There is a great deal to consider, apart from the mere arrangement of the ceremonies, about the events of which I mean to speak in this chapter, therefore no book devoted to the interests of the home could be complete without at least some words on both subjects.

To begin with: the old story of the bad fairy told us in our childhood, who invariably was forgotten, and as invariably turned up without an invitation at the christening of the prince or princess, is not as improbable as it appeared to be on the first reading. The bad fairy may be an infuriated relative to whom we have forgotten to write; it may be family pride outraged by the name chosen for the infant; or it may take the form of having asked the wrong instead of the right individual to stand for the child; but all too often it is there, and the heedless conduct that raised the evil fairy from her sleep may bring about consequences that are as unpleasant as they are certainly unexpected and generally undeserved, for I have often observed that the deepest insults are those we are most unconscious of giving, and that the evil habit of ‘taking offence’ is often increased by conduct that was as innocent in design as it was certainly disastrous in the effect.

And now let us pause for a moment and speak on the subject of taking offence, a matter that has given rise to endless family divisions and caused more broken friendships and quarrels than anything else in the world. To begin with: it is a sign of a common, jealous, vain nature to take offence; it shows that the offended person is so endued with a sense of her own importance that she is always on the look-out for an affront, that she has such a low idea of human nature that she is suspicious of everything that happens, and is always expecting some slur is being cast on her, some dreadful plot against her dignity is being hatched; and she is so vain that she thinks everything that happens is especially levied at her, though generally she was as far from the thoughts of the offending person as she well could be.

A family possessing such a touchy member is indeed much to be pitied; one can see nothing or very little of any acquaintance possessed of such a disposition, and indeed no one would wish to see such a one more than one can help; but a member of the family must be considered in some way; therefore such an individual is all too often the bad fairy, who, having once received or fancied she received an insult, never forgets it, harps on it always, and ends by doing immeasurable harm in more ways than one by her disagreeable and untutored tongue. And notice I say she and her. I don’t consider we can learn much from men, but we can certainly learn larger-mindedness from them; for very seldom do we find a man taking offence in the childish and touchy fashion far too many women are so fond of doing.

As a rule we are all too busy to soften the aspirations of such an individual, and so we drift apart without any distinct quarrel, gradually seeing less and less of each other, until we do not meet at all; but it is generally well, if we possibly can, to go straight to anyone like this and find out the cause of offence, at the same time refraining from doing so unless we care very much about it, because, ten chances to one, the person who takes offence once will always be doing so, and it is not worth one’s while, as a rule, to conciliate those who will find a subject for offence in everything one says and does, unless one is always flattering them, an easily offended person having the most ravenous appetite for flattery possible to conceive. Therefore, when a christening has to be thought about, we should first consider if there be any Scylla to avoid, any Charybdis past which we must navigate the boat, and, above all, must we endeavour to be quite independent about the most important subject of all—viz. how to name the child.

I do not go quite as far as does a friend of mine, who considers the names he gives his children act on their nature, and that they insensibly form their characters to in some measure sympathise with their baptismal names. Thus, for example, it would be as impossible for John to be naughty as for Jack to be anything save a pickle, for Edith to be anything save calm and religious, while Trixy must be a flirt and set all her lovers by the ears. But still I do think a great deal depends upon the name, especially if the surname happens to be rather uncommon or pretty, and that the judicious selection of well-sounding names does wonders. But here we must steer between plain John Brown, who could never be anyone, try as hard as he might, and the Reginald de Montmorency Brown, which is the laughing-stock of the neighbours, and which is a grief to the unfortunate holder thereof through life, unless the possession of such a name forces him to become as ridiculous as it is itself; then, of course, he is quite happy, and we need not pity him at all.

Another thing I do most earnestly deprecate is the perpetuating of family names, unless the name happens to be a pretty one and is chosen for itself. In the first place, family names are generally hideous, and in the second we cannot name the child after all the members of both families; to give precedence to the father’s family names will offend the mother’s family, and generally the unfortunate infant is not only saddled with a hideous name, but finds itself a bone of contention almost before it has any bones at all; while, if we boldly select the names which seem to us euphonious and to harmonise with the surname, we shall offend no one, and shall show we have an individuality that must be respected by the members of both families alike.

