ure! "What a hand, too, dear mother has for shouldn't care a fig for measles, or anything a pie-crust! But it's born with some of the sort. As a nurse, she's such a treaspeople. What do you say? Why wasn't it born with me? Now, Caudle, that's cruel-unfeeling of you; I wouldn't have uttered such a reproach to you for the whole world. Consider, dear; people can't be born as they like. "And at her time of life, what a needlewoman! And the darning and mending for the children, it really gets quite beyond me now, Caudle. Now with mother at my hand, there wouldn't be a stitch wanted in the house. "And then, when you're out late, Caudle for I know you must be out late, sometimes; I can't expect you, of course, to be always at home-why, then dear mother could sit up for you, and nothing would delight the dear soul half so much. "And so, Caudle, love, I think dear mother had better come, don't you? Eh, "How often, too, have you wanted to brew at home! And I never could learn anything about brewing. But, ha! what ale dear mother makes! You never tasted it? No, I know that. But I recollect the ale we used to have at home; and father never would drink wine after it. The best sherry was nothing like it. You dare say not? No; it wasn't, indeed, Caudle. Then, if dear mother was only with us what Caudle? Now, you're not asleep, darling; money we should save in beer! And then don't you think she'd better come? You you might always have your nice, pure, say No? You say No again? You won't good, wholesome ale, Caudle: and what have her, you say; you won't, that's flat? good it would do you! For you're not Caudle-Cau-Cau-dle-Cau-dlestrong, Caudle. "And then, dear mother's jams and preserves, love! I own it, Caudle; it has often gone to my heart that with cold meat you haven't always had a pudding. Now, if mother was with us, in the matter of fruit puddings, she'd make it summer all the year round. But I never could preserve now mother does it, and for next to no money whatever. What nice dogs-in-ablanket she'd make for the children! What's dogs-in-a-blanket? They're de licious as dear mother makes 'em. "Now you have tasted her Irish stew, Caudle? You remember that? Come, you're not asleep-you remember that? And how fond you are of it! And I know I never have it made to please you! Well, what a relief to me it would be if dear mother was always at hand that you might have a stew when you liked. What a load it would be off my mind. "Again, for pickles! Not at all like any body else's pickles. Her red cabbagewhy, it's as crisp as a biscuit! And then her walnuts and her all-sorts! Eh, Caudle? You know how you love pickles; and how we sometimes tiff about 'em? Now if dear mother was only here, a word would never pass between us. And I'm sure nothing would make me happier, for -you're not asleep, Caudle ?—for I can't bear to quarrel, can I, love? "The children, too, are so fond of her! And she'd be such a help to me with 'em! I'm sure, with dear mother in the house, I VOL. I.-W. H. "Here Mrs. Caudle," says her husband, "suddenly went into tears; and I went to sleep." THE TWELFTH LECTURE. MR. CAUDLE HAVING COME HOME A LITTLE "UPON my word, Mr. Caudle, I think it "Oh, yes! the time runs away very pleasantly with you men at your clubsselfish creatures! You can laugh and sing, and tell stories, and never think of the 2 clock; never think there's such a person as a wife belonging to you. It's nothing to you that a poor woman's sitting up, and telling the minutes, and seeing all sorts of things in the fire-and sometimes thinking something dreadful has happened to youmore fool she to care a straw about you! this is all nothing. Oh no! when a woman's once married she's a slave-worse than a slave-and must bear it all! "And what you men can find to talk about I can't think! Instead of a man sitting every night at home with his wife, and going to bed at a Christian hour, - going to a club, to meet a set of people who don't care a button for him,-it's monstrous! What do you say? You only go once a week? That's nothing at all to do with it: you might as well go every night; and I dare say you will soon. But if you do, you may get in as you can: I won't sit up for you, can tell you. My health's being destroyed night after night, and-oh, don't say it's only once a week; I tell you, that's nothing to do with it-if f you had any eyes, you would see how ill I am; but you've no eyes for anybody belonging to you: oh no! your eyes are for people out of doors. It's very well for you to call me a foolish, aggravating woman! I should like to see the woman who'd sit up for you as I do. You didn't want me to sit up? Yes, yes; that's your thanks - that's your gratitude: I'm to ruin my health, and to be abused for it. Nice principles you've got at that club, Mr. Caudle! "But there's one comfort-one great comfort; it can't last long: I'm sinking-I feel it, though I never say anything about it-bat I know my own feelings, and I say it can't last long. And then I should like to know who will sit up for you! Then I should like to know how your second wife -what do you say? You'll never be troubled with another?