between the wisdom and the wine. The wine was always sugared; the wisdom, never. It was expressed crude from the heart of Mrs. Caudle, who, doubtless, trusted to the sweetness of her husband's disposition to make it agree with him. lity of those little fellows, to whom the tax- | wine. There was, however, this difference gatherer was as yet a rarer animal than the baby hippopotamus. Heroic boyhood, so ignorant of the future in the knowing enjoyment of the present! And the writer, still dreaming and musing, and still following no distinct line of thought, there struck upon him, like notes of sudden household music, these words-CURTAIN Lectures. One moment there was no living object save those racing, shouting boys; and the next, as though a white dove had alighted on the pen-hand of the writer, there wasMRS. CAUDLE. Ladies of the jury, are there not then some subjects of letters that mysteriously assert an effect without any discoverable cause? Otherwise, wherefore should the thought of CURTAIN LECTURES grow from a school-ground-wherefore, among a crowd of holiday school-boys should appear MRS. CAUDLE? : For the LECTURES themselves, it is feared they must be given up as a farcical desecration of that solemn time-honored privilege; it may be, exercised once in a lifetime, and that once having the effect of a hundred repetitions as JOB lectured his wife. And Job's wife, a certain Mohammedan writer delivers, having committed a fault in her love to her husband, he swore that on his recovery he would deal her a hundred stripes. Job got well, and his heart was touched and taught by the tenderness to keep his vow, and still to chastise his helpmate; for he smote her once with a palmbranch having a hundred leaves. THE INTRODUCTION. D. J. POOR Job Caudle was one of the few men whom Nature, in her casual bounty to women, sends into the world as patient listeners. He was, perhaps, in more respects than one, all ears. And these ears, Mrs. Caudle-his lawful wedded wife, as she would ever and anon impress upon him, for she was not a woman to wear chains without shaking them-took whole and sole possession of. They were her entire property; as expressly made to convey to Caudle's brain the stream of wisdom that continually flowed from the lips of his wife, as was the tin funnel through which Mrs. Caudle in vintage time bottled her elder Philosophers have debated whether morning or night is most conducive to the strongest and clearest moral impressions. The Grecian sage confessed that his labors smelt of the lamp. In like manner did Mrs. Caudle's wisdom smell of the rushlight. She knew that her husband was too much distracted by his business as toy-man and doll-merchant to digest her lessons in the broad day. Besides, she could never make sure of him; he was always liable to be summoned to the shop. Now from eleven at night until seven in the morning, there was no retreat for him. He was compelled to lie and listen. Perhaps there was little magnanimity in this on the part of Mrs. Caudle; but in marriage as in war, it is permitted to take every advantage of the enemy. Besides, Mrs. Caudle copied very ancient and classic authority. Minerva's bird, the very wisest thing in feathers, is silent all the day. So was Mrs. Caudle. Like the owl, she hooted only at night. Mr. Caudle was blessed with an indomitable constitution. One fact will prove the truth of this. He lived thirty years with Mrs. Caudle, surviving her. Yes, it took thirty years for Mrs. Caudle to lecture and dilate upon the joys, griefs, duties and vicissitudes comprised within that seemingly small circle-the wedding-ring. We say, seemingly small; for the thing, as viewed by the vulgar, naked eye, is a tiny hoop, made for the third feminine finger. Alack! like the ring of Saturn, for good or evil, it circles a whole world. Or, to take a less gigantic figure, it compasses a vast region; it may be Arabia Felix, and it may be Arabia Petrea. A lemon-hearted cynic might liken the wedding-ring to an ancient circus, in which wild animals clawed one another for the sport of lookers-on. Perish the hyperbole ! We would rather compare it to an elfin ring, in which dancing fairies made the sweetest music for infirm humanity. Manifold are the uses of rings. Even swine are tamed by them. You will see a vagrant, hilarious, devastating porker-a full-blooded fellow that would bleed into many, many fathoms of black-pudding you will see him, escaped from his proper | he was alone in his holland. Nevertheless home, straying in a neighbor's garden. the talk continued. It was terrible to be How he tramples upon the heart's-ease: thus haunted by a voice; to have advice, how, with quivering snout, he roots up commands, remonstrance, all sorts of saws lilies-oderiferous bulbs! Here he gives a and adages still poured upon him, and no reckless snatch at thyme and marjoram-visible wife. Now did the voice speak from and here he munches violets and gillyflowers. At length the marauder is detected, seized by his owner, and driven, beaten home. To make the porker less dangerous, it is determined that he shall be ringed. The sentence is pronounced-exe- | cution ordered. Listen to his screams! "Would you not think the knife was in his throat? And yet they're only boring through his nose!" Hence, for all future time, the porker behaves