of divorce courts tell the silly and sorrowful stories of many a mismated pair, married too young and slowly repenting of their rashness. Ask of your truest friends; take counsel; be above foolishness.

_Don’t marry a villain._ Many a girl is ripe for an adventure, and in appearance nothing more resembles an angel than a keen and designing villain--a thoroughbred; not a gambler merely, but worse, a wreck! Such men may be wary, artful, deceitful, attractive. They are crafty; their trade compels it. They may be handsome, often so; they may be oily and slick--most of them are. They may live rich and expensive lives for a season; ill-gotten gains are not lasting. Heaven pity the girl that marries one of these adventurers, for the end is bitterness! A friend met one on the Pacific road, married him, and learned to her sorrow that he drank to excess, swore like a pirate, lived in debauchery, and early offered to swap wives for a season with a boon-companion. “And that man,” she said, “was as handsome as a dude, as slick as an auctioneer, as oily as a pedler; I loved him only one day after marriage.”

_Don’t marry a hypocrite._ Of all things get sincerity. Get the genuine article. If you get a hypocrite, he is brass jewelry, and will easily tarnish. Make careful inquiry, see that he is all that he pretends to be, or never trust him. The habit of deceit is one of a lifetime.

Some join churches for no other reason than to cloak iniquity. It is not the rule by any means; it is a too common exception. One who goes from city to city and captivates too many by his oil of blandness; one who has no business, an idler; one who apes the rich and is ground down in poverty; one who lacks the courage to live like himself and had rather live a lie and deceive the world around him,--is an unfit companion, and will bear watching.

_Don’t marry a coquette._ One that is worn out by a long list of discarded admirers is like stale bread--worse every day and seldom grows better by long standing. There are women, and girls sometimes, who glory and revel in the names of discarded lovers; whose sense of honesty has been poisoned, numbed, and frozen by cheating their victims through pretended affection, until they have lost all heart or honesty; who deserve to be left alone to ponder on their cruelty for the balance of their miserable existence. Of all the worst forms of flirting, coquetry is the most detestable. It is not only trifling away the time of both, but casting distrust on the holiest of all sentiments, the purity of womanhood. To steal money is honorable compared to stealing affection.

The habit of coquetry will, or may, last long after marriage. She who practises it will follow up in unpleasant references to her conquests, wishing she had married at this offer or that, and wear out the happiness of her last conquest by a frequent reminder of his inferiority to the others.

_Don’t marry a woman for her money._ These people are tenacious to a minute degree. They long to remind you of my house, my property, my farm, my lots on Lincoln Avenue, my furniture, my bank account, and the like--making one a pensioner all his life for his board and clothing. If there is any difference, it should be with the man. He is expected to control property. He is the master of his house, or the manager of his expenses. Very naturally he says “my” store or “my” lots, but it will sound far more fair and considerate even if he says “our” in lieu of “my” sometimes.

The only fair way to act about it is to treat marriage as a partnership where nobody owns all, but each has an equal interest. It is fair to divide a good portion of one’s property with his wife, fair to deed her a nice homestead and present her a given allowance--liberal as one’s income will warrant--and let her draw from it as her own, and not be a beggar each time she needs money.

_Don’t elope to marry._ It is a weak affection that cannot wait awhile. Jacob served seven years, then seven more, for Rebecca. She was a fine specimen of womanhood--as represented in paintings; housekeeping was easy and inexpensive then, but they patiently waited and were handsomely rewarded.

Ruth was an excellent example of girlhood. In no great hurry to marry, taking the hardships of travel, her devotion to her mother touched the heart of a king, and she won a splendid prize for her patience. She might have eloped with a stage-driver or a coachman, and ended her life with many less historical-society notices.

_Don’t dally about proposing._ What is it to ask a fine girl to marry you? The simplest, easiest thing on earth, if you “strike while the iron is hot.” Go about it sensibly. To begin with, you never expect much encouragement from a discreet maiden; she is in the background; her promise is to be invited; she is not her own spokeswoman. Think of the embarrassment.

I venture to say, if you like her, that you will say so. Often you may have told her how fine her eyes are, or how well you like her singing, or talking, and her company; but when you ask a simple question, you get down on your knees (they do in novels, not in reality) and beg for it. Nonsense! Such a girl is unworthy. Begging is a silly fashion, seldom now indulged in, all out of date, and no longer tolerated outside of novels and theatres. Use a little sense about it.

Find out first if you have the right one, then settle the matter in one of five ways: First, in the parlor (don’t propose in church, or at a donation, or in a crowd, or on a street-car, or while the horse is prancing), get up your resolution at the right moment and say: “Do we understand each other, Clemantha?” Then, if she doesn’t, explain it to her in a sensible fashion, and in little short words that cannot be mistaken; give her time, if necessary.

The second way is, on a fine walk or drive, “Would you like to walk always?” or, “If you were to choose whom you would walk with forever, who would it be?” She will say, “I don’t care to be so personal.” Certainly then you may be more explicit.

Third, suppose you are to separate, what a grand opportunity! See that you improve it earnestly. To tell a girl that she is fairer than flowers, clearer than coffee, and sweeter than honey is old, very old, and uncalled-for. Tell her she is what she is, and you like her with all her surroundings; that you can better her condition sometime. Dwell on the “sometime.”

Be honest about it. If she doesn’t love you, let her love some one else, and you will be surprised to find how many pure and beautiful beings there are all around you, holding their finger-tips to hide a smile of welcome and ready--“yes, Edgar”--eager to mate with one worthy and ready to marry them, for marriage is a natural hope of every right-minded woman.

