you've been treading on the worm for these twenty years, and it's turned at last. he never broke the bread of life; "Now, I'm not going to quarrel; that's all over: I don't feel enough for you to quarrel with you-I don't, Caudle, as true as I'm in bed. All I want of you is-any other man would speak to his wife, and not lie there like a log-all I want is this. Just tell me where you were on Tuesday? You were not at dear mother's, though you know "But I know who it is; it's that fiend, she's not well, and you know she thinks of Prettyman. I will call him a fiend, and leaving the dear children her money; but I'm by no means a foolish woman: you'd you never had any feeling for anybody be- no more thought of billiards than a goose, Longing to me. And you were not at your if it hadn't been for him. Now, it's no use, Club: no, I know that. And you were not Caudle, your telling me that you have only at any theatre. How do I know? Ha, Mr. been once, and that you can't hit a ball Caudle! I only wish I didn't know. No; anyhow-you'll soon get over all that; and you were not at any of these places; then you'll never be home. You'll be a know well enough where you were. Then | marked man, Caudle; yes, marked: there'll why do I ask, if I know? That's it: just to be something about you that'll be dreadful; prove what a hypocrite you are: just to show for if I couldn't tell a billiard-player by his you that you can't deceive me. looks, I've no eyes, that's all. They all of "So, Mr. Caudle-you've turned billiard- them look as yellow as parchment, and player, sir. Only once? That's quite wear mustachios-I suppose you'll let yours enough: you might as well play a thousand grow, now; though they'll be a good deal times; for you're a lost man, Caudle. Only | troubled to come, know that. Yes, once, indeed. I wonder if I was to say they've all a yellow and sly look; just for 'only once,' what would you say to me? all as if they were first-cousins to people But, of course, a man can do no wrong in that picked pockets. And that will be your anything. case, Caudle: in six months, the dear children won't know their own father. but I "And you're a lord of the creation, Mr. Caudle; and you can stay away from the comforts of your blessed fireside, and the society of your own wife and childrenthough, to be sure, you never thought any thing of them-to push ivory balls about with a long stick upon a green table-cloth. What pleasure any man can take in such stuff must astonish any sensible woman. I pity you, Caudle! "And you can go and do nothing but make 'cannons'-that's the gibberish they talk at billiards-when there's the manly and athletic game of cribbage, as my poor grandmother used to call it, at your own hearth. You can go into a billiard-roomyou, a respectable tradesman, or as you set yourself up for one, for if the world knew all, there's but little respectability in youyou can go and play billiards with a set of creatures in mustachios, when you might take a nice, quiet hand with me at home. But no! anything but cribbage with your own wife! "Caudle, it's all over now; you've gone to destruction. I never knew a man enter a billiard-room that he wasn't lost forever. There was my uncle Wardle; a better man "Well, if I know myself at all, I could have borne anything but billiards. The companions you'll find! The captains that will be always borrowing fifty pounds of you! I tell you, Caudle, a billiard-room's a place where ruin of all sorts is made easy, I may say, to the lowest understanding.so you can't miss it. It's a chapel of ease for the devil to preach in-don't tell me not to be eloquent: I don't know what you mean, Mr. Caudle, and I shall be just as eloquent as I like. But I never can open my lips-and it isn't often, goodness knows! that I'm not insulted. "No, I won't be quiet on this matter; I won't, Caudle: on any other, I wouldn't say a word—and you know it-if you didn't like it; but on this matter I will speak. J know you can't play at billiards; and never could learn-I dare say not; but that makes it all the worse, for look at the money you'll lose; see the ruin you'll be brought to. It's no use your telling me you'll not play-now you can't help it. And nicely you'll be eaten up. Don't talk to me; dear aunt told me all about it. The lots of fellows that go every day into billiard-rooms to get their dinners, just as a fox sneaks into a farmyard to look about him for a fat goose-and they'll eat you up, Caudle: I know they will. "Billiard-balls, indeed! Well, in my time I've been over Woolwich Arsenal-you were something like a man, then, for it was just