-Troubled, indeed! I never troubled you, Caudle. No; it's you who've troubled me; and you know it; though, like a foolish woman, I've borne it all, and never said a word about it. But it can't last-that's one blessing! "Oh, if a woman could only know what she'd have to suffer, before she was married don't tell me you want to go to sleep! If you want to go to sleep, you should come home at proper hours! It's time to get up, for what I know, now. Shouldn't wonder if you hear the milk in five minutes-there's the sparrows up already; yes, I say the sparrows; and, Mr. Caudle, you ought to blush to hear 'em. You don't hear 'em? Ha! you won't hear 'em, you mean: I hear 'em. No, Mr. Caudle; it isn't the wind whistling in the keyhole; I'm not quite foolish, though you may think so. I hope I know wind from a sparrow ! "Ha! when I think what a man you were before we were married! But you're now another person-quite an altered creature. But I suppose you're all alike—I dare say, every poor woman's troubled and put upon, though I should hope not so much as I am. Indeed, I should hope not! Going and staying out, and "What! You'll have a key? Will you? Not while I'm alive, Mr. Caudle. I'm not going to bed with the door upon the latch for you or the best man living. You won't have a latch-you'll have a Chubb's lock? Will you? I'll have no Chubb here, I can tell you. What do you say? You'll have the lock put on to-morrow? Well, try it; that's all I say, Caudle; try it. I won't let you put me in a passion; but all I say, is try it. "A respectable thing, that, for a married man to carry about with him,-a street-door key, that tells a tale, I think. A nice thing for the father of a family! A key! What, to let yourself in and out when you please? To come in, like a thief in the middle of the night, instead of knocking at the door like a decent person! Oh, don't tell me that you only want to prevent me sitting up, -if I choose to sit up, what's that to you? Some wives, indeed, would make a noise about sitting up, but you've no reason to complain,-goodness knows! "Well, upon my word, I've lived to hear something. Carry the street-door key about with you! I've heard of such things with good-for-nothing bachelors, with nobody to care what became of 'em; but for a married man to leave his wife and children in a house with the door upon the latch-don't talk to me about Chubb, it's all the samea great deal you must care for us. Yes, it's very well for you to say that you only want the key for peace and quietness-what's it to you, if I like to sit up? You've no business to complain; it can't distress you. Now, it's no use your talking; all I say is this, Caudle: if you send a man to put on any lock here, I'll call in a policeman: as I'm your married wife, I will! No, I think when a man comes to have the street-door key, the sooner he turns bachelor altogether the better. I'm sure, Caudle, I don't want to be any clog upon you. Now, it's no use your telling me to hold my tongue, for I-What? I give you the headache, do I? No, I don't, Caudle; it's your club that gives you the headache: it's your smoke, and your-well! if ever I knew such a man in all my life! there's no saying a word to you! You go out, and treat yourself like an emperor-and come home at twelve at night, or any hour, for what I know,-and then you threaten to have a key, and-and-and "I did get to sleep at last," says Caudle, "amidst the falling sentences of take children into a lodging'-' separate maintenance'-' won't be made a slave of'—and so forth." THE THIRTEENTH LECTURE. MRS. CAUDLE HAS BEEN TO SEE HER DEAR Ir is hard, I think, Mr. Caudle, that I can't leave home for a day or two, but the house must be turned into a tavern; a tavern?-a pot-house? Yes, I thought you were very anxious that I should go; I thought you wanted to get rid of me for something, or you would not have insisted on my staying at dear mother's all night. You were afraid I should get cold coming home, were you? Oh, yes, you can be very tender, you can, Mr. Caudle, when it suits your own purpose. Yes! and the world thinks what a good husband you are! I only wish the world knew you as well as I do, that's all; but it shall, some day, I'm determined. "I'm sure the house will not be sweet for a month. All the curtains are poisoned with smoke; and, what's more, with the filthiest smoke I ever knew. Take 'em down then? Yes, it's all very well for you to say, take 'em down; but they were only cleaned and put up a month ago; but a careful wife's lost upon you, Mr. Caudle. You ought to have married somebody who'd have let your house go to wreck and ruin, as I will for the future. People who don't care for their families are better thought of than those who do; I've long found out that. "And what a condition the carpet's in! They've taken five pounds out of it, if a farthing, with their filthy boots, and I don't know what besides. And then the smoke in the hearth-rug, and a large cinder-hole burnt in it! I never saw such a house in my life! If you wanted to have a few friends, why couldn't you invite 'em when your wife's at home, like any other man? not have 'em sneaking in like a set of housebreakers, directly a woman turns her back. They must be pretty gentlemen, they must; mean fellows, that are afraid to face a woman! Ha! and you all call yourselves the lords of the creation! I should only like to see what would become of the creation, if you were left to yourselves! A very pretty pickle creation would be in very soon! "You must all have been in a nice con And dition! What do you say? You took nothing? Took nothing, didn't you? I'm sure there's such a regiment of empty bottles, I haven't had the heart to count 'em. punch, too! you must have punch! There's