Then, too, if families are large and have endless branches, great confusion is caused by each separate Paterfamilias having one of these names among his flock. Cousins very often stay in the same house, and come to visit each other, and if there are ten Miss Elizabeth Smiths and these happen to be staying together, how are their letters to be distinguished? The possession of similar initials in families has made mischief enough; the possession of similar names can make twice as much again.

In naming a boy we must think whether he can be made miserable at school by having either a grand or girlish name, which the young fiends, his schoolfellows, can turn into something to his disadvantage, and, if possible, the younger sons should always have some good surname before the family name; this will enable them to keep distinct. For example, if the eldest son is called Charles Robinson (not that I should call any boy such a frightful name), his next brother can be called John Smith Robinson (supposing his mother’s name to have been Smith), while the third could be William Brown Robinson, thus marking the distinct families at once, and allowing the sons of the holders of these names to have the double name, and perhaps the aristocratic hyphen, satirised by Corney Grain, which is so dear to the heart of the ordinary suburban resident, while it is not a bad plan to give the girls their surname as well as a pretty Christian-name at baptism. This would allow people to trace pedigrees easily were it a universal custom, and would be of great assistance in writing the family history we ought one and all of us to possess, for it is astonishing how much we are helped in our attempt to bring up our children if we have any knowledge of our forbears, and can trace in any way the habits and occupations of those from whom we have sprung.

Having settled on the child’s name and registered it before we tell our relations and friends, the impossibility of making a change saving endless painful and unprofitable discussions, the next thing is to decide on the god-parents. As a rule this is a mere form, but of course it should not be so. A god-parent necessarily sends a more or less handsome present at the time of the christening, comes to the ceremony if he or she can, and then forgets all about the child. But this, I repeat, should never be. The god-parents should keep up a friendly intercourse with their god-children; they should know where they are, what they are doing; they should most undoubtedly be present at the confirmation ceremony, and they should always at Christmas either write to their god-children, send one of those useful and pretty cards, which I trust will never go out of fashion, or else give some little gift that does not cost much, while it makes the link between them very real, and gives some meaning to a position that at present would often be more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

Of course it is easy enough to manage this in one’s own rank of life, and we ought to have as many god-children as we can honestly interest ourselves in; but we should never undertake the office unless we mean to perform the duties; and we ought occasionally to ‘stand for’ some of our poorer neighbours’ children. As a rule they are delighted to have us, and it gives us a hold over them we could not otherwise acquire; while a boy or a girl has always a sense of obligation to behave better and do better in life if he or she has a god-parent in a higher station than his or her own, to whom they can come for advice and help by right, and from whom they receive at Christmas, at confirmation, or at any important step in life, some trifling token. Therefore I do not think god-parents can think too much of their duties, or neglect to stand for all they can manage to look after; it is something to do—something that can also do endless good, if we undertake the duties properly.

When the god-parents are chosen the christening-day should be fixed, and this should be the very first day that the mother and child can go out of doors. The clergyman who performs all the family services should be asked of course, and the time selected should be about the middle of the day, and, if possible, the font should be nicely decorated with white flowers. Of course the correct thing would be to have a public service with the congregation; the church always looks dismal and horrid when empty, and, according to the rubric, the service should be public; but I should never advise this. In the first place, the mother is never quite strong enough to stand the long service; and, in the second, babies do howl so that the congregation is made miserable, and, therefore, what is really an excellent theory is a practice to be avoided. Unless the christening is postponed, a thing I cannot contemplate for one moment, a child’s first outing should be to church; there is no doubt whatever in my own mind about that.

Take this for granted, and half the misery of a christening disappears; never allow it to be postponed, and it is done as a matter of course. If the god-parents selected cannot be present, they must be represented by proxy; and they should never be waited for, any more than they should be chosen for any reason save that we are fond of them, that they are related to us, or such friends that we know they would do the best they could for us were we to die and leave the children to the mercy of the world at large—as regards their mental welfare, I don’t mean their bodily. I repeat here, that no one has the smallest right to bring a child into the world for whose existence he cannot in some measure duly provide.

