HOW TO BE HAPPY THOUGH MARRIED
'To dwell happily together they should be versed in the niceties of
the heart and born with a faculty for willing compromise.'
'Goodness in marriage is a more intricate problem than mere single
virtue, for in marriage there are two ideals to be realised.'
--R. L. STEVENSON.
I
A FEW SUGGESTIONS FOR REFORM
Within the last twenty-five years the worst injustices of our marriage
laws have been rectified, and compared with them the remaining
grievances appear relatively mild. It is scarcely credible in these days
of advanced women that only a few years ago a husband could take
possession of his wife's property and spend it as he liked, or, what is
still more monstrous, could appoint a stranger as sole guardian to his
children after his death, entirely ignoring the natural rights of the
mother.
The most serious injustice remaining is that the relief of divorce is
more accessible to men than to women. This obviously is a law made by
men for their own advantage, but its existence is a blot on the fair
fame of English justice, and also of English morality, that a husband's
infidelity should be so lightly regarded. Let us hope the day is not far
off when the conditions of divorce will be exactly the same for both
parties.
The opinion is almost universally held nowadays that a dissolution of
marriage should be obtainable if either party be a confirmed drunkard,
or a lunatic, or be sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. How
degrading it is to the best instincts of our sex that a woman can get a
decree of nullity of marriage by proving certain physical disabilities
on the part of the husband, which in no way affect her happiness,
health, or self-respect, yet can only obtain the partial relief of
separation if her husband be a drunkard, an adulterer, and a
criminal--so long as she cannot additionally prove cruelty or desertion!
It is also an injustice that divorce should be so expensive that only
people with money or the very poor (by means of proceedings _in forma
pauperis_) can afford it.
* * *
Perhaps the most necessary reform of all is that the marriage of the
mentally and physically unfit be legally prevented, or rather that they
should be prevented from having children, which is all that really
matters. It would be perfectly feasible to ensure the sterilisation of
the unfit, though a law to this effect would require the most delicate
handling, and one can hardly imagine a parliament of men blundering
through it with any degree of success. Perhaps it may come to pass in
the day when we have the ideal Government that represents both sexes and
all classes. A health certificate signed by doctors in the service of
the State should certainly be compulsory before any marriage could be
ratified. When cancer, tubercle, insanity, and all the attendant ills of
alcoholism and of riotous living have infected every family in the land,
our far-seeing lawgivers may begin to realise the necessity for some
restriction of this kind. At present, the liberty of the subject is
preserved at too heavy a cost to the race.
Another much-needed reform is that children born out of wedlock should
be legitimised by subsequent marriage of the parents, as in many other
countries. This would hurt no one, could not possibly encourage vice,
and would enable many grievous wrongs to be righted. The present
regulation is unreasonable in the extreme.
England is almost the only European country where no attempt is made to
provide a dowry for the daughters, except among the wealthy classes.
Quite well-to-do Englishmen think it unnecessary to give their daughters
anything during their lifetime, though they are willing to seriously
inconvenience themselves to start their sons well in life. English
fathers give everything to their sons; in many of the Continental
countries the daughters are rightly considered first, and among all
classes, rich and poor alike, the parents strive to provide some kind of
a dowry for them, beginning to save from the day of the child's birth.
I feel sure that if _dots_ for daughters became the custom in this
country an enormous impetus would be given to marriage, and much trouble
between husband and wife would be avoided if the woman had some means of
her own, however small. It is surely most humiliating and unpleasant for
a well-bred woman to be dependent on her husband for every omnibus fare
and packet of hairpins!
English people, however, are apt to pride themselves on their faults,
and are moreover so incurably sentimental that they take credit to
themselves for being the exception in this respect to other countries,
and boast that there is no inducement but love for them to marry. In the
same absurd and improvident spirit is the customary disinclination to
ask for settlements on our daughters. Only of very rich men is this
expected, whereas it is but right that every man should make a
settlement on his wife, if only of the furniture and the policy of life
insurance.