a hundred half-lemons in the kitchen, if there's one for Susan, like a good girl, kept 'em to show 'em me. No, sir; Susan sha'n't leave the house! What do you say? She has no right to tell tales, and you WILL be master of your own house? Will you ? If you don't alter, Mr. Caudle, you'll soon have no house to be master of. A whole loaf of sugar did I leave in the cupboard, and now there isn't as much as would fill a tea-cup. Do you suppose I'm to find sugar for punch for fifty men? What do you say? There wasn't fifty? That's no matter; the more shame for 'em, sir. I'm sure they drank enough for fifty. Do you suppose out of my housekeeping money I'm to find sugar for punch for all the world? don't ask me? Don't you ask me? You do; you know you do: for if I only want a shilling extra, the house is in a blaze. And yet a whole loaf of sugar can you throw away upon You No, I won't be still; and I won't let you go to sleep. If you'd got to bed at a proper hour last night, you would'nt have been so sleepy now. You can sit up half the night with a pack of people who don't care for you, and your poor wife can't get in a word! "And there's that China image that I had when I was married-I wouldn't have taken any sum of money for it, and you know it-and how do I find it? With it's precious head knocked off! And what was more mean, more contemptible than all besides, it was put on again, as if nothing had happened. You know nothing about it? | Now, how can you lie there, in your Christian bed, Caudle, and say that? You know that that fellow, Prettyman, knocked off the head with the poker! You know that he did. And you hadn't the feeling,-yes, I will say it, you hadn't the feeling to protect what you knew was precious to me. Oh, no, if the truth was known, you were glad to see it broken for that very reason. Every way, I've been insulted. I should like to know who it was who corked whiskers on my dear aunt's picture? Oh, you're laughing, are you? You're not laughing? Don't tell me that. I should like to know what shakes the bed, then, if you're not laughing? Yes, corked whiskers on her dear face-and she was a good soul to you, Caudle, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself to see her ill-used. Oh, you may laugh! It's very easy to laugh! I only wish you'd a little feeling, like other people, that's all. "Then there's my China mug-the mug I had before I was married-when I was a happy creature. I should like to know who knocked the spout off that mug? Don't tell me it was cracked before-it's no such thing, Caudle; there wasn't a flaw in itand now, I could have cried when I saw it. Don't tell me it wasn't worth twopence. How do you know? You never buy mugs. But that's like men; they think nothing in a house costs anything. "There's four glasses broke, and nine cracked. At least, that's all I have found out at present; but I dare say I shall dis cover a dozen to-morrow. "And I should like to know where the cotton umbrella's gone to-and I should like to know who broke the bell-pull-and perhaps you don't know there's a leg off a chair, and perhaps " and I do—the more shame of you to let me, but-there, now! there you fly out again! What do I want now? Why, you must know what's wanted, if you'd any eyes-or any pride for your children, like any other father. What's the matter-and what am I driving at? Oh, nonsense, Caudle! As if you didn't know! I'm sure if I'd any money of my own, I'd never ask you for a farthing; never; it's painful to me, goodness knows! What do you say? If it's painful, why so often do it? Ha! I sup pose you call that a joke-one of your club jokes? I wish you'd think a little more of people's feelings, and less of your jokes. As I say, I only wish I'd money of my own. If there is anything that humbles a poor woman, it is coming to a man's pocket for every farthing. It's dreadful! 'Now, Caudle, if ever you kept awake, you shall keep awake to-night-yes, you shall hear me, for it isn't often I speak, and then you may go to sleep as soon as you like. Pray do you know what month this is? And did you see how the children looked at church to-day-like nobody else's children? What was the matter with them? O Caudle! How can you ask? Poor things! weren't they all in their thick merinos, and beaver bonnets? What do you say? What of it? What! you'll tell me that you didn't see how the Briggs's girls, in their new chips, turned their noses up at 'em? And you didn't see how the Browns looked at the Smiths, and then at our dear girls, as much as to say, 'Poor creatures! what figures for the month of May! You didn't see it? The more shame for youyou would, if you'd had the feelings of a parent-but I'm sorry to say, Caudle, haven't. I'm sure those Briggs's girls-the little minxes!-put me into such a pucker, I could have pulled their ears for 'em over the pew. What do you say? I ought to be ashamed of myself to own it? No, Mr. Caudle: the shame lies with you, that don't let your children appear at church like other people's children; that make 'em uncomfortable at their devotions, poor things; for how can it be otherwise, when they see themselves dressed like nobody else? you "Now, Caudle, it's no use talking; those children shall not cross the threshold next Sunday, if they haven't things for the sammer. Now mind-they sha'n't; and there's an end of it. I won't have 'em exposed to the Briggses and the Browns again; no, they shall know they have a mother, if |