During the nineteenth century, Freemasonry became an established part of the everyday life of the English upper and middle classes. This is evident not only from the production of, for example, Masonic sheet music (of which many examples, with stunning illustrated covers, are to be found in the library at Great Queen Street), but also in the frequency of references to Freemasonry in comic journals of the period, such as , first published in 1841. George and Weedon Grossmith's humorous classic, , which first appeared as a serial in , contains some interesting Masonic in-jokes (George Grossmith was a Freemason). More direct references occur in other articles, such as this example from Douglas Jerrold's celebrated series, 'Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lecture.'

Jerrold (1803-57) was the author of a number of plays produced in the London theatre, and a prolific journalist. Among the periodicals to which he contributed was the , which was the most important Masonic journal of the period. Jerrold was a business associate of Dr. Robert Thomas Crucefix, the founder of the , and a prominent and controversial figure in Freemasonry during the 1830s and 1840s.

Estelle Stubbs, one of the staff of the Humanities Research Institute, where the Centre for Research into Freemasonry is based, recently drew our attention to this reprint of Jerrold's Masonic piece in a volume called , published by C. Arthur Pearson of London in 1904, pp. 279-282.

The preface to the says that the volume contains 'the cream of humour written in the English Language'. 'So unrivalled a collection will appeal not only to those who can turn its pages to practical platform use, but also to all who are glad to have upon their shelves choice specimens from writers who revel in the play of cultured fancy, or in the genuine ring of hearty harmless fun.'

Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lecture
Douglas Jerrold

So you've come home at last, Mr. Caudle : pretty time of night to come to bed. Faugh! that filthy tobacco smoke! You know I hate tobacco, and yet you will do it! You don't smoke yourself? If you go among people who do smoke, you're just as bad. No! I sha'n't go to sleep, like a good soul! How's people to go to sleep when they're suffocated? If you want to go to sleep, you should come home in Christian time, not at half-past twelve — going and lending your money like a fool, and spending I don't know how much more!

I wonder who'd lend five pounds, Mr. Caudle? Eh? You can be very liberal, to everybody but those belonging to you. I've wanted a new gown these three years ; and all the girls want bonnets. Mary Anne ought to have gone to the dentist's tomorrow — she wants three teeth out. Now, it can't be done. The man called for the water-rate today, and next Tuesday the fire insurance is due. I did think you might have gone to the seaside this summer ; but what do you care for your family? Nothing! so you can squander away five pounds on some of your brother Masons, as you call them.

Nonsense! don't tell me you only spent eighteen pence! and if it was to come to that, do you know what fifty-two eighteen-pences come to in a year? Do you ever think of that, and see the gowns I wear? A pretty name you'll get in the neighbourhood, and a nice face you'll get in a very little time — your nose is getting red already!

You don't see it ? No, I daresay not ; but I see it! I see a great many things that you don't. In a little time you'll have a face, all over, as if it was made of red-currant jam. And now, I suppose, you'll be going to public dinners every day! and of course you'll be out every night. I knew what it would come to when you were made a Mason. 'Brother' Caudle! Huh! — when you were once made a brother, as you call yourself, I knew where the husband and father would be — a brother, indeed! What would you say if I was to go and be made ? why, I know very well the house wouldn't hold you.

Now, now, lie still, Caudle. Don't let's quarrel : I want to know all you've been doing tonight. Do you suppose I'd ever suffered you to be made a Mason of, if I wasn't to know the secret ? A pack of nonsense, I daresay ; still I like to know. There's a dear! Eh? Just tell me a little bit of it. Come there's a good creature! I'm sure I wouldn't refuse you anything. I only wish I had a secret, I should be miserable to keep it to myself. Now, Caudle! you'll tell your own Margaret? There's a love! What, you won't? Oh, you're a wretch, Mr. Caudle.

But I know what all this Masonry's about. It's only an excuse to get away from your wives and families, that you may feast and drink together! That's all! that's the secret! But it isn't the secret I care about ; it's the slight that a man pays to his wife, when he keeps something to himself that he won't let know. Man and wife one indeed! I should like to know how that can be, when a man's a Mason! Caudle, you sha'n't close your eyes for a week, unless you tell me some of it. Caudle! do, my love! Dearest, I say!

Ugh! you're enough to vex a saint!

What do you say? Eh! I'd better get up, and sew on your shirt buttons. Well it's a pity you haven't worse to complain of than a button off your shirt ; and it's my belief that you pulled it off that you might have something to talk about! Oh, you're aggravating enough. I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I am. But I know what I'll do for the future, — every button you have may drop off, and I won't so much as put a thread to them! That's a pretty threat for a husband to hold out to a wife! I'm no longer to be mistress in my own house! No, I'm not mad! It's you, Mr. Caudle, who are mad, or bad, and that's worse! I can't even do so much as to speak of a shirt-button, but I'm threatened to be made nobody of in my own house! Caudle, you've a heart of stone, you have! But there's one comfort --it can't last long. I'm worried to death with your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha! you may laugh! and I daresay you would laugh! We shall see how your second wife will look after your buttons. Yes, Caudle, you'll think of me then, but I hope you'll never have a blessed button to your back!

No, I'm not a vindictive woman, Mr. Caudle ; nobody ever called me that but you. What do you say? Nobody ever knew so much of me? That's nothing at all to do with it. It's a good thing I'm not so worrying as you are, or a nice house there'd be between us! The wife that I've been to you! Sitting up till the middle of the night — seeing all sorts of things in the fire ; while you are laughing and singing at your club, and never thinking of the clock.

You don't want me to sit up? Yes, yes, that's your thanks -- that's your gratitude! I'm to ruin my health, and to be abused for it. That's like you! . (cry)

What? you'll have a key and let yourself in? No! not while I'm alive, Mr. Caudle ; I'm not going to bed with the door upon the latch, and to be murdered before the morning! A key! a respectable thing that, for a married man — the father of a family — to carry about with him! To come in, like a thief in the middle of the night, instead of knocking at the door like a decent person. Well, upon my word, I've lived to hear something!

Ugh! ugh! I shall catch my death of cold, and there'll be a nice doctor's bill to pay! But when I'm gone, you'll soon fill up my place. I won't be long, Caudle ; only you needn't shorten my time by keeping me sitting up at night!

What do you say? I shall see you out, and another husband too! What a gross idea! To imagine I'd ever think of marrying again! No, never! Talking of that, Caudle, there are men, I know, who leave their property in such a way that their widows, to hold it, must remain widows. You've no need to do that. But if there's anything in this world that's mean and small, it is that! Don't you think so too, Caudle? Why don't you speak, love? Now listen, just a minute, and I'll let you go to sleep. It's no matter to me how you've made your will, because I'm sure to go first — eh? — but I'd like you to agree with me, that the man who'd tie up his widow is a mean wretch!

No; when a man leaves all his property to his wife, without binding her hands from marrying again, he shows what a dependence he has upon her love; and then, of course, a second marriage never enters her head. But when she only keeps his money as long as she keeps a widow, why, she's aggravated to take another husband. It's only natural to suppose it. If I thought, Caudle, you could do such a thing — though it would break my heart to do it — yet, though you were dead and gone, I'd show you I'd a spirit, and marry directly. So don't provoke me with any "will" of that sort. What do you say, love? (snore) Caudle, my love ! —Caudle, dearest, I say! Caudle! Eh? . (kiss) Oh that filthy tobacco smoke! — Whew! (cough). Get along with you!

"I recollect nothing more, " says Caudle, ; "for I had eaten a hearty supper, and somehow became oblivious."