Poverty is inimical to felicity; but marriage penury, worst of woes, is inevitably calamitous. Pecuniary difficulties long protracted the union of Miss Mulso with Mr. Chapone, who at last died in embarrassing circumstances. Much may be borne; but to court long, wait for wealth, wed late, and fare ill, seem more than the griefs to which flesh is heir. In her advice to a beloved niece, and in the letter to a new-married lady, there are passages perhaps referable to the fate of Mrs. Chapone. 'Young women,' she observes, '_know so little_ of the world, especially _of the other sex_, and _such pains are usually taken to deceive them_, that they are every way unqualified to choose for themselves, &c. Many a heart-ache shall _I_ feel for _you_, my sweet girl, if I live a few years longer[7]!' Equally impressive is her delineation of matrimonial bickerings. 'Whatever may be said of the _quarrels of lovers_, (believe _me_!) _those of married people have always dreadful consequences_, especially if they are not very short and very slight. If _they_ are suffered to _produce bitter or contemptuous expressions_, or betray _habitual dislike_ in one party _of any thing in the person or mind_ of the other, _such wounds can scarcely ever be thoroughly healed_: and though regard to principle and character lays the married couple under a necessity to make up the breach as well as they can, yet is their affiance in each other's affection so rudely shaken in such conflicts, that it can hardly ever be perfectly fixed again. _The painful recollection of what is passed, will often intrude upon the tenderest hours_; and every trifle will awaken and renew it. You must, _even now_, (it is to a lady _newly married_ that Mrs. C. is addressing herself) be particularly on your guard against _this_ source of misery.'