"How?"
"By marriage, Peter, an' 'ard work!—an' they allus goes together."
"Marriage!" said I.
"Marriage as ever was, Peter."
"There I don't agree with you," said I.
"That," retorted the Ancient, stabbing at me with his pipe-stem, "that's because you never was married, Peter."
"Marriage!" said I; "marriage brings care, and great responsibility, and trouble for one's self means trouble for others."
"What o' that?" exclaimed the Ancient. "'Tis care and 'sponsibility as mak' the man, an' if you marry a good wife she'll share the burden wi' ye, an' ye'll find what seemed your troubles is a blessin' arter all. When sorrer comes, 'tis a sweet thing—oh! a very sweet thing—to 'ave a woman to comfort ye an' 'old your 'and in the dark hour—an' theer's no sympathy so tender as a woman's, Peter. Then, when ye be old, like me, an' full o' years 'tis a fine thing to 'ave a son o' your own—like Simon—an' a granddarter—like my Prue—'tis worth 'aving lived for, Peter, ay, well worth it. It's a man's dooty to marry, Peter, 'is dooty to 'isself an' the world. Don't the Bible say summat about it not bein' good for a man to live alone? Every man as is a man should marry—the sooner the better."
"But," said I, "to every happy marriage there are scores of miserable ones."
"'Cause why, Peter? 'Cause people is in too much o' a hurry to marry, as a rule. If a man marries a lass arter knowin' 'er a week—'ow is 'e goin' to know if she'll suit 'im all 'is days? Nohow, Peter, it aren't nat'ral—woman tak's a lot o' knowin'. 'Marry in 'aste, an' repent in leisure!' That aren't in the Bible, but it ought to be."