when you have seen the outside of a few hundred thousand of these homes and the insides of a few score,you begin to understand why the american (the respectable one)does not take a deep interest in what they call "politics,"and why he is so vaguely and generally proud of the country that enables him to be so comfortable.how can the owner of a dainty chalet,with smoked-oak furniture,imitation venetian tapestry curtains,hot and cold water laid on,a bed of geraniums and hollyhocks,a baby crawling down the veranda,and a self-acting twirly-whirly hose gently hissing over the grass in the balmy dusk of an august evening--how can such a man despair of the republic,or descend into the streets on voting days and mix cheerfully with "the boys"?
no,it is the stranger--the homeless jackal of a stranger--whose interest in the country is limited to his hotel-bill and a railway-ticket,that can run from dan to beersheba,crying:--"all is barren!"every good american wants a home--a pretty house and a little piece of land of his very own;and every other good american seems to get it.
it was when my gigantic intellect was grappling with this question that i confirmed a discovery half made in the west.the natives of most classes marry young--absurdly young.one of my informants--not the twenty-two-year-old husband i met on lake chautauqua--said that from twenty to twenty-four was about the usual time for this folly.and when i asked whether the practice was confined to the constitutionally improvident classes,he said "no"very quickly.he said it was a general custom,and nobody saw anything wrong with it.
"i guess,perhaps,very early marriage may account for a good deal of the divorce,"said he,reflectively.