478 MRS. CAUDLE NEEDS SPRING CLOTHING. And here my naked breast; within, a heart, Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. Brutus.-Sheathe your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Cassius.-Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered, vexeth him? Brutus. When I spoke that I was illtempered, too. Cassius. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Brutus. And my heart too. [Embracing.] Brutus.-What's the matter? Casius. Have you not love enough to bear When that rash humor which my mother Brutus.-Yes, Cassius; and, from hence- When you are over-earnest with your Bru tus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. MRS. CAUDLE NEEDS SPRING CLOTHING. DOUGLAS JERROLD. F there's anything in the world I hate-and you know it—it is, asking you for money. I am sure for myself, I'd rather go without a thing a thousand times, and I do, the more shame for you to let me. What do I want now? As if you didn't know! I'm sure, if I'd any money of my own, I'd never ask you for a farthing-never! It's painful to me, gracious knows! What do you say? If it's painful, why so often do it? I suppose you call that a joke-one of your club-jokes! As I say, I only wish I'd any money of my own. If there is anything that humbles a poor woman, it is coming to a man's pocket for every farthing. It's dreadful! Now, Caudle, you shall hear me, for it isn't often I speak. Pray, do you know what month it is? And did you see how the children looked at church to-day-like nobody else's children? What was the matter with them? Oh! Caudle how can you ask! Weren't they all in their thick. merinoes and beaver bonnets? What of it? What! You'll tell me that you didn't see how the Briggs girls, in their new chips, turned their noses up at 'em! And you didn't see how the Browns looked at the Smiths, and then at our poor girls, as much as to say, What do you say? MRS. CAUDLE NEEDS SPRING CLOTHING. 479 "Poor creatures! what figures for the first of May?" You didn't see it! The more shame for you! I'm sure, those Briggs girls-the little minxes! -put me into such a pucker, I could have pulled their ears for 'em over the pew. What do you say! I ought to be ashamed to own it? Now, Caudle, it's no use talking; those children shall not cross over the threshold next Sunday if they haven't things for the summer. Now mind-they shan't; and there's an end of it! I'm always wanting money for clothes? How can you say that? I'm sure there are no children in the world that cost their father so little; but that's it-the less a poor woman does upon, the less she may. Now, Caudle, dear! What a man you are! I know you'll give me the money, because, after all, I think you love your children, and like to see 'em well dressed. It's only natural that a father should. How much money do I want? Let me see, love. There's Caroline, and Jane, and Susan, and Mary Ann, and-What do you say? I needn't count 'em? You know how many there are! That's just the way you take me up! Well, how much money will it take? Let me see-I'll tell you in a minute. You always love to see the dear things like new pins. I know that, Caudle; and though I say it, bless their little hearts! they do credit to you, Caudle. How much? Now, don't be in a hurry! Well, I think, with good pinching—and you know, Caudle, there's never a wife who can pinch closer than I can-I think, with pinching, I can do with twenty pounds. What did you say? Twenty fiddlesticks? What! You won't give half the money? Very well, Mr. Caudle; I don't care; let the children go in rags; let them stop from church, and grow up like heathens and cannibals; and then you'll save your money, and, I suppose, be satisfied. What do you say? Ten pounds enough? Yes, just like you men; you think things cost nothing for women; but you don't care how much you lay out upon yourselves. They only want frocks and bonnets? How do you know what they want? How should a man know anything at all about it? And you won't give more than ten pounds? Very well. Then you may go shopping with it yourself, and see what you'll make of it! I'll have none of your ten pounds, I can tell you-no sir! No; you've no cause to say that. I don't want to dress the children up like countesses! You often throw that in my teeth, you do; but you know it's false, Caudle; you know it! I only wish to give 'em proper notions of themselves; and what, indeed, can the poor things think, when they see the Briggses, the Browns, and the Smiths,-and their fathers don't make the money you do, Caudle-when they see them as fine as tulips? Why, they must think themselves nobody. However, the twenty pounds I will have, if I've any; or not a farthing! No, sir; no,-I don't want to dress up the children like peacocks and parrots! I only want to make 'em respectable. What do you say? You'll give me fifteen pounds? No, Caudle, no, not a penny will I take under twenty. If I did, it would seem as if I wanted to waste your money; and I am sure, when I come to think of it twenty pounds will hardly do! THE DAY-DREAM. 481 The maid of honor blooming fair, The page has caught her hand in his, Her lips are severed as to speak; His own are pouted to a kiss; The blush is fixed upon her cheek. Till all the hundred summers pass, The beams that, through the oriel shine, Make prisms in every carven glass, And beaker brimmed with noble wine. Each baron at the banquet sleeps; Grave faces gathered in a ring. His state the king reposing keeps : He must have been a jolly king. All round a hedge upshoots, and shows And grapes with bunches red as blood; High up, the topmost palace spire. He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks, He breaks the hedge; he enters there; The color flies into his cheeks; He trusts to light on something fair; For all his life the charm did talk About his path and hover near More close and close his footsteps wind; The quiet chamber far apart. His spirit flutters like a lark, He stoops-to kiss her-on his knee: "Love, if thy tresses be so dark, How dark those hidden eyes must be!" THE REVIVAL. A touch, a kiss! the charm was snapt, There rose a noise of striking clocks; And feet that ran, and doors that clapt, And barking dogs, and crowing cocks; YELL, thin, there was once't upon a time, away off in the ould coun try, livin' all her lane in the woods, in a wee bit iv a house be herself, a little rid hin. Nice an' quiet she was, and niver did no kind o' harrum in her life. An' there lived out over the hill, in a din o' the rocks, a crafty ould felly iv a fox. An' this same ould villain iv a fox, he laid awake o' nights, and he prowled round |