https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/55f4dc6e85246257b396b2984fc11b11.pdf?Expires=1779321600&Signature=CE-OIm9Es9NhPSAl0604JdUKk%7EUCoHpyMFovUI4ziwZmo2W9Z4vg428LHMOM7PgtTcGWWgpvCYFGAG4dK4Pi3Po3xVRElN1KQ1ct%7EjaciSqcMxWk1okteVy1hiTEK2s-2H9hoKdSmvorTlfxfJR9FH1XxrjkIVeETeH7o8aOsdAxshYdLNP6cu7UqoJYZ5LHzt4o0O87mD2d9ZZHYdXGQUfjY%7EXHL4uUa5Mth2UKlLTC107MdO6%7EubzzHRjZ3nUPeSzSqWeV-U2bM9fPU1SXFXSseJFrKZOg61y%7EN1L49-N-VJbaXLyr7XD4JvGHCquHE6O8%7EHeoTtVqaTZvbJ%7EsbQ__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 2c6539390e8c37fb8db3d89541608751 PDF Text Text M4-73 national secular society PRICE ONE PENNY. J MARRIED LIFE: COMFORT OR MISERY? Qvamati# TC AyFj ) Mary ( married ladies. Ethel an unmarried lady. Ethel (entering to Kate). How are you, Kate ? What an age it seems since I saw you, and how well you look! Not a day older, I declare, than on your wedding day—how long ago is that now ? Kate. Almost six years. I am so glad to see you, dear; but I can’t return your compliments : you seem to be thinner? and what is the meaning of those dark rings under your eyes ? Ethel. Oh! that’s nothing; I am quite well; I used to be too fat. Kate. What rubbish! you were just right, and you look depressed, too. Ethel. That’s all your fancy, Kate! I’m all right, but tell me about yourself: how have you been all this time ? What a lovely little room you have got! Where did you get that beautiful dado ? It’s hand-painted, I do believe. Oh ! you extravagant woman, is it for this your poor husband toils in the city ? Kate. Spare my blushes, and don’t be so severe. That’s il a, little thing of my own”, and cost me.about ten shillings for colors. �Ethel. You don’t say so ! "What made you so awfully clever? I don’t seem to remember anything of the kind at. school. Kate. Well 1 I did take the second prize for drawing in our last term, though you don’t seem to remember it; but that was eight years ago, and I have been taking lessons ever since. Ethel. Curiouser and curiouser I It is borne in upon me that you used to hate every kind of lessons. Kate. Your memory is painfully accurate this time, but I had a reason. But talking of school, do you remember Mary Burns ? Ethel. Oh! quite well—a pretty, fair girl, with a lovely complexion; she was extraordinarily High Church, wasn’t she ? and used to fast, and appear unexpectedly in black, and sit up at night keeping vigils, or some queer thing of that sort. What about her ? Kate. She lives here, and I expect her every minute. When I got your note I asked her to come too, poor thing! I thought she would enjoy a chat over old times. Ethel. Why, what’s the matter with her ? Kate. Wait till you see her: you will soon find out. You know she is married; her husband is Mr. Crossley, a curate here. Ethel. A curate, is he ? I suppose they are not just rolling in wealth ? Kate. They are not. Here she is, I think; don’t remark on her looks. {A servant shows in Mrs. Crossley..) Well, Mary dear, here you are; I was afraid you could not come after all, and I would not pour out the tea, because I wanted you to have the best cup. Try this chair, we have just got it, and it’s delightful. Mary. You are always so kind, Kate. I thought I should never get away. Just as I was ready, the baby woke and screamed, and Bessy was washing up, and I had to take him; and then Emmie fell down stairs, and hurt her head lather badly, so that stopped me again; and then, just at the door, the baker met me with his bill, and I had to persuade him---Why, Ethel, is that you? What a start you gave me, I was afraid it was a stranger. Ethel. It’s the first time I have been considered a terrify ing object, and I am rather flattered. I am very glad to see you, Mary. What changes there have been since we last met in that dingy old s*chool-room! Do you remember how glad �( 3 ) we all were to get away from it ? And all the ridiculous plans we used to make about our future lives. You were to be a nun, Kate was to go about lecturing on woman’s rights, and I was always carnally-minded, and intended to marry the first * man I met, provided he was young, had a Greek profile, Spanish -eyes and the curliest black hair (I think we called it hyacinthine locks then), and was six foot four, and possessed six thousand a year, and came of a noble family. You will be surprised to hear that I have not met him yet, and I begin to doubt if that sort are quite as common as they were when I was seventeen. Mary. How you do rattle on! You have not lost your good spirits, evidently. As for your hero, if