ten for us picturing a world where
school fees are never demanded and babies never howl o' nights. Societies
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Parents will arise. Little girls who
get their hair entangled and mislay all their clothes just before they
are starting for the party--little boys who kick holes in their best
shoes will be spanked at the public expense.

CHAPTER XVIII

Marriage and the Joke of it.

Marriages are made in heaven--"but solely," it has been added by a
cynical writer, "for export." There is nothing more remarkable in human
sociology than our attitude towards the institution of marriage. So it
came home to me the other evening as I sat on a cane chair in the ill-
lighted schoolroom of a small country town. The occasion was a Penny
Reading. We had listened to the usual overture from _Zampa_, played by
the lady professor and the eldest daughter of the brewer; to "Phil
Blood's Leap," recited by the curate; to the violin solo by the pretty
widow about whom gossip is whispered--one hopes it is not true. Then a
pale-faced gentleman, with a drooping black moustache, walked on to the
platform. It was the local tenor. He sang to us a song of love.
Misunderstandings had arisen; bitter words, regretted as soon as uttered,
had pierced the all too sensitive spirit. Parting had followed. The
broken-hearted one had died believing his affection unrequited. But the
angels had since told him; he knew she loved him now--the accent on the
now.

I glanced around me. We were the usual crowd of mixed humanity--tinkers,
tailors, soldiers, sailors, with our cousins, and our sisters, and our
wives. So many of our eyes were wet with tears. Miss Butcher could
hardly repress her sobs. Young Mr. Tinker, his face hidden behind his
programme, pretended to be blowing his nose. Mrs. Apothecary's large
bosom heaved with heartfelt sighs. The retired Colonel sniffed audibly.
Sadness rested on our souls. It might have been so different but for
those foolish, hasty words! There need have been no funeral. Instead,
the church might have been decked with bridal flowers. How sweet she
would have looked beneath her orange wreath! How proudly, gladly, he
might have responded "I will," take her for his wedded wife, to have and
to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for
poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death did
them part. And thereto he might have plight