Without emulating the Roman Catholic habit of confession, I much like to feel that each family possesses some clergyman among its friends, who stands to it in some measure in the position that a Romish priest does to many households. The finer ceremonies of life and death should be conducted by one man; and it is always a great pleasure to me to feel that he who married us christened all our children, while it is as great a regret that he cannot any more perform any more ceremonies for us, for he has gone where ceremonies are of no avail, and where he has, no doubt, already received his reward. However, though none can take his place, we have still a ‘family priest;’ and I think all the simple ceremonies of our Church are made a thousand times holier by the fact that one man performs them, and that he takes that individual interest in us no strange clergyman ever can. Let anyone see a christening in a town church, hastily performed by a man to whom the infant is nothing but an unpleasant lump of lace and fussy clothes, or at best one more little soldier for the great army, and the same ceremony performed by a man who knows and loves the parents, and I shall need no more words if this does not express all I mean. Let my readers note the conduct of any cemetery chaplain reading the burial service, with which custom has made him hideously familiar, and then hear someone who has known and loved the dead read it; I am sure, after that, I need not plead for the election in each family of some good man as family priest. He is a comfort, indeed, with whom no one can afford to dispense, even in this hurrying, fashionable life of ours.

When the church and all is settled, the baby’s dress is undoubtedly a matter for great consideration. In some families grandmamma produces the robe the child’s father was christened in, and of course that, and nothing else, should be worn. Of course, equally, high neck and sleeves should be added, and a little flannel bodice can be placed with advantage under the fine open-neck bodice of the robe; white ribbons should tie up the sleeves and be placed under the waist, and the cloak should not be either heavy or unduly gorgeous. The hood and cloak must be removed in the church, and the nurse should do this quickly and silently the moment the ceremony begins, placing a big, soft shawl round the child; this allows it to become quiet, and does not ensure the roar which invariably follows if the child is handed to the clergyman the moment its clothes are taken off. It should be rolled in the shawl until the christening service is over, then it can be dressed and shriek if it likes; no one but the nurse will be disturbed by its howling then.

Baptism is a sacrament, and therefore there are no fees to be given to the clergyman, but the father goes into the vestry to give particulars about the name, &c., for registration in the church books, and he should then make the clerk some small present—5s. would be ample for most middle-class families, while 1l. would be princely. If the clergyman has come some distance one should take care he was no loser by it, delicately and nicely, and if one is rich some present should be given to the church itself to mark the ceremony; there is always something a church lacks that we can give without ruining ourselves; in fact, all these simple ceremonies should teach us to love the Church with the singular attachment even Dissenters have for it, and should make us more to each other as a congregation than we otherwise would be had we no religion to bind us together. The christening over, the baby should be taken, according to a dear old Yorkshire superstition, to be shown to some friend who will give it bread, salt, sixpence, and a new-laid egg; and if this superstition be respected, and, moreover, if the infant be taken up in the world before it is taken down (i.e. carried upstairs before it goes down), my old nurse used to declare that it must be lucky and could defy any amount of bad fortune. She invariably climbed by a stool up to a high settee with our children because our house had not a third story, and much she used to amuse us with these small vagaries; they were a matter of real moment to her, and we indulged her. Why not? If they did no good they most certainly could do no earthly harm.

Now, before we pass on from the christening ceremony to speak of weddings—a much more enthralling subject—I want to say one word on the matter of family gatherings. I know quite well I am venturing almost on forbidden ground, and that such an idea as a family party is beneath contempt in these days, when we want nothing but amusement, and dislike running the chance of being bored more than anything else. Still, I am going to speak about them, and I trust that I may show that they are not only unobjectionable if properly managed, but that they are absolutely necessary if we are to keep up anything like a good feeling amongst the members of one family.

The reasons why, as a rule, families separate and fall apart are, first of all, because some go up while others remain stationary, and others creep slowly down the hill; and, secondly, because there are none of the small civilities and amenities of life practised among relations that render society possible and pleasing. If a sister thinks another sister’s conduct is not just what it ought to be she tells her so, without considering that she has no more business to take her to task than she has to call on and scold her next-door neighbour; they frankly discuss the manner in which the respective children are brought up, and, indeed, often make themselves so interfering and disagreeable that the family party ends in tears and in mutual vows against any attempt at the same thing again.

