Why did this imperial, overbearing, all-powerful man love to stay in retirement when all Europe was waiting for his word?  Why did he spend days in sauntering in country lanes, and chatting during quiet evenings with one loved friend alone?  That question goes to the root of my subject.  Chatham was happily married; when he was torn by bitter rage and disappointment, when his sovereign repulsed him, and when not even the passionate love of an entire nation availed to further the ends on which the Titan had set his heart, he carried his sorrow with him, and drew comfort from the goodness of the sweet soul who was his true mate.  It is a very sweet picture; and we see in history how the softening home influence finally converted the, awful, imposing, tyrannical Chatham into a yielding, fascinating man.

From the world’s arbiter to the bricklayer’s labourer, the same general law holds; the man who makes a happy marriage lives out his life at its best—­he may fail in some things, but in the essential direction he is successful.  The woman who makes a happy marriage may have trials and suffering to bear, but she also gains the best of life; and some of the purest and most joyous creatures I have known were women who had suffered in their day.  When I think of some marriages whereof I know the full history, I am tempted to believe in human perfectibility; and at chance times there come to me vague dreams of a day when the majority of human beings will find life joyous and tranquil.  What one wise and well-matched couple achieve in life may be achieved by others as the days go on.  Surely jarring and misery are not necessary in the great world of nations or in the little world of the family?  Confidence, generosity, and complete unselfishness on both sides are needed to make the life of a married pair serene and happy.  I know that the demand is a heavy one; but, ah, when it is adequately met, is not the gain worth all the sacrifices a thousand times over?  There may be petty and amusing differences of opinion, quiet banter, and an occasional grave conflict of judgment; but, so long as three central requirements—­confidence, generosity, and unselfishness—­are met, there can be no serious break in the procession of placid, happy days.  I abhor the gushing talk sometimes heard about “married lovers;” the people who dignify life and honour the community are those who are lovers and something more.  Of course we can all feel sympathy with Fanny Kemble when she says that the poetry of “Romeo and Juliet” went into her blood as she spoke on the stage; but there is something needed beyond wild Italian raptures before the ideal match is secured.  Some of us are almost glad that Juliet passed away in swift fashion when the cup of life foamed most exquisitely at her lips.  How would she have fared had that changeable firebrand Romeo taken to wandering once more?  It is a grievously flippant question to ask when the most glorious of all love-poems is in question; yet