A chapter on marriage reforms would not be complete without some
reference to our barbarous marriage service. Is it any good complaining
about it, though? Ever since I learnt to read I have been reading
attacks on it; apparently no one has a good word to say for it, not even
clergymen, yet still it remains in use, unamended, just as it was
written in the days of James I. If ever a man-made religious formula
required revising to suit the progress of ideas it is this one. How can
the Church expect us to regard marriage as a sacrament when its
conditions are expressed in such coarse language and from so false a
standpoint. Is it not false to glorify by inference those persons who
have 'the gift of continency,' a 'gift' which, if common to the
majority, would soon result in the extinction of the human race? This
special clause is a horrible insult to a pure-minded, innocent bride,
and is wholly unnecessary. Surely if no other improvement is made, this
opening explanation of the 'causes' for which marriage was ordained
might well be omitted, if only for the fact that it places last the
principal reason for marrying--_i.e._ 'for the mutual society, help and
comfort.' The Church of England might well take a lesson from the
Quakers or from the New Jerusalem Church, a religious community founded
on the writings of that great mystic, Emanuel Swedenborg. In the case of
the Society of Friends, the procedure is simple in the extreme. After a
time spent in silent prayer, the parties stand and, holding hands, say
solemnly in turn: 'Friends, I take this my friend, A. B., to be my
_wife_, promising, through divine assistance, to be unto _her_ a loving
and faithful _husband_, until it shall please the Lord by death to
separate us.' The New Church formula is longer, but equally beautiful
and free from objectionable matter.
II
SOME PRACTICAL ADVICE TO HUSBANDS AND WIVES
'One doesn't want a lot of fine sentiments in married life--they
don't work.' --W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM.
The most valuable piece of advice it is possible to give a couple
starting on the 'long and straight and dusty road' of matrimony is:
'Blessed are they who expect little.' The next best is 'Strive to
realise your ideal, but accept defeat philosophically.' It is difficult
to live happily with a person who has a very high ideal of us; somehow
it creates in us an unholy longing to do our worst. Miranda often says
to me: 'The reason Lysander and I are so perfectly happy is because we
never mind showing our worst side to each other, we never feel we need
pretend to be better than we are.' Mark this, Bride and Bridegroom;
remember a pedestal is a very uncomfortable place to settle on, and
don't assign this uncomfortable elevation to your life's partner. More
marriages have been ruined by one expecting too much of the other than
by any vice or failing.
On the other hand, at the risk of being tedious, I must repeat that the
most essential thing in Marriage is respect. It is above love, above
compatibility, above even the priceless sense of humour. Respect will
hold the tottering edifice of matrimony together when passion is dead
and even love has faded. Respect will make even the 'appalling intimacy'
endurable, and will bring one through the most trying disagreements,
with no bruise on the soul, whatever wounds there may be in the heart.
Therefore, Bride and Bridegroom, cultivate respect between you at all
costs and, men and women, never _never_ marry anyone you don't really
respect, however passionately you may love. I believe one can be fairly
happy in marriage without love, once the ardours and madness of extreme
youth have passed. Without respect one can never be anything but
wretched.
* * *
'There is always one who loves and one who is beloved.' If you find you
are the one who loves, remember--_it is the better part_, especially for
a woman. Don't weary your companion with constant claims, with scenes
and reproaches, tears and prayers, it will serve you no purpose, and
probably only alienate the beloved from you. And, while on the subject
of tears, let me urgently warn all wives against giving way to this
natural feminine weakness. The sensible, hard-headed, athletic girls of
to-day as a rule scorn to do so; but after marriage occasions for
weeping occur that these self-reliant young spinsters never dream of.