himself with a sort of forced propriety for in either nostril he carries a ring. It is, for the greatness of humanity, a saddening thought, that sometimes men must be treated no better than pigs. But Mr. Job Caudle was not of these men. Marriage to him was not made a necessity. No; for him call it if you will a happy chance-a golden accident. It is, however, enough for us to know that he was married; and was therefore made the recipient of a wife's wisdom. Mrs. Caudle, like Mahomet's dove, continually pecked at the good man's ears; and it is a happiness to learn from what he left behind that he had hived all her sayings in his brain; and further, that he employed the mellow evening of his life to put such sayings down, that, in due season, they might be enshrined in imperishable type. When Mr. Job Candle was left in this briery world without his daily guide and nocturnal monitress, he was in the ripe fulness of fifty-two. For three hours at least after he went to bed-such slaves are we to habithe could not close an eye. His wife still talked at his side. True it was, she was dead and decently interred. His mind-it was a comfort to know it-could not wander on this point; this he knew. Nevertheless, his wife was with him. The Ghost of her Tongue still talked as in the life; and again and again did Job Caudle hear the monitions of by-gone years. At times, so loud, so lively, so real were the sounds, that Job, with a cold chill, doubted if he were really widowed. And then, with the movement of an arm, a foot, he would assure himself that the curtains; now from the tester; and now did it whisper to Job from the very pillow that he pressed. "It's a dreadful thing that her tongue should walk in this manner," said Job, and then he thought confusedly of exorcism, or at least of counsel from the parish priest. Whether Job followed his own brain, or the wise direction of another, we know not. But he resolved every night to commit to paper one curtain lecture of his late wife. The employment would, possibly, lay the ghost that haunted him. It was her dear tongue that cried for justice, and when thus satisfied, it might possibly rest in quiet. And so it happened. Job faithfully chronicled all his late wife's lectures; the ghost of her tongue was thenceforth silent, and Job slept all his after-nights in peace. When Job died, a small packet of was found inscribed as follows: "CURTAIN LECTURES papers DELIVERED IN THE COURSE OF THIRTY YEARS And suffered BY JOB, HER HUSBAND." That Mr. Caudle had his eye upon the future printer, is made pretty probable by the fact that in most places he had affixed the text-such text for the most part arising out of his own daily conduct to the lecture of the night. He had, also, with an instinctive knowledge of the dignity of literature, left a bank-note of very fair amount with the manuscript. Following our duty as editor, we trust we have done justice to both documents. wanted a black satin gown these three years, and that five pounds would have entirely bought it But it's no matter how I go, not at all. Everybody says I don't dress as becomes your wife, and I don't; but what's that to you, Mr. Caudle? Nothing. Oh, no! you can have fine feelings for everybody but those belonging to you. I wish people knew you as I do that's all. You like to be called liberaland your family pays for it. "All the girls want bonnets, and where they're to come from I can't tell. Half five pounds would have bought 'em-but now they must go without. Of course, they belong to you; and anybody but your own flesh and blood, Mr. Caudle. "The man called for the water-rate today; but I should like to know how people are to pay taxes, who throw away five pounds to every fellow that asks them? "Perhaps you don't know that Jack, this morning, knocked his shuttlecock through his bedroom window. I was going to send for the glazier to mend it; but after you lent that five pounds I was sure we couldn't afford it. Oh, no! the window must go as it is; and pretty weather for a dear child to sleep with a broken window. He's got a cold already on his lungs, and I shouldn't at all wonder if that broken window settled him. If the dear boy dies, his death will be upon his father's head; for I'm sure we can't now pay to mend windows. We might though, and do a great many more things, too, if people didn't throw away their five pounds. "Next Tuesday the fire-insurance is due. I should like to know how it's to be paid? Why, it can't be paid at all! That five pounds would have more than done if—and now, insurance is out of the question. And there never were so many fires as there are now. I shall never close my eyes all night -but what's that to you, so people can call you liberal, Mr. Caudle? Your wife and children may all be burnt alive in their beds -as all of us to a certainty shall be, for the insurance must drop. And after we've insured for so many years! But how, I should like to know, are people to insure who make ducks and drakes of their five pounds? "I did think we might go to Margate this summer. There's poor little Caroline, I'm sure she wants the sea. But no, dear creature! she must stop at home-all of us must stop at home-she'll go into a con sumption, there's no doubt of that; yessweet little angel!