Verily, verily, men are of three varieties: the kind that must be driven with whip and spur; the kind that must be coaxed with apples and sugar; and the kind that must be blindfolded and backed into the shafts of matrimony.

And the woman-hater is like unto the last.

Therefore, I charge thee, when thou meetest one of these seek not to argue with him, neither to convince him; but agree with him sweetly, that all thy sex is weak and untrustworthy.

Discourse sorrowfully upon the pitfalls of flirtation, and the hollowness of love, and the horrors of matrimony.

Declare boldly thy scorn for the New Woman, and for the Old Woman, and for the Frivolous Woman, and for the Highbrow, and for the Lowbrow, and all the women that are on the earth and in the heavens above the earth.

And when thou hast disarmed him, taking all his arguments from out his mouth, speak sweetly concerning the beauties of platonic friendship and wax rapturous in its praises.

Bring the cushion for his head, and the footstool for his feet, and feed him from the chafing dish with the fruits of thine own cooking, saying:

“I prithee, do smoke, for it is so chummy! Yea, I beg of thee, treat me as thou wouldst a man friend.”

Let him hold thy hand.

And he shall say in his heart:

“Would to heaven I were not a Woman Hater, and that all women were like unto her; for she is sensible and sincere– and a bachelor flat was never like this!”

And upon the seventh evening he shall fall down before thee and retract all his words, eating them one by one.

And when thou remindest him of thy warnings and of thy fear of marriage, he will seek to persuade thee and will comfort thee with kisses and a solitaire.

Then shalt thou slip the bridle over his head and the reins shall be in thine hands. And there shall be one less Woman Hater in the world.

For a Woman Hater, my Beloved, is like unto the simple ostrich, which hideth its head in the sand and thinketh itself safe.

But he that professeth open adoration is like unto the park squirrel, which will eat out of thine hand but can never be caught!

CHAPTER SIX

My Daughter, a woman is a study in moods and tenses, but man is a simple proposition which worketh according to a “system”.

Behold, how the two regard a letter. For when a woman writeth she spelleth her soul out on paper; but a man putteth all his tender meanings between the lines. Yea, a woman’s letter is a confession, but a man’s letter is a veiled allusion which concealeth his thoughts. Verily, it is a work of art.

Yet, when a woman receiveth it, she readeth it over many times, and placeth it within her shirtwaist by day, and under her pillow by night. For she knoweth that, with temptations like unto telephones and post-cards within reach, a hand-written letter is a sign of devotion.

But, when a man receiveth a woman’s letter, he droppeth it in his pocket. Nay, not in the pocket above his heart, but in that pocket which containeth the fewest bills and receipts and lead pencils and other valuable things.

He carryeth it there faithfully – until he changeth his coat.

He layeth it away in an unused drawer amongst other trash.

He forgetteth it.

And, when years shall have passed, he findeth it and taketh it out curiously.

He regardeth it with astonishment.

He wrinkleth his brows with his great effort at recollection, saying: “Now who the dickens wrote this thing? Yea, who is ‘Mabel’?”

He giveth it up.

And lo! he proceedeth to make pipe-lighters of thine heart-to-heart effusion.

Behold thy letter, like unto his love, goeth up in smoke!

SELAH!

BOOK OF DAMSELS

CHAPTER ONE

Give ear, my Daughter, and receive my wisdom, for the husband-hunt leadeth over many hurdles and the trail of the Eligible Thing aboundeth in pitfalls.

Lo, the woods are full of men, but men are full of strange suspicions; and in elusiveness the fox is simple beside them.

I charge thee, seek not to be a fashion-plate; for a human “shriek” giveth warning and affrighteth the game. Verily a becoming frock of home manufacture is more to be desired than a French creation which maketh thee to resemble a bad dream!

Costly thy smile as thy dentist shall make it; for a pearl in the mouth exceedeth two on the finger. And it is better to be dead than unkissable.

Cheap thy gloves, if need be, but expensive thy sachet; for a man knoweth not scent from sentiment.

