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.

"It's a pity that you haven't something worse to complain of than a button off your shirt. If you'd some wives, I know you would. I'm sure I'm never without a needle-and-thread in my hand. What with you and the children, I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your life a button's off your shirt-what do you cry 'oh' at?-I say once, Mr. Caudle; or twice, or three times, at most. I'm sure, Mr. Caudle, no man's buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I had kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to know where were your buttons then?

"Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and then if I only try to speak you won't hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to your selves: a poor woman isn't allowed to get a word in.

"A nice notion you have of a wife to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's buttons. A pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew what they had to go through! What with buttons, and one thing and another! They'd never tie themselves up-no, not to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle? Why, do much better without you, I'm certain.

"And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't off the shirt; it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you might have something to talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything! All I know is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt! for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I am. I only say, it's very odd.

"However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha, you may laugh! And I dare say you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love-that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say nothing about it. And when I'm gone, we shall see how your second wife will look after your buttons. You'll find out the dif

ference, then. Yes, Caudle, you'll think of me then: for then, I hope, you'll never have a blessed button to your back.

"No, I'm not a vindictive woman, Mr. Caudle: nobody ever called me that, but you. What do you say? Nobody ever knew so much of me? That's nothing at all to do with it. Ha! I wouldn't have your aggravating temper, Mr. Caudle, for mines of gold. It's a good thing I'm not as worrying as you are-or a nice house there'd be be tween us. I only wish you'd had a wife that would have talked to you! Then you'd have known the difference. But you impose upon me, because, like a poor fool, I say nothing. I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle.

"And a pretty example you set as a father! You'll make your boys as bad as yourself. Talking as you did all breakfasttime about your buttons! And of a Sunday morning too! And you call yourself a Christian! I should like to know what your boys will say when they grow up? All about a paltry button off one of your wristbands! A decent man wouldn't have mentioned it. Why won't I hold my tongue? Because I won't hold my tongue. I'm to have my peace of mind destroyed-I'm to be worried into my grave for a miserable shirt-button, and I'm to hold my tongue! Oh! but that's just like you men!

"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've 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 sayoh! what a brute you must be to snore so!

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'm threatened to be made nobody of in my own house! Mr. 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,"

"And then what a cook she is! I'm sure

"Is your cold better to-night, Caudle? Yes; I thought it was. "Twill be quite well to-morrow, I dare say. There's a love! You don't take care enough of your self, Caudle, you don't. And you ought, I'm sure; if only for my sake. For whatever I should do, if anything was to happen to you-but I won't think of it; no, I can't bear to think of that. Still, you ought to take care of yourself; for you know you're not strong, Caudle; you know you're not.

"Wasn't dear mother so happy with us, to-night? Now, you needn't go to sleep, so suddenly. I say, wasn't she so happy? You don't know? How can you say you don't know? You must have seen it. But she always is happier here than anywhere else. Ha! what a temper that dear soul has! I call it a temper of satin; it is so smooth, so easy, and so soft. Nothing puts her out of the way. And then, if you only knew how she takes your part, Caudle! I'm sure, if you had been her own son ten times over, she couldn't be fonder of you. Don't you think so, Caudle? Eh, love? Now, do answer. How can you tell? Nonsense, Caudle; you must have seen it. I'm sure, nothing delights the dear soul so much as when she's thinking how to please you.

"Don't you remember Thursday night, the stewed oysters when you came home? That was all dear mother's doings! Margaret,' says she to me, 'it's a cold night; and don't you think dear Mr. Caudle would

thing! I try hard enough to follow her: but, I'm not ashamed to own it, Caudle, she quite beats me. Ha! the many nice little things she'd simmer up for you-and I can't do it; the children, you know it, Caudle, take so much of my time. I can't do it, love; and I often reproach myself that I can't. Now you sha'n't go to sleep, Caudle; at least, not for five minutes. You must hear me.

"I've been thinking, dearest-ha! that nasty cough, love!-I've been thinking, darling, if we could only persuade dear mother to come and live with us. Now, Caudle, you can't be asleep; it's impossible

you were coughing this minute-yes, to live with us. What a treasure we should have in her! Then, Caudle, you never need go to bed without something hot. And you want it, Caudle. You don't want it? Nonsense, you do; for you're not strong, Mr. Caudle; you know you're not.

"I'm sure, the money she'd save us in housekeeping. Ha! what an eye she has for a joint! The butcher doesn't walk that could deceive dear mother. And then, again, for poultry! What a finger and thumb she has for a chicken! I never could market like her: it's a gift-quite a gift.

"And then you recollect her marrowpuddings? You don't recollect 'em? Oh, fie! Caudle, how often have you flung her marrow-puddings in my face, wanting to know why I couldn't make 'em? And I wouldn't pretend to do it after dear mother. I should think it presumption. Now, love, if she was only living with us-come, you're not asleep, Caudle-if she was only living with us, you could have marrowpuddings every day. Now, don't fling yourself about and begin to swear at mairow-puddings; you know you like 'em, dear.