other hand, when it is all done by lonely people it can be vilely
tedious. Thousands of husbands have no idea of this. If they searched
their own minds they would find that their idea of their own homes is
that they are places to be kept clean and comfortable for them, and
their idea of their own wives is that they are women whose first duty
is to minister to their comfort. Any suggestion that this may mean a
very dull life for wives is met by a snort, and some muttered murmur
about "poisonous modern nonsense." But in spite of that or any other
more brilliant adjectives that may be employed the suggestion is
unalterably true, and if, having made life as dull as that for their
wives, such men find that marriage itself is not turning out well, it
is high time they should wake up to the fact that they themselves are
to blame.

And yet may some kindly Providence save us all from the women who never
forget the house--whose domestic possessions seem to constitute mere
extensions of their nervous systems, so that if you kick the fender you
give them the jumps--who cannot sit still once they have seen a speck
of dust, and cannot turn with free minds to any wider interest. They
help to fill clubs and pubs. But they ruin homes. I want husbands to
share the housework chiefly because in that way it will get done the
sooner, and give both husband and wife some free time. If they want
really to live they must take care to get away at times from all such
merely domestic concerns. If need be let the supper dishes lie dirty,
but out of sight, until to-morrow--if need be, let your husband wear a
sock with a hole in it--put off cutting out baby's trousers, and even
let your new blouse go without that alteration in the meantime, but on
most evenings at all costs get some time to read, or enjoy music, or go
out, or talk, or dream, or do nothing. The problem of civilization is
unsolved for those who let the house tyrannize over them, and the