Whitlow talked and talked; and
there was not an apple-woman that in Whitlow's sufferings was not
avenged: not a beggar that, thinking of the beadle at midnight,
might not in his compassion have forgiven the beadle of the day.
And in this punishment we acknowledge a grand, a beautiful
retribution. A Judge Jeffreys in his wig is an abominable tyrant;
yet may his victims sometimes smile to think what Judge Jeffreys
suffers in his night cap!"
It is almost unnecessary to observe that the writer of Mrs. Caudle's
Curtain Lectures was somewhat severe upon the fair sex. His idea of a
perfect woman is that of one who is beautiful, "and can do everything
but speak." In the "Chronicles of Clovernook"--_i.e._ of his little
retreat near Herne Bay--he gives an account of the Hermit of Bellyfulle,
who lives in "the cell of the corkscrew," and among many amusing
paradoxes, maintains the following,
"Ay, Sir, the old story--the old grievance, Sir, twixt man and
woman," said the hermit.
"And what is that, Sir?" we asked.
The hermit shaking his head, and groaning cried, "Buttons."
"Buttons!" said we.
Our hermit drew himself closer to the table, and spreading his arms
upon it, leaned forward with the serious air of a man prepared to
discuss a grave thing.
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