lic he
will let his wife pass first; in the elevator with her he will take off
his hat; in the street car he will give her a seat and remain standing.
All this is not submission; it is merely politeness. He behaves, not
like a henpecked husband, but only as a gentleman, and a man should
always be as polite to his wife as he would to any lady he comes in
contact with. A French gentleman, who meets his wife in the street and
stops to speak to her, remains with his head uncovered until she begs
him to put on his hat. A French son does the same to his mother.

This leads me to the first and the most important principle of the art
of ruling a husband, and that is, never to allow him to do to her, or
before her, what she knows he would never think of doing to or before
any lady of his acquaintance--at any rate, without her permission. The
day on which either a husband or a wife says, 'Oh, never mind; it's my
husband,' or 'Oh, it's only my wife; I can do as I please,' on that
day, that awful day, Cupid packs up his traps, and when that little
fellow is gone he never comes back; he is too busy visiting.

To rule a husband it is not at all necessary that the wife should be
the more clever of the two, unless by clever you mean intelligent, much
less that she should possess a better education than he. The latter
qualification would probably lead her to rule him in an assertive and
aggressive manner, which would be fatal to their happiness. Very few
marriages are happy when the wife is the superior of her husband. I
know very clever men, scientific and literary men of prodigious
ability, who are completely ruled by charming little geese who are
fortunate enough to possess the most enviable of gifts--common-sense,
delicacy, refinement, consideration, amiability, devotion,
unselfishness, and a good temper. These men enjoy the rule of their
wives thoroughly.

God save you, my dear fellow-man, from the conceited woman who cannot
do wrong! You will find that you cannot live up to that. If the day
after you are married you discover that your wife is perfect, run away
for your life. Perfection in a woman ought to be a cause for divorce.
In fact, never have anything to do with angels this side of the grave.

How I do love that simple, fascinating little woman who gently puts her
arms round her husband's neck, kisses him, and confesses that she was
wrong! What a brute that man is if he does not at once take that dear
creature in his arm