you can find a man with six thousand a year, take him ; if he were as ugly as sin and as old as Methusaleh, never mind; nothing is so dreadBful as poverty. Ethel. Oh I Mary: you don’t mean that seriously, surely; I and, besides, I am engaged, only mother says we are too poor to marry. Mary. Ethel, take my advice, don't yaexTy a poor man! Take warning by me: I married a poor man for love, and have ' repented it ever since. I thought if we gave up luxuries and I lived very quietly, we could manage: but I did not reckon on I having five children in six years. Kate. Mary, you know you need not have had them. Mary. Kate, don’t talk so; I can’t bear to hear you. I know what you mean, but these things are in God’s hands, and we must submit to His will. If my husband knew you had mentioned such a thing to me, he would be very angry, and perhaps stop my coming here any more. But, Ethel, do listen to me; my life is nothing but a burden; often I wish I were I in my grave; we can only afford one servant, and no good ■servant would work in such a household as ours. I never get half the sleep I want, and I’m sure no London maid-of-all-work does as much as I do. I often sit up half the night mending and making, and that’s not all. Two years ago my little Eddie died; he was only ill two or three days, and we owed the doctor Hso much I did not like to send for him again; and when at last I did, it was too late. It was inflammation of the lungs, and he said Eddie’s life might have been saved if he had seen him earlier. I shall never forgive myself. And when we buried him, we could not afford even the plainest tombstone. It is the same with everything; we can’t pay our way. You �( 4 ) heard me speak of the baker just now; you would not believe the. degrading things I have had to do, to coax tradesmen into waiting for their money. I never can overtake my work ; it’s useless to attempt it. As to books, I have not opened one for years. Ethel. And your singing—you had such a sweet voice. Mary. Singing ! we can’t afford a piano ; I have forgotten it all. That would be nothing, but I can’t keep the place even I clean, and the children never get all the milk they should, and this is my best dress—just look at it I And just look at me, did you ever see such a fright as I have grown ? But I could bear it all if it were not for my husband, he looks so wretchedly ill, and he is not half warmly enough dressed. If he could but have a great-coat this winter, but I know it is impossible, and then he slaves day and night at any literary work he can get, even copying he does. But, oh I Kate, the worst is still to be told : another baby is coming, and the last two are so delicate, what will this one be ? And how can I do more than I do now ? (Mary breaks down and sobs; Ethel tries to comfort her, and Kate leaves the room, and returns with a glass of port wine.) Kate. Now, Mary, drink this; there, you will feel better directly. Come and lie on the sofa a little. Mary. Dear Kate, thank you; but I must go home—I don’t know wbat the children may be doing. I ought not to have stayed so long. Good bye, dear; good bye, Ethel, and remem ber what I have said. {Exit Mary.) Ethel. Oh, Kate, what a shocking story! And how ill she looks, and how miserable! I don’t think I should have known her. And I’m afraid she is right, and one ought not to marry a poor man. To live as Mary describes, I am sure would just kill me. I don’t think I am very selfish, but I ■could not give up every comfort like that, and with it all to be so miserable. And I am sure it would drive Jack into a lunatic asylum! Kate : what ought we to do ? We have been engaged I five years, and I sometimes think Jack is getting tired of it—H his letters are colder now. Oh! I wish he were as well off as your husband; if Jack and I could have a smart little house like this, we should want nothing better. Kate. I thought something was wrong, and I am glad you told me. Who is “Jack ” ? Ethel. J ack Dawson : he is a doctor, but only beginning to I practise, and-------Kate. Why, I know Mr. Dawson very well, and like him �U ) iso much. I knew he was engaged, but had no notion it was to you. I do congratulate you-—he is one of the nicest men I know. Ethel. I thank you, dear, but I don’t know that there is much to congratulate us on, for I don’t see a chance of our getting married for years, and I’m not exactly growing younger. Kate. You are twenty-five, I think, and Mr. Dawson, I know, is twenty-seven. He was here the other day, talking over his prospects with