"Ha! Mr. Caudle, what's the use of your calling me your dearest soul now? Well, I do believe you. I dare say you do mean it; that is, I hope you do. Nevertheless, you can't expect I can lie quiet in this bed, and think of that young woman--not, indeed, that she's near so young as she gives herself out. I bear no malice towards her, Caudle,--not the least. Still, I don't think I could lie at peace in my grave if--well, I won't say anything more about her; but you know what I mean. "I think dear mother would keep house beautifully for you when I'm gone. Well, love, I won't talk in that way if you desire it. Still, I know I've a dreadful cold; though I won't allow it for a minute to be the shoes--certainly not. I never would wear 'em thick, and you know it, and they never gave me a cold yet. No, dearest Caudle, it's ten years ago that did it; not that I'll say a syllable of the matter to hurt you. I'd die first. "Mother, you see, knows all your little ways; and you wouldn't get another wife to study you and pet you up as I've done--a second wife never does; it isn't likely she should. And after all, we've been very happy. It hasn't been my fault if we've ever had a word or two, for you couldn't help now and then being aggravating; nobody can help their tempers always,--especially men. Still we've been very happy, haven't we, Caudle? "Good-night. Yes,--this cold does tear me to pieces; but for all that, it isn't the shoes. God bless you, Caudle; no,--it's NOT the shoes. I won't say it's the key-hole; but again I say, it's not the shoes. God bless you once more--But never say it's the shoes." The above significant sketch is a correct copy of a drawing from the hand of Caudle at the end of this Lecture. It can hardly, we think, be imagined that Mrs. Caudle, during her fatal illness, never mixed admonishment with soothing as before; but such fragmentary Lectures were, doubtless, considered by her disconsolate widower as having too touching, too solemn an import to be vulgarised by type. They were, however, printed on the heart of Caudle; for he never ceased to speak of the late partner of his bed as either "his sainted creature," or "that angel now in heaven." POSTSCRIPT