Now, as regards the first offence, it is one we ought to be able to bear with equanimity, especially if we are remaining stationary while others are flourishing on a plain above our heads. In the first place, the honour and success of the one member is the property of all, and we can glory in it too, while, if we are at the top of the tree, no one will envy us that position if they share it in some measure, and if we take care that they are not hurt by our assuming airs that are as ridiculous as they are unkind. A man who forgets and ignores his poor relations is a snob, and is invariably laughed at by those who know of their existence; while if he never forgets them, and is good to them always, he reaps a reward no one can deprive him of in the tender affection, pride in his attainments, and unselfish delight in his success, which would be turned to gall and wormwood were he to turn his back on and ignore those whose flesh and blood he shares, and who must always be his relations, try how he may to shift them off his shoulders entirely.

Give this feeling, and I maintain that we can have family parties which are quite successful, more especially if we remember the second pitfall and refrain from these hideously spiteful remarks some families seem to regard in the light of indispensable tonics; and we should always try that our simple ceremonies of christenings, birthdays, Christmas, and weddings should include all those of our immediate kin who are near enough to share them. Let all be asked, let them see you are glad to see them, and give them your best (not your second best, please), and I am quite sure the family party will be as successful as any other you may be induced to give. Of course the party need not be all family; a judicious admixture of outsiders is always to be recommended, more especially if we are at the top of the tree and can take this opportunity of introducing some of our ‘best’ people to those who are pleased to meet them, although their present means may not allow of their entertaining them in their own houses in the same manner that we can.

These differences cannot be helped, and indeed they should be a source of pleasure to all, as I said before, and undoubtedly would be were family feeling cultivated among us in a manner that it certainly is not in most English homes. Therefore all these ceremonies should be made an occasion for family parties, and at Christmas time, too, all should meet who can, at the house of the eldest of the family, should the father and mother be unable to have their gathering or be dead, as is so often the case; and there should be regular preparations for enjoyment, a ‘surprise’ (my annual surprise considerably shortens my life), a Christmas tree, games, and a good supper, all mapped out just as if we expected the greatest strangers and wished to impress them with our forms of hospitality. Take rather more pains about the arrangements and details of a family party than any other; I am quite sure that if you do you will be amply rewarded.

And now to think about weddings and marriages, generally a most enthralling subject to fathers and mothers when the children have grown up and they begin to contemplate the idea of their leaving the fireside for homes of their own, when begins, I think, the most difficult period of our life, and when we cannot be too careful whom we admit to our houses, the while we must not be unduly fussy, else we spoil our children’s chance of happiness, and make them miserably anxious for themselves and their possible fate—a fate I would postpone for ever if I had my way, for who can calmly contemplate passing on one’s daughter to another’s care, I wonder? while one’s possible daughters-in-law can never be anything, I fear, save successful rivals to the throne one occupies in one‘s boys’ hearts.

But these things will happen, and equally of course all girls should marry, a happy marriage being the best fate for any woman, no matter how cultivated, how talented she may be. I have no doubts whatever on that subject. Suppose she writes; who so fit to battle with the publisher as the husband? or she paints; well, he can smile on the critics and undermine them with a good cigar and all the rest of it. Or does she sing? Surely, surely the husband’s protection comes in there more than ever; while for those lucky women who only want to fulfil their destiny and make a home, the husband of course takes his right position at once, and is guardian, bread-winner, and head in a way that Nature intended him to be, and that all real women want him to be. The few who clamour for another arrangement don’t understand the subject at all, and are as ridiculous as they are abnormal and few in number, and therefore need not be considered in the least. There is, therefore, no doubt that women should marry if they can; and if not, well, there is plenty for them to do, although they will never be as happy—I am sure of that—as the happily married woman; neither will they ever suffer as an unhappily married woman must, albeit very many unhappy marriages would have been far otherwise had people had common sense at first and married each other as what they were, and not what they supposed each other to be; resenting their own mistakes on the unfortunate object they had deified, and not on their own stupid selves, while of course they should be resolved to make the best of what was inevitable, and to really make the wife or husband become all they had imagined him or her to be.

