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A SPANISH REVOLUTION.
THE QUEEN AND HER BONBONS.
From the Examiner. | Antoine, Guildhall and Kennington Common, are Revelations of Spain in 1845. By an English pale by the side of these brown and impassioned Resident. Two vols. Colburn.
faces, these black and wiry locks like the snakes
of Tisiphone, these moustaches of Barbary darkThis is a very clever book, of which the best por-ness, these ever-moving lines and ropes of facial tions are the non-political. In force and liveliness muscle, strangely set off by the peaked black velof manner, we have had nothing that so much re- vet hat which is universally worn; and the minds us of the late Mr. Inglis' Rambles in the cloak, which, even in his rags, the Manolo wears Footsteps of Don Quixote, as the purely descrip- with the grace of a Roman senatos, and the tive parts of Revelations of Spain.
nity (for he thinks himself no less) of a Castilian The book is clearly the result of considerable hidalgo." experience of the things described ; and the writer appears to be still resident in Spain. This may account for his speaking with a less startled ab- “ It requires little to decide the Peninsular rehorrence than the casual traveller would display, former to rush to the public square and make a of the political atrocities and disasters of that new revolution. At times, he is so quick about it unhappy country. But there seems to us also, in that he forgets to put on his shoes; a fact surthat direction of his inquiries, (excepting where he prising to our northern natures, but familiar to exposes the hollowness of the Carlist pretensions all who have witnessed an alboroto in Madrid, and the false sympathy about them in England,) a Barcelona, or Seville. A dozen vivas, the beat certain want of sincerity or of candor. He thinks of a drum, three steps in advancemit is done!" Espartero an honest and respectable man ; and on every occasion sneers at him, or makes more serious objections. He thinks Narvaez a scoundrel ; " The most striking characteristic of the youthand omits no opportunity of assuring us that ful Majesty of Spain is her relish and constant use his rule has been favorable to English inter- of bonbons and sweetmeats. Her papers of comfits ests. The plain speaking is either too little or too strew the palace, her bags of sugar-plums visit the much.
council-chamber, her dulces line the throne. Of the young queen his opinion is most un- The degrees of ministerial favor may be estimated favorable. Her defects, moral and physical, are by the number of presents of confectionery, and exposed with unrelenting bitterness; and, there is the minister of the interior is first fiddle by right too much reason to believe, with absolute truth. of four bags of sugar-plums, till the minister of She seems a miniature Ferdinand ; but fonder of grace and justice produces five sticks of barleybonbons than of petticoats or embroidery. He at sugar. When she despatches business with her the same time tells us that her life is far from ministers, (which she does twice a week,) she secure; that scrofula and dropsy have marked despatches a prodigious quantity of sweets at the their victim ; and that the best hopes of Spain rest same time ; and the confection of decrees, and diswith her charming and graceful little sister, the cussion of dainties, proceed pari passu.” Infanta Louisa.
This is the pretty young lady whom the farseeing Louis Philippe marked out for his Duc “ General Don Ramon Narvaez, the successful d'Aumale ; and it is clear that the author, who hero of the day, looks precisely the daring, enerreveals a French propensity among his other reve- getic, obstinate and iron-nerved soldier of fortune lations, would be the last to object to that union ; which he is. In habits, manners, and appearance, irreconcilable with any durable pacification of par- he is of the purest military breed; blunt and offties, or a safe constitutional settlement, as it would handed in his address, overbearing in disposition, infallibly prove. This is not an instance of long- slow to take advice, impolitic, violent, and very sightedness. One may be too near as well as determined in his proceedings. His dark moustoo far off, where anbassador's offices are in tache has the rough campaigner's cut, and his the way more especially, to see with much ex- pale, stern, and somewhat cruel countenance, be
tokens his unbending character.
