It may also be classified for John's admonition, as the natural reaction of ingenious wits against wet-blanketism.

The funniest part of the transaction is that John never suspects the ruse, even at the hundredth repetition, and esteems himself, in dogged complacency, the author of his spouse's goodliest ideas.
Such a one dreads nothing more than the reputation of being ruled by his wife.

The more hen-pecked he is, the less he knows it--and vice versa.

"He jests at scars who never felt a wound." She who has her John well in hand has broken him in too thoroughly to allow him to resent the curb, or to play with the bit.
His intentions--so far as he knows them--are so good, he tries so steadfastly to please his wife--he is so often piteously perplexed--this big, burly, blundering, blind-folded, _blessed_ John of ours--that our knowledge of his disabilities enwraps him in a mantle of affectionate charity.

His efforts to master the delicate intricacy of his darling's mental and spiritual organization may be like the would-be careful hold of thumb and finger upon a butterfly's wing, but the pain he causes is inconceivable by him.