When the discussion on the subject of ‘marriage being a failure’ was going forward I was only deterred from joining in the fray by the knowledge that my indignant feelings on this subject were so strong they rendered me incoherent; but I was glad I did not, for no one could have driven sense into the heads of a good many of the silly women who wrote rubbish about their woes. Of course there are unhappy marriages, plenty of them, made worse, to my mind, a thousand times by our present disgracefully easy divorce laws; but, trace them to the beginning, and I venture to state that one and all of these marriages would have been happy had the parties to them been properly brought up, and, above all, properly told what marriage really means, not only to themselves, but to those who may very probably come after them. Not one girl who marries but knows that the man by whose side she stands at the altar is not only her lover, but the possible father of her children; and yet what mother would not consider herself simply dreadful were she to say this to her daughter when the proposal is made, and her fate is yet in abeyance? and yet what more important matter could be spoken of? I think none. A girl who marries a man—an old man—for his money, even from the very highest possible motives—from the idea, may be, that she is not only ensuring the safety of her own future but that of many who may be near and dear to her—is committing not only a crime against herself and her own future, but is ensuring that the faults, sins, and selfishnesses of the man she marries are passed on to endless generations; and where such a marriage is contemplated I maintain that a mother has an imperative duty before her, and that she must tell her daughter straight out, that the sufferings she must endure in her own person in daily contact with her future husband will not be a tithe of what will come upon her when she begins to recognise his sins and his evil ways reappearing in those children who may come to her, and who will bring their own retribution with them; be sure of that.

It is a priceless boon to know that one inherits a right and a duty to be good in the broadest sense of the word. I personally do not care one fig what a man’s trade or worldly position is so long as he is absolutely honest and trustworthy, and would not act or speak an untruth; and this is the sort of inheritance we should strive to hand on to our children. The higher the station the more should be the endeavour to live in such a way that our example may be valued; but, whatever the station, let us remember that there is always some one influenced by us, and that we have obligations to them which we must consider if we want to live a really good life.

And one of the first things to think of is this question of marriage, not only because of ourselves, but because of the children who may come to us, and who must be thought of before we give our girls to men who may make them ‘fairish’ husbands; perhaps may not ill-treat them or beat them, but who are not possessed of sufficient individuality to be the heads of their own houses, and who have not honest souls and some ambitions above the mere ruck of living and making as much money as they possibly can, not only because such men can never be the makers and possessors of a home, but because they may leave children whose weaknesses and wickednesses may not only break their mother’s heart, but may make the world worse than they find it, one’s truest ambition being to make the world, or one’s own special corner thereof, better than one found it in some way or other.

Young people naturally resent advice, and rarely, if ever, act upon it, and we have all taken this to heart so much that some of us have ceased to give advice at all. But this should not be so; the advice may not be taken—that we cannot help—but it is our duty to give it, and I hope all mothers will do so, whether their children act upon it or not. We should not shirk a duty because we cannot see any effects; they may appear even when we have long ceased to look for them.

The sins of the fathers must be visited on the children; there is no doubt about that. We need not argue about it; it is a fact that we all have to acknowledge, and therefore there is no need to go into the rights and wrongs of the matter, for no amount of argument will do away with this inevitable truth; and equally, therefore, a woman should choose not only a man she loves, but a man she respects, and one it shall be her very greatest pride to know her children will resemble. She will be spared endless suffering if she do, for there is no suffering on earth like that caused by wicked children, or even by the anxieties about weakly and suffering children; and she had better remain an old maid all her life than bring upon herself the unspeakable wretchedness of having children who are a constant source of anxiety to her because of what they may, nay, of what they must inherit.

Given a clean record, a stainless youth, a good constitution, and an honest worker, and we need ask no more for our girls. It will not hurt them to begin their new life on a much lower scale than that which they have been accustomed to, more especially if we have taught them their duty to themselves and their future. Then, if we know that the young couple honestly love each other, we can feel content.

