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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (June 25, 1922)
' THE SUNDAY OREGONIAX, PORTLAND, JUNE 25, 1923 " f 99 IvJa made fair 5- H'1 ' ti v 4a y If m 1 0 yErfWi- 171. I : I BY ELIZABETH SHIELDS. A! ND this golden band unites as forever, true as love, strong as faith "Now are we husband and wife, within the law but above the law; for we have made our own law. We hold ourselves 'apart from the little customs, the ham pering 'shalt and shalt not'; the deadly inhibitions of such civilizations as drive the masses poor fools! "Freedom for us, you and I. We have brushed aside the candle gleam which casts no light, the empty counsel of word fropi printed page. We stand alone; rare creatures who require no outworn guide to happiness. "You for me and for you myself; we two, in a manner, against society. "For we are those who have dared to marry under the ccjmmon law." Where Is the weakness of it; the mar riage contracted with apparent honor and faith and a sure intent, but with no bene fit of clergy? Day after day you hear men and women of culture, intelligence, reverence and self-respect express themselves thus: "Oh, marriage isn't made by the few words a minister or a priest-or Justice Bays. Those are the ritual of custom merely; a gesture toward superstition. "Marriage is agreement of a man and a woman to forsake the world for each Other. It is made in heart, not In sanc tuary, and though they say it only to each other it must hold fine and true." But does it? Within a space of five days the news papers published to the world three ac counts of as many disasters which ended the hope and aspiration toward happiness of three common-law wives. One had been abandoned by the man in whom she placed her trust when he found a younger woman who also looked with favor upon informal marital alliance. Another was begging the court for ma terial assistance from the mate to whom ehe had given eight years of her life and who had been lured away by another woman's wealth. The' third was that anomalous creature, a common-law widow, put to the necessity of proving before the law of the land that ehe merited the protection of that law so lightly rejected in happier days. These women are a random group se lected from the chaos of disaster seething round common-law marriage. Other marriages go wrong. But not the 0 per cent of them proportion of fail fires among unions under the common , law. Why? It is because humanity is not yet civil ized to the degree of standing without eneck of custom. Is it heritage of respect tor tradition from our prehistoric ances tors? Or is it because humanity is becoming overcivilized, fastidiously believing that which is casually won is of little worth after all? Their stories are about the same, save In degree of disaster. Mary Neary Kelly is an attractive, dark-eyed woman of 27, with a level gaze and a straighforward, honest voice. The sun burnishes her hair so it looks like spun copper against her creamy skin. On her left hand, round the "heart-' i Mary Neary Kelly, whose common law marriage legalized by a death. finger," she wears a thin little ring with a thin little diamond setting. Above it there is a broad, plain gold band. Ten years ago Terence Kelly, who then was 32, placed the diamond-set ring where it is. A fine figure of a bfg boy was Terence in those days, with a man-of-the-world dazzle about him, .sure to bewilder any girl at any time. He owned a cafe on a Harlem-Street corner and he owned a string of race horses. And the smile of him was a won derful thing to see. So, when he smiled at the little Neary girl, daughter of a poverty-stricken wid ow, the girl smiled back. When he gave her the ring and said "it binds us true as love, strong as faith," she glowed with happiness and pride. What though a bit of doubt gnawed like a restless mouse in the cellar of her heart? Terence had said it wa& all right; Terence knew! They began their life together; that life which was to run more than nine years. He was kind to her; he loved her. But he did not give her a homely little certificate of, marriage! Sitting in her black dress with her bright hair partly covered by a crepe veil, symbol of her grief because Terence is dead, the little Neary girl whom Surro gate Cohalan has established as Mrs. Kelly In the eyes of the law told of her wifehood: "He would put his arms around my mother and he'd say: 'Mother Neary, it's all right. It's as good as if the church had married us.' ' "But it wasn't. It was a fair weather marriage, as all common-law marriages must be. . "I kept a pretty home for him. My mother, brother and sister lived with us and we were happy. I washed and cooked and mended for Terence. I loved to do it. "We were accepted as Mr. and Mrs. Kelly by his family and mine. Our friends and the neighbors accepted us that way, too at first. ' "When they heard, if they did hear, that we had not been married in the regu lar way, there always was a difference in their manner. Some would drop us. Very few but would let it be known that they did not approve of us. "It wasn't disagreeable for my hus band. Common-law marriage makes little difference to a man, but the woman is eternally trying to justify herself. "Of course, I might have brought about a marriage ceremony of the usual kind. I suppose my love for Terence prevented my working toward it. "I didn't want him to feel that I wasn't , satisfied. He kept asking me whether I was happy and I always answered what was in my heart. 