Punch (8.1845)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

223

MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURES

LECTURE XVI.

BABY IS TO BE CHRISTENED: MRS. CAUDLE CANVASSES THE MERITS
OF PROBABLE GODFATHERS.

Then she'd no right to stand for the child. People who can't do
better than that have no business to take the responsibility of god-
mother. They ought to know their duties better.

" Well, Caudle, you can't object to Goldman ? Yes, you do!
"Was there ever such a man ! What for ? He's a usurer and a hunks 9
Well, I'm sure, you've no business in this world, Caudle ; you
have such high-flown notions. Why, isn't the man as rich as the

, bank ? And as for his being a usurer,—isn't it all the better for
ome now love about baby s name ! thoge who CQme after him , j >m sure it ,g well tW ,g some lg

The dear thing s three months | in the woHd who gave mo geei the gtu id creatureg who throw

it away. But you are the strangest man ! I really believe you
think moDey a sin, instead of the greatest blessing ; for I can't men-
tion any of our acquaintance that's rich—and I'm sure we don't
know too many such people—that you haven't something to say
against 'em. It's only beggars that you like —people with not a
shilling to bless themselves. Ha! though you're my husband, I
must say it—you 're a man of low notions, Caudle. I only hope
none of the dear boys will take after their father !

"And I should like to know what's the objection to Goldman ?
The only thing against him is his name ; I must confess it, I don't
like the name of Lazarus : it's low, and doesn't sound genteel—not
at all respectable. But, after he's gone and done what's proper for
the child, the boy could easily slip Lazarus into Laurence I'm
told the thing's done often. No, Caudle, don't say that—I'm not a
mean woman ; certainly not; quite the reverse. I've only a parent's
love for my children ; and I must say it—I wish everybody felt as I
did.

" I suppose, if the truth was known, you'd like your tobacco-pipe
friend, your pot-companion, Prettyman, to stand for the child ?
You'd hate no objection ? I thought not ! Yes; I knew what it was
coming to. He's a beggar, he is—and a person who stays out half
the night—yes, he does ; and it's no use your denying it—a beggar
and a tippler, and that's the man you'd make godfather to your own
flesh and blood ! Upon my word, Caudle, it's enough to make a
woman get up and dress herself to hear you talk.

" Well, I can only tell you, if you won't have Wag staff, or
Pugsby, or Sniggins, or Goldman, or somebody that's respectable,
to do what's proper, the child shan't be christened at all. As for
Prettyman, or any such raff—no, never ! I'm sure there's a cer-
tain set of people that poverty's catching from, and that Pretty-
man's one of'em. Now, Caudle, I won't have my dear child lost
by any of your spittoon acquaintance, I can tell you.

" No; unless I can have my way, the child shan't be christened at
all. What do you say ? It must have a name 1 There's no ' must' at
all in the case—none. No : it shall have no name ; and then see
what the world will say. I '11 call it Number Six—yes, that will do
as well as anything else, unless I've the godfather I like. Number
Six, Caudle ! ha ! ha ! I think that must make you ashamed of
yourself if anything can. Number Six, Caudle—a much better
name than Mr. Prettyman could give ; yes, Number Six ! What
do you say ? Anything but Number Seven ? Oh, Caudle, if ever—

old, and not a name to its back
yet. There you go again ! Talk
of it to-morrow ! No ; we'll talk
of it to-night. There's no hav-
ing a word with you in the day-
time—but here you can't leave
me. Now don't say you wish
you could, Caudle ; that's un-
kind, and not treating a wife —
especially the wife I am to you
— as she deserves. It isn't often
that I speak ; but I do believe
you'd like never to hear the
sound of my voice. I might as
well have been born dumb !

" I suppose the baby must have
a godfather; and so, Caudle,
who shall we have ? Who do
you think will be able to do the
most for it ? No, Caudle,
no ; I'm not a selfish woman —
nothing of the sort—but I hope
I've the feelings of a mother; and what's the use of a god-
father, if he gives nothing else to the child but its name ? A
child might almost as well not be christened at all. And so who
shall we have? What do you say ? Anybody ? Arn't you ashamed
of yourself, Caudle ? Don't you think something will happen to
you, to talk in that way ! I don't know where you pick up such
principles. I'm thinking who there is among our acquaintance who
can do the most for the blessed creature, and you say,—1 Anybody /'
Caudle, you 're quite a heathen.

" There's Wagstaff. No chance of his ever marrying, and he's
very fond of babies. He's plenty of money, Caudle ; and I think
he might be got. Babies, I know it—babies are his weak side.
Wouldn't it be a blessed thing to find our dear child in his will ?
Why don't you speak ? I declare, Caudle, you seem to care no
more for the child than if it was a stranger's. People who can't love
children more than you do, ought never to have 'em. You don't like
Wagstaff'! No more do I much; but what's that to do with it?
People who've their families to provide for, musn't think of their
feelings. / don't like him ; but then I'm a mother, and love my
baby! You won'thave Wagstaff, and that's flat1? Ha, Caudle ! you're
like nobody else—not fit for this world, you're not.

" What do you think of Pugsby? I can't bear his wife; but
that's nothing to do with it. I know my duty to my babe : I wish
other people did. What do you say ? Pugsby's a wicked fellow ? Ha !
that's like you—always giving people a bad name. We musn't
always believe what the world says, Caudle ; it doesn't become us
as Christians to do it. I only know that he hasn't chick or child ;
and, besides that, he's very strong interest in the Blue-coats ; and

so, if Pugsby-Now, don't fly out at the man in that manner.

Caudle, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You can't speak
well of anybody. Where do you think to go to ?

" What do you say, then, to Sniggins ? Now, don't bounce round
in that way, letting the cold air into the bed ! What's the matter
with Sniggins ? You wouldn't ask him a favour for the icorld % Well,
it's a good thing that baby has somebody to care for it: / will.
What do you say ? I shan't 1 I will, I can tell you. Sniggins,
besides being a warm man, has good interest in the Customs ; and
there's nice pickings there, if one only goes the right way to get
'em. It's no use, Caudle, your fidgetting about—not a bit. I'm
not going to have baby lost—sacrificed, I may say, like its brothers
and sisters. What do I mean by sacrificed f Oh, you know what I
mean very well. What have any of 'em got by their godfathers
beyond a half-pint mug, a knife and fork, and spoon—and a shabby
coat, that I know was bought second-hand, for I could almost swear
to the place? And then there was your fine friend Hartley's
wife—what did she give to Caroline ? Why, a trumpery lace cap
it made me blush to look at. What ? It was the best she could afford ?

"At this moment," writes Caudle, "baby began to cry; and,
taking advantage of the happy accident, I somehow got to sleep."

TO THE UNIVERSITIES.

We have received several gross of letters complaining of the decision
which we announced in our last Number but one—" Not to send our son
to the University."

That decision must not be considered as irrevocable. It was arrived
at while our head was racked by the fumes of milk-punch, and our hand
shaking under the orthodox attacks of " Bishop," or the more Jesuitical
insinuations of " Cardinal."

Among the letters of remonstrance are several from tutors of colleges,
offering to take all the expense of educating our son off our hands.

We thank them. But we will paj our child's way ourselves. And we
may send our son to college after all. Perhaps we may give our reasons
on a future opportunity.

A. Tarnation Fix.

America, it is reported, is desirous of settling the Oregon question by
the simple and pacific process of tossing up, and is only, we understand,
prevented from making a proposition to the British Government to that
effect, by the fear of having to borrow a dollar for the purpose