And by love I do not mean blind, unreasoning passion, the mad, extraordinary feeling that one reads about in novels, and which generally lands one or the other in the Divorce Court, and of which I have nothing to say, but I do mean that wonderful self-devotion to another, the mutual respect and regard, and the absolute unselfishness, that make up the true love that never fades, and that increases year by year in those whose married life was based on such love as this, and whose home reflects around the happiness which is centred there, and which can only be procured by those who begin their life together on a proper basis, and who do not expect to find in each other the god or goddess of perfection, who would probably be as unpleasant to live with as he or she is undoubtedly non-existent in this world of ours.

Of course all this sounds fearfully prosaic, and is, no doubt, middle-aged philosophy; but it would not be worth writing down if it were not middle-aged, because it would be imagination only and not the fruits of experience. I have lived a certain number of years, and I have had large opportunities of observation, and I am certain of what I am saying, that the truest marriages are those which are framed on respect as well as love, and that those women are the happiest who can implicitly trust and believe in the men to whom they have given themselves in some measure body and soul; and that, furthermore, they get the most out of life who take care every moment they live has something to occupy it, and that that occupation benefits someone beside their immediate selves.

I have often heard people say that the first year of their married life, and indeed that the honeymoon itself, was the very dullest and most difficult period of their whole lives; but I have always listened to these statements with astonishment, for I have come to the conclusion that if what they say is true it must be that, like the despised family parties, it is because they did not manage their affairs properly. Why, the honeymoon should be the most amusing journey one ever makes—I know mine was—for one sets out together with an entertaining feeling that the absence of the chaperon for the first time gives just a soupÇon of delightful impropriety to the journey; that for absolutely the first time in one’s life one can go where one likes and do as one likes; that if one liked to put on one’s Sunday frock on a week-day one would only be admired and not scolded, and that one’s shopping becomes actually important and not frivolous, because it is for the house and not for oneself merely. Besides, there is the amusement of seeing new places with a congenial spirit, and with one who does not consider it his duty to insist on learning all he can about a place; in fact, the honeymooners are no longer children to be educated, but people bent on amusing themselves together, with no arriÈre-pensÉes; these come afterwards. Then business has become dreadfully imperative in its demands on the husband, while the wife leaves home for a holiday, her mind distracted between pleasure and a melancholy foreboding of what may happen during her absence to children and household, neither of which can naturally trouble her during that first delightful jaunt, which should always be to some amusing, bright place where theatres can be fallen back on should it be wet, or where picture galleries could be visited under similar adverse circumstances. One can visit the dullest of places safely together after one has been married years; there are then mutual interests which will always occupy husband and wife: but at first this is actual suicide; there are then not very many things to discuss, and the unfortunate young people fall back on endearments and use up in a month that which should last them comfortably for all their lives.

But we are arriving at the honeymoon before we have allowed the engagement, and must therefore retrace our steps, or else we shall omit the most important item of all—viz. how to act when we see an engagement is imminent and we are not sure if we like it or not. We should soon make up our minds on the subject though, for if we do not approve we can easily manage that the young people shall not meet any more. It only requires tact and common sense, two qualities which seem to me often strangely lacking in the ordinary British household.

And, indeed, all that appertains to matrimony is made very difficult by the extraordinary manner in which English society looks upon the relations between young men and girls; in some measure allowing great familiarity, and in another way turning on anyone and calling her ‘match-maker,’ should the unfortunate individual attempt to bring together those she thinks would like to see a little more of each other. Match-maker, indeed! Why, I consider it the duty of every happily married woman to try and make others happy in a similar way; and I have known more than one happy woman rendered a miserably disappointed spinster, just because the right person was not at hand to manage a last meeting, or give the one opportunity that was all that was required to make liking into love, or to ensure the speaking of the question that had trembled on the lips for some time.

Of course marriages are made in heaven, but I also know that Heaven helps those who help themselves; and as no girl can do that, it is the duty of her married friends to help her, especially if they have any common sense, and can act Deus ex machinÂ, without letting anyone know what they have done.

