it." So we got married, after being put up three times--which, by the
bye, is quite in the Cheap Jack way again, and shows once more how the
Cheap Jack customs pervade society.

She wasn't a bad wife, but she had a temper. If she could have parted
with that one article at a sacrifice, I wouldn't have swopped her away in
exchange for any other woman in England. Not that I ever did swop her
away, for we lived together till she died, and that was thirteen year.
Now, my lords and ladies and gentlefolks all, I'll let you into a secret,
though you won't believe it. Thirteen year of temper in a Palace would
try the worst of you, but thirteen year of temper in a Cart would try the
best of you. You are kept so very close to it in a cart, you see.
There's thousands of couples among you getting on like sweet ile upon a
whetstone in houses five and six pairs of stairs high, that would go to
the Divorce Court in a cart. Whether the jolting makes it worse, I don't
undertake to decide; but in a cart it does come home to you, and stick to
you. Wiolence in a cart is _so_ wiolent, and aggrawation in a cart is
_so_ aggrawating.

We might have had such a pleasant life! A roomy cart, with the large
goods hung outside, and the bed slung underneath it when on the road, an
iron pot and a kettle, a fireplace for the cold weather, a chimney for
the smoke, a hanging-shelf and a cupboard, a dog and a horse. What more
do you want? You draw off upon a bit of turf in a green lane or by the
roadside, you hobble your old horse and turn him grazing, you light your
fire upon the ashes of the last visitors, you cook your stew, and you
wouldn't call the Emperor of France your father. But have a temper in
the cart, flinging language and the hardest goods in stock at you, and
where are you then? Put a name to your feelings.