But the old idea that tears prevailed against a man, and served to
soften the harder male heart, is entirely exploded; and, if women only
realised it, tears distil a poison that acts as a fateful irritant to
love and often causes its death. Just at first, when he is quite young
and in the height of his ardour, tears may influence a man, but not for
long, and very seldom after marriage. They frequently gain their end,
however, as exceptionally tender-hearted men often so dread tears that
they immediately concede the point at issue on the appearance of this
danger-signal. But their irritation is none the less, and they often end
in disliking the woman who has traded on their gentleness, and taken
what they consider is an unfair advantage of them. The wife who weeps
perpetually, whenever things go wrong, does not command anyone's respect
or sympathy, and generally drives her husband to seek the society of
other women. Men detest a sad face in their home--other than their own,
that is. If they are ever miserable, they feel entitled to let
themselves go, but their wives must not, or when they do, it must
certainly not take the form of tears. The brilliant anonymous author of
_The Truth about Man_ advises women to remember that men 'must never be
contradicted, reproached, or censured.' To this I would add emphatically
that he must never on any account be cried at.
* * *
Is it necessary to advocate the cultivation of the most perfect courtesy
between you? Not at first possibly, but it certainly will be. The time
may even come when Perseus may raise his voice and roar out his
disapproval of Persephone. A certain type of man always shouts when
annoyed, not at his friends or clients of course; merely to his clerks
and his servants and his wife and the people who are afraid of him. This
was a nasty habit of our grandfathers--modern wives are hardly meek
enough to stand much of it. However, if Perseus by some freak of atavism
ever should so far forget himself in this way, Persephone will find the
Biblical soft answer more efficacious than the loudest returning volume
of sound. To speak in an exaggeratedly gentle voice always shames the
shouter of either sex into silence.
Courtesy is more necessary between husband and wife than in any other
relation in life. A great deal of bitterness would be saved if this were
studiously remembered. Nothing is more painful than to hear a married
couple _being rude_ to one another, and the claims of courtesy would
prevent all sorts of remarks that belong to the category of the
better-left-unsaid. Women, especially, have sometimes a most
objectionable habit of hurling home-truths at their husband's head
whenever temper runs a little high; and most men are sensitive enough
under their shield of cultivated indifference to resent this acutely,
and remember stinging sentences of this kind for years. The fact that
they are generally pointedly true does not make them less objectionable.
Some wives who are in reality devoted to their husbands, nevertheless
make a point of invariably belittling them in private and public, and,
though he would rarely admit it, this takes the heart out of a man more
than one unversed in the hearts of men could possibly believe. The truth
is, men like admiration and praise just as much as women do, though it
is part of their strange code to conceal this. They resent a snub just
as bitterly as a woman does; why shouldn't they?
And while we are on this subject, let me whisper to Persephone what a
wonderfully soothing effect a little judicious flattery has on the race
of husbands, and how smoothly it makes the marital wheels go round.
I don't mean false, blatant, absurd flattery, such as men often bestow
on us when desirous to please, not realising that compliments laid on
with a trowel are an insult to one's intelligence. Nothing of that kind,
of course, but delicate, subtle, loving flattery. An attitude of gentle
admiration toward your Perseus, subdued a little possibly for public
use, but none the less markedly appreciative, will not only endear you
more to him than any protestation of your love could do, but will have
an excellent effect on him mentally and morally. Just as you always feel
dazzling when in company of people who admire you and always talk
brilliantly when with those who think you clever, similarly Perseus will
be spurred on by your admiration (real or assumed) to try to justify it.
The same thing applies to you, gallant Perseus. A compliment to your
Persephone's bright eyes, a word of awed adulation for her new hat, or
of praise for her conduct as a hostess will not only make her absurdly
happy but will materially increase your capital in Love's Bank, by
laying up treasure for you in Persephone's heart.
By way of illustration, I will quote two real conversations I heard not
long ago. The first was between a young couple, Pelleas and Nicolette,
who had recently started housekeeping on a small income. They had been
giving an afternoon party, and all the guests had left but me. (I am a
privileged person, as you must have noticed; nobody minds being natural
before me.)
