But let a mean woman be installed as governor of the household, and on the slightest provocation her eyes will flame with fury, an ashy pallor will mantle her funnel face and she will roar like an approaching cyclone; forked lightnings will leap from her frenzied tongue and strike everybody and everything for miles and miles around; her shivering husband is usually the victim, whether guilty or innocent,
And there’s nothing left, when the heavens clear,
But skin and hair in the atmosphere.
The chasm of calamity into which many an unwary lover falls in the leap of matrimony is his ignorance of the woman who takes this leap with him. She conjures him into the belief that she is an angel of light and worthy to govern the world, when in reality she is a ferocious feline from away back, a pussy of despair from the night’s Plutonian shore.
Forked lightnings leap from her frenzied tongue.
Many a good woman, on the other hand, is deceived and cajoled by her suitor into the faith that he is a saint on earth, a sweet spirit of prayer, and fit only for the companionship of the seraphim and cherubim, when, in fact, he is a carrion crow from far away, a beautiful buzzard from Paradise Bay.
Happiness follows in the footsteps of a good woman as the flowers follow in the footsteps of June; and laughter hand in hand with tears greets her every day. All the pure and beautiful ideals of the heart, all the chaste and tender emotions of the soul are her priceless jewels. Her life is a willing sacrifice, and she passes from the morning to the evening with blessings upon her lips and the light of peace and joy in her shining train. She is the star that eclipses every sun and dispels the darkness of every cloud. But it is hard to foretell results in the Monte Carlo of love. He who ventures there is playing a hazardous game and should not bet too high, for it is surely a game of chance. Sometimes hearts are trumps, alas, sometimes clubs! Infatuation often stacks the cards, the intoxication of overweening confidence sometimes dims the player’s eyes, and even what seems to be a winning hand may quickly lose the game. But blessed is the gambler in the perilous game of marriage who wins a good woman for she is the richest stake ever won by man in this world. She is the handmaid of the Lord, establishing his kingdom in the home and linking earth to heaven every day.
Without her, nations would fall and civilizations crumble; without her, all the suns and moons of love would darken and all the stars of hope forget to shine; without her, charity would lose its sweetness, mercy its tenderness and sentiment its very life; without her, the genius of Phidias and Praxiteles never would have glorified the marble; Raphael and Angelo never would have dreamed in immortal colors; Burns never would have written his sweetest lyrics of love, and the dreams of Shakespeare never would have blossomed into song; without her, home, happiness and family ties would be but mockeries and the Christian religion itself would perish among its worshipers.