-I've made up my mind to lose her, now. The child might have been saved; but people can't save their children and throw away their five pounds too. "I wonder where poor little Mopsy is? While you were lending that five pounds, the dog ran out of the shop. You know, Í never let it go into the street, for fear it should be bit by some mad dog, and come home and bite all the children. It wouldn't now astonish me if the animal was to come back with the hydrophobia, and give it to all the family. However, what's your family to you, so you can play the liberal creature with five pounds? "Do you hear that shutter, how it's banging to and fro? Yes, I know what it wants as well as you; it wants a new fastening. I was going to send for the blacksmith to-day, but now it's out of the question: now it must bang of nights, since you've thrown away five pounds. "Ha! there's the soot falling down the chimney. If I hate the smell of anything, it's the smell of soot. And you know it; but what are my feelings to you? Sweep the chimney! Yes, it's all very fine to say, sweep the chimney-but how are the chimneys to be swept-how are they to be paid for by people who don't take care of their five pounds? "Do you hear the mice running about the room? I hear them. If they were to drag only you out of bed, it would be no matter. Set a trap for them! Yes, it's easy enough to say-set a trap for 'em. But how are people to afford mouse-traps, when every day they lose five pounds? "Hark! I'm sure there's a noise downstairs. It would'nt at all surprise me if there were thieves in the house. Well, it may be the cat, but thieves are pretty sure to come in some night. There's a wretched fastening to the back door; but these are not times to afford bolts and bars, when people won't take care of their five pounds. 'Mary Anne ought to have gone to the dentist's to-morrow. She wants three teeth taken out. Now, it can't be done. Three teeth that quite disfigure the poor child's mouth. But there they must stop, and spoil the sweetest face that was ever made. Otherwise, she'd have been a wife for a lord. Now, when she grows up, who'll have her? Nobody. We shall die, and leave her alone and unprotected in the world. But what do you care for that? | worse. "And thus," comments Caudle, "according to my wife, she-dear soul! couldn't have a satin gown—the girls couldn't have new bonnets-the water-rate must stand over-through a broken window, Jack must get his death-our fire-insurance couldn't be paid, so that we should all fall victims to the devouring element-we couldn't go to Margate, and Caroline would go to an early grave—the dog would come home and bite us all mad-the shutter would go banging forever-the soot would always fall-the mice never let us have a wink of sleep-thieves be always breaking in the house our dear Mary Anne be forever left an unprotected maid-and with other evils falling upon us, all, all because I would go on lending five pounds! " THE SECOND LECTURE. You might as well smoke-indeed, better. Better smoke yourself than come home with other people's smoke all in your hair and whiskers. who went to a tavern. Nice companions "I never knew any good come to a man he picks up there! Yes; people who make it a boast to treat their wives like slaves, and ruin their families. There's that wretch, Harry Prettyman. See what he's in the morning; and then in what a state! come to. He doesn't now get home till two He begins quarreling with the door-mat, that his poor wife may be afraid to speak to him. be like Mrs. Prettyman. No: I wouldn't A mean wretch! But don't you think I'll trod. You'll not make me afraid to speak put up with it from the best man that ever to you, however you may swear at the doormat. No, Mr. Caudle, that you won't. "You don't intend to stay out till two in the morning? How do you know what you'll do when you get among such people? Men can't answer for themselves when they get to boosing one with another. They' never think of their poor wives, who are grieving and wearing themselves out at MR. CAUDLE HAS BEEN AT A TAVERN WITH A home. A nice headache you'll have toFRIEND, AND IS ENOUGH TO POISON A 66 WOMAN WITH TOBACCO-SMOKE. "I'm sure I don't know who'd be a poor woman! I don't know who'd tie themselves up to a man, if they only knew half they'd have to bear. A wife must stay at home and be a drudge, whilst a man can go any where. It's enough for a wife to sit like Cinderella by the ashes, whilst her husband can go drinking and singing at a tavern. You never sing? How do I know you never sing? It's very well for you to say so; but if I could hear you, I dare say you're among the worst of 'em. "And now, I suppose, it will be the tavern every night? If you think I'm going to sit up for you, Mr. Caudle, you're very much mistaken. No: and I'm not going to get out of my warm bed to let you in, either. No: nor Susan sha'n't sit up for you. No: nor you sha'n't have a latchkey. I'm not going to sleep with the door upon the latch, to be murdered before the morning. "Faugh! Pah! Whewgh! That filthy tobacco-smoke! It's enough to kill any decent woman. You know I hate tobacco, and yet you will do it. You don't smoke yourself? What of that? If you go among people who do smoke, you're just as bad, or morrow morning-or rather this morning; for it must be past twelve. You won't have a headache? It's very well for you to say so, but I know