Part 35

One mother objected to her son's choice before marriage, and tried vainly to convince him that he had made a mistake. But after his marriage she took the girl into her heart, made her a companion and friend, and when the son began to discover her glaring faults, she told him to be patient and wait, and that all would be well. Instead of saying, "I told you so," she said, "Your wife is young, and has had no wise hand to guide her. You married her for love, and if you exercise the love-spirit, and are patient and self-controlled in your treatment of her, she will overcome these faults which annoy you."

And day by day she called his attention to the pleasing qualities the girl possessed, and by praise, tact, love, and sympathy bridged over the threatened chasm.

The couple live happily together to-day, thanks to the mother-in-law. Oh, that there were more such mothers of sons!

Be as patient and sweet as you can, dear Ruth, toward Mrs. Duncan; think how difficult the situation is for your husband, and say or do nothing to make it harder for him. But allow Mrs. Duncan to live by herself, and, if need be, bear many privations cheerfully that she may do so, and that you may have your own home in peace. Every wife is entitled to that, and if she has made every possible effort which love and tact can make to cast the seven devils of jealousy out of her mother-in-law, and they still remain, it is for the general welfare that two separate households exist.

When a son has done all he can in reason to make his mother happy, save to turn against the wife he has promised to cherish, he is a cad and a weakling if he does the latter. He must learn that it is a larger duty to be a just man than to be an obedient son.

I am sure Mr. Duncan will have the character and judgment to do what is right in this matter.

To a Young Man

Ambitious for Literary Honours

Your achievements in college, where you distinguished yourself in rhetoric and literature, would justify you in thinking seriously of a career as an author.

And the fact that your father wishes you to take charge of his brokerage business, and to relinquish your literary aspirations, should not deter you from carrying out your ambitions.

Prom your mother you inherit a mind and temperament which wholly unfit you for the pursuits your father follows and enjoys. You are no more suited to make a successful broker than he is fitted to write an Iliad.

Try and make him understand this, and try and convince him that to yield to his wishes in this matter, means the sacrifice of your tastes, the waste of your talents, and the destruction of your happiness.

If he cannot be convinced by your consistent and respectful arguments, then you must quietly, but firmly, refuse to accept a career distasteful to you.

No parent has a right to drive a child into so undesirable a path for life as this would prove to one of your nature.

Your father would think the horticulturist insane, who took a delicate fern and planted it in arid soil, on a hilltop, far from shade, and expected it to thrive and bear blossoms like the cactus.

Yet this would be no more unreasonable, than to expect a son of your temperament and inclinations to be happy and successful in Wall Street.

It is a curious study to watch parents, and to observe their utter lack of knowledge regarding a child's nature and capabilities; and to find them not only ignorant in those important matters, but unwilling to be enlightened.

You say it makes your father angry to have any one refer to your literary talents.

I remember when your father bred race-horses, and how proud he was that a two-year-old colt showed traits and points noticeably like its high-priced dam.

He chose for your mother, a woman of rare mind, and of poetic taste, and why should he not be proud and glad that his son resembles her? When will fathers learn that sons are more frequently like their mothers, and daughters like their fathers, than otherwise?

The temporary dissatisfaction of your father is not so sad to contemplate as your own lifelong disappointment if you accede to his wishes in this matter.

Each individual has a right to choose his own career in life, so long as that career is respectable and bodes no evil to humanity.

If, as your father threatens, he refuses to give you support while you are exploring the field of literature, you should feel grateful to him for this unintentional incentive to success.

I do not agree with those who consider the necessity to earn money a misfortune to genius.

I believe the greatest works of art given to the world have been brought to light through necessity.

The artistic temperament is almost invariably combined with a propensity to dream, and to float upon the clouds of imagination.

The ranks of wealth and comfort are full of talented and accomplished people who "never are, but always to be" great.

One great man in a score may have been reared in affluence, but I doubt if the statistics would show so large a percentage.