Nicolette heaved a sigh of relief as the front door shut for the last
time, and turned with sparkling eyes to Pelleas.
'_Hasn't_ it been a success?' she said enthusiastically.
'Not bad,' said Pelleas.
'Aren't the flowers lovely, and haven't I made the rooms look sweet?
Don't you think it was all done very nicely, dear? I did work so hard!'
she added, longing for a word of praise.
'Pooh! d'you call cutting up a few cakes work?' was the answer.
Nicolette happens to be a discreet woman who knows when to be silent,
but she looked sad, and all her natural pleasure in her little
entertainment was spoiled. How delighted she would have been if Pelleas
had kissed her, and told her she had made a charming hostess, and all
her arrangements had been perfection. The annoying part of it is that
this is what he really _did_ think. He was bursting with pride of his
home and his wife, and inclined to think himself a very fine fellow for
having won such a charming and clever woman. Only it wasn't his way to
say so!
The second instance was when I had been trying to reconcile Geraint and
his wife. I was always very fond of dear old Geraint, and the utter
misery of his married life was a source of great trouble to me. On this
occasion we talked freely, and from the depths of his sore heart he
brought up woe upon woe. 'Here's another instance,' he said at length.
'It's rather ridiculous, but you won't laugh at me, I know. Of course
it's absurd of me to have remembered it, but--well, I have. She was
sitting up in bed brushing her hair, I came into the room to ask if
there was anything I could bring her from town, and I happened to stand
at her dressing-table and straighten my tie. We were both reflected in
the mirror and she said, suddenly, with a little laugh: "What an ugly
brute you are!" . . . that's all, she said it quite politely, but--well,
it hurt me absurdly, it was so devilish unnecessary. And I suppose it's
true, too, I'd never thought of it before, but I often have
since. . . .'
Yet another example of how not to do it: 'If I'm shabby,' a despairing
wife told me once, 'he says: "Why can't you look decent." When I'm
smart, it's "More new clothes! I don't know who's going to pay for
them." If the _menu_ is exceptional he says: "This extravagance will
ruin me," and when it's ordinary he asks: "Is that all?"'
* * *
I have previously referred to men's clubs as a boon to wives, and so
they have always appeared to me. But evidently this opinion is not
generally held, as a number of women have recently expressed in print
their intention--when they get the vote--of agitating for complete
abolition, or at least compulsorily early closing, of all men's clubs.
It seems sadly ridiculous that women should want their husbands
compelled by Act of Parliament to return to them at a fixed hour. Let me
endeavour to convert these misguided wives, if any of them should deign
to read this book.
Dear ladies, almost everything your husbands cannot get at home they can
get at the club--the more completely their wants are satisfied the more
pleasant they are to live with, and consequently your home is the
happier! If they have a hobby, they generally join a club connected with
it, or where they can meet other men similarly enslaved. Be it politics,
sport, horses, cards, music, golf, or the theatre--if it is in their
blood, it must come out, and sensible wives allow it to do so. A hobby
suppressed means a hubby embittered. At the club they can have their
rubber, or their rage against the Government; they can put
half-a-sovereign in the sweep-stake, and compare notes about last
night's grand slam and their latest bunker, or whatever the term may be.
At the club they can meet other men, and have a complete change both
from office and home, consequently returning to both work and wife
refreshed and stimulated thereby.
When your cook has managed, by that occult secret of her own, to get the
locked tantalus open and it isn't consequently convenient or possible to
have any dinner at home, you remain calm, and break it to your lord on
the telephone, for can he not feast royally--yet economically--at the
club? And when you are away on a holiday he can do the same, and spend a
pleasant evening there afterward, instead of moping about alone in the
empty house. When you indulge in disagreements of a disturbing nature,
if ever you do, the same friendly haven is open to him, surely a more
comfortable thing for you than to have him maledicting about the house
while the little difference is cooling off. In short, there is no end to
the blessings and benefits of a man's club, and why in the world you
want to abolish them, dear ladies, I for one cannot imagine.
