Of course, it would be a great deal easier for us to advise the young man if we knew just what sort of a wife he wanted. If she likes Dombey and Son and Little Dorrit it seems to us fair to assume that she will be able to do a little plain mending and some of the cooking. On the other hand, if her favorite author is May Sinclair, we rather think it would be well to be prepared to provide hired help from the beginning. Should she prefer Eleanor H. Porter, we think there would be no danger in telling the paperhangers to do the bedroom in pink. After all, if she is a thoroughgoing follower of Pollyanna and the glad game, you don't really need any wall paper at all. It would still be her duty to be glad about it.
But we are afraid that some of this is frivolous and beside the point, and we assume that the young man truly wants serious advice to help him in the solution of his problem. Since marriage is at best a gamble, we advise him earnestly not to compromise his ardor with any dreary round of fifty books. Let him chance all on a single volume. And what shall it be? Personally, we have always been strongly attracted by persons who liked Joan and Peter, but we know that there are excellent wives and mothers who find this particular novel of Wells's dreary stuff. There are certain dislikes which might well serve as green signals of caution. A young man, we think, should certainly go slow if she does not like An Inland Voyage, or Virginibus Puerisque, or The Ebb Tide or Sentimental Tommy. He should take thought and ask himself repeatedly, "Is this really love?" if she confesses a distaste for Tono Bungay, or Far from the Madding Crowd, or Cæsar and Cleopatra. And if she can find no interest in Conrad in Quest of His Youth, or Mary Olivier or Huckleberry Finn, let him by all means stipulate a long engagement. But if she dislikes Alice in Wonderland let the young man temporize no more. It is then his plain duty to tell her that he has made a mistake and that what he took for love was no more than the passing infatuation of physical passion.
A Bolt from the Blue
JOHN ROACH STRATON died and went to his appointed kingdom where he immediately sought an audience with the ruler of the realm.
"Let New York be destroyed," shouted Dr. Straton as he pushed his way into the inner room. The king was engaged at the moment in watching a sparrow fall to earth and motioned the visitor to compose himself in silence, but there was an urgency in the voice and manner of the man from earth which would not be denied. "Smite them hip and thigh," said Dr. Straton and the king looked down at him and asked, "Is the necessity immediate?"
"Delay not thy wrath," said Dr. Straton, "for to-day on thy Sabbath sixty thousand men, women, and children of New York have gathered together to watch a baseball game."
The ruler of the realm looked and saw that 11,967 persons were watching the Yankees and the White Sox at the Polo Grounds.
"A good husky tidal wave would confound them," urged Straton, but the king shook his head.
"Remember the judgment you heaped upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah," suggested Straton.
The ruler of the realm nodded without enthusiasm. "I remember," he said, "but as I recollect it didn't do much good."