ved
Some forty years ago.

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 did n'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 m