If our young people are ‘desperately in love’ with the wrong man, or the wrong girl, all the better that the love is desperate; it will burn itself out all the quicker; but not if we oppose the match tooth and nail, though at the same time we need not countenance it. We should, under these adverse circumstances, state calmly but boldly the reasons we have for our dislikes; we should simply put all the ‘cons’ we know in plain words, and we should listen to the ‘pros’ equally calmly, and we should never allow a personal dislike to make any difference in the matter; but our reasons should be valid and not of the ‘Doctor Fell’ kind. Then, if the daughter or son is not convinced, say no more, do not oppose it; let the young people see as much as they can of each other; if there are disagreeable relations, make them very welcome to your house; be civil but not affectionate to the man or girl; and finally be, or rather appear to be, absolutely indifferent. Make a fuss, rage and stamp and oppose, and you may at the same time order the trousseau. Act as I advise, and ten chances to one the match will be broken off; but if it is not, and should it turn out well, be the first to thankfully acknowledge it. Should it turn out badly, refrain from the delightful habit of saying, ‘I told you so,’ but instead recall to the offended party all the reasons he or she had for marrying; do not condole, but rather remind him or her of the early days and of the love that once existed, and remind them that marriage, once entered into, must be made the best of. You will do far more good and have far more satisfaction in healing the breach than in proving yourself a true prophet; for if people were more sure than they are now, that being bound they cannot get loose, they would cease to strain against the cords, use would accustom them to them, and finally what was once irksome would be pleasurable. People who have once loved each other can always remember the happy days of their youth; and, remembering them, naturally will long to return to them, or to secure at least in some measure a reflex of them in their middle age.

But, having contemplated this side of the picture, let us look at the far pleasanter one where all goes merry as a marriage bell, and the engagement is all that it should be. Yet before we do this I must just add one other word, and that is that, come what may, no marriage should ever be entered on, on any pretext whatever, unless the consent, if not the approbation, of the parents has been obtained. I have seen several marriages begin like this; I have never seen one that turned out well, or that was absolutely a success, and I do wish my readers to remember that this is a fact, and to therefore refrain from conduct that can have but one result; besides which, how can the children of such marriages turn out, if one has no control over them, should they desire to do likewise? for they have the one unanswerable argument in their possession: ‘You did it; why should not I?’ Then also a man never really respects a woman who throws over every one of her relations for him: he knows he is not worth the sacrifice, and though he may be flattered at first, ultimately he despises the girl who gave up all for him, and never really regards her with the reverence he must give to her who comes to him from her home, from her mother’s hand, knowing that that home is the emptier for her absence, and that a place should always be kept there for her, should she require to return there for any reason whatever. Home should be always home to the married children of the household, just as much as it is to those who remain spinsters and bachelors; and on no account should the doors be closed on them, or should they be allowed to feel that they have become in a measure strangers there, and that their place being filled knows and requires them no more. The trousseau of a girl should be as ample as can be afforded, and should have more under-garments than anything else; dresses alter in fashion so rapidly that it is folly to burden her with too many garments; neither are unmade costumes any use in these days, when no good dressmaker will make up one’s own materials. I should, therefore, give a girl not less than two dozen of every feminine garment, and as many more of each as I could afford. A good trousseau would cost about 200l., and of course as much more as the parents are prepared to spend; it should include a sealskin coat and a long fur cloak; the other outside garments should of course depend upon fashion and time of year, but it is a good plan to have some extra yards of material to all the dresses, particularly if the bride is going away from London to a distant part of the world.

When the engagement is really formed, and the wedding is beginning to be the subject of conversation, one cannot say all the difficulties are over; there are the bridegroom’s family to welcome and be introduced to, and though, of course, if the bridegroom is well known to us this initial difficulty will not have to be encountered in all its worst forms, still very often the engagement alters one’s relationships suddenly, and it requires careful steering then to avoid friction; as a rule the parents on both sides think their children might have done better, and it is generally difficult to prevent this feeling being unduly apparent. Then I do beg for all my girl friends that they may have a pretty wedding; I do not want enormous sums spent on the wedding dress, but I do want the church to be nicely decked, all her friends to be asked who care to come, not because they may possibly give wedding presents—a species of blackmail which has become seriously unpleasant lately to anyone who is not sufficiently strong-minded to refuse to give because they are afraid of being out of the fashion—but because they are really friends, and will bring good luck by their loving prayers and real affection. And I do deprecate for all the hurried ‘quiet weddings’ in a tailor-made frock; a woman should be in white on her festal day, and it should be indeed a festal day if her marriage is entered on in the spirit I have been writing about.

