LECTURE X.
ON MR. CAUDLE'S SHIRT-BUTTONS.
HERE, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning? There—you needn't begin to whistle: people don't come to bed to whistle. But it's like you. I can't speak, that you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living; now you get quite a fiend.
"Do let you rest?
"No: I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night: besides, it isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows.
"Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button you must almost swear the roof off the house!
"You didn't swear?
"Ha, Mr. Caudle! you don't know what you do when you're in a passion.
"You were not in a passion?
"Weren't you? Well, then, I don't know what a passion is—and I think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that.
"It's a pity you haven't something worse to complain of than a button off your shirt. If you'd some wives,
