MRS CAUDLE’S CURTAIN LECTURES.

Auckland Times, Volume 3, Issue 139, 6 September 1845, Page 1

MRS CAUDLE’S CURTAIN LECTURES.

Mlfc CAUDLE HAS BEEN TO GREENWICH FAIR. Hem !—So, Mr. Caudle : I hope you enjoyed yourself at Greenwich. How do I know you've been at Greenwich ? I know it very well, sir : know all about it: know more than you think I know. I thought there was something in the wind. Yes, I was sure of it when you went out of the house, to-day. I knew it by the looks of you, although I didn’t say anything. Upon my word ! And you call yourself a respectable man, and the father of a family. Going to a fair amongst all sorts of people, —at your lime of life. Yes; and never think of taking your wife with you. Oh no ! you can go and enjoy yourself out, with 1 don’t know who : go out, and make yourself very pleasant, I dare say. Don’t tell me; I hear what a nice companion Mr. C-audle is : what a good-tempered person. Ha ! I only wish people could see you at home, that’s all, J3ut so it is with men.

They can keep all their good temper for out-of-doors—their wives never see any of it. Oh dear !'4’m sure i don’t know whc’d be a poor woman. Now, Caudle, Im not in an ill-temper ; not at all. I know I used to be a fool when we were first married : I used to and. fret toy self to <deatb when you went out; but I’ve got over that. I wouldn’t put myself out of the way now for the best man that ever trod. For what thanks does a poor woman get ? None at all. No : it’s those who don’t care for their families, who are the best thought of. I only wish I could bring myself not to care for mine. And why could’nt you say, like a man, you were going to Greenwich Fair when you went out ? It’s no use your saying that, Mr. Caudle : don’t tell me that you didn’t think of going; you’d made your mind up to it, and you know it. Pretty games you’ve had, no doubt. I should like to have been behind you, that’s all. A man at your time of life. And I, of course, I never want to go out. Oh no ! I may stay at home with ihe cat. You could’nt think of taking your wife and children, like any other decent man, to a fair. Oh no; you never care to be seen wiih us. I’m sure, many people don’t know you’re married: how can they ? Your wife’s never seen with you. Oh no ; anybody but those belonging to you.

Greenwich Fair, indeed! Yes,—and of course you went up and down the hill, running and racing with nobody knows who. Don’t tell me ; I know what you are when you’re out. You don’t suppose, Mr. Caudle, I’ve forgotten that pink bonnet, do you ? No : I won’t hold my tongue, and I’m not a foolish woman. It ’s nojaaatter. sir* if tlw pi*-;- ouuijet was Titty years ago—-it s all the same for that. No : and if I live for fifty years to come, I never will leave off talking of it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Caudle. Ha ! few wives would have been what I’ve been to you. I only wish my time was to come over again, that’s all; 1 wouldn’t be the fool I have been.

Going to a fair! and I suppose you had your fortune told by the gypsies ? You needn’t have wasted your money. I’m sure I can tell you your fortune if you go on as you do. Yes, the gaol will be your fortune, Mr. Caudle. And it would be no matter—none at all—if your wife and children didn’t sulfer with you. And then you must go riding upon donkeys—you didn't go riding upon donkies? Yes ; it’s very well for you to say so : but I dare say you did. I tell you, Caudle, I know what you are when you’re out. I wouldn’t trust any of yon —you, especially, Caudle.

