“Was there ever such a man? A man, indeed! A brute!--yes, Mr. Caudle, an unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won't. I'm sure I don't object to your being a mason; not at all, Caudle; I dare say it's a very good thing; I dare say it is--it's only your making a secret of it that vexes me. But you 'll tell me--you 'll tell your own Margaret? You won't! You 're a wretch, Mr. Caudle. “But I know why: oh, yes, I can tell. The fact is, you're ashamed to let me know what a fool they've been making of you. That's it. You, at your time of life--the father of a family. I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle. “And I suppose you'll be going to what you call your Lodge every night, now. Lodge, indeed! Pretty place it must be, where they don't admit women. Nice goings on, I dare say. Then you call one another brethren. Brethren! I'm sure you'd relations enough; you didn't want any more. “But I know what all this masonry's about. It's only an excuse to get away from your wives and families, that you may feast and drink together, that's all. That's the secret. And to abuse women,--as if they were inferior animals, and not to be trusted. That's the secret; and nothing else. “Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel. Yes, I know you 're in pain. Still, Caudle, my love; Caudle! Dearest, I say! Caudle! Caud--” “I recollect nothing more,” says Caudle, “for here, thank Providence! I fell asleep.” LECTURE IX. MR. CAUDLE HAS BEEN TO GREENWICH FAIR. [Illustration: 039] EM!--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, though 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 time of life. Yes; and never think of taking your wife with you. Oh, no! you can go and enjoy yourself out, with, _I_ 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. Caudle is: what a good-tempered person. Ha! I only wish people could see you at home, that's all. But 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! I'm sure I don't know who'd be a poor woman! “Now, Caudle, I'm not in an ill temper: not at all. I know I used to be a fool when we were first married: I used to worry and fret myself to death, 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.