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The woman who has learned how to minister to a man’s creature comforts has learned much.  And

It has disconcerted many a young wife to discover how important a part of her education this is!  Since

It is certainly sometimes hard to reconcile a suitor’s poetic protestations with a spouse’s prosaic requisitions.

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In the game of life a man may venture many stakes; a woman’s fate is determined by a single throw of the dice.  Thus,

How often it happens that a young and inexperienced maid will look about her, will weigh and consider, will pick and choose, and, when she thinks she has found a man to her purpose, will set her cap at him will attract him, enslave him, bring him to her feet, make him propose, accept him as husband, give him all the sweets of engagement, regard herself and proclaim herself his affianced bride,—­all with most prudential—­it may be, most praise-worthy—­motives.  On a sudden, the man discovers that this was no real attachment, but a fictitious, almost an enforced, one; that the methods (so he thinks) were artificial, the results delusive.  What happens?  The man withdraws—­politely—­gallantly:  t’was a mistake; he is sorry; they are unsuited; he did not know his own mind; he is sorry;—­and so on, and so forth.  They separate.  And, in this concatenation of circumstances, action for breach of promise is out of the question.—­Besides, often enough, the girl, through pride or through sheer chagrin at the indifference of the man, pretends acquiescence.—­What happens to the man?  Nothing.  If his senses were stirred, he himself is heart-whole.  He gave nothing; he merely received.  He proposes again to somebody else; is accepted; marries happily; rears a family.  What happens to the girl?  Everything.  The man gave her nothing; she gave all—­her lips, her looks, the recesses of her heart; the premonitions of the gift of her self; for, when she leant on him, looked up to him, clung to him, felt his strong encircling arms, was perturbed by his ardor, she gave that which was not to give again.  Such woman is to be pitied.  For, however much she may strive to make it appear that she gave nothing, that she had all to give again, not even her own soul will bear her witness, and sooner, or later, a subsequent lover (and such girl accepts the first lover that offers) will find a void where he hoped to find an inexhaustible treasure.  For the woman cannot forever keep up a fictitious affection; and languid looks, and eyes that will not brighten, and smiles which are so evidently forced, bespeak her sympathies elsewhere.—­But, as Heine said, this is an old story often repeated. (1) Wherefore

Let us pity women!  The dice they throw are their hearts—­and they have only one throw:—­when they have thrown away their hearts—­Pity women!

Men have so many dice to throw:  income, status, title; virility, fortune, fame; good spirits, good connections, good looks; an air, a figure, a soul-stirring voice; manners, breeding, force; a good name, a good bank account.  The pity o’ it is that