Part 3

“And then you must go into the shows? There,--you don't deny that. You _did_ go into a show. What of it, Mr. Caudle? A good deal of it, sir. Nice crowding and squeezing in those shows, I know. Pretty places! And you a married man and the father of a family. No: I won't hold my tongue. It's very well for you to threaten to get up. You're to go to Greenwich Fair, and race up and down the hill, and play at kiss in the ring. Pah! it's disgusting, Mr. Caudle. Oh, I dare say you _did_ play at it; if you didn't, you'd have liked, and that's just as bad;--and you can go into swings, and shows, and roundabouts. If I was you, I should hide my head under the clothes, and be ashamed of myself.

“And what is most selfish--most mean of you, Caudle--you can go and enjoy yourself, and never so much as bring home for the poor children a gingerbread-nut. Don't tell me that your pocket was picked of a pound of nuts! Nice company you must have been in to have your pocket picked.

“But I dare say I shall hear all about it tomorrow. I've no doubt, sir, you were dancing at the Crown-and-Anchor. I should like to have seen you. No: I'm not making myself ridiculous. It's you that's making yourself ridiculous; and everybody that knows you says so. Everybody knows what I have to put up with from you.

“Going to a fair, indeed! At your time----”

“Here,” says Caudle, “I dozed off, hearing confusedly the words--hill--gypsies--rattles--roundabout--swings--pink bonnet--nuts.”

LECTURE X. ON MR. CAUDLE'S SHIRT-BUTTONS.

There, Mr. Caudle, I hope you 're in a little better temper than you were this morning? There--you needn'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; and it isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows!

“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.

“It's a pity you havn'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. Cau dle; or twice, or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's buttons in the world are better looked after than your's. 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?

“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 isn'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 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.

“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.

“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.

“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 wouldn'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.

“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 but tons! 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 wouldn't have mentioned it. Why won'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!

“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 a wife! And to such a wife as I've been, too: such a negro-slave to your buttons, as I may say! Somebody else to sew 'em, eh? 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!

“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 shouldn'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. Somebody else, indeed, to sew your buttons! I'm no longer to be mistress in my own house! Ha, Caudle! I wouldn't have upon my conscience what you have, for the world! I wouldn't treat anybody as you treat--no, I'm not mad! It's you, Mr. Caudle, who are mad, or bad--and that's worse! I can't even so much as, speak of a shirt-button, but that I'm threatened to be made nobody of in my own house! Caudle, you've a heart like a hearth-stone, you have! To threaten me, and only because a button--a button----”

“I was conscious of no more than this,” says Caudle, in his MS., “for here nature relieved me with a sweet, deep sleep.”

LECTURE XI. MRS. CAUDLE SUGGESTS THAT HER DEAR MOTHER SHOULD “COME AND LIVE WITH THEM.”

“Is your cold better tonight, Caudle? Yes, I thought it was. 'Twill be quite well to-morrow, I dare say. There's a love! You don't take care enough of yourself, Caudle, you don't. And you ought, I'm sure; if only for my sake. For whatever I should do, if any thing was to happen to you--but I won't think of it; no, I can't bear to think of _that_. Still, you ought to take care of yourself; for you know you're not strong, Caudle; you know you're not.

“Wasn't dear mother so happy with us, tonight? Now, you needn't go to sleep, so suddenly. I say, wasn't she so happy! _You don't know?_ How can you say you don't know? You must have seen it. But she always is happier here than anywhere else. Ha! what a temper that dear soul has! I call it a temper of satin; it is so smooth, so easy, and so soft. Nothing puts her out of the way. And then, if you only knew how she takes your part, Caudle! I'm sure, if you'd been her own son ten times over, she couldn't be fonder of you. Don't you think so, Caudle? Eh, love? Now, do answer. _How can you tell?_ Nonsense, Caudle; you must have seen it. I'm sure, nothing delights the dear soul so much as when she's thinking how to please you.

“Don't you remember Thursday night, the stewed oysters, when you came home? That was all dear mother's doings! 'Margaret,' says she to me, 'it's a cold night; and don't you think dear Mr. Caudle would like something nice before he goes to bed? And that, Caudle, is how the oysters came about. Now, don't sleep, Caudle: do listen to me, for five minutes; 'tisn't often I speak, goodness knows.

“And then, what a fuss she makes when you 're out, if your slippers arn't put to the fire for you. _She's very good?_ Yes--I know she is, Caudle. And hasn't she been six months--though I promised her not to tell you--six months, working a watch-pocket for you! And with _her_ eyes, dear soul--and at _her_ time of life!

