tle lady of whom I have been writing found that she had
been demanding from her husband what he really ought to have given her
as a matter of course, and that she had used up all her strength in
suffering because he did not give it, and had used none of her strength
in the effort to be patient and quiet in waiting for him to come to his
senses, she went home and began a new life. She was a plucky little
woman and very intelligent when once her eyes were opened. She
recognized the fact that her suffering was resistance to her husband's
irritable selfishness, and she stopped resisting.

It was a long and hard struggle of days, weeks, and months, but it
brought a very happy reward. When a man is irritable and ugly, and his
wife offers no resistance either in anger or suffering, the
irritability and ugliness react upon himself, and if there is something
better in him he begins to perceive the irritability in its true
colors. That is what happened to this man. As his wife stopped
demanding he began to give. As his wife's nerves became calm and quiet
his nerves quieted and calmed. Finally his wife discovered that much of
his irritability had been roused through nervous anxiety in regard to
his business about which he had told her nothing whatever because it
"was not his way."

There is nothing in the world that so strengthens nerves as the steady
use of the will to drop resistance and useless emotions and get a quiet
control. This woman gained that strength, and to her surprise one day
her husband turned to her with a full account of all his business
troubles and she met his mind quietly, as one business man might meet
another, and without in the least expressing her pleasure or her
surprise. She took all the good change in him as a matter of course.

Finally one day it came naturally and easily to talk over the past. She
found that her husband from day to day had dreaded coming home. The
truth was that he had dreaded his own irritability as much as he had
dreaded her emotional demanding. But he did not know it--he did not
know what was the matter at all. He simply knew vaguely that he was a
brute, that he felt like a brute, and that he did not know how to stop
being a brute. His wife knew that he was a brute, and at the same time
she felt throughly convinced that she was a suffering martyr. He was
dreading to come home and she was dreading to have him come home--and
there they were in a continuous nightmare. Now they have