nkles: don't they give a dinner every year? ell, I know; and if they do fight a little in the rse of the twelvemonth, that's nothing to do with They keep their wedding-day, and their acquaintce have nothing to do with anything else.

As I say, Caudle, it's only a proper compliment a n owes to his wife to keep his wedding-day. It as much as to say to the whole world, "There, if had to marry again, my blessed wife's the only man I'd choose!" Well, I see nothing to groan

Mr. Caudle, no, nor to sigh at, either; but I ow what you mean; I'm sure, what would have come of you if you hadn't married as you have ne-why, you'd have been a lost creature! I ow it; I know your habits, Caudle; and-I don't e to say it—but you'd have been little better than agamuffin. Nice scrapes you'd have got into, I ow, if you hadn't had me for a wife. The trouble e had to keep you respectable!—and what's my nks? Ha! I only wish you'd had some women! But we won't quarrel, Caudle. No; you don't an anything, I know. We'll have this little din, eh? Just a few friends? Now, don't say you 't care; that isn't the way to speak to a wife, 1 especially the wife I've been to you, Caudle. ell, you agree to the dinner, eh? Now, don't int, Mr. Caudle, but speak out. You'll keep your dding-day? What? If I'll let you go to sleep? , that's unmanly, Caudle; can't you say, "Yes," hout anything else? I say can't you say ́es"? There, bless you! I knew you would. And now, Caudle, what shall we have for dinner? , we won't talk of it to-morrow; we'll talk of it w, and then it will be off my mind. I should e something particular,-something out of the

ettle about the dinner. Have what I like? No; t is your fancy to keep the day, it's only right t I should try to please you. We never had , Caudle, so what do you think of a haunch of ison? What do you say? Mutton will do? Ha! : shows what you think of your wife. I dare if it was any of your club friends-any of r pot-house companions—you'd have no objecto venison. I say if- -What do you mutter? it be venison? Very well. And now about the What do you think of a nice turbot? No, Caudle, brill won't do; it shall be turbot, or 'e shan't be any fish at all. Oh, what a mean you are, Caudle! Shall it be turbot? It shall? 1 now about-the soup. Now, Caudle, don't ar at the soup in that manner: you know there t be soup. Well, once in a way, and just to w our friends how happy we've been, we'll have e real turtle. No, you won't; you'll have nothbut mock? Then, Mr. Caudle, you may sit at table by yourself. Mock-turtle on a wedding! Was there ever such an insult? What do say? Let it be real, then, for once? Ha, dle! as I say, you were a very different person rteen years ago.

nd, Caudle, you look after the venison! There's lace I know, somewhere in the city, where you'll it beautiful. You'll look at it? You will?

-y well.

nd, now, who shall we invite? Who I like? v, you know, Caudle, that's nonsense; because nly like whom you like. I suppose the Prettyas must come. But understand, Caudle, I don't e Miss Prettyman: I am not going to have my ce of mind destroyed under my own roof: if

the city, my dear! You'll not forget the veni ? A haunch, you know, a nice haunch. And u'll not forget the venison? (A loud snore.) ess me, if he ain't asleep! Oh, the unfeeling n!

MRS. CAUDLE NEEDS SPRING

CLOTHING

F there's anything in the world I hate-and you know it-it is, asking you for money. I am sure - myself, I'd rather go without a thing a thousand es, and I do, the more shame for you to let me. hat do I want now? As if you didn't know! I'm e, if I'd any money of my own, I'd never ask for a farthing-never! It's painful to me, graus knows! What do you say? If it's painful, y so often do it? I suppose you call that a joke— e of your club-jokes! As I say, I only wish I'd

money of my own. If there is anything that nbles a poor woman, it is coming to a man's pocket ' every farthing. It's dreadful!

Now, Caudle, you shall hear me, for it isn't often I ak. Pray, do you know what month it is? And you see how the children looked at church to-day ike nobody's else's children? What was the matter h them? Oh! Caudle how can you ask! Weren't y all in their thick merinoes and beaver bons? What do you say? What of it? What! u'll tell me that you didn't see how the Briggs ls, in their new chips, turned their noses up at ! And you didn't see how the Browns looked at Smiths, and then at our poor girls, as much as say, "Poor creatures! what figures for the first

·ears for 'em over the pew. What do you say! ght to be ashamed to own it? Now, Caudle, it's use talking; those children shall not cross over threshold next Sunday if they haven't things for

summer.

nd of it!

Now mind-they shan't; and there's

n always wanting money for clothes? How can say that? I'm sure there are no children in the d that cost their father so little; but that's itess a poor woman does upon, the less she may. , Caudle, dear! What a man you are! I know 1 give me the money, because, after all, I think love your children, and like to see 'em well sed. It's only natural that a father should. How 2 money do I want? Let me see, love. There's line, and Jane, and Susan, and Mary Ann, and— t do you say? I needn't count 'em? You know many there are! That's just the way you take p! Well, how much money will it take? Let me I'll tell you in a minute. You always love to the dear things like new pins. I know that, le; and though I say it, bless their little hearts! do credit to you, Caudle.

w much? Now, don't be in a hurry! Well, I , with good pinching—and you know, Caudle, 's never a wife who can pinch closer than I can think, with pinching, I can do with twenty

ds.

What do you say? Twenty fiddlesticks? ! You won't give half the money? Very well, Caudle; I don't care; let the children go in let them stop from church, and grow up like ens and cannibals; and then you'll save your y, and, I suppose, be satisfied. What do you Ten pounds enough? Yes, just like you men; hink things cost nothing for women; but you

ᎫᎳ what they wall!

пот ѕпоши а шап KNOW

thing at all about it? And you won't give more n ten pounds? Very well. Then you may go opping with it yourself, and see what you'll make it! I'll have none of your ten pounds, I can tell -no sir!

No; you've no cause to say that. I don't want to ess the children up like countesses! You often ow that in my teeth, you do; but you know it's se, Caudle; you know it! I only wish to give à proper notions of themselves; and what, indeed, the poor things think, when they see the Briggses, Browns, and the Smiths, and their fathers don't ke the money you do, Caudle—when they see them fine as tulips? Why, they must think themselves body. However, the twenty pounds I will have, I've any; or not a farthing! No, sir no,-I don't nt to dress up the children like peacocks and -rots! I only want to make 'em respectable. What you say? You'll give me fifteen pounds? No, idle, no, not a penny will I take under twenty. If lid, it would seem as if I wanted to waste your ney; and I am sure, when I come to think of it enty pounds will hardly do!

MRS. CAUDLE'S

LECTURE ON

SHIRT BUTTONS

HERE Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning. There, needn't begin to whistle: people don't come to I to whistle. But it's just like you; I can't speak, t you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say I were the best creature living: now, you get quite