MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON SHOPPING. 170

MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON SHOPPING.
DOUGLAS Jerrold.

You ought to have had a slave-yes, a black slave, and not a wife. I'm sure, I'd better been born a negro at once-much better. What's the matter now? Well, I like that. Upon my life, Mr. Caudle, that's very cool. I can't leave the house just to buy a yard of ribbon, but you storm enough to carry the roof off. You didn't storm?—you only spoke? Spoke, indeed! No, sir; I've not such superfine feelings; and I don't cry out before I'm hurt. But you ought to have married a woman of stone, for you feel for nobody: that is, for nobody in your own house. I only wish you'd show some of your humanity at home, if ever so little -that's all.

What do you say? Where's my feelings, to go a shopping at night? When would you have me go? In the broiling sun, making my face like a gipsy's? I don't see any thing to laugh at, Mr. Caudle; but you think of anybody's face before your wife's. Oh, that's plain enough; and all the world can see it. I dare say, now, if it was Miss Prettyman's face-now, now, Mr. Caudle! What are you throwing yourself about for? I suppose Miss Prettyman isn't so wonderful a person that she isn't to be named? I suppose she's flesh and blood. What? You don't know? Ha! I don't know that.

What do you say? For the love of mercy let you sleep? Mercy, indeed! I wish you could show a little of it to other people. Oh yes, I do know what mercy means; but that's no reason I should go shopping a bit earlier than I do-and I won't.--No; you've preached this over to me again and again; you've made me go to meetings to hear all about it: but that's no reason women shouldn't shop just as late as they choose. It's all very fine, as I say, for you men to talk to us at meetings, where, of course, we smile, and all that--and sometimes shake our white pocket-handkerchiefs--and where you say we have the power of early hours in our own hands. To be sure we have; and we mean to keep it.

That is, I do. You'll never catch me

shopping till the very last thing; and-as a matter of principle -

I'll always go to the shop that keeps open latest.

WHERE THERE'S A WILL, THERE'S A WAY.-JOHN G. SAIR.

It was a noble Roman,

In Rome's imperial day,
Who heard a coward croaker,
Before the battle, say,
"They're safe in such a fortress:
There is no way to shake it—"
"On! on!" exclaimed the hero,
"I'll find a way, or make it!"

Is fame your aspiration?

Her path is steep and high:
In vain he seeks the temple,
Content to gaze and sigh!
The shining throne is waiting,
But he alone can take it,
Who says, with Roman firmness,
"I'll find a way, or make it."

Is learning your ambition?
There is no royal road;
Alike the peer and peasant

Must climb to her abode;
Who feel the thirst for knowledge.
In Helicon may slake it,
If he has still the Roman will
To "find a way, or make it!"

Are riches worth the getting?

They must be bravely sought;
With wishing and with fretting
The boon cannot be bought;

To all the prize is open,

But only he can take it,

Who says, with Roman courage,
"I'll find a way, or make it!"

In Love's impassioned warfare,
The tale has ever been,
That victory crowns the valiant,

The brave are they who win;

When man to man united,

And every wrong thing righted.
The whole world shall be lighted
As Eden was of old.

I live for those who love me,

For the hearts that love me true,
For the Heaven that smiles above me,
And awaits my spirit too.
For the right that lacks assistance,
For the wrong that needs resistance,
For the future in the distance,

And the good that I can do.

THE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT.-M. H. CоBь.

IF men cared less for wealth and fame,

And less for battle-fields and glory;

If, writ in human hearts, a name

Seemed better than in song and story;

If, men instead of nursing pride,

Would learn to hate it and abhor it;

If more relied on Love to guide,
The world would be the better for it.

If men dealt less in stocks and lands,

And more in bonds and deeds fraternal;
If Love's work had more willing hands,
To link this world to the supernal;

If men stored up Love's oil and wine,

And on bruised human hearts would pour it
If "yours" and "mine" would once combine,
The world would be the better for it.

If more would act the play of life,
And fewer spoil it in rehearsal;
If Bigotry would sheathe its kuife
Till Good became more universal;

BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

If Custom, gray with ages grown,
Had fewer blind men to adore it;
If talent shone for Truth alone,

The world woull be the better for it.

If men were wise in little things—
Affecting less in all their dealings-
If hearts had fewer rusted strings

To isolate their kindly feelings;

If men, when Wrong beats down the Right,

Would strike together and restore it;

If Right made Might in every fight,
The world would be the better for it.

BATTLE OF WATERLOO.-BYRON.

THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then

Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage bell;

But hush! hark!—a deep sound strikes like a rising kne.

Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street:

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet—
But, hark!-That heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat.

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness:

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