n and women who do not
marry. Worldly fathers and mothers advise not to marry till they can
afford to keep a wife, and the boys spend on a harlot more in six months
than would keep a wife six years. Hence it is, all wise men (like old
Franklin) advocate early marriages; and that all our great men, with rare
exceptions, have been men who married young. Wordsworth had only 100
pounds a year when he first married. Lord Eldon was so poor that he had
to go to Clare-market to buy sprats for supper. Coleridge and Southey I
can't find had any income at all when they got married. I question at
any time whether Luther had more than fifty pounds a year. Our
successful men in trade and commerce marry young, like George Stephenson,
and the wife helps him up in the world in more ways than one. Dr.
Smiles, in his little book on Self-Help, gives us the following anecdote
respecting J. Flaxman and his wife--"Ann Denham was the name of his
wife--and a cheery, bright-souled, noble woman she was. He believed that
in marrying her he should be able to work with an intenser spirit; for,
like him, she had a taste for poetry and art! and, besides, was an
enthusiastic admirer of her husband's genius. Yet when Sir Joshua
Reynolds--himself a bachelor--met Flaxman shortly after his marriage, he
said to him, 'So, Flaxman, I am told you are married; if so, sir, I tell
you, you are ruined for an artist.' Flaxman went straight home, sat down
beside his wife, took her hand in his, and said, 'Ann, I am ruined for an
artist.' 'How so, John? How has it happened? And who has done it?'
'It happened,' he replied, 'in the church; and Ann Denham has done it.'
He then told her of Sir Joshua's remark--whose opinion was well known,
and has been often expressed, that if students would excel they must
bring the whole powers of their mind to bear upon their art from the
moment they rise until they go to bed; and also, that no man could be a
great artist, unless he studied the grand works of Raffaelle, Michael
Angelo, and others, at Rome and Florence. 'And I,' said Flaxman, drawing
up his little figure to its full height, 'I would be a great artist.'
'And a great artist you shall be,' said his wife, 'and visit Rome, too,
if that be really necessary to make you great.' 'But how?' asked
Flaxman. 'Work and economise,' rejoined his brave wife: 'I will never
have it said that Ann Denham ruined John Flaxman for an artist.' And so
it was determined by the pai