The Domestic Treadmill

A scolding husbnd, a crying baby, an oven that will not bake bread on the bottom, a leaking boiler, a cellar that freezes, an unwelcome visitor wüo will not take the hint that her room ia preferable to her company, a servant who thinks more of leauing over the back fence to gossip with a neighbor's hired help than of washing up the dishes, a tíre to build and no kindling wood. With some of all these crosses tugging away at a woman's patience, how can you expuct hor disposition to be as angelic as when she was a happy, careless girl'r Oh ! if she had only known what she was coming to she never would have married you, Mr. Husband. Life in a treadniill would be as good as the one you lead her. "I provide lor the house and what more can I do F replies the man, with injured dignity. Oh ! yes you do provide, if that is what you cali spending two-thirds of your earnings on youraelf, and the other thiid on your wife and children at home. You go out and take your pleasure, but they seldom go, for they rarely have clothes fit to wear. You must have your tody and tobáceo if the children go barefooted all winter. You often take the last dollar and spend it for these little delioacies, when there is little or nothing in the house for the next meal. But you say notbing übout that when you upbraid your wife with extravagauce if she fails to make both ends meet. A Kttle luxury for her is unheard of and unthought of. She goes so long with her noBe to the grindstone that both you and the children learn to believe that mother enjoys it, and would be uuhappy if depriyed of the pleasure of making a slave of herself on your account. It is very strange that she is not move cheerful, but then she is human.