Fred; and now I have good news for you, Ethel—Mr. Dawson and my husband are making almost exactly the same income. Ethel. Kate! What! Oh! I can't believe it. Do you mean to say you are living on the sum Jack earns now ? Kate. Yes; and, what is more, Mr. Crossley, who is so steeped in poverty, has very nearly the same. Within three =or four pounds, I believe, the three incomes are exactly similar. Ethel. I am more astonished than I can say. Then is it simply the children that make the enormous difference between you and Mary ? Why, I thought you were quite rich. Kate. It is as I say; but then our income is divided by two, while theirs is divided by seven already. Ethel. Ah ! yes; but that simply means that you are lucky to have no family. Kate. You should say, how wise I am. Ethel. Kate, what did you mean by telling Mary she need not have had them ? Can one really prevent it ? Do tell me (truly, because, if one can, Jack and I might marry to morrow. K ate. I am anxious to tell you the truth. It can be done : -it’ only requires perseverance; and if you make up your mind to marry, I will tell you all about it. Ethel. Oh! Kate, how can I thank you—I was so un happy! Mother had just shown me a letter from that horrid Mrs. Grundy, and she said: “You are never going to let Ethel marry that wild young Jack Dawson.” And then—oh ! I can’t "tell you what she said; and I don’t believe it; but I know Jack is vexed with me for delaying our marriage so long. Kate. Never mind Mrs. Grundy. Fred knows Mr. Daw son well, and I know there is nothing for you to be alarmed at. But, remember, he is not the stuff out of which ascetics or hermits are made—nor, for that matter, is Fred. I should not like it if he were. But we married very young, and I am certain Fred has never thought of another woman in that way, although lie is good friends with several. Then I am always well and �able to go out with him; and, though I say it, I don’t believethere is a prettier or more comfortable home in England than his; so what temptation has he to be wild or fast ? Ethel. But, Kate, why did Mary say her husband thinks it so wrong ? Ought one not to believe what a clergyman says?’J Kate. I cannot see why Mr. Crossley’s opinion should have more weight than yours or mine. This is not a question of re-£ ligious dogma, but of morality and the welfare of the human, race, in which questions we are all equally interested. Ethel. But suppose Jack agreed with him. Kate. In that case you had better not marry; but it is very unlikely. Jack is a really well-educated and thoughtful man, and all advanced thought in the present day tends in thisdirection. But, if you Eke, Fred shall find out casually in con versation, what his views are, and I will tell you. Ethel. I wish he would; but, Kate, how did you find this out ? Kate. You know my old aunt Dorothy. In her youth shewas engaged to a young man for ten years, and then he jilted' her, and married a young girl. She was dreadfully heart broken, and has spent her life almost in propagating these; ideas. She wrote a book about it, and when I became engaged she gave Ered a copy to read, and when he told her he thought it very sensible, and that he agreed with every word, she urged us to marry. And we did. You see the result. But that is not all. I have plenty of leisure time, and I earn money I too. Fred’s earnings supply the necessaries and a fair amount of comfort; mine supply my dress and all the little luxuries you see round us, and keep a cot in the children’s hospital be sides. If I had a family to attend to, I could not earn any thing, for I should not have time. Ethel. How do you earn money, Kate; could I ? Kate. Very likely you could. I earn money by my draw ings. You were admiring my dado : I have painted three others in different drawing rooms, and was well paid for it. I paint screens, too, and design Christmas cards by the score. I paint menus and programmes and all sorts of things. And I take a lesson every week; I work between three and four hours a day, and I like it. Ethel. Well, I can’t draw, but I can make lace. I soldsome the other day at fifteen shillings a yard at a fancy bazaar, and I overheard the purchaser saying that she thought it cheap at the price. I know I could help in that way; but, Kate, �(&t) would you not like to have children ? I do love them so. Kate. Yes, I should, but we can’t afford it yet. I am only I twenty-five, and there is plenty of time. When we can afford ■t I hope to indulge in one or two. I am sure it would be wrong to have a large