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And men, taught wisdom from the past,
MRS. CAUDLE’S LECTURE ON SHIRT BUTTONS.
Douglas Jerrold. THIERE, 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; and it is n'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 your do when you're in a passion. You were not in a passion, wer'nt 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 hav’nt something worse to complain of 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 hei 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 theniselves up to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle? - Why, do much better without you, lam 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 shan'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.
THE MANTLE OF ST. JOIN DE MATHA.
John G. Whittier.
A LEGEND OF
TUS RED, WHITE, AND BLUE." A. D. 1154-1864.
A strong and mighty Angel,
Dropping his cross-wrought mantle,
“Wear this,” the Angel said; “Take thou, O Freedom's priest, its sign
The white, the blue, and red.” Then rose up John de Matha
In the strength the Lord Christ gave, And begged through all the land of Frauce
The ransom of the slave.
The gates of tower and castle
Before him open flew,
The door-bolt backward drew.
For all men owned his errand,
And paid his righteous tax;
Were in his hands as wax.
At last, outbound from Tunis,
His bark her anchor weighed, Freighted with seven score Christian souls
Whose ransom he had paid.
Her sails in tatters huny;
A shattered hulk she swung.
For naught can man avail: 0, woe betide the ship that lacks
Her rudder and her sail !
“ Behind us are the Moormen;
At sea we sink or stran: There's death upon the water,
There's death upon the land !" Then up spake John de Matha :
“God's errands never fail ! Take thou the mantle which I wear,
And make of it a sail."
They raised the cross-wrought mantle,
The blue. the white the red:
"God help us !" cried the seamen,
"For vain is mortal skill; The good ship on a stormy sea
Is drifting at its will."
‘My mariners, never fear! The Lord whose breath has filled her sail
May well our vessel steer !"
They drove for weary hours ;
On Ostia's friendly towers.
The ship of mercy knewThey knew far ofl'its holy cross,
The red, the white, the blue.
Rang out in glad accord,
The ransomed of the Lord.
So runs the ancient legend
By bard and painter told ; Aud lo ! the cycle rounds again,
The new is as the old ! With rudder foully broken,
And sails by traitors torn, Our country on a midnight sea
Is waiting for the morn.
Behind, the pirate foe;
The sea is white below.
The hope of all who suffer.
Is not your sail the banner
Which God hath blest anew,
The red, the white, the.blue ?
The red of sunset's dye,
The blue of morning's sky.
For daylight and for land;
Your rudder in His hand.
Sail on, sail on, deep freighted
With blessings and with hopes ;
Are pulling at your ropes.
Uplift the palm and crown;
Their benedictions down.
Take heart from John de Matha !
God's errands never fail ! Sweep on through storm and darkness,
The thunder and the hail !
The port ye yet shall win ;
The good ship bravely in !
PSALM OF LIE
H W Loncif.71