'It was only happiness; love for him; but no peace. "It was after he died and members of his family who had been kind tp me" be fore turned on me because of his estate that I felt the tragedy of it all." Dark eyes brimming with tears and lips wistful, Mrs. Kelly tried to tell just why Common Soul Removed," Says Mary Neal Kelly, Who Was Made a Legal Widow by Court Order. How Her Remarks Epitomize the Tragic Life Stories of Her Sisters in Disaster Who Wed Without Benefit of Clergy and Lost! to Terence Kelly was court order after his Olivia Stone, nurse, who, cast aside by her lover "husband," hunted him down and killed him and then was acquitted of murder. she believes common-law marriage a fail ure: "It's so like ordinary marriage that it is marriage, and yet you know it isn't. "It seems to me that common-law union is marriage with the soul removed." Winifred Lynch, who has lived in Brooklyn all her life, was 18 when she met Alexander Figge. He was 25. He was handsome and rich. She was a poor girl and, she says, unlike the "flap per" of today, unsophisticated. They fell in love. But they were of different religious faiths. So he asked her to delay their civil marriage while they united in a common-law arrange ment. Apparently, he thought it best to keep their association to himself. For, after it all was over, the girl looking backward, told about the eight years during which ehe forsook all others for the man who finally betrayed her trust: "We went to housekeeping in a $5-a-week room and lived like poor folks. We were known as Mr. and Mrs. Rogers. "He kept telling me that just a little later we would have a regular marriage. I kept waiting. "Then one day he came home and told me about another girl. She had a great deal of money, he said, and he intended to marry her. "When I protested that I was his wife he gave me $500." After twice winning suits she brought against her erstwhile common-law hus ' band, both of which were appealed, Miss Lynch settled her claim against him for approximately $20,000. But there is no compensation for her eight years of de ferred hope, disappointment, and final disillusion. Mary McDonald thought it over five Law Union Is Marriage With the f. Winifred Lynch, awarded $20000 heart balm when Alexander Figge, her "husband" of eight years jilted her to wed another legally. years before she finally allowed Robert Smythe Martin to lead her over her preju dices to the precarious trail of common law marriage. A home girl, sincere and simple of pur pose, she lived with her father in Boston, when she met a member of one of New York's oldest families, the then president of a wealthy manufactory. She refused his first offer and he went to South America. After five years he re turned and renewed his suit. Perhaps ab sence had sewed seeds of recklessness ia her heart. She invited the unhappiness that was to be her lot by accepting union without civil or church ceremonial. It was lates, when they had taken an WATERMARKS OF DATE I T IS a curious fact that some of the most ancient technical terms used in the first printing offices are still in use by modern printers. At the present day, we ask for paper, in accordance with the old, distinctive water marks of Qual ity or size. Water marks adopted by old paper makers, to distinguish their own output, have interested antiquarians, as one can trace by their aid approximate dates, to books- or documents. Especially have these marks been of use In cases of forg ery, where paper could be proved to be of more modern date than the documents purported to be. Circle Is Early Mark. One of the earliest water marks was a circle, surmounted by a cross, typical of the Christian faith, seen on documents dating from 1301, Papers made in the low countries have a great variety of marks, some being the badges of noble families, whose tenants made the paper. The letter P and the letter T are the initials of Philip the Good, duke of Bur gundy, and his wife, Isabella .whose name was spelled Ysabella, according to the custom of that time. Other Symbols Appear. Other symbols of the house of Bur gundy appear the fleur de lys, the uni corn, anchor and the bull's head. The fool's head for legal cap, with cap and bells, was used from the 13th until the middle of the 17th century, when Eng lish paper makers adopted the figure of Britannia, and continental makers other devices. Equal in Interest is the post horn, from which most paper takes its name. This mark was in use as early as 1370. In the 17th century it was surmounted by a ducal coronet, in which form it ap pears on our ordinary writing paper. The open hand, surmounted" by a star or cross, is one of the oldest marks. Modern readers are familiar . with the publications of the Camden society. The small square quartos, known as "pot quartos," took their name from the pot or tankard in common use. This mark uptown apartment, with Martin's mother