He Apart from politics the author often writes de- is sumptuous and showy in his habits, but not luxlightfully. That his view is not very deep, we urious in his tastes, and is always ready in his think we can perceive in his insufficient chapters food and drink to rough it like a campaigner. on the clergy. But where manners and customs
Those who remember him an outcome in question, the venta or posada, dances and cast two years back, expelled from Portugal upon bull-fights, rogues and beggars, quacks and moun the requisition of Espartero, a wanderer through tebanks, robbers and innkeepers, or the external the provinces of France, with broken boots that let aspects of life and scenery, nothing can be better, in the wet, a greasy hat and a thin coat, which illnothing more animated, more fascinating than the protected him from the inclemencies of a severe Revelations. We read in them of this strange winter, will appreciate fully the fairy-like change country, as of the picturesque, semi-barbarous in his circumstances.” times of our own,
five hundred years ago. The book is full of life and color. The observation is quick, the drawing easy, the painting harmonious “ Buy over three or four officers and a dozen and fresh.
sergeants of a regiment. Give twenty dollars to We could have wished to dwell further on these each officer, and a four dollar piece to each of the portions of the book. But even our extracts (rich sergeants ; give a peseta to a blind news-hawker, as the volumes are in quotable matter) must be and a well-invented tale of political rascality of extremely brief.
any kind; distribute a score of rusty guns and pistols among as many mauvais sujets; appoint a
particular hour for an explosion, and the thing “ The Porte St. Denis, and the Boulevard St. is almost as infallibly accomplished as the re
RECIPE FOR A PRONUNCIAMIENTO.
A MADRID MOB.
ABSURDITIES OF RESIDENT ENGLISH.
THE GREATEST LORD IN ENGLAND.
cent blowing up of the Shakspeare Cliff at the 6th of the present month arrived in England. Dover."
After having been seen by Dr. Chowne and Mr. And yet the writer is indisposed to admit that Moore, he was removed to Dr. Sutherland's estabthe early pronunciamientos against Espartero were lishment, Blackland House. “bought over" with the gold of France.
Louis Balbi said he was a keeper at the Hospice de Sante at Milan. Under his care was a person
named Austin, who was an inmate of the asylum “I find • John Duncan Shaw' metamorphosed about three years. He would eat, drink, and into •Don Juan Duncano Schau— Salter,' into sleep, but never spoke. During the three years · Saltero,' and plain • Paul Cross,' into · Don Pablo he never spoke once. When spoken to he never Mariano Crosa. But the oddest of all these meta-answered, and was incapable of doing anything. morphoses is that effected in a few years' time in a He was very much attached to a piece of stick, person who, for political purposes, was desirous which never leaves his possession night or day. to appear as Spanish as possible; and he who He never gave any reason for his attachment to the went forth masquerading as · Don Jacinto Rosel,' stick. Witness accompanied him from Milan to had some time before been little Jack Rus- London. sell.'
After further evidence Mr. Austin was brought into Court. In his hand he held a small piece of
grape-vine stick, which he kept twirling round, “An amusing sensation was created by the totally unconscious of all that was passing. The news of Espartero's having been invited to a public commissioner spoke to him three or four times, banquet by the Lord Mayor of London. Most but he took not the slightest notice. He, however, Spaniards translated the word Mayor literally, on the bidding of the keeper, stood or sat down, according to its meaning in Castilian, “greater,' but beyond that all with him was blank. On the and took it that the ex-regent had been invited to commissioner giving the order for bim to withdraw, dine by the greatest lord in England.”
he followed the keeper. It was a most painful sight.