Of course the necessary moderation should be observed, as with all other
good things, and club nights once or twice a week should suffice. On
these occasions the wife can have a picnic dinner--always a joy to a
woman--with a book propped up before her, can let herself go and let her
cook go out. Or if she be of a strenuous turn she can utilise the free
evening to get her accounts and correspondence up to date. Or be her
habit gay she can go out on her own account and do a little dinner and
theatre with a discreet admirer, or even with a friend of her own sex.
Look at it how you will, a club, provided a man does not abuse it, is an
unalloyed blessing in married life.
But perhaps it is the tragic fate of the wives in question not to be
able to trust their husbands, and with cause. Perhaps their hearts hold
sorrowful knowledge of betrayal, and they fear that the club may be used
to shield an evening spent in company less desirable from the wifely
point of view. Even so, the club is a blessing, for at least a woman can
_hope_ and try to believe her husband _is_ really there, whilst if he
has no club to go to, the transparency of his alternative excuse must
give colour to her worst suspicions. If a man is resolved to do this
sort of thing, nothing can stop him; should one pretext to spend his
time away from home fail, he will put forward another, and the less
chance his wife has of discovering the real state of affairs the better
for her peace of mind.
That ignorance is bliss is a profound truth in married life and wives
should strive to be guided by it. I believe women exist who actually
make a practice of going through their husbands' pockets when
opportunity offers, presumably in the expectation of finding some
incriminating letter or bill. What they expect to gain in the event of
an unpleasant discovery, heaven alone knows! Nothing but a more or less
hateful scene, and a consequent loss of all peace between them, without
the real source of the trouble being affected in the least. Fortunately
few husbands are fools enough to carry compromising documents on their
persons. In any case this surveillance is revolting, and where mutual
respect exists, for which I have so strongly urged the necessity, these
lapses of taste could not occur.
In justice to those unhappy women who suffer the terrible affliction of
a husband given to excessive drink or gambling, I must add that, when
this is the case, a wife is right to try by every means in her power to
keep her husband away from his club, which offers greater opportunities
than the home circle for indulging in these vices.
* * *
And now for a special word to men. On a foregoing page I mentioned the
possibility of a married woman going out to dinner and the theatre with
a man friend. In London life this is so usual an occurrence that any
explanation of it would seem homely and a little absurd to the
initiated. But the initiated are a very small section of the community,
and as this book is humbly put forward for anyone interested in marriage
to read--in short, for everyone who _will_ read it--I propose therefore
to enlarge somewhat on this theme for the benefit of the uninitiated
majority. A great many men would never dream of allowing their wives to
go out at night alone with other men; why, I cannot pretend to know,
since they surely cannot insult their wives and their friends by the
idea of any impropriety in connection with them. Possibly it is due to
the survival of some primitive masculine feeling that they cannot
explain. (In former times husbands were even more exacting, and under
the Justinian code a man could divorce his wife merely for going to a
circus without his consent, or for going to baths and banquets with
other men!) To me it seems equally as unreasonable as women's
disapproval of men's clubs. Just as a sensible wife makes no objection
to her husband's club, so a wise husband allows his wife to be taken out
by another man, if she desire it. If he knows anything of the feminine
temperament--and no man should marry till he does--he realises that the
admiration of other men is pleasing to his wife, and a little gaiety has
a wonderful effect on her spirits.
