“And at her time of life, what a needlewoman! And the darning and mending for the children, it really gets quite beyond me now, Caudle. Now with mother at my hand, there wouldn't be a stitch wanted in the house. “And then when you're out late, Caudle--for I know you must be out late, sometimes; I can't expect you, of course, to be always at home--why then dear mother could sit up for you, and nothing would delight the dear soul half so much. “And so, Caudle, love, I think dear mother had better come, don't you? Eh, Caudle? Now, you 're not asleep, darling: don't you think she'd better come? You say _No?_ You say _No_, again? _You won't have her_, you say; _You won't, that's flat?_ Caudle--Cau-Cau-dle--Cau--die--” “Here Mrs. Caudle,” says Mr. C., in his MS., “suddenly went into tears; and I went to sleep.” LECTURE XII. MR. CAUDLE, HAVING COME HOME A LITTLE LATE, DECLARES THAT HENCEFORTH “HE WILL HAVE A DEAD-LATCH KEY.” On my word, Mr. Caudle, I think it a waste of time to come to bed at all now! The cocks will be crowing in a minute. Keeping people up till past twelve. Oh, yes! you 're thought a man of very fine feelings out of doors, I dare say! It's a pity you haven't a little feeling for those belonging to you at home. A nice hour to keep people out of their beds! _Why did I sit up, then?_ Because I chose to sit up--but that's my thanks. No, it's no use your talking, Caudle; I never _will_ let the girl sit up for you, and there's an end. What do you say? _Why does she sit up with me, then?_ That's quite a different matter: you don't suppose I'm going to sit up alone, do you? What do you say? _What's the use of two sitting up?_ That's my business. No, Caudle, it's no such thing. I _don't_ sit up because I may have the pleasure of talking about it; and you're an ungrateful, unfeeling creature, to say so. I sit up because I choose it; and if you don't come home all the night long--and 't will soon come to that, I've no doubt--still, I'll never go to bed, so don't think it. “Oh, yes! the time runs away very pleasantly with you men at your clubs--selfish creatures! You can laugh and sing, and tell stories, and never think of the clock; never think there's such a person as a wife belonging to you. It's nothing to you that a poor woman's sitting up, and telling the minutes, and seeing all sorts of things in the fire--and sometimes thinking that something dreadful has happened to you--more fool she to care a straw about you!--This is all nothing. Oh, no! when a woman's once married she's a slave--worse than a slave--and must bear it all!