I love a pretty wedding: the bride in her lovely white dress, and her group of bridesmaids; the flower-decked church, the hymns, and the bright faces of the choir boys (I must own I have a great weakness for choir boys, and generally make friends with them all) are all such a bright beginning to a new life; and if the solemn words are spoken by the ‘family priest,’ the man who, may be, married the parents and christened and prepared the bride for confirmation, there remains nothing to be desired, and we can wish the new home God-speed, knowing our wishes will have every chance of being fulfilled.

Afternoon weddings, with the flower-decked tables and the inexpensive refreshments, bring pretty weddings within the reach of everyone nearly; even the erstwhile elaborately decorated cake now bears a wreath of simple and real flowers, instead of the pinchbeck temple that used to be reared on the centre; and all that is required besides is a certain amount of cake, ices, tea and coffee, and a little wine. Here again the expenditure can be regulated by the income; but it need not be an expensive affair unless one specially desires that it may be.

Now, most people are married by banns, and licences are rarely required; this simplifies matters very much. But before the wedding is definitely decided on I should advise the clergyman of the church one is always in the habit of attending being consulted about all the legal forms; he is sure to know all that is necessary, will tell you exactly what you ought to do, what the choir and organist will expect (of course, if the organist be a gentleman, as he often is, and a personal friend, you must give him a present, not money), and what steps you must take about the decorations. But do not hand these over to a shop; be sentimental for once, and let personal friends undertake this duty. I would rather have hideous decorations put up by hands that loved one, on such an occasion, than the most exquisite trophies ever designed by Mrs. Green and put up by those who do not even know the bride and bridegroom by sight.

I do hope every bride may soon have her dot, just like all French and German maidens have; but in any case she must not go penniless upon her wedding tour. Coventry Patmore’s idea in the ‘Angel of the House,’ that his three-days’ bride asked him to pay for the sand-shoes—‘Felix, will you pay?’—as a matter of course, is a mere man’s notion. I am certain she must have hated to do it, and would have given anything for some money of her own: so do not let Paterfamilias forget this, even if he have the conscience to allow his daughter to go penniless into her husband’s house; and let him give his daughter a nice little sum of money, in order that she may not have to ask her husband for a farthing until their return home, when the allowance question should be gone into and settled, thus doing away with the constant jar about money, which is at the bottom of more matrimonial unhappiness than is anything else.

I think I have said all that is to be said on the subject of weddings, and have stated boldly how best to secure the happiness of our children; it is a subject on which I feel very deeply, and when I see girls marry men who cannot by any possibility make good husbands or good fathers, I long to tell them this, but of course no one but their mothers can; and I shall hope that I may influence one or two to do so, and moreover to insist that their children do not marry to perpetuate the disease or the evil tendencies that must wreck innocent lives that have no business ever to exist; for while, if marriage is entered into properly, there can be no failure about it, marriage being the perfection of life, the uniting and joining of the two lives, which, separate, are indeed incomplete, but which, brought together, form an absolute and wonderful whole, a marriage which perpetuates the vices of a drunkard, of an evil temper, of an habitual liar, or the constitution of a consumptive or of a lunatic, is absolutely wicked, and can never be anything but a curse to the wife and mother, whatever it may be to the man himself. A rouÉ has discounted his chances of a happy married life. No woman can reform a rouÉ, and even if she could she should not try, because in her children she will perpetuate the father’s vices, and will make the world worse a thousandfold by those she brings into it, while at the best she may save a soul, though I personally do not believe she could even do this; at all events, it is not right to sacrifice her future and her children’s future in the endeavour, and therefore I hope she may never try.

As I said before, we cannot explain away the mysterious influence of heredity; but as it exists and is inexorable in its consequences, we must acknowledge it, and we must all do our best so to live that we can give our children the noblest inheritance on earth—an unimpaired constitution, and a name unstained by any mean or low vice, a name that may be our proudest possession: aye, even if we saw it first above the window of some suburban shop! Then shall the world become better because we have lived in it and given it hostages also: and so shall we prove what I should like to be always preaching—that marriage is the most blessed state on earth, if it is begun and carried on mutually with esteem, affection, and real consideration, for each other’s welfare.