I remember the time when Theodore and Amoret used to disagree violently
on this point, but eventually Theodore gave way. 'He used to think it so
wrong of me to like having other men a tiny bit in love with me,' Amoret
said, 'but I explained to him that I liked it because it gave me such a
nice powerful feeling and was a kind of added zest in life. Then he
always said it was very dangerous for a married woman to have any zest
in life apart from her husband, and I used to answer that _he_ had no
end of zests apart from me, and what was I to do during the long
evenings when he was eternally playing bridge. Finally I promised it
would make me more contented and able to bear the monotony of marriage
better, if only he would let me go. He thought it was awfully wicked of
me to call marriage monotonous, and said his mother would have been
horrified at such a remark. I told him it was no good expecting a young
wife to behave like one's mother, and he said he'd rather I didn't. Then
we laughed, and the dear old boy gave in, and said that Everard was a
white sort of man, and might take me out once as a trial trip. Since
then I've gone to theatres with them all, and I'm fonder of Theodore the
more I see of other men, and ever so much more peaceful and contented.'
Which testimony speaks for itself.
Few seem to realise the many advantages of marrying a man of a silent
habit. The ideal husband rarely talks; he realises that women prefer to
do this themselves, and that there is not room for two talking people in
one happy family. The loquacious man had better look out for a
silence-loving woman, and marry her immediately he finds her. Such
creatures are as rare as comets, and as a rule they are generally
married already to equally silent husbands--another of Nature's painful
bungles. Nothing is more appalling than to have to entertain one of
these speechless couples; an over-talkative pair is infinitely
preferable, as at least one can listen peacefully and let them run on.
* * *
An endless source of trouble between married couples is the money
question. Wives are often extravagant and generally sinfully ignorant of
financial matters at the start. Undoubtedly, as Isolda says: 'Money (and
Menials) mar Matrimony.' Of the second I cannot trust myself to write,
but I know that money--the want of it, the withholding of it, and the
mis-spending of it--is responsible for a great deal of conjugal
conflict. Some men seem to imagine their wives ought to be able to keep
house without means, and these unfortunate women have to coax and beg
and make quite a favour of it before they can obtain their due
allowance. Even then they are treated like children, and their use of
the money is inquired into in a most insulting manner, as if there was
such a royal margin for extravagance.
I remember the case of poor little Hildebrand. He was a very young
husband, and had been brought up in a very old-fashioned way. One of his
quaintly mediæval notions was that woman had no financial capacity and
could on no account be trusted with cash. If he had had time, I really
think he would have done all the housekeeping himself. Fortunately for
the peace of that family this was impossible. However, he exercised as
much supervision over the _ménage_ as was possible, even to the extent
of looking over the tradesmen's books. Of course he did not understand
their cryptic symbols in the least, and it was a funny sight to see
little Hildebrand poring over the small red books, and puckering his
conscientious brows in an agony of puzzlement. Every now and then he
would turn for enlightenment to his wife, who happily possessed a very
robust sense of humour.
'What's this, Valeria, "3 m'lade, 11½d."?'
'Three pounds of marmalade, dear, it's cheap enough, surely.'
'Too cheap to be good, I'm sure, you'd better get a superior quality.'
'But, my dear boy, it _is_ the best!'
'Oh!' Slightly discomfited Hildebrand would resume his study of the
grocer's hieroglyphics and presently a deep sigh would burst forth from
him.
'What's the matter, darling? Are those wretched accounts annoying you?'
Valeria would ask sympathetically, suppressing her desire to laugh.
'These fellows keep their books so deucedly queerly. What does this mean
"1 primrose, 7½d., and 12 foreign safety, 1½d."?'
'One pound of Primrose candles and a dozen boxes of matches; we must
have them, and it's only 9d. anyway.'
'That's not the point. What's this, "2 sunlight, 1s. 2d."?'
'Two boxes of Sunlight Soap for cook--it'll last ages.'
'And this, "one brooks, 3d."?'
'Why, Brookes' Soap, of course.'
'Is that what we use? . . . Really I don't see anything to laugh at.'
'Excuse me, dear, I really couldn't help it, the idea of _us_ washing
with Monkey Brand is too excruciatingly funny. Of course it's for the
pots and pans and sinks!'