before we were married-and then I saw all sorts of balls; mountains of 'em, to be shot away at churches, and into people's peaceable habitations, breaking the china, and nobody knows what-I say, I've seen all these balls-well, I know I've said that before; but I choose to say it again—and there's not one of 'em, iron as they are, that could do half the mischief of a billiard-ball. That's a ball, Caudle, that's gone through many a wife's heart, to say nothing of her children. And that's a ball, that night and day you'll be destroying your family with. Don't tell me you'll not play! When once a man's given to it-as my poor aunt used to say-the devil's always tempting him with a ball as he tempted Eve with an apple. I never shall think of being happy any more. No: that's quite out of the question. You'll be there every night-I know you will, better than you, so don't deny it every night over that wicked green cloth. Green indeed! It's red, crimson red, Caudle, if you could only properly see it-crimson red, with the hearts those balls have broken. Don't tell me not to be pathetic I shall: as pathetic as it suits me. I suppose I may speak. However, I've done. It's all settled now. You're a billiard player and I'm a wretched woman." "I did not deny either position," writes Caudle, "and for this reason-I wanted to sleep." THE LAST LECTURE. MRS. CAUDLE HAS TAKEN COLD: THE TRAGEDY OF THIN SHOES. "I'm not going to contradict you, Caudle; you may say what you like-but I think I ought to know my own feelings better than you. I don't wish to upbraid you, neither; I'm too ill for that; but it's not getting wet in thin shoes,-oh, no! it's my mind, Caudle, my mind, that's killing me. Oh, yes! gruel indeed-you think gruel will cure a woman of anything; and you know, too, how I hate it. Gruel can't reach what I suffer; but, of course, nobody is ever ill but yourself. Well, I-I didn't mean to say that; but when you talk in that way about thin shoes, a woman says, of course, what she doesn't mean; she can't help it. You're always going on about my shoes, when I think I'm the fittest judge of what becomes me best. I dare say, 'twould be all the same to you if I put on plowman's boots; but I am not going to make a figure of my feet, I can tell you. I've never got cold with the shoes I've worn yet, and 'tisn't likely I should begin now. Yes; "No, Caudle: I wouldn't wish to say anything to accuse you; no, goodness knows, I wouldn't make you uncomfortable for the world, but the cold I've got I got ten years ago. I have never said anything about it but it has never left me. ten years ago, the day before yesterday. How can I recollect it? Oh, very well: women remember things you never think of: poor souls! they've good cause to do so. Ten years ago, I was sitting up for you,— there now, I'm not going to say anything to vex you, only do let me speak: ten years ago, I was waiting for you, and I fell asleep, and the fire went out, and when I woke up I was sitting right in the draught of the keyhole. That was my death, Caudle, though don't let that make you uneasy love; for I don't think you meant to do it. "Ha! it's all very well for you to call it nonsense; and to lay your ill-conduct upon my shoes. That's like a man, exactly. There never was a man yet that killed his wife, who couldn't give a good reason for it. No: I don't mean to say that you've killed me: quite the reverse: still, there's never been a day that I haven't felt that keyhole. What? What's the use of a doctor? Why should Why won't I have a doctor? I put you to expense? Besides, I dare say you'll do very well without me, Caudle: yes, after a little time, you won't miss me much -no man ever does. "Peggy tells me, Miss Prettyman called to-day. What of it? Nothing, of course. Yes; I know she heard I was ill, and that's why she came. A little indecent, I think, Mr. Caudle; she might wait; I sha'n't be in her way long; she may soon have the key of the caddy, now. 