“And then what a cook she is? I'm sure, the dishes she'll make out of next to nothing! I try hard enough to follow her: but I'm not ashamed to own it, Caudle, she quite beats me. Ha! the many nice little things she'd simmer up for you--and I can't do it; the children, you know it, Caudle, take so much of my time. I can't do it, love: and I often reproach myself that I can't. Now, you shan't go to sleep, Caudle; at least; not for five minutes. You must hear me.

“I've been thinking, dearest--ha! that nasty cough, love!--I've been thinking, darling, if we could only persuade dear mother to come and live with us. Now, Caudle, you can't be asleep; it's impossible--you were coughing only this minute--yes, to live with us. What a treasure we should have in her! Then, Caudle, you never need go to bed without something nice and hot. And you want it, Caudle. _You don't want it?_ Nonsense, you do; for you're not strong, Caudle; you know you're not.

“I'm sure, the money she'd save us in housekeeping. Ha! what an eye she has for a joint! The butcher doesn't walk that could deceive dear mother. And then, again, for poultry! What a finger and thumb she has for a chicken! I never could market like her; it's a gift--quite a gift.

“And then you recollect her marrow-puddings? _You don't recollect 'em?_ Oh, fie! Caudle, how often have you flung her marrow-puddings in my face, wanting to know why I couldn't make 'em? And I wouldn't pretend to do it after dear mother. I should think it presumption. Now, love, if she was only living with us--come, you 're not asleep, Caudle--if she was only living with us, you could have marrow-puddings every day. Now, don't fling yourself about and begin to swear at marrow-puddings; you know you like 'em, dear.

“What a hand, too, dear mother has for a piecrust? But it's born with some people. 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. People can't be born as they like.

“How often, too, have you wanted to brew at home! And I never could learn any thing 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: 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 money we should save in beer! And then you might always have your own nice, pure, good, wholesome ale, Caudle: and what good it would do you! For you're not strong, 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 hav'n'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-a-blanket she'd make for the children! _What's dogs-in-a-blanket?_ Oh, they 're delicious--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 never can have it made to please you! Now 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 anybody else's pickles. Her red cabbage--why, it's as crisp as 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 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 shouldn't care a fig for measles, or any thing of the sort. As a nurse, she's such a treasure!

“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, Caudle? Now, you 're not asleep, darling: don't you think she'd better come? You say _No?_ You say _No_, again? _You won't have her_, you say; _You won't, that's flat?_ Caudle--Cau-Cau-dle--Cau--die--”

“Here Mrs. Caudle,” says Mr. C., in his MS., “suddenly went into tears; and I went to sleep.”

LECTURE XII. MR. CAUDLE, HAVING COME HOME A LITTLE LATE, DECLARES THAT HENCEFORTH “HE WILL HAVE A DEAD-LATCH KEY.”

On my word, Mr. Caudle, I think it a waste of time to come to bed at all now! The cocks will be crowing in a minute. Keeping people up till past twelve. Oh, yes! you 're thought a man of very fine feelings out of doors, I dare say! It's a pity you haven't a little feeling for those belonging to you at home. A nice hour to keep people out of their beds! _Why did I sit up, then?_ Because I chose to sit up--but that's my thanks. No, it's no use your talking, Caudle; I never _will_ let the girl sit up for you, and there's an end. What do you say? _Why does she sit up with me, then?_ That's quite a different matter: you don't suppose I'm going to sit up alone, do you? What do you say? _What's the use of two sitting up?_ That's my business. No, Caudle, it's no such thing. I _don't_ sit up because I may have the pleasure of talking about it; and you're an ungrateful, unfeeling creature, to say so. I sit up because I choose it; and if you don't come home all the night long--and 't will soon come to that, I've no doubt--still, I'll never go to bed, so don't think it.

“Oh, yes! the time runs away very pleasantly with you men at your clubs--selfish creatures! You can laugh and sing, and tell stories, and never think of the 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 that something dreadful has happened to you--more 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, I 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 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--but I know my own feelings, and I say it can't last long. And then I should like to know who 'll 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'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 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, 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 key-hole; 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 dead-latch 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 breathing. _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 dead-latch 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 dead-latch key about with you! I've heard of such things with young good-for-nothing bachelors, with nobody to care what became of 'em; but for a married man to leave his wife and children in the house with the door upon the latch--don't talk to me about Chubb, it's all the same--a 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 dead-latch key, the sooner he turns bachelor again the better. I'm sure, Caudle, I don't want to be any clog upon you. Now, its no use your telling me to hold my tongue, for I--What? I give you the head-ache, do I? No, I don't, Caudle: it's your club that gives you the head-ache: 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.”

LECTURE XIII. MRS. CAUDLE HAS BEEN TO SEE HER DEAR MOTHER. CAUDLE, ON THE “JOYFUL OCCASION,” HAS GIVEN A PARTY, AND ISSUED THE ANNEXED CARD OF INVITATION.

“It _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 pothouse! 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 pretty pickle creation would be in very soon!