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MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE ON SHIRT-BUTTONS.
You hear that boy laughing ?-You think he's all fun;
Yes, we're boys,--always playing with tongue or with pen;
Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON SHIRT BUTTONS.
"WELL, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning? There—you needn't begin to whistle. But it's like you. I can't speak, that
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 isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows!
“Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must almost swear the roof off the house ! You didn'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.
“But I know what I'll do for the future. Every button you have
may drop off, and I won't so much as put a thread to 'em. And I should like to know what you'll do then? Oh, you must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? That's a pretty threat for a husband to hold out to a wife! And to such a wife as I have
been too: such a negro-slave to your buttons, as I may say! Somebody else to sew 'em, eh? No, Caudle, no: not while I'm alive! When I'm dead—and with what I have to bear there's no knowing how soon that may be—when I'm dead, I say—oh! what a brute you must be to snore so !
6 You're not snoring ? Ha! that's what you always say ; but that's nothing to do with it. You must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? Ha! I shouldn't wonder. Oh, no! I should be surprised at nothing, now! Nothing at all! It's what people have always told me it would come to,--and now, the buttons have opened my eyes! But the whole world shall know of your cruelty, Mr. Caudle. After the wife I've been to you. Somebody else, indeed, to sew your buttons! I'm no longer to be mistress in my own house! Ha, Caudle! I wouldn't have upon my conscience what you have, for the world! I wouldn't treat anybody as you treat-no, I'm not mad! It's you, Mr. Caudle, who are mad, or bad-and that's worse! I can't even so much as speak of a shirt-button, but that I am threatened to be made nobody of in my own house ! Caudle, you've a heart like a hearth-stone, you have ! To threaten me, and only because a button—a button
“I was conscious of no more than this," says Caudle; “ for here nature relieved me with a sweet, deep sleep."
BOARDING-SCHOOL BREAKFAST.-CHARLES DICKENS.
Mr. SQUEERS had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef; but he was at that moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys.
“ This is twopenn'orth of milk, is it, waiter?” said Mr. Squeers, looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently so as to get an accurate view of the quantity of fluid contained in it.
“That's twopenn'orth, Sir," replied the waiter.
“What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London,” said Mr. Squeers, with a sigh. “ Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will you ?”
“To the wery top, Sir ?” inquired the waiter. “Why, the milk will be drownded."
"Never you mind that," replied Mr. Squeers. "Serve it right for being so dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for three, did you?”
“ Coming directly, Sir."
"You needn't hurry yourself,” said Squeers; "there's plenty of time. Conquer your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vittles.” As he uttered this moral precept, Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of the cold beef, and recognized Nicholas.
“Sit down, Mr. Nickleby,” said Squeers. “ Here we are, a breakfasting, you see."
Nicholas did not see that any one was breakfasting except Mr. Squeers; but he bowed with all becoming reverence, and looked as cheerful as he could.
“Oh! that's the milk and water, is it, William ?” said Squeers. “Very good ; don't forget the bread and butter presently.”
At this fresh mention of the bread and butter, the five little boys looked very eager, and followed the waiter out with their eyes; meanwhile Mr. Squeers tasted the milk and water.
“Ah!" said that gentleman, smacking his lips, “here's richness! Think of the many beggars and orphans in the streets that would be glad of this, little boys! A shocking thing hunger is, isn't it, Mr. Nickleby ?”
“Very shocking, Sir,” said Nicholas.
“When I say number one," pursued Mr. Squeers, putting the mug before the children, “the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take a drink; and when I say number two the boy next him will go in, and so till we come to number five, which is the last boy. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Sir,” cried all the little boys, with great eagerness.
“That's right,” said Squeers, calmly getting on with his breakfast; “ keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my dears, and you've conquered human natur. This is the way we inculcate strength of mind, Mr. Nickleby,” said the schoolmaster, turning to Nicholas, and speaking with his mouth very full of beef and toast.
"Thank God for a good breakfast,” said Squeers, when he had finished. “Number one may take a drink.”
Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just drunk enough to make him wish for more, when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for number two, who gave up at the same interesting moment to number three, and the process was repeated till the milk and water terminated with number five.
“And now," said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread atkel butter for three into as many portions as there werë children, "you had better look sharp with your breakfast, for the horno will blow is a minute or two, and then every boy leaves off.”
Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began to it voraciously, and in desperate haste, while the schoolmaster (who was in high good-humor after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork and looked smilingly on.
BURIAL OF BAKER.-THOMAS STARR King.
2.-THỘMAS Starr King.
The story of our great friend's life has been eloquently told. We have borne him now to the home of the dead, to the Cemetery which, after fit services of prayer, he devoted, in a tender and thrilling speech, to its hallowed purposes. In that address, he said: “Within these grounds public reverence and gratitude shall build the tomb of warriors and
statesmen * * who have given all their lives and their best thoughts to their country.” Could he forecast, seven years ago, any such fulfillinent of those words as this hour revealed ? He confessed the conviction before he went into the battle which bereaved us, that his last hour was near. Could any slight shadow of his destiny have been thrown across his path, as he stood here when these grounds were dedicated, and looked over slopes unfurrowed then by the plowshare of death ?
His words were prophetic. Yes, warrior and statesman, wise in council, graceful and electric as few have been in speech, ardent and vigorous in debate, but nobler than for all these qualities by the devotion which prompted thee to give more than thy wisdom, more than thy energy and weight in the hall of Senatorial discussion, more than the fervor of thy tongue, and the fire of thy eagle eye in the great assemblies of the people even the blood
WE MUST FIGHT.
of thy indomitable heart—when thy country called with a cry of peril—we receive thee with tears and pride. We find thee dearer than when thou camest to speak to us in the full tide of life and vigor. Thy wounds through which thy life was poured are not * dumb mouths,” but eloquent with the intense and perpetual appeal of thy soul. We receive thee to “reverence and gratitude," as we lay thee gently to thy sleep; and we pledge to thee, not only a monument that shall hold thy name, but a memorial in the hearts of a grateful people, so long as the Pacific moans near thy resting-place, and a fame eminent among the heroes of tlio republic so long as the mountains shall feed the Oregon.
THOMAS STARR KING.-JOHN G. WAITTIER.
The great work laid upon his twoscore years
Who loved him as few men were ever loved,
WE MUST FIGHT.-E. D. BAKER—1861.
Sir, how can we retreat ? Sir, how can we make peace ? Wh, shall treat? What Commissioners ? Who would go?