The jury immediately returned a verdict " that " When the beggar goes forth to make his William Austin was of unsound mind, and incapable rounds, they say : Vase pordiosear, 'He goes to of managing his affairs, and had been so since the God's-sake-ity,' or to beg alms for the sake of 15th of September, 1841.” God. No other language has an equivalent for He was adopted when a child, by the late Queen this forcible phrase, which might be paralleled in Caroline, to whom she bequeathed by her will a a multitude of instances. When the beggar pro- portion of her property. ceeds from door to door, he is menudeando, littleand-little-afying,' or collecting his fragments and coppers in a bag; and when he comes home, the The Snow-Drop: A Gift for a friend : Edited by neighbors say to each other, (for Spanish women
C. W. Everest. seem to have nothing to do but to gaze out of the window :) Ahora vase cucharetear, •There he This is a modest little volume of original prose goes to spoonify,' (meaning that he is about to and verse, just issued by J. S. Redfield, price 371 convert his scraps into an olla podrida.”)
It is of the saine class with “ The MossMr. Bulwer is often mentioned in the course of Rose” and “ The Hare Bell,” by the same editor, the Revelations with admiration and praise. which the public have received with decided favor.
Among the contributors are Mrs. Sigourney, W.
the QUEEN CAROLINE'S WILLIAM AUSTIN.
opening poem : A COMMISSION has been held before Mr. Commissioner Winslow and a special jury of the
THE SNOW-DROP.-BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. country, at the Sheriffs’ Court, Red Lion square, When infant Spring, with a tremulous ray, to inquire into the state of mind of “ William Doth tread in the steps of the Winter gray, Austin, late of the city of Milan, but now residing And the prisoned streams on the frosted plains, at Blackland House, Chelsea, gentleman.'-The Are breaking the links of their icy chains, commission was taken out at the instance of Sir Ere yet the Violet hath dared to show Thomas Wilde and Dr. Lushington, guardians or Its timid brow, through the melting snow, trustees of the unfortunate gentleman.
While the Dahlias and Tulips, on couches deep, Mr. Walpole said, the subject of this inquiry In their bulbous night-caps are fast asleep, was Mr. William Austin, a gentleman about forty Like Beauties fatigued at the midnight rout, years of age, but of limited means, his property Who shut the sun with their curtains out,consisting of about 4,0001. invested in the funds. At the earliest call of the blue-bird sweet, He had been brought recently from Milan, where I put my head through the mist and sleet,he was residing when first attacked with this and haste to bring with my simple cheer infirmity; and it was thought advisable to place The first glad wish of the new-born year. him in one of the asylums in that city. He was But now, from Autumn, a boon I bear,first afflicted with loss of mind as far back as the Of varied tint, and a perfume rare; year 1830. Mr. Austin in 1841 was an inmate of Taste hath trodden the field and bower the Hospice de Sante at Milan. The unfortunate The bird to win, and to cull the flower, gentleman became completely imbecile, and his And to gather them close in a charmed ring, imbecility was so absolute as to amount almost to And to tie them fast with a silken string; idiotcy. The guardians thought it advisable that Friendship doth offer the gift to thee, he should be brought to England, and in February Pure and warm may its guerdon be. last he left Milan in the care of a keeper, and on
New York Tribune.
From a review of Roberts' Life of Monmouth, in The Critic. Bragge; and, by particular directions from the THE BUTCHER-JUDGE.
judge, suffered the first of the party. This
prisoner had informed the court that little credit The butcheries of the soldier sunk into insignifi- ought to be given to the evidence. Jeffreys thuncance compared with those of the lawyer. To the dered at him, saying, “Thou villain! methinks I Bloody Assizes under the infamous Jeffreys, Mr. see thee already with a halter about thy neckRoberts devotes one of the most interesting of his thou impudent rebel! to challenge these evidences chapters.
that are for the king.” Mr. John Marder had The judge is described as "perpetually either friends to speak of his readiness to forward the drunk or in a rage.” Lord Delamere thus pic- messengers from Lyme who gave information of tures him.
