Engaged.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIX, Issue IX, 30 August 1902, Page 571

Engaged.

LITTLE THINGS THE ABOUT-TO-BE-MARRIED MAN SHOULD SEE TO. No man really lives until he shares the pleasures and pains of existence with a woman. .Nature, the great, kindly mother, that wants to make us all so happy, if only we would follow her dictates, meant men and wo-

men to marry young. If only we each had our three acres and a cow, we should one and all realise the passionate enjoyment of early love—we should grow up hand-in-hand with the woman of our early manhood’s untarnished choice, and when in the later and yet happier days the voices of little ones were heard about our hearth, we should look on them, not as expensive certainties to be brought up on doubtful possibilities, but as the common helpers in our agricultural pursuits.

Civilisation at war with Nature has changed all that, and we talk now of imprudent marriages with a long face, and, alas! our hearts know the truth. Still, as soon as a man can—without improvidence— let him make honest love to the girl he cares for. and win her if he can. I know no finer words than those which Tan Maclaren makes a parson in one of his stories use. “If it be given to any man in his fresh youth to love a noble woman with all his heart, then in that devotion he should find an unfailing in-

spiration of holy thoughts and high endeavours, a strong protection against impure and selfish temptations, a secret comfort amid the contradictions and adversities of life.

“Let him give this passion full play in his life, and it will make a man of him and a good soldier in the great battle.

“And if so be that the woman pass beyond his sight, or be beyond his reach, yet in this love itself shall be his exceeding great reward.” There is a good deal in a man’s life that is sordid—his grandest inspiration is a noble woman's love. I want in this series of articles to look at engagements and marriage from a practical point of view. Only one word do I want to speak to the man before he takes the plunge and proposes. After that I shall assume that he and she have agreed to face life together. If you have made up your mind that you ean afford to marry, and if you have made up your mind whom it is you wish to marry, then speak—don’t write.

Be quite sure you know for certain who is the “girl of your choice.” The only safe rule is not to propose until there is only one woman in the world. She must not be a mere increase of happiness to you, she must be essential to your very existence.

Well. then, having made up youl mind, have the courage to tell her—face to face. It takes some nerve. But. after all. it's not the moment of speaking that “kills.” it’s the screwing yourself up to it—the time when you are dressing before that dance, and turning hot and cold by turns, the moment of entering the ballroom, the agony of doubt as to whether all her dances won’t be gone. Don’t worry about that—it’s worth it all to know your fate. I know it’s much easier to write—you ean think over each word and put it all so nicely.

Man. man. be a man! Do you think she is not able to know that you have taken the easier course, that you

have not thought her worth the supreme effort of blurting out the honest truth which may have cost you more than facing the traditional cannon?

Of course, she knows, and is prouder of you as you stand there—the strong man, whose strength she loves —agitated and trembling, because she whispers to herself that it is love for her that has made the

change. The lover in the novel and the play of old always seems to have knelt. It may have suited the age of “The Last of the Dandies,” but our costumes don’t supply the necessary requirements.

It’s too prosaic to carefully pull up one’s garments that they may not crease at the knee at such a moment. While if the deed be done in the modern frock coat, well—it’s no good. Just get another man to kneel in front of you with a frock coat unit’s not dignified. He looks like a funeral mushroom. A woman wants to be able to respect and honour the man she loves. It’s a pity to start in a hopelessly, ridiculous position.