This is a fourth method: read aloud of characters like Arden, Romeo, or Abelard, or Paul and Virginia, and make your comments audibly. You will not be long in tracing a conclusion. Be a little ingenious about it, find out through your sister. Prepare the way and don’t ask until you find she is unpledged, remember; or at least tarry long enough to be reasonably certain. And what if refused? No harm done. Like the German’s sugar, “The other pound is shust so good as the first one.”

One man I know drew off a list of all his acquaintances worthy of marriage, and went about it like a regular wheat-buyer. He was a bachelor, of course, and very eccentric. Coming to the first, he explained his object, concealing all names, but saying she was first of a long list furnished him by a friend (each one was first, always); then he would say, “I will give you a week to consider it, and no harm done; if not then, I must pursue my list further.” Of all the sold-out men, he was sold the cheapest! He married a whole family. The first two were disgusted, the third or fourth accepted. This looks too much like a purchase and sale, and don’t try the method.

The last way is sensible; by writing--many a proposal is in writing. Even in that be a little guarded; once a no, yeses come with reluctance. It is best not to give one an opportunity to say no, but to parry long enough to test the opposition. If it were a race-horse to buy, a house to contract for, or a block to purchase, it would not be very hard to strike a bargain. So that, once finding form, character, fitness, affection, desire to be mated, go about the rest by a direct and sensible method, and don’t wear out the gate-hinges, burn out all the oil, weary the old folks, or turn gray with anxiety, but do it.

_Don’t marry a drunkard._ He will promise, by all that’s good, great, and holy, to reform. How many more like him have made just such promises? He can’t keep such a promise if he would. Make him reform a couple of years at least, on trial, before you marry him. It will be time enough then to risk a life-partnership, to chain your hopes to an unfortunate creature whose sense and judgment are corrupted, not by will, perhaps, but by habit stronger than reason. With most men this habit becomes a desire. They are bound to feed the fire that burns them. They have no voice in the matter, and cannot, if they would, break the strong fetters that bind them in irons, like the prison bars confine their victims.

It’s a sorry picture to behold a fair young girl chained to a being with a will all lost and debauched in appetite for drink; a section of the land of departed evil spirits can only equal her daily misery. Children must bear it, friends submit to it, and all of character, sweetness of temper, or refinement in one’s nature will revolt at the coarseness of the wrecked and wretched career of a drunkard’s life. He is an object of pity, and a being to be shunned in matrimony, no matter how many promises he makes or how good he is otherwise.

To avoid long sorrow, disgrace, and regret, avoid him. If you had two lives and one to dispose of, at any cost, mate with a drunkard and die a thousand deaths. Your health, peace, and happiness will go with his.

“Art thou mated with a clown, Then the baseness of his nature Will have weight to drag thee down.”

Such a man will kill his wife, burn his own child, sacrifice everything on earth when scourged by this degrading passion. More could be urged, but let the starving families, the criminal courts, the idiotic children, tell the rest: the story is too dreadful to dwell upon. It is monstrous. Life becomes a burden, and death a sweet release from such a cross. Of all the matches on earth, the most to be dreaded and avoided is the drunkard’s wife.

_Don’t marry a fast man or woman._ Something tells us that black logs will darken the whitest garments. The edge of virtue once dulled is never quite so keen afterwards. It may be very well to speak slightingly of wild oats, but who cares to know that their oats are a second crop? Who is willing to believe that they are the last resort of one who has pleaded and pledged to hundreds or even dozens before her, or waits an opportunity to make as many more pledges as occasion may offer? Fast men are not satisfied with one vice merely, but follow on to many. They may drink, gamble, sport, and venture, and step by step indulge in the kindred vices of lewdness, till disease shall fasten its clutches in their burning blood and run in their veins for a lifetime. They are rarely satisfied with one home, one wife, and one family.

_Don’t marry a foreigner_,--one who comes from a far-away country and returns to it. It is very uncertain; think ahead carefully. The new and strange customs of his country may and may not be congenial. They may be a dreary dream of home and early separation. Think of the ties of friendship, the cords of affection twined and woven around your nature; ties that are not severed without many pangs of sorrow. Life is a short, strange journey, and, make it when we will or where we will, it is pleasant to be made with company. Those who know us best will love us most if we deserve it, and few will continue on in friendship long after we go to strange and unknown countries. A stranger neighbor soon comes nearer than a long-absent friend whom we never hear from.

_Don’t marry a spendthrift._ The habit of living is formed early. Either one is bent on rising or going lower. As water seeks its level, so men seek their ambition and find it. Prosperity comes not on silver trays, ready-made and ready for use to everybody; most men work for it, strive for it, and deserve it. The sons of the rich, who inherit property and have formed the habit of useless spending, are a little bit lower than the poor. It is not disgraceful at all to be born poor; but to become so after once being rich, and that through reckless spending, is a dishonor to any one. “One thing we can be proud of,” said Ingersoll; “we’ve made some improvement on the original implements and the common stock.”

A young man who lives on his father’s earnings has very little to boast of, but one who squanders his inheritance in riotous living is an object of contempt and ridicule. “He is one of the old man’s pensioners,” said a business man lately of a rich man’s son. “But for his father’s thrift he would be a beggar; he lives like a refined beggar on the food furnished by another. What a brilliant genius he is!”