the landing. One of them, an injudicious friend, He was mighty witty upon the prisoners at the spoke to his being a good Protestant.” “Oh, bar; he was very full of his jokes upon people that then,” cried Jeffreys, "I'll hold a wager with came to give evidence, not suffering them to de- you he is a Presbyterian : I can smell them forty clare what they had to say in their own way and miles." Alderman Holliday, the father of Richmethod, but would interrupt them, because they ard Holliday, appeared on behalf of his son, claimbehaved themselves with more gravity than he; ing the benefit of the proclamation, as he had surand, in truth, the people were strangely perplexed rendered within four days, and offering to be when they were to give in their evidence. But I bound for his future good behavior. The judge do not insist upon this, nor upon the late hours he told him he knew many aldermen who were kept up and down our city (Chester ;) it's said he villains, and that he hoped to beat some fur out of was every night drinking till two o'clock, or be their gowns before he had done with them. yond that time, and that he went to his chamber When John Bennett, of Lyme, was placed at drunk; but this I have only by common fame, for the bar, some person observed that he received I was not in his company. I bless God I am not alms of the parish; to which the judge, in a a man of his principles or behavior ; but in the facetious manner, replied, “ Do not trouble yourmornings he appeared with the symptoms of a selves ; I will ease the parish of that burden." man that over night had taken a large cup. It is melancholy to reflect that these cruelties
At Dorchester he resorted to the trick of tempt- were stimulated and applauded by the High Church ing the prisoners, by hopes of mercy, to plead clergy, who were delighted thus to exterminate, guilty.
as they hoped, the hated Dissenters.
Here is an The thirty persons against whom a true bill had instance : been found, disregarding the judge's threatening, Wiseman, an apprentice to a barber at Wey" that in case any did put themselves on trial, and mouth, was only fourteen years of age. The the country found them guilty, they should have people one morning perceived a copy of the Declabut a little time to live," put themselves on their ration stuck up; not being able to read it, they trials. The judge had at the same time insinu- bethought themselves of this youth, who had the ated" that it was better to plead guilty, if they gift, now so common, but then so rare. The expected any favor.”
whipping commenced at Dorchester, where the The plan adopted to shorten the business at gaoler, pitying, the boy's early years, performed Dorchester, and to procure a confession, without his office with as little severity as he could. A which not a tenth part could be legally proved clergyman named Blanchard informed the merciful guilty, was this :-Two officers were sent into the gaoler " that he would do his business for him gaol to call over and take the names of the prison with the lord chief justice for shamming his seners. They bore with them the sister promises of tence, in not whipping the boy half enough. pardon and execution. If the prisoners confessed, The man, exasperated at this interference, said, they were told they might expect mercy ; other- “ You talk of the cruelties of the Popish priests,
And as many were induced to accept but commend me to a Church of England priest the proffered mercy, these officers were in a con- for cruelty; they are like the country justices, dition to appear as witnesses of their confession, who won't believe a man is burnt in the hand un(as the law was then administered,) in the case of less they can see a hole through it.” It is uncertheir retracting.
tain whether this clergyman really did inform ; The first thirty, mistrusting the cruel judge, put some one sent to Jeffreys, who had the poor themselves upon their trial, and pleaded not guilty: boy whipped again the following morning to such This was on Saturday. The same evening Jef- a degree that his life was despaired of. freys signed a warrant to hang thirteen on the At Exeter thirteen were executed. Thence, Monday following; which was punctually per- still thirsting for human blood, the judge proformed. The rest followed very soon afterwards, ceeded to Taunton, where no less than 526 perexcept one Saunders, who was acquitted for want sons were waiting their trials. Of these, no of evidence. The pleading guilty by the other less than one hundred and forty-four were exeprisoners put an end to further trial.
cuted !! The judge performed his office in a manner that The reader who has felt interested in the prewe hope never to see rivalled or imitated. What sentation of the colors to the Duke of Monmouth a sight did the court-house of Dorchester pre- by the Taunton maids, may be desirous of learning sent, when two hundred and ninety-two persons how they fared at such a time as this, when the received sentence of death at one and the same air was tainted with the smell of the quarters of time.