family. Ethel. But why, if you could afford it ? Kate. Because the country is too full now, and we should "■do wrong to add to the pressure of competition, which is already I too great. Ethel. Kate, how clever you are; I never heard anyone else talk like this. Kate. I’m not a bit clever, and my ideas are all second- Kand: but you see I have time to read and improve myself, and I have read a good deal since we married. rj Ethel. Well, you have taken a great weight off my mind; I but what will mother say to all this ? Kate. You must, of course, use your own discretion about telling her; but you are old enough to please yourself, and remember you must choose between her and Jack. When she sees that you are happy and comfortable, she will surely be content. Ethel. Yes, I suppose so—at least that is all she can want yor me. And now I must go. Good-bye, dear Kate ; I am so much obliged to you, and I’ll come and see you' again very < soon. (Exit Ethel.) I Kate (soliloquises). I think I have smoothed her way a little. I wish everyone were as quick and sensible. Nothing can be done for those poor Crossleys: one can’t get them to listen to reason; and what a dreadful example for a clergyman to set I Their case is hopeless; but Ethel is different, and for her I I foresee both a useful and a happy life. A. Bosneb, Printer, 34, Bouveris Street, London, E.C. �LIST OF BOOKS . SOLD BY W. H. REYNOLDS, Publisher, New Cross, London, S.E. (Sent through the POST ONLY). THE LAW OF POPULATION. By Annie Besant. A work designed to induce married people to limit their families within the means of subsistence. Post free, 8d. THE WIFE’S HANDBOOK: How a Woman should order herself during Pregnancy, in the Lying-in Room, and after Delivery ; with Hints on the Management of the Baby, and on other matters of importance necessary to be known by Married Women. By Dr. H. A. Allbutt. Post free, 8d. THE ELEMENTS OF SOCIAL SCIENCE. The most com plete work on sexual matters ever published. Should be read by every adult. Bound in cloth, 604 pages. Post free, 3s. 4d. THE POPULATION QUESTION. By Dr. C. R. Drysdale, President of the Malthusian League. Post free, Is. Id. LIFE AND WRITINGS OF T. R. MALTHUS. By Dr. C. R. Drysdale, President of the Malthusian League. With portrait of Malthus. Post free, Is. Id. GOD’S VIEWS ON MARRIAGE. By Annie Besant. Post free, 3d. THE RADICAL REMEDY IN SOCIAL SCIENCE; or, Borning Better Babes through Regulating Reproduction by Controlling Conception. By Dr. E. B. Foote. Post free, Is. Id. EARLY MARRIAGE AND LATE PARENTAGE: The only Solution of the Social Problem. By Oxoniensis. Post free, 4d. SOCIAL ASPECTS OF MALTHUSIANISM. By Annie Besant. Post free, 2d. POVERTY: Its Cause and Cure. By M. G. H. Post free, 2d. WHY DO MEN STARVE? By C.Bradlaugh. Post free, 2d. LABOR’S PRAYER. By C. Bradlaugh. Post free, 2d. POVERTY : Its Effects on the Political Condition of the People. By C. Bradlaugh. Post free, 2d. THE MALTHUSIAN: A Crusade against Poverty. The monthly organ of the Malthusian League. Post free, l|d. MALTHUSIAN LEAFLETS.—A packet will be sent on receipt of postage to any person who will undertake to distribute them. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Victorian Blogging Description An account of the resource A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes. Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk. <img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Married life : comfort or misery? Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: 7 p. ; 19 cm. Note: Publisher's list on back cover (books sold by W.H. Reynolds, Publisher, New Cross, London, S.E.). Printed by A. Bonner. Written in the form of a dramatic conversation between two married ladies and an unmarried lady. Part of the NSS pamphlet collection. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available W.H. Reynolds Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [191-?] Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context N475 Subject The topic of the resource Marriage Birth control Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource [Unknown] Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <a href="http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/"><img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /></a> This work (Married life : comfort or misery?), identified by <a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a>, is free of known copyright restrictions. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Birth Control Marriage NSS