'You seem to use a great deal of soap in the house.'
'No, dear, quite a little, as any _housekeeper_ would tell you' (Valeria
could not resist this thrust), 'and I don't think you would like the
result if we economised in soap. But why worry so, since the total is
reasonable? You'll find nothing there but absolute necessities. Why
won't you leave it all to me?'
In the end he was compelled to, but few wives would have shown Valeria's
patience under this very unnecessary infliction.
Of course this is an extreme case, but a great many men do interfere in
their wives' department to a most irritating extent. To my mind the
perfect way is for the whole financial budget of the house to be left to
the wife, just as the whole budget of the office or estate is left to
the husband. I am now dealing of course with people of limited means.
As a rule, a man has quite enough money worry during his day's work and
does not want any more of it when he gets home. To have to sit down to
write cheques in the evening is a task that seems to bring out all the
worst qualities in a husband. He may enter the house a devoted lover,
and heap evening papers, flowers, and chocolates on his wife's knee.
During dinner he may be genial, witty, affectionate, delightful--but
present him with a bundle of bills at ten P.M. with the remark that
really these ought to be seen to--and at once he becomes a fierce,
snarling, primitive, repulsive, and blasphemous creature. No matter if
his balance at the bank be ever so satisfactory, no matter if every bill
be for something he has personally required, and no single one incurred
by his wife--these facts weigh not at all with him. Bills are bills,
and at the sight of them husbands become savages. If I should call on
Miranda one morning about the seventh or eighth of the month, I am sure
to find her red-eyed and worn and to be told: 'Last night Lysander said
he'd do the bills and of course he's been damning and blasting ever
since, though they're ridiculously small this month.' Exactly the same
with Isolda. 'Launcelot wrote the month's cheques last night,' she will
say, 'and handling bills always has a terrible effect on him; it's a
kind of disease with him, poor dear, and I never can sleep after it.'
Yet both Launcelot and Lysander are in every other respect ideal
husbands.
My advice to wives therefore is: Firstly, do away with all weekly or
cash payments, which are a weariness to the wifely brain. Check all
books once a week, examine the items with whatever degree of care your
tradesmen's moral standard requires. Enter these sums in an
account-book. At the end of the month, when all the bills are in,
prepare a monthly balance-sheet for your husband. He will assuredly
glance first at the total and should it be satisfactory he will look no
further if he be wise. Let him then write one cheque to cover the whole
amount, pay it into your bank, and you do the rest. When the bills
arrive for rates, and whatever else is sent in quarterly, include them
in your monthly list, and thus your husband will only have to write
twelve cheques a year on behalf of his home instead of scores. The
fearful frenzies that beset him monthly will thus be reduced to a
minimum. If you have stables or an extensive wine-cellar give orders
that the bills for these and any other item which belongs to the man's
department should be sent to his office or club, together with his
tailor's and other personal bills. Thus you will not suffer when their
settlement becomes necessary. It is a strange fact that a man sits down
like a lamb to write cheques at his office, although at home the same
business would cause him to raise the roof and shake the foundations.
* * *
Volumes could be written on how to be happy though married, but my last
page is at hand. To sum up therefore. Wives: if you would be happy,
remember, make much of your husband, flatter him discreetly, laugh at
his jokes, don't attempt to put down his club, never tell him home
truths, and _never_ cry.
Husbands: praise and admire your wife and let other men admire her too;
don't interfere in her department; write your monthly cheque with a
cheerful mien; be reasonable about money even if you cannot be generous,
and be not overfond of your own voice.
And, both of you: be very tolerant, expect little, give gladly, put
respect before everything, cultivate courtesy and love each other all
you can. If you do all this you are sure to be happy, though married.
