4. The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, Is very low; 't was once so high To think how very much I've changed 5. Near by that spring, upon an elm, Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom; Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark; 'Twas dying sure, but slow, Just as that one whose name you cut 6. My lids have long been dry, Tom, I thought of her I loved so well, I visited the old churchyard, And took some flowers to strew 7. Some are in the churchyard laid, Some sleep beneath the sea; And none are left of our old class Excepting you and me. And when our time shall come, Tom, I hope we'll meet with those we loved XLV. MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE. Douglas Jerrold (b. 1803, d. 1857) was born in London. A midshipman's appointment was obtained for him, but he quit the naval service in a few years. He was then apprenticed to a printer. By improving his leisure hours he made himself master of several languages, and formed the habit of expressing his thoughts in writing An essay on the opera of Der Freischutz was his first published literary production. Before he was twenty-one years of age, he wrote "Black-eyed Susan," one of the most popular dramas of modern times. Several other popular plays followed this. He was a regular contributor to the London "Punch," from the second number, and edited, at different times, several papers and magazines. As a humorist, he occupies the first rank. The most noted of his works are his plays, and "Mrs Caudle's Curtain Lectures," "Saint Giles and Saint James," "Bubbles of a Day," and "Chronicles of Clovernook." 1. WELL, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning. There, you need n't begin to whistle: people don't come to bed to whistle. But it's like you; I can't speak that you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living now, you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest? No, I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; besides, it is n't often I open my mouth, goodness knows! 2. Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must almost swear the roof off the house. You didn't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle! you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a passion, wer'n't you? Well, then, I don't know what a passion is; and I think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that. 3. It's a pity you hav'n't something worse to complain of than a button off your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never without a needle and thread in my hand; what with you and the children, I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your life a button's off your shirt what do you cry "oh" at? I say once, Mr. Caudle; or twice, or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to know where were your buttons then? 4. Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and then if I only try to speak, you won't hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves: a poor woman is n't allowed to get a word in. A nice notion you have of a wife, to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's buttons. A pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew what they had to go through!— what with buttons, and one thing and another, they'd never tie themselves. up, no, not to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle?- Why, do much better without you, I'm certain. 5. And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't off the shirt; it's my belief that you pulled it off that you might have something to talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything! All I know is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt; for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I am. I only say it's very odd. 6. However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha! you may laugh! And I dare say you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love; that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say nothing about it. And when I'm gone we shall see how your second wife will look after your buttons! You'll find out the difference then. Yes, Caudle, you'll think of me then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a blessed button to your back. 7. No, I'm not a vindictive woman, Mr. Caudle: nobody ever called me that but you. What do you say? Nobody ever knew so much of me? That's nothing at all to do with it. Ha! I would n't have your aggravating temper, Caudle, for mines of gold. It's a good thing. I'm not as worrying as you are, or a nice house there'd be between us. I only wish you' 'd had a wife that would have talked to you! Then you'd have known the difference. But you impose upon me because, like a poor fool, I say nothing. I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle. 8. And a pretty example you set as a father! You'll make your boys as bad as yourself. Talking as you did all breakfast time about your buttons! and of a Sunday morning, too! And you call yourself a Christian! I should like to know what your boys will say of you when they grow up! And all about a paltry button off one of your wristbands! A decent man would n't have mentioned it. Why don't I hold my tongue? Because I won't hold my tongue. I'm to have my peace of mind destroyed -I'm to be worried into my grave for a miserable shirt button, and I'm to hold my tongue! Oh! but that's just like you men! 9. But I know what I'll do for the future. Every button you have may drop off, and I won't so much as put a thread to 'em. And I should like to know what you'll do then! Oh, you must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? That's a pretty threat for a husband to hold out to his wife! And to such a wife as I've been, too: such a slave to your buttons, as I may say. Somebody else to sew 'em? No, Caudle, no; not while I'm alive! When I'm dead—and, with what I have to bear, there's no knowing how soon that may be when I'm dead, I say oh! what a brute you must be to snore so! 10. You're not snoring? Ha! that's what you always say; but that's nothing to do with it. You must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? Ha! I should n't wonder. Oh, no! I should be surprised at nothing now! Nothing at all! It's what people have always told me it would come to; and now the buttons have opened my eyes! But the whole world shall know of your cruelty, Mr. Caudle. After the wife I've been to you. Caudle, you've a heart like a hearthstone, you have! DEFINITIONS.-5. Ag'gra-vat-ing, provoking, irritating. 6. Sink'ing, failing in strength. 7. Vin-die'tive, revengeful. 8. Pal'try, mean, contemptible. XLVI. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH, 1. UNDER a spreading chestnut tree 2. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His brow is wet with honest sweat, And looks the whole world in the face, 3. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. |