The domestic tyrant has redeeming features. As a rule he does not beat his wife.

He feeds her well, clothes her decently, and is faithful to her. When she is ill he sends for the doctor, and does not grumble unless her convalescence should last too long. He does not want her to die, because she consents to be his housekeeper without wages and allows him to get out of her all the work that can possibly be extracted from one being who does not claim the protection of the 'eight-hour' law.

He has enough self-control to resist the temptation of insulting her. He treats her coolly, patronizingly, and keeps her at a respectful distance, lest she should take liberties with him.

He is dull, solemn, conceited and selfish. When he joins the family circle, wife and children have to be busy and silent, the only noise allowed being the rustling of the newspaper he reads. He takes the lamp, the only one on the table, and places it just behind his shoulder, so as to light his paper well. His wife—poor cat! who has to see in the dark—goes on with her sewing as best she can. The children remain motionless and speechless until it is time to go to bed. Then they smile, say good-night, and run away like culprits.

When he goes out the children speak above a whisper, and the women of the family breathe and express an opinion among themselves, an act of audacity which they would never think of indulging in in his presence; and life goes merrily until someone, with a face a yard long, rushes in and announces 'Father is coming!' The domestic tyrant is invariably called 'Father' by the wife as well as by the children, and the word is spelt with a capital 'F,' and the 'a' is sounded as if there were a dozen French circumflex accents on the top of it.

The domestic tyrant is neither a lazy man nor a drunkard, nor anything that is bad. On the contrary, he is a moral man. As a rule he does not even smoke, and that is what makes him so powerful against reproach. What can you say to a man who is steady, sober, intelligent, hard-working, stingy perhaps, but asks forgiveness for that on the plea that he has a large family to secure the future of? Outside of his house he has a very good reputation; he is invariably called a good husband and a good father. He invariably speaks well of his wife. Before strangers, before friends and relatives, in her very presence, he will sing her praises and extol her virtues, and will constantly repeat that for industry he does not know a woman who could compete with her. That is the way he encourages her in the path of duty. The domestic tyrant is particularly great on duty, and when he and his wife are alone, and there is nobody else to hear him, he tells her that he fulfils his duties, and that surely he can expect 'females' to perform theirs. For him, women are 'females.' His wife alone can tell you what he really is, and on the subject this is the information you will receive from her:

'I have to be his slave for twenty-four hours a day, work for him, humour him, and, most especially, I must never complain of being ill, or even mention that I am tired. I have never had from him a word of pity, of condolence, or even of sympathy. I have never received encouragements. I have never heard a word of praise from his lips.

'On the other hand, it takes very little to discourage him and make him lose his high spirits. If anything has gone wrong with his business during the day, he comes home frowning, snarling, quarrelsome, looking for more trouble and grievances. He does not use me as a consoling companion in the hour of misfortune or as a comforter in moments of annoyance. No; he looks upon me as a target at which he can aim all his bitterness.'

And she will tell you much more than that. She will probably tell you that the larger the family gets, the more he is pleased, because it gives her less and less chance of finding time to leave her home.

He goes out when he likes, where he likes, and would never think of asking her, 'Won't you come along?' You never see them out together. Poor thing! life would be tolerable to her if they were never in together.

It would never enter the domestic tyrant's mind to ask his wife if she is able to do her work alone, whether he can help her in this or that, or simply inquire, in a sympathetic manner, whether she doesn't feel tired after her day's work.

If he should hear complaints from her he has a beautiful phrase ready for an answer: 'What did my mother do? What did your mother do? I am sure you are not worse off than they were.'

This moral man, the domestic tyrant, is not uncommonly dyspeptic, and bad digestion has been the cause of more unhappy marriages than all the immorality of the world put together.

PART II