'Ha! Mr. Caudle, what's the use of your calling me your dearest soul, now. Well, I do believe you. I dare say you do mean it: that is, I hope you do. Nevertheless, you can't expect I can lie quiet in this bed and think of that young woman-not, indeed, | done enough. And if we have armed that she's near so young as she gives herself weak woman with even one argument in out. I bear no malice toward her, Caudle- her unequal contest with that imperious not the least. Still, I don't think I could creature, man-if we have awarded to a sex, lie at peace in my grave if-well, I won't as Mrs. Caudle herself was wont to declare, say anything more about her; but you know" put upon from the beginning," the slightwhat I mean. "I think dear mother would keep house beautifully for you, when I'm gone. Well, love, I won't talk in that way, if you desire it. Still, I've a dreadful cold; though I won't allow it for a minute to be the shoes-ce -certainly not. I never would wear 'em thick, and you know it, and they never gave me cold yet. No, dearest Caudle, it's ten years ago that did it; not that I'll say a syllable of the matter to hurt you. I'd die first. est means of defense-if we have supplied a solitary text to meet any one of the manifold wrongs with which woman, in her household life, is continually pressed by her tyrannic task-master, man, we feel that we have only paid back one grain, hardly one, of that mountain of more than gold it is our felicity to owe her. During the progress of these Lectures, it has very often pained us, and that excessively, to hear from unthinking, inexperienced men-bachelors of course--that every woman, no matter how divinely composed, has in her ichor-flowing veins one drop-"no bigger than a wren's eye"-of Caudle; that Eve herself may now and then have been guilty of a lecture, murmuring it balmily amongst the rose-leaves. "Mother, you see, knows all your little ways; and you wouldn't get another wife to study you and pet you up as I've done a second wife never does; it isn't likely she should. And after all, we've been very happy. It hasn't been my fault, if we've had a word or two, for you couldn't help now and then being aggravating; nobody can help their tempers always, especially to believe it. men. Still we've been very happy-haven't we, Caudle? It may be so; still, be it our pride never THE END OF CAUDLE'S C. LECTURES. "Good-night. Yes, this cold does tear me to pieces; but for all that, it isn't the shoes. God bless you, Caudle; no, it's THE BISHOP AND THE COLLIERS. not the shoes. I won't say it's the keyhole; but again I say, it's not the shoes. God bless you once more-but never say it's the shoes." THE Birmingham Morning News relates a good story, in which the Bishop of Lichfield is the prominent figure. It is to the effect that while walking in the Black country, a short time ago, his Lordship saw a It can hardly, we think, be imagined that number of miners seated on the ground, Mrs. Caudle, during her fatal illness, never and went toward them with the object of mixed admonishment with soothing as be- saying a "word in season." He asked fore; but such fragmentary Lectures were, them what they were doing, and was told doubtless, considered by her disconsolate by one of the men that they had been widower as having too touching, too solemn "loyin." The Bishop evinced some astonan import to be vulgarized by type. They ishment, and asked for an explanation. were, however, printed on the heart of Cau-"Why, you see," said one of the men, dle; for he never ceased to speak of the late " partner of his bed but as either his "sainted creature," or "that angel now in heaven." THE POSTSCRIPT. OUR duty of editorship is closed. We hope we have honestly fulfilled the task of selection from a large mass of papers. We could have presented to the female world a Lecture for Every Night in the Year. Yes, -three hundred and sixty-five separate Lectures. We trust, however, that we have one of us fun' (found) a kettle, and we been a trying who can tell the biggest lie to ha' it." His Lordship was shocked, and proceeded to read the men a lecture, telling them, among other things, that he had always been taught that lying was an awful offence, and that, in fact, so strongly had this been impressed upon him that he had never told a lie in the whole course of his life. His Lordship had barely finished when one of the men, who had previously remained silent, exclaimed: "Gi'e the gover nor the kettle; gi'e the governor the kettle." "The spirit doth move me, friend Broad. brim," quoth she, "To take all this filthy temptation from thee, For Mammon deceiveth-and beauty is fleeting. Accept from thy maid'n a right loving greet ing, For much doth she profit by this Quaker's meeting." Heigho! yea thee and nay thee. "And hark! jolly Quaker, so rosy and sly, Have righteousness, more than a wench, in thine eye. Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath, Remember the one that you met on the heath; Ker name's Jimmy Barlow-I tell to your teeth!" Heigho! yea thee and nay thee. "Friend James," quoth the Quaker, "pray listen to me, For thou canst confer a great favor, d'ye see; The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend, But my master's-and truly on thee I depend To make it appear I my trust did defeud." Heighe yea thee and nay thee. 1 "So fire a few shots through my clothes, here and there, To make it appear 'twas a desp'rate affair." So Jim he popp'd first through the skirt of his coat, "If that is thee own, dear," the Quaker he And then through his collar-quite close to his throat; I finally got as far west as Pittsburg, where Russel Errett introduced me to a SPEECH OF GEN. WM. H. McCART- sheriff who had sold out Rouseville two NEY AT A COMPLIMENTARY BANQUET TENDERED REPUBLICAN STATE COMMITTEE, PA. "THE "Speakers in the Campaign" was the next toast, and Gen. William H. McCartney was called upon, amidst great applause, to respond. He said: MR. CHAIRMAN, AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CLUB: I thank you for the privilege of participating in this expression of your appreciation of your distinguished guest. Some one-of a Keely Motor turn of mind has declared that the true theory of politics is principles, not men. But you might as well say that the true theory of agriculture is land, not ploughs. Because, you can't elect Governors on principles alone-I refer particularly to Governors from Luzerne-without men to develop them, any more than potatoes dropped on the virgin hillsides, can be made to pan out heavily in the fall of the year. And the campaign we have just concluded, more than any other I have ever known, called for a master mind to direct the development of true principles and the combating of the heresies of political lunatics. I confess though, I had my doubts and my misgivings, when the Chairman of the State Central Committee informed me that I was to instruct the intelligent public as to the finances of the country. Laughter.] Because, up to that time, as a financier, I had not been a positive success. I had always managed to live within hailing distance of the almshouse, and I had only succeeded in proving my financial superiority over an occasional tailor. [Laughter.] And the method your distinguished guest adopted with me proves his ability to manage crude materials. "Go to Rouseville," said he "open up on the Rousevillians, and let us see how they stand it." [Great laughter]. Now, I am opposed to betting, on principle-unless I have three of a kindbut I am willing to wager $100,000 in gold coin there is not a man in this room who ever heard of Rouseville prior to the nomination of Henry M. Hoyt. Why, I spent a week hunting for Rouseville, and years before. And he told me he did not realize enough on his writs to meet the costs. Rouseville is an aggregation of oil pumps-and if pumps could have voted, what a majority Rouseville would have rolled up for the sweet child of the circus -and each one of these pumps has a separate and distinct creak; for, while they are pumping for oil-and the motions of these pumps are well calculated to disturb the nerves of a man given to strong drink-they don't raise enough oil with which to grease their machinery. [Great laughter.J The principal occupation of the Rousevillians is pulling each other out of holes in their sidewalks. [Applause and laughter.] Oh, it's a lively, cheerful town, Rouseville is. [Applause and laughter.j They postponed a funeral three days before I got there. They said they wanted to get up an entertainment for the speaker. [Roars of laughter and applause.] They told me-the Rousevillians did-that I was to treat in my remarks of the living issues of the day. And the living issue that agitated what the average Rousevillian was pleased to call his mind was a one-armed soldier, who had been turned out of the postoffice for reaching too far with his remaining arm. [Great laughter.] I told them that the logical connection between the one-armed patriot and hard money was not visible to the naked eye of the casual observer, and I suggested they might average up things by cutting off an arm of the man who got into the one-armed patriot's place, [Laughter], a proposition the present incumbent did not seem to regard with favor. I then invited the entire Republican party of Rouseville up to drink. It consisted of the Postmaster and a man who wants to be sealer of weights and measures under Gen. Hoyt. I might remark in this connection there seem to be two classes of people in this State, those who want to be sealers of weights and measures, and those who don't. The first class is rather the most numerous, and the second, well, the second is backing up the first. [Laughter and applause.] And then, following the example of my associates on the stump, I telegraphed to the papers that the speaker was an immense success. |