_Don’t marry a woman for her money._ These people are tenacious to a minute degree. They long to remind you of my house, my property, my farm, my lots on Lincoln Avenue, my furniture, my bank account, and the like--making one a pensioner all his life for his board and clothing. If there is any difference, it should be with the man. He is expected to control property. He is the master of his house, or the manager of his expenses. Very naturally he says “my” store or “my” lots, but it will sound far more fair and considerate even if he says “our” in lieu of “my” sometimes. The only fair way to act about it is to treat marriage as a partnership where nobody owns all, but each has an equal interest. It is fair to divide a good portion of one’s property with his wife, fair to deed her a nice homestead and present her a given allowance--liberal as one’s income will warrant--and let her draw from it as her own, and not be a beggar each time she needs money. _Don’t elope to marry._ It is a weak affection that cannot wait awhile. Jacob served seven years, then seven more, for Rebecca. She was a fine specimen of womanhood--as represented in paintings; housekeeping was easy and inexpensive then, but they patiently waited and were handsomely rewarded. Ruth was an excellent example of girlhood. In no great hurry to marry, taking the hardships of travel, her devotion to her mother touched the heart of a king, and she won a splendid prize for her patience. She might have eloped with a stage-driver or a coachman, and ended her life with many less historical-society notices. _Don’t dally about proposing._ What is it to ask a fine girl to marry you? The simplest, easiest thing on earth, if you “strike while the iron is hot.” Go about it sensibly. To begin with, you never expect much encouragement from a discreet maiden; she is in the background; her promise is to be invited; she is not her own spokeswoman. Think of the embarrassment. I venture to say, if you like her, that you will say so. Often you may have told her how fine her eyes are, or how well you like her singing, or talking, and her company; but when you ask a simple question, you get down on your knees (they do in novels, not in reality) and beg for it. Nonsense! Such a girl is unworthy. Begging is a silly fashion, seldom now indulged in, all out of date, and no longer tolerated outside of novels and theatres. Use a little sense about it. Find out first if you have the right one, then settle the matter in one of five ways: First, in the parlor (don’t propose in church, or at a donation, or in a crowd, or on a street-car, or while the horse is prancing), get up your resolution at the right moment and say: “Do we understand each other, Clemantha?” Then, if she doesn’t, explain it to her in a sensible fashion, and in little short words that cannot be mistaken; give her time, if necessary.