"Yes, that's all with your filthy politics again. You'd shake all the world up in a dice-box, if you'd your way: not that you care a pin about the world, only you'd like to get a better throw for yourself,--that's all. But little pet SHALL be bored, and don't think to prevent it. "I suppose she's to be married some day, as well as her sisters? And who'll look at a girl without earrings, I should like to know? If you knew anything of the world, you'd know what a nice diamond earring will sometimes do--when one can get it--before this. But I know why you can't abide earrings now: Miss Prettyman doesn't wear 'em; she would--I've no doubt--if she could only get 'em. Yes, it's Miss Prettyman who - "There, Caudle, now be quiet, and I'll say no more about pet's ears at present. We'll talk when you're reasonable. I don't want to put you out of temper, goodness knows! And so, love, about the cottage? What? "'TWILL BE SO FAR FROM BUSINESS? "But it needn't be far, dearest. Quite a nice distance; so that on your late nights you may always be at home, have your supper, get to bed, and all by eleven. Eh,--sweet one?" "I don't know what I answered," says Caudle, "but I know this: in less than a fortnight I found myself in a sort of a green bird-cage of a house, which my wife--gentle satirist--insisted upon calling 'The Turtle Dovery.'" LECTURE XXX--MRS. CAUDLE COMPLAINS OF THE "TURTLE DOVERY." DISCOVERS BLACK-BEETLES. THINKS IT "NOTHING BUT RIGHT" THAT CAUDLE SHOULD SET UP A CHAISE "Tush! You'd never have got me into this wilderness of a place, Mr. Caudle, if I'd only have thought what it was. Yes, that's right: throw it in my teeth that it was my choice--that's manly, isn't it? When I saw the place the sun was out, and it looked beautiful--now, it's quite another thing. No, Mr. Caudle; I don't expect you to command the sun,--and if you talk about Joshua in that infidel way, I'll leave the bed. No, sir; I don't expect the sun to be in your power; but that's nothing to do with it. I talk about one thing, and you always start another. But that's your art. "I'm sure a woman might as well be buried alive as live here. In fact, I am buried alive; I feel it. I stood at the window three hours this blessed day, and saw nothing but the postman. No: it isn't a pity that I hadn't something better to do; I had plenty: but that's my business, Mr. Caudle. I suppose I'm to be mistress of my own house? If not, I'd better leave it. "And the very first night we were here, you know it, the black- beetles came into the kitchen. If the place didn't seem spread all over with a black cloth, I'm a story-teller. What are you coughing at, Mr. Caudle? I see nothing to cough at. But that's just your way of sneering. Millions of black-beetles! And as the clock strikes eight, out they march. What? "THEY'RE VERY PUNCTUAL?