c
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say,
"Your learning's at fault _this_ time, anyway;
Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!"
And the barber kept on shaving.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 37: By James T. Fields, an American publisher and author
(1817-1881).]

MRS. CAUDLE'S UMBRELLA LECTURE[38]

Bah! That's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. What were you to
do? Why, let him go home in the rain, to be sure. I'm very certain there
was nothing about him that could spoil. Take cold? Indeed! He doesn't
look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd better have taken
cold than taken our umbrella. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say,
DO YOU HEAR THE RAIN?

Pooh! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle. Don't insult me. He return the
umbrella? Anybody would think you were born yesterday. As if anybody
ever did return an umbrella!

I should like to know how the children are to go to school to-morrow.
They shan't go through such weather, I'm determined. No! they shall stay
at home and never learn anything--the blessed creatures--sooner than go
and get wet. And when they grow up, I wonder whom they'll have to thank
for knowing nothing--who, indeed, but their father?

But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh, yes! I know very well. I was
going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow--you knew that--and you did
it on purpose. Don't tell me; you hate to have me to go there, and take
every mean advantage to hinder me. But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle.
No, sir; if it comes down in bucketfuls I'll go all the more.

No! and I won't have a cab! Where do you think the money's to come from?
You've got nice, high notions at that club of yours. A cab, indeed! Cost
me sixteen pence at least--sixteen pence?--two-and-eight-pence, for
there's back again! Cabs, indeed! I should like to know who is to pay
for them! I can't pay for them, and I'm sure you can't if you go on as
you do; throwing away your property and beggaring your children, buying
umbrellas.

Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, DO YOU HEAR IT? But I don't
care--I'll go to mother's to-morrow, I will; and what's more, I'll walk
every step of the way; and you know that will give me my death. Don't
call me a foolish woman; it's you that's the foolish man. You know I
can't wear clogs; and with no umbrella,