it is a family matter, indeed a family duty and not a romantic pursuit.  At one time, very long ago, in Europe, marriages were arranged in much the same way.  But nowadays it may be said in general that no young man in England or America can even imagine whom he will marry.  He has to find his wife for himself; and he has nobody to help him; and if he makes a mistake, so much the worse for him.  So to Western imagination the wife of the future is a mystery, a romance, an anxiety—­something to dream about and to write poetry about.

This little book that I hold in my hand is now very rare.  It is out of print, but it is worth mentioning to you because it is the composition of an exquisite man of letters, Frederick Locker-Lampson, best of all nineteenth century writers of society verse.  It is called “Patchwork.”  Many years ago the author kept a kind of journal in which he wrote down or copied all the most beautiful or most curious things which he had heard or which he had found in books.  Only the best things remained, so the value of the book is his taste in selection.  Whatever Locker-Lampson pronounced good, the world now knows to have been exactly what he pronounced, for his taste was very fine.  And in this book I find a little poem quoted from Mr. Edwin Arnold, now Sir Edwin.  Sir Edwin Arnold is now old and blind, and he has not been thought of kindly enough in Japan, because his work has not been sufficiently known.  Some people have even said his writings did harm to Japan, but I want to assure you that such statements are stupid lies.  On the contrary, he did for Japan whatever good the best of his talent as a poet and the best of his influence as a great journalist could enable him to do.  But to come back to our subject:  when Sir Edwin was a young student he had his dreams about marriage like other young English students, and he put one of them into verse, and that verse was at once picked out by Frederick Locker-Lampson for his little book of gems.  Half a century has passed since then; but Locker-Lampson’s judgment remains good, and I am going to put this little poem first because it so well illustrates the subject of the lecture.  It is entitled “A Ma Future.”

  Where waitest thou,
    Lady, I am to love?  Thou comest not,
    Thou knowest of my sad and lonely lot—­
  I looked for thee ere now!

  It is the May,
    And each sweet sister soul hath found its brother,
    Only we two seek fondly each the other,
  And seeking still delay.

  Where art thou, sweet? 
    I long for thee as thirsty lips for streams,
    O gentle promised angel of my dreams,
  Why do we never meet?

  Thou art as I,
    Thy soul doth wait for mine as mine for thee;
    We cannot live apart, must meeting be
  Never before we die?

  Dear Soul, not so,
    For time doth keep for us some happy years,
    And God hath portioned us our smiles and tears,
  Thou knowest, and I know.