In every well regulated home the governor of each commonwealth wears dresses and the lieutenant governor wears pantaloons. The wife reigns supreme. Her scepter is her slipper, under whose swing and sway juvenile civilization often worms and squirms, firmly held across her lap face downward; and one shake of the scepter thoroughly subdues the lieutenant governor. ’Tis well! for what right has he to butt into policies of home rule and to stick his nose into the prerogatives of petticoat government? A good husband’s dominion lies beyond the boundary line of the home. He is supreme in the office, the shop or at the plow handles. His province is to provide revenue and to fill the flour barrel. He must receive his reward in the golden coin of kisses and in the exercise of the high privilege of paying all bills, obeying all commands, and acknowledging his eternal loyalty and devotion to the flounced and powdered governor. It is only in her absence from home that he becomes great and seizes the opportunity to exercise his veto power. Instantly all dusting and sweeping cease until he leaves the house for a stroll; all romping and frolicking and sliding down the banisters come to a standstill; all practicing on the piano is suspended; and the changing of sheets and pillowslips and putting rooms in order except once a week, are abolished as nuisances. The acting governor reforms everything but his appetite. He taps the exchequer and every meal must be a banquet at the peril of the cook’s tenure of office. His reign is brief but glorious, and business is dispatched in a hurry with the view of the early return of the slippered and skirted governor. His old cronies flock into his touseled and disordered bedroom every night to share his limitless liberty and his boundless bonhomie. And often the jubilant uproar is punctuated with the popping of corks and the clinking of glasses, while the ceaseless rattle of poker chips emphasizes the ancient proverb that “When the cat’s away, The mice will play.” And so each little domestic commonwealth has its lights and shadows, its ups and downs, and its seasons of mal-administration. But when the real governor again assumes the reins of power, a good husband, if he has been guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors in office during her absence, repents in sackcloth and ashes, and a good wife, after a curtain lecture and a cry, always exercises the pardoning power and restores the lieutenant governor to his former prestige and favor with the powers that be, and again “all goes merry as a marriage bell.” [Illustration: Wandering in strange and unknown pastures of romance. ] A good husband has his faults and foibles, and sometimes falls from grace; but he is the salt of the earth when properly managed.