that. And if they get their deaths of cold, it's not my fault--I
didn't lend the umbrella."


"At length," writes Caudle, "I fell asleep; and dreamt that the sky
was turned into green calico, with whalebone ribs; that, in fact, the
whole world turned round under a tremendous umbrella!"



LECTURE VII--MR. CAUDLE HAS VENTURED A REMONSTRANCE ON HIS DAY'S
DINNER: COLD MUTTON, AND NO PUDDING.--MRS. CAUDLE DEFENDS THE COLD
SHOULDER



"Umph! I'm sure! Well! I wonder what it will be next? There's
nothing proper, now--nothing at all. Better get somebody else to
keep the house, I think. I can't do it now, it seems; I'm only in
the way here: I'd better take the children, and go.

"What am I grumbling about now? It's very well for you to ask that!
I'm sure I'd better be out of the world than--there now, Mr. Caudle;
there you are again! I SHALL speak, sir. It isn't often I open my
mouth, Heaven knows! But you like to hear nobody talk but yourself.
You ought to have married a negro slave, and not any respectable
woman.

"You're to go about the house looking like thunder all the day, and
I'm not to say a word. Where do you think pudding's to come from