the leaders of the recent pageant, and of their own The brutal bearing of this monster is exhibited relatives. One of the Miss Blakes, the schoolin the following anecdotes :
mistress, was committed to Dorchester gaol, Mr. Smith, the constable of Chardstock, who where she died of the small-pox. One of the had been compelled by a party of the duke's men young maids (some of whom were only from eight to surrender some money belonging to the militia, to ten years of age) surrendered herself in court, was hanged upon the same evidence as Mr. begging mercy from the judge, who, when she
INDIGNANT AND CURIOUS.
was produced before him, looked on her with a
From Punch, very fierce countenance, and raving, commanded MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURES. the gaoler to take her. This struck such terror into the poor girl, that pulling her hood over her CAUDLE HAS BEEN MADE A MASON.—MRS. CAUDLE face, she fell a-weeping, and the gaoler removing her immediately out of the court, she died, not
“Now, Mr. Caudle-Mr. Caudle, I say: oh! many hours after, through fear.
you can't be asleep already, I know-now, what Ai Wells, ninety-seven were sent to the gib- I mean to say is this ; there's no use, none at all, bet. And this is the scene the monster left behind in our having any disturbance about the matter; him.
but, at last my mind's made up, Mr. Caudle ; I Jeffreys' whole progress might be traced by the shall leave you. Either I know all you've been carnage he left behind him. Every tower and doing 10-night, or to-morrow morning I quit the steeple were set round with the heads of traitors. house. No, no ; there's an end of the marriageWherever a road divided a gibbet served for an state, I think-an end of all confidence between index; and there was scarcely a hamlet, however man and wife-if a husband's to have secrets and obscure, to which one limb at least was not sent, keep 'em all to himself. Pretty secrets they must that those who survived might never lose sight of be, when his own wife can't know 'em. Not fit their departed friends, nor the remembrance of for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that is their crime or punishments. The following de- the case. Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel ; scription of the beautiful west country disfigured there's a good soul, tell me what is it all about? by Jeffreys is very striking : “He made all the A pack of nonsense, I dare say ; still--not that I west an Aceldama ; some places quite depopu- care much about it-still, I should like to know. lated, and nothing to be seen in 'em but forsaken There's a dear. Eh? Oh, don't tell me there's walls, unlucky gibbets, and ghostly carcases. The nothing in it; I know better. I'm not a fool, trees were loaden almost as thick with quarters as Mr. Caudle ; I know there is a good deal in leaves ; the houses and steeples covered as close it. Now, Caudle ; just tell me a little bit of with heads as at other times frequently in that it. I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know country with crows or ravens. Nothing could be I would. Well ? liker hell than all those parts ; nothing so like the “Caudle, you ’re enough to vex a saint! Now, devil as he. Cauldrons hissing, carcasses boiling, don't you think you 're going to sleep; because pitch and tar sparkling and glowing, blood and you 're not. Do you suppose I'd ever suffered limbs boiling, and tearing and mangling ; and he you to go and be made a mason,
if I did n't suppose the great director of all, and, in a word, discharg- I was to know the secret, too! Not that it's anying his place who sent him, the best deserving to thing to know, I dare say; and that is why I'm be the king's late chief justice there, and chancel-determined to know it. dor after, of any man that breathed since Cain or “But I know what it is; oh yes, there can be no Judas."
doubt. The secret is, to ill-use poor women ; to Lord Lowther writes that the stench was so tyrannize over 'em; to make 'em your slaves ; great that the ways were not to be travelled whilst especially your wives. It must be something of the horror of so many quarters of men, and the the sort, or you would n’t be ashamed to have it offensive stench of them, lasted ; of which Ken, known. What's right and proper never need be the bishop of Bath and Wells, wrote a most pa- done in secret. It's an insult to a woman for a thetical letter to his Majesty.