Then you must go in the thick of the fair, and have the girls scratching your coat with rattles ! You couldn’t help it, if they did scratch your coat ? Don’t tell me; people don’t scratch coats unless they’re encouraged to do it. And you must go in a swing, too. You didn’t go in a swing ? And I s ’m a foolish woman to think so, am 1 ? Well, if you didn’t, it was no fault of yours; you wished to go, I’ve no doubt. And then you must go into the shows ? There, —you don’t deny that. Yon did go into a show. What of it, Mr. Caudle ? A good deal of it, sir. Nice crowding and squeezing in those shows, I know. Pretty places! And you a married man and the father of a family. No, I won’t hold my tongue. It's very well lor you to threaten to get up. You’re to go to Greenwich Fair, and race up and down the hill, and play at kiss in the ring. Pah ! it ’s disgusting, Mr. Caudle; Oh, I dare say you did play at it; if you didn’t, you’d have liked, and that s just as bad ; —and you can go into swings, and shows, and roundabouts. If I was you, I shou d hide my head under the clothes, and be ashamed of myself. And what is most selfish—most mean of you, Caudle—you can go and enjoy yourself, and never so much as briag home for the poor children a gingerbread-nut. Don’t tell me that your packet was picked of a

pound of nuts! Nice company you must j\ have been in to have your pocket picked. \V But I dare say l shall hear all about it A to-morrow. I’ve no doubt, sir, you were dancing at the Crown - and - A nchor. I should like to have seen you. No : I’m* not making myself ridiculous. It ’s you that’s making yourself ridiculous; and every body that knows you says so. Everybody knows what 1 have to put up with from you. Going to a fair, indeed ! At your time—Here, says Caudle, I dozed off, hearing confusedly the words hill gypsies rattles roundabout swings —pink bonnet—nuts.

THE EXETER ’CHANGE BEADLE, This unfortunate individual appears to be in danger of falling a victim to the solitary system. He wanders from morning till night between the iron gates of the arcade of Exeter ’Change, which offers no change, alas! to him, and his existence is one of such utter solitude that his fate might inspire another Zimmerman. • When the gates are closed, he still continues his mournful promenade up and down; and the savage desolation of the spot, where no human footfall is ever heard, has rendered him almost wild, so that he looks through the bars with an aspect of fierceness at the persons passing the cage he is imprisoned in. We earnestly entreat the proprietors of the arcade to consider the consequences of enclosing a human being in a living tomb* excluded from all association with his fellowcreatures. It is idle to deck him out in a gaudy livery, the brilliancy of which only mocks the darkness of his fate, and throws a blacker hue upon the lot which has befallen him.— Punch,

foKCu’s Noy’s Maxims. .Every act shall be taken most strictly against him who made it.—This is a very good maxim, but it is not faithfully carried out; for if it were* the framers of the Poor Law Act would be occasionally subjected to its provisions. The individual who made a brazen bull for the purpose of torturing others, and was himself the first victim to his new invention, had his act taken most strictly against himself; and if Acts of Parliament were to be applied strictly to those who made them, it is probabe that there would be considerable improvement in the quality of legislation. If I give A.B. a gold snuff-box, saying, A.C., take this, it is a good gift, though 1 call him by a wrong name; but if l call him wrong names, and he, giving me a box oa the ears, says, 8.D., take that, the gift is not so good as it might be.—He who cannot have the effect of the thing, shall have tha thing itself. Ut res magis valeat quant pereat . It is better a thing should have effect than be void.—This maxim is somewhat ambiguous, but it means simply that tvhere there is no meaning in a sentence, the law will make one, rather than refrain from interfering. Formerly, however, the better mode of reading the maxim would have been saying, “he who cannot have the effects of the thing shall have the thing itself—for until arrest was abolished—and even still in some cases —if a broker cannot have the effects he will have the person, and if he returns nu/la bona —which means literally nothing to bone—he could formerly bone the body.— lbid, A Popular Desire.— lt is an actual fact that the Government has sent out a ship called The Graham, to Sydney. The Graham Carries letters. Of course they will open themselves on the way. Every well - constituted mind would wish not only that this, but that other Grahams should goto Sydney—and the longer they stayed the better. — Ibid.

Dead Weights.— There was an advertisement in the Times, the other day* for a couple of mill-stones* We understand that Sir R. Peel answered the announcement, offering Sir James Graham and Lord Stanley to the advertiser as a couple of mill-stones, which he, Sir R. Peel, would have no objection to part with.— lbid,