Hear also what Robert Burton says in his wonderful book, _The Anatomy of
Melancholy_. 'Hast thou means? Thou hast none, if unmarried, to keep and
increase them. Hast none? Thou hast one, if married, to help and get
them. Art in prosperity? Thine happiness is doubled with a wife. Art in
adversity? She'll comfort and assist thee. Art at home? She'll drive
away melancholy. Art abroad? She'll wish for thee in thy absence and
joyfully welcome thy return. There's nothing delightsome without
society, and no society as sweet as matrimony!'
THE END
COLSTONS LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
Errors and Inconsistencies
The inconsistent hyphenization of "re-adjust(ment)" and the variable
spelling of "vice versâ" (with or without circumflex) are unchanged.
The term "anyrate" is always written as a single word.
Part I
The Subject of Marriage is kept too much in the dark. [. missing]
I.IV
ridiculing and contemning
[_archaic spelling unchanged; elsewhere "condemn"_]
... and most of them negative.'[1] [_footnote tag missing_]
II.I.
but when it is a very unhappy married life must inevitably follow.
[_punctuation unchanged: may need comma after "is"_]
'Real friendship,' founded on harmony of sentiment
[_close quote missing_]
You ask me whether you will be happy thro' love and marriage. [hapy]
II.II
I think it is de la Rochfoucauld who says [_spelling unchanged_]
Part III
--GEORGE SAND. [GEORGES]
III.I
He continues: 'It is a question to my mind whether [" for ']
III.II
They are old friends and have not met for years. [. missing]
except the old ladies, and the men don't want them.' [" for ']
III.IV
'Not at all; she's perfectly sound,' [opening " for ']
III.VI
'_Duo_--two?' [closing " for ']
V.II
To speak in an exaggeratedly gentle voice [exaggerately]
... did not understand their cryptic symbols in the least [crytic]
'Two boxes of Sunlight Soap for cook--it'll last ages.' [. missing]
Missing Text
The edges of some preliminary pages, mainly advertising, were damaged.
Reconstructed text is shown here in {braces}, with the original line
breaks.
[NEW SHILLING REPRINTS]
+THE SINEWS OF WAR.+ By EDEN PHILLPOTTS an{d}
ARNOLD BENNETT.
+MODERN WOMAN AND HOW TO MANAGE H{ER.}+
By WALTER GALLICHAN.
[PRESS NOTICES]
_{PR}ESS NOTICES OF_
...
{s}erious subject."
+Standard.+--"A good deal of sound thinking has gone to the
book's composition and it is also illumined by a very kind and
{t}ender spirit."
+Bystander.+--"A clever and most entertaining volume . . . the
{re}ader may be assured of much that is sage and sound, and much
{th}at is witty."
+Black & White.+--"No one has gone so fully and vigorously
{into} the various problems connected with marriage as Mrs Braby
{in he}r extremely readable book . . . one of the most vivid and
{origin}al contributions to the discussion of a great problem that have
{appea}red for a long time."
+{Lit}erary World.+--"Very brightly written, and even when
{most a}udacious is full of good feeling and good sense . . . amusing
{and shre}wd . . . clever and stimulating."
[DOWNWARD]
_BY THE SAME AUTH{OR}_
... Maud Churton Braby, author of that vivacious an{d}
daring book, "Modern Marriage and How to Bear it.{"}
As might be expected, some of the serious problems o{f}
women are dealt with in its pages. The story concern{s}
the fortunes of brilliant and undisciplined Dolly who, o{n}
the death of her mother, an actress, is compelled by t{he}
decree of a mysterious trustee to go first to a conve{nt-}
school and afterwards become a hospital nurse. H{er}
temptations and adventures at the Wimpole Street Nurs{ing}
Home--(in which environment other characters of {much}
interest appear)--her tragic love affair, and the dep{ths to}
which it brings her, together with her subse{quent}
redemption, are related in a manner which ma{kes a}
special appeal to the heart.
[The word given as "much" (interest) could also be "some", taking up
the same amount of space.]
[Title Page]
MODERN MARRIAG{E}