MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON SHOPPING. 170 MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON SHOPPING. You ought to have had a slave-yes, a black slave, and not a wife. I'm sure, I'd better been born a negro at once-much better. What's the matter now? Well, I like that. Upon my life, Mr. Caudle, that's very cool. I can't leave the house just to buy a yard of ribbon, but you storm enough to carry the roof off. You didn't storm?—you only spoke? Spoke, indeed! No, sir; I've not such superfine feelings; and I don't cry out before I'm hurt. But you ought to have married a woman of stone, for you feel for nobody: that is, for nobody in your own house. I only wish you'd show some of your humanity at home, if ever so little -that's all. What do you say? Where's my feelings, to go a shopping at night? When would you have me go? In the broiling sun, making my face like a gipsy's? I don't see any thing to laugh at, Mr. Caudle; but you think of anybody's face before your wife's. Oh, that's plain enough; and all the world can see it. I dare say, now, if it was Miss Prettyman's face-now, now, Mr. Caudle! What are you throwing yourself about for? I suppose Miss Prettyman isn't so wonderful a person that she isn't to be named? I suppose she's flesh and blood. What? You don't know? Ha! I don't know that. What do you say? For the love of mercy let you sleep? Mercy, indeed! I wish you could show a little of it to other people. Oh yes, I do know what mercy means; but that's no reason I should go shopping a bit earlier than I do-and I won't.--No; you've preached this over to me again and again; you've made me go to meetings to hear all about it: but that's no reason women shouldn't shop just as late as they choose. It's all very fine, as I say, for you men to talk to us at meetings, where, of course, we smile, and all that--and sometimes shake our white pocket-handkerchiefs--and where you say we have the power of early hours in our own hands. To be sure we have; and we mean to keep it. That is, I do. You'll never catch me shopping till the very last thing; and-as a matter of principle - I'll always go to the shop that keeps open latest. WHERE THERE'S A WILL, THERE'S A WAY.-JOHN G. SAIR. It was a noble Roman, In Rome's imperial day, Is fame your aspiration? Her path is steep and high: Is learning your ambition? Must climb to her abode; Are riches worth the getting? They must be bravely sought; To all the prize is open, But only he can take it, Who says, with Roman courage, In Love's impassioned warfare, The brave are they who win; When man to man united, And every wrong thing righted. I live for those who love me, For the hearts that love me true, And the good that I can do. THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT.-M. H. CоBь. IF men cared less for wealth and fame, And less for battle-fields and glory; If, writ in human hearts, a name Seemed better than in song and story; If, men instead of nursing pride, Would learn to hate it and abhor it; If more relied on Love to guide, If men dealt less in stocks and lands, And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; If men stored up Love's oil and wine, And on bruised human hearts would pour it If more would act the play of life, BATTLE OF WATERLOO. If Custom, gray with ages grown, The world woull be the better for it. If men were wise in little things— To isolate their kindly feelings; If men, when Wrong beats down the Right, Would strike together and restore it; If Right made Might in every fight, BATTLE OF WATERLOO.-BYRON. THERE was a sound of revelry by night, Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark!—a deep sound strikes like a rising kne. Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness: 183 |