“The Skylarks, indeed! I suppose you 'll be buying a 'Little Warbler,' and at your time of life, be trying to sing. The peacocks will sing next. A pretty name you 'll get in the neighbourhood; and, in a very little time, a nice face you 'll have. Your nose is getting redder already: and you've just one of the noses that liquor always flies to. You don't see it's red? No--I dare say not--but I see it; I see a great many things-you don't. And so you 'll go on. In a little time, with your brandy-and-water--don't tell me that you only take two small glasses; I know what men's two small glasses are; in a little time you'll have a face all over as if it was made of red currant jam. And I should like to know who's to endure you then? I won't, and so don't think it. Don't come to me. “Nice habits men learn at clubs! There's Joskins: he was a decent creature once, and now I'm told he has more than once boxed his wife's ears. He's a Skylark, too. And I suppose, some day, you 'll be trying to box _my_ ears? Don't attempt it, Mr. Caudle; I say, don't attempt it. Yes--it's all very well for you to say you don't mean it,--but I only say again, don't attempt it. You'd rue it till the day of your death, Mr. Caudle. “Going and sitting for four hours at a tavern! What men, unless they had their wives with them, can find to talk about, I can't think. No good, of course. “Eighteen-pence a week--and drinking brandy-and-water, enough to swim a boat! And smoking like the funnel of a steam-ship! And I can't afford myself so much as a piece of tape! It's brutal, Mr. Caudle. It's ve-ve-ve--ry bru--tal.” And, says a note in the MS. by Mr. Caudle--“Here, thank heaven! yawning, she fell asleep.” LECTURE IV. MR. CAUDLE HAS BEEN CALLED FROM HIS BED TO BAIL MR. PRETTYMAN FROM THE WATCH-HOUSE. [Illustration:022] IE, Mr. Caudle, I knew it would come to this. I said it would, when you joined those precious Skylarks. People being called out of their beds at all hours of the night to bail a set of fellows who are never so happy as when they 're leading sober men to destruction. I should like to know what the neighbours will think of you, with people from the police knocking at the door at two in the morning. Don't tell me that the man has been ill-used: he's not the man to be ill-used. And you must go and bail him. I know the end of that: he 'll run away, and you 'll have to pay the money. I should like to know what's the use of my working and slaving to save a farthing, when you throw away pounds upon your precious Skylarks. A pretty cold you 'll have to-morrow morning, being called out of your warm bed this weather; but don't you think I'll nurse you--not I; not a drop of gruel do you get from me.