you will; and then you may nurse yourself for me. Ha! that filthy tobacco again! No; I shall not go to sleep like a good soul. How's people to go to sleep when they're suffocated? "Yes, Mr. Caudle, you'll be nice and ill in the morning! But don't you think I'm going to let you have your breakfast in bed, like Mrs. Prettyman. I'll not be such a fool. No; nor I won't have discredit brought upon the house by sending for soda-water early, for all the neighborhood to say, 'Caudle was drunk last night.' No; I've some regard for the dear children, if you haven't. No; nor you sha'n't have broth for dinner. Not a neck of mutton crosses my threshold, I can tell you. "You won't want soda and you won't want broth? All the better. You wouldn't get 'em if you did. I can assure you. Dear, dear, dear! That filthy tobacco! I'm sure it's enough to make me as bad as you are. Talking about getting divorced,-I'm sure tobacco ought to be good grounds. How little does a woman think, when she mar ries, that she gives herself up to be poisoned! You men contrive to have it all of your own side, you do. Now if I was to go | Why, he was drinking down-stairs-swilland leave you and the children, a pretty ing. Yes; worse than a midnight robber, noise there'd be! You, however, can go he'd taken the keys out of his dear wife's and smoke no end of pipes and—You didn't pockets-ha! what that poor creature has smoke? It's all the same, Mr. Caudle, if to bear!-and had got at the brandy. A you go among smoking people. Folks are pretty thing for a wife to wake at six in the known by their company. You'd better morning, and instead of her husband to see smoke yourself, than bring home the pipes his dirty boots! of all the world. "But I'll not be made your victim, Mr. Caudle, not I. You shall never get at my keys, for they shall lie under my pillowunder my own head, Mr. Caudle. "You'll be ruined, but if I can help it, you shall ruin nobody but yourself. "Oh! that hor-hor-hor-i-ble tobac-co!" To this lecture Caudle affixes no comment. A certain proof, we think, that the man had nothing to say for himself. THE THIRD LECTURE. "Yes, I see how it will be. Now you've once gone to a tavern, you'll always be going. You'll be coming home tipsy every night; and tumbling down and breaking your leg, and putting out your shoulder; and bringing all sorts of disgrace and expense upon us. And then you'll be getting into a street fight-oh! I know your temper too well to doubt it, Mr. Caudle, and be knocking down some of the police. And then I know what will follow. It must follow. Yes, you'll be sent for a month or six weeks to the tread-mill. Pretty thing that, for a respectable tradesman, Mr. Caudle, to be put upon the tread-mill with all sorts of thieves and vagabonds, and— there, again, that horrible tobacco!—and riffraff of every kind. I should like to know how your children are to hold up their "WELL, if a woman hadn't better be in heads, after their father has been upon the her grave than be married! That is, if she tread-mill? No; I won't go to sleep. And can't be married to a decent man. No; I I'm not talking of what's impossible. I don't care if you are tired, I sha'n't let know it will all happen-every bit of it. If go to sleep. No, and I won't say what I it wasn't for the dear children, you might have to say in the morning; I'll say it now. be ruined and I wouldn't so much as speak It's all very well for you to come home at about it, but-oh, dear, dear! at least you what time you like-it's now half-past might go where they smoke good tobacco-twelve-and expect I'm to hold my tongue, but I can't forget that I'm their mother. At and let you go to sleep. What next, I wonleast they shall have one parent. der? A woman had better be sold for a slave at once. "Taverns! Never did a man go to a tavern who didn't die a beggar. And how your pot-companions will laugh at you when they see your name in the Gazette! For it must happen. Your business is sure to fall off; for what respectable people will buy toys for their children of a drunkard? You're not a drunkard! No: but you will be-it's all the same. "You've begun by staying out till midnight. By and by, 't will be all night. But don't you think, Mr. Caudle, you shall ever have a key. I know you. Yes: you'd do exactly like that Prettyman, and what did he do, only last Wednesday? Why, he let himself in about four in the morning, and brought home with him his pot-companion, Puffy. His dear wife woke at six, and saw Prettyman's dirty boots at her bed-side. And where was the wretch, her husband? MR. CAUDLE JOINS A CLUB,-" THE you "And so you've gone and joined a club? The Skylarks, indeed! A pretty skylark you'll make of yourself! But I won't stay and be ruined by you. No: I'm determined on that. I'й go and take the dear children, and you may get who you like to keep your house. That is, as long as you have a house to keep-and that won't be long, I know. "How any decent man can go and spend his nights in a tavern!-oh, yes, Mr. Caudle; I dare say you do go for rational conversation. I should like to know how many of you would care for what you call rational conversation, if you had it without your filthy brandy-and-water; yes, and your more filthy tobacco-smoke. I'm sure the last time you came home, I had the headache for a week. But I know who it is who's |