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 gilly- the curtains; now from the tester; and now flowers. At length the marauder is de- did it whisper to Job from the very pillow tected, seized by his owner, and driven, that he pressed. "It's a dreadful thing beaten home. To make the porker less that her tongue should walk in this mandangerous, it is determined that he shall be ner," said Job, and then he thought conringed. The sentence is pronounced-exe- fusedly of exorcism, or at least of counsel cution ordered. Listen to his screams! from the parish priest. "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 Caudle 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 habit he 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 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 papers was found inscribed as follows: "CURTAIN LECTURES 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, I 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? Nothing; so you can squander away five pounds." "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. worse. You might as well smoke-indeed, better. Better smoke yourself than come home with other people's smoke all in your hair and whiskers. "I never knew any good come to a man who went to a tavern. Nice companions 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 come to. He doesn't now get home till two in the morning; and then in what a state! He begins quarreling with the door-mat, that his poor wife may be afraid to speak to him. A mean wretch! But don't you think I'll be like Mrs. Prettyman. No: I wouldn't put up with it from the best man that ever trod. You'll not make me afraid to speak 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 |