man to be a free-mason, and let his wife know Besides these butcheriea, 850 prisoners were nothing of it. But, poor soul! she's sure to transported to the plantations—in reality, sold as know it somehow-for nice husbands they all make. slaves to the planters, in a climate where field Yes, yes ; a part of the secret is to think better labor is certain death to Europeans ; so that they of all the world than their own wives and families. are to be added to the number of victims. One of I'm sure men have quite enough to care for—that these was the son of a clergyman near Lyme, the is, if they act properly—to care for them they Rev. J. Pinney.
have at home. They can't have much care to The Taunton school-girls, who had worked the spare for the world besides. banner for Monmouth, were given as Christmas- “And I suppose they call you Brother Caudle? boxes to the maids of honor to the queen ; of A pretty brother, indeed! Going and dressing
whom their liberty was afterwards purchased for yourself up in an apron like a turnpike man—for -7,0001.
that 's what you look like. And I should like to It is estimated that Jeffreys cleared no less than know what the apron 's for? There must be 34,0001. by this assize, in bribes accepted for the something in it not very respectable, I'm sure. escape or pardon of wealthy prisoners. From Well, I only wish I was queen for a day or two. Mr. Prideaux, of Ford Abbey, who was I'd put an end to free-masonry, and all such doubtedly innocent, he extoried the sum of trumpery, I know. 15,0001.
Now, come, Caudle ; don't let 's quarrel. The total number killed during this rebellion Eh! You're not in pain, dear? What's it is estimated by Mr. Roberts at 1,810, of whom all about? What are you lying laughing there 392 were executed by Jeffreys after its sup-at? But I'm a fool to trouble my head about you. pression.
“ And you 're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You mean to say-you ’re not?
Now Caudle you know it's a hard matter to put ANECDOTE OF DUNNING.—On Mr. Dunning, the me in a passion—not that I care about the secret celebrated lawyer, being asked how he contrived itself : no, I would n't give a button to know it, to get through all his business, he replied, “I for it 's all nonsense I'm sure. It is n't the secret divide my business into three parts : the first part I care about: it's the slight, Mr. Caudle; it's the I do myself; the second part I get done for me ; studied insult that a man pays to his wife, when i and the third is never done at all."
he thinks of going through the world keeping
something to himself which he won't let her ple could see you at home, that 's all. But so it know. Man and wife one, indeed! I should like is with men. They can keep all of their good to know how that can be when a man 's a mason temper for out-of-doors—their wives never see any —when he keeps a secret that sets him and his of it. Oh dear! I'm sure I don't know who'd be wife apart? Ha, you men make the laws, and so a poor woman! you take good care to have all the best of 'em to " Now, Caudle, I'm not in an ill temper; not yourselves : otherwise a woman ought to be at all. I know I used to be a fool when we were allowed a divorce when a man becomes a mason. first married : I used to worry and fret myself to When he's got a sort of corner-cupboard in his death when you went out: but I've got over that. heart—a secret place in his mind-that his poor I would n't put myself out of the way now for the wife is n't allowed to rummage !
best man that ever trod. For what thanks does a Caudle, you shan't close your eyes for a poor woman get? None at all. No: it's those week-no, you shan't-unless you tell me some who don't care for their families, who are the best of it. Come, there's a good creature ; there's a thought of. I only wish I could bring myself not love. I'm sure, Caudle, I would n't refuse you to care for mine. anything and you know it, or ought to know it “And why could n't you say, like a man, you by this time. I only wish I had a secret! To were going to Greenwich Fair when you went whom should I think of confiding it, but to my out? It's no use you 're saying that, Mr. Caudear husband? I should be miserable to keep it dle: don't tell me that you did n't think of going ; to myself, and you know it. Now, Caudle ? you'd made your mind up to it, and you know it.