a permanent guest, that the common law mother-in-law figured in the difficulties which finally broke the alliance. Mary McDonald Martin was thrust inco a hospital and charged with insanity. But doctors found her sane. The end of It all was when she asked for alimony. She told of her disillusion: "My husband threw me out without a penny. He disclaimed me as his wife. He was willing for me to face the world des titute and alone." Finally there was the common - law marriage of Olive Stone to Ellis Guy Klnkead, which made criminal history in Brooklyn, N. Y., when she met him on the T ANCIENT STILL USED TODAY i3 particularly characteristic of Holland, still preserved at The Hague. In print ing and durability the excellence of Dutch paper has never been excelled. The modern papers, although whiter and more beautiful, obtain their qualities by chem ical agencies that carry the elements of decay and equal in name only the coarser looking but stronger papers of bygone ages. EILEEN (Continued from Pago 8.) she say to him? It did not occur to her to wonder what he was doing there. ' Eileen, with her companions, lingered for a moment outside' the church. The congregation was hurrying out, for every body wanted to see her, and almost everybody nodded and smiled, though no one spoke. Eileen was too disturbed to th'ink of that, but she felt lonely. She'd have liked to speak to somebody. Only, what was Peter doing there? He came up to them after a moment, rather Jauntily, fanning himself with his soft hat. "Hu;io. Eileen," he said, "what ever are you doing here?" Before answering she saw that there was a little gray in his hair; she'd never noticed it before. Perhaps it had In creased. "Oh, she said. "I don't know." At this moment her companions, grown violently self-conscious, suddenly went off, as if in panic. So Eileen and her husband stayed for a moment in the churchyard. They were alone now, for the congregation had disappeared. They felt embarrassed, unready for explana tion. Eileen especially found herself guilty. "Well," said Peter suddenly, "we can't stay here all the morning." He took her arm and led her away. Silently they went through the village, meeting no creature, for all the inhab itants had gone to their cottages to pre pare their Sunday dinner. A few curious eyes watched them, no doubt, through the curtains, but they were so absorbed. "My 'hasband' was willing for me to face the world alone," testified Mary McDonald, when Robert Smythe Martin discarded her. street after their affair was over and shot him dead. She was a Kentucky girl who had be come a nurse in a Cincinnati hospital when she met the brilliant attorney who came there for treatment. She went with him to Atlantic City as his nurse and remained there as his wife, after he had bought her a wedding ring and promised a church ceremony at some future time. Four examples out of the mass of common-law marriages that fail. For they fail Just as surely as humanity continues to tread the' old, old trail that grows only broader never obliterated with the years. each one in himself, that they did not think even of that: an instinct was show ing them the way. . They went beyond the railway and up the down, until by common consent they stopped on the rutted path by the birch wood. It was spring now, and the birches were still bare of leaf; the grass was short, and along the diteh some scattered primroses held out little pallid hands. In the soft and delicate air an enthrallment fell away from Peter; he looked about him with a smile, at the green down that softly swelled, whe're a few lambs fol lowed the ewes, and sometimes leaped, rigid legged, with an air of glee. ' He tried to say something, then stopped. He did not know what had come over him. He wanted to be light, to say something ironic, but the words did not form. So he looked at her as she stood, so still, stabbing the soggy earth with her parasol. She was droop ing a little, and her lines were soft; she was like a cool primrose in the gentle breeze which blew through the bare birch trees. "With a sort of sickness he remem bered a similar day three years before. "Eileen," he murmured, "I've been a fool. But that's all over." She stared at him, not understanding. "I don't know what you're doing here. I suppose you wanted to see the old place again. So do I. I'm staying with some people five miles off. Madeline's there, too, but I'm not going back. Never." Eileen looked up, and there was per plexity at first in the brown eyes with a red light. Only a' few seconds did she realize here was a sort of confession, a sort of regret, a promise of amendment, and, perhaps, even a hope. The man, restless as men are, could not allow her to come to the end of her thought. Sud denly he seized her hand and, with a new energy, with an appeal that never before had laid upon his sardonic lips, said: "Let's go away from here together, and try again." She did not reply, looking down seri ously at her shoes. "Won't you?" he asked. Then, with a little 6mlle, as if quick ened into resolution, as she at last dis covered that she was more than a deco ration, she pressed his hand and replied: "1 don't mind." (Copyright, 1922, by the Chicago Tribune.) 1