My Wife and I; Or, Harry Henderson's HistoryStowe, Harriet Beecher
General
My Wife and I; Or, Harry Henderson's History
Stowe, Harriet Beecher
American fiction -- 19th century; Courtship -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Romance fiction
"Oh, tut! tut! you must go through your fooleries. These are the
regular diseases, the chicken-pox, measles, and mumps of young manhood;
you'll have them all. We only pray that you may have them light, and not
break your constitution for all your life through, by them. For
instance, you'll fall in love with some baby-faced young thing, with
pink cheeks and long eyelashes, and goodness only knows what
abominations of sonnets you'll be guilty of. That isn't fatal, however.
Only don't get engaged. Take it as the chicken-pox--keep your pores
open, and don't get cold, and it'll pass off and leave you none the
worse."
"And she!" said I, indignantly. "You talk as if it was no matter what
became of her--"
"What, the baby? Oh, she'll outgrow it, too. The fact is, soberly and
seriously, Harry, marriage is the thing that makes or mars a man; it's
the gate through which he goes up or down, and you shouldn't pledge
yourself to it till you come to your full senses. Look at your mother,
boy; see what a woman may be; see what she was to your father, what she
is to me, to you, to every one that knows her. Such a woman, to speak
reverently, is a pearl of great price; a man might well sell all he had
to buy her. But it isn't that kind of woman that flirts with college
boys. You don't pick up such pearls every day."
Of course I declared that nothing was further from my thoughts than
anything of that nature.
"The fact is, Harry, you can't afford fooleries," said my uncle. "You
have your own way to make, and nothing to make it with but your own head
and hands, and you must begin now to count the cost of everything. You
have a healthy, sound body; see that you take care of it. God gives you
a body but once. He don't take care of it for you, and whatever of it
you lose, you lose for good. Many a chap goes into college fresh as you
are, and comes out with weak eyes and crooked back, yellow complexion
and dyspeptic stomach. He has only himself to thank for it. When you get
to college they'll want you to smoke, and you'll want to, just for
idleness and good fellowship. Now, before you begin, just calculate
what it'll cost you. You can't get a good cigar under ten cents, and
your smoker wants three a day, at the least. There go thirty cents a
day, two dollars and ten cents a week, or a hundred and nine dollars and
twenty cents a year. Take the next ten years at that rate, and you can
invest over a thousand dollars in tobacco smoke. That thousand dollars,
invested in a savings bank, would give a permanent income of sixty
dollars a year,--a handy thing, as you'll find, just as you are
beginning life. Now, I know you think all this is prosy; You are
amazingly given to figures of rhetoric, but, after all, you've got to
get on in a world where things go by the rules of arithmetic."
"Well, uncle," I said, a little nettled, "I pledge you my word that I
won't smoke or drink. I never have done either, and I don't know why I
should."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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