“Was there ever such a man! A man, in- Pretty games you've had, no doubt! I should deed! A brute !-yes, Mr. Caudle, an unfeeling, like to have been behind you, that's all. A man brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and at your time of life! you won't. I'm sure I don't object to your being * And I of course, I never want to go out. à mason ; not at all, Caudle; I dare say it's a Oh no! I may stay at home with the cat. You very good thing; I dare say it is—it's only your could n't think of taking your wife and children, making a secret of it that vexes me. But you 'll like any other decent man, to a fair. Oh no; tell me—you 'll tell your own Margaret! You you never care to be seen with us.
I'm sure, won't! You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle.
many people don't know you 're married : how “But I know why: oh, yes, I can tell. The can they? Your wife's never seen with you. fact is, you ’re ashamed to let me know what a Oh no; anybody_but those belonging to you ! fool they've been making of you. That's it. “Greenwich Fair, indeed! Yes-and of course You, at your time of life-the father of a family. you went up and down the hill, running and racI should be ashamed of myself, Caudle.
ing with nobody knows who. Don't tell me; I “And I suppose you 'll be going to what you know what you are when you're out. You don't call your Lodge every night, now. Lodge, in- suppose, Mr. Caudle, I've forgotten that pink deed! Pretty place it must be, where they don't bonnet, do you? No: I won't hold my tongue, admit women. Nice goings on, I dare say. Then and I'm not a foolish woman. It's no matter, sir, you call one another brethren. Brethren! I'm if the pink bonnet was fifty years ago—it's all the sure you 'd relations enough, you did n't want any same for that. No: and if I live for fifty years to more.
come, I never will leave off talking of it. You But I know what all this masonry's about. ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Caudle. It's only an excuse to get away from your wives Ha! few wives would have been what I've been and families, that you may feast and drink to- to you. I only wish my time was to come over gether, that 's all. That's the secret. And to again, that's all; I would n't be the fool I have abuse women-as if they were inferior animals, been. and not to be trusted. That's the secret; and “Going to a fair! and I suppose you, nothing else.
fortune told by the gipsies? You need n't have “Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel. Yes, wasted your money. I'm sure I can tell you I know you 're in pain. Still, Caudle, my love ; your fortune if you go on as you do. Yes, the Caudle! Dearest, I say! Caudle! Caud—” gaol will be your fortune, Mr. Caudle. And it
“I recollect nothing more, says Caudle," for would be no matter-none at all—if your wife and here, thank Providence! I fell asleep."
children did n't suffer with you.
“ And then you must go riding upon donkeysyou did n't go riding upon donkies! Yes ; it's
very well for you to say so; but I dare say you Hem!-So, Mr. Caudle: I hope you enjoyed did. I tell you, Caudle, I know what you are yourself at Greenwich. How do I know you've when you 're out. I would n't trust any of youbeen at Greenwich! I know it very well, sir : you, especially, Caudle. know all about it: know more than you think I “ Then you must go in the thick of the fair, know. I thought there was something in the and have the girls scratching your coat with ratwind. Yes, I was sure of it, when you went out lles! You could n't help it, if they did scratch of the house, to-day. I knew it by the looks of your coat? Don't tell me ; people don't scratch you, though I did n't say anything. Upon my coats unless they ’re encouraged to do it. And word! And you call yourself a respectable man, you must go in a swing, too. You did n't go in and the father of a family! Going to a fair a swing? And I'm a foolish woman to think so, amongst all sorts of people—at your time of life. am I? Well, if you did n't, it was no fault of Yes; and never think of taking your wife with yours; you wished to go, I've no doubt. you. Oh no! you can go and enjoy yourself out,
en you must go into the shows? with I don't know who : go out, and make your- There—you don't deny that. You did go into a self very pleasant, I dare say. Don't tell me; I show. What of it, Mr. Caudle? A good deal hear what a nice companion Mr. Candle is: what of it, sir. Nice crowding and squeezing in those a good-tempered person. Ha! I only wish peo- shows, I know. Pretty places! And you a mar
MR. CAUDLE HAS BEEN TO GREENWICH FAIR.