Few thy rings, but many thy bangles; for a musical jingle fascinateth him even as the sound of a rattle fascinateth a babe. Yea, manicured nails and perfectly clean cuffs are more to be desired in the world of business than a knowledge of stenography. Modest thy hats, yet chic withal; and thy hair glorious. For a cheap coiffure is an abomination, but a made-to-order switch is a woman’s “crown of beauty”.

Look not upon the rouge-pot when it is too red, but delicate thy blushes and thy complexion put on with a fine brush and self-restraint.

Plain thy coat, but frilly thy petticoat and of all silk; for a feminine “swish” is as poetry unto the masculine ear.

Then, I say unto thee, waste not thy substance upon style. For a man knoweth not last year’s left-over from this year’s fad, but he knoweth a “vision” when he seeth her.

Verily, a wise virgin hideth her light under a bushel of simplicity, but a foolish damsel goeth forth resembling a human snare. She painteth her cheek as with house paint, and gildeth her hair with much gold. She adorneth herself with feathers and weareth dangling ear-rings. And at sight of her men fly on wings of fear.

CHAPTER TWO

Hear now, the Prayer of a Damsel of Babylon, which she chanteth in her heart:

Angels and Ministers of Grace, oh, hear me! Bestow upon me, I pray thee:

The smile of a seraph.

The voice of a dove.

The silence of the Sphinx.

The eyes of an houri.

The blindness of a bat.

The figure of a cloak model.

The wisdom of Solomon.

The ways of a kitten.

The conscience of a cat.

The self-control of a tin soldier.

The pliability of a sofa cushion.

The capriciousness of an automobile.

The sensitiveness of a suet pudding.

The intelligence of a pet clam.

The sweetness of a cream puff.

The ambition of a potato.

The meekness of a door-mat.

The opinions of an echo.

The fascinations of a chorus girl.

The patience of Griselda.

The mystery of the Catacombs.

The faith of a poodle.

And the endurance of Atlas.

These things I ask in order that I may be all things unto one man!

CHAPTER THREE

How little, O, my Daughter, how exceeding little shall satisfy the heart of a woman!

For a man’s love is like unto an orchid, which requireth tender persuasion and constant cultivation. But a woman’s love is like unto an air plant, which flourisheth continually upon imagination.

Now, I knew a damsel of Babylon, and she was exceeding fair, having dove’s eyes, and curling locks, and much moneys, and a motor car.

Wherefore the youths of the land flocked unto her house, and her parlor was always full, and her piazza running over.

And one of these was a medal-winner, called Clod, who possessed a football figure and a Gibson profile. But the least among them all was Wisenheimer, who was abbreviated and whose hair was thin upon the top.

And Clod come unto the damsel, bringing his medals and his loving cups and divers trophies. And when he had shown them all and had told her of his deeds of prowess, he sat afar off in a corner and conversed of generalities and of himself.

For he said in his heart, “When she hath seen what great works I am destined to accomplish, then will she gladly share them with me and shine in my reflected glory.”

But Wisenheimer concentrated all his conversation upon one topic, saying:

“How marvellous are thine eyes to-night, O Star of Beauty! And thy lips have a curve like unto the smile of Mona Lisa. Thy hair is of a wonderful softness; and what is that fascinating perfume thou usest? Lo, many damsels have I known, but thou excellest them all; for thou art as Maxine Elliot and Lillian Russell and the Venus de Milo in one!”

And the damsel was interested, and she said:

“Go on!”

Then Wisenheimer cast himself before her crying: “Lo, what am I, a worm and a parasite, that I should aspire to thy love?

“Behold, I am a sinner and full of evil, yet I need the love of a noble woman to save me! I am as nothing, and have accomplished nothing, yet I yearn for the inspiration of an angel to guide me and sustain me and spur me on to higher things!”

And lo, the maiden fell upon his neck and comforted him with kisses and with promises. And the wedding was set for October.

Yet all her friends said:

“What doth she see in him!”

But I say unto thee, the maiden was wise. For verily, verily, in the comedy of matrimony there is more joy in being a star than in being an understudy!