The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-03-25
MRS, CAUDLES CURTAIN LECTURES,
Continued from our last issue.
THE THIRTIETH LECTURE


You'd never have got me into this wilder
ness of place. Mr.. Caudle, if I'd only have
thought whatit was. Yes that's right: throw Il
inmyteeth thatitwas my choice-that' t's manly.
ism ltf When / saw the place the sun was
out, and it looked beautiful-now, it's quite
another thing. No, Mr.. Caudle don't expect
you to command the sun,-and if you talk
about Joshua in that infdel way I'll leave
the bed. No, sir don't expect the sun to be
IN your power, but that's nothing to do with
1t. talk about one thing, and you always
start another. But that's your art.
II m sure woman might as well be buried
alive as live here. In fact, am buried alive:
feel it. | stood at the window three hours
this blessed day, and saw nothing but the
postman No: it isn't a pity that l hadn't
something better to do | had plenty: but
that's my business, Mr.. Caudle. l suppose
I'm to be mistress of my own house? If not,
I'd better leave it.
"And the very first night we were here, you
know it, the black beetles came into the
kitchen. If the place didn't seem spread all
over with black cloth, Pm story y-teller.
What are you coughing at, Mr.. Caudle l
see nothing to cough at. But that's just your
way of sneesing. Millions of black beetles
And as the clock strikes eight, out they
march. What? They're rerg punctual? 1
know that l only wish other people were
half as punctual 'twould save other peoples
You know hate a black beetle No; don't
hate so many things. But l do hate black
beetles, as l hate i'll treatment, Mr.. Caudle.
And now l have enough of both, goodness
knows
'Last night they came into the parlor. OF
course, in night or two they'll walk up into
the bed room. They'll be here-regiments of
'em--on the quilt. But what do you care ?
Nothing Of the sort ever touches you but you
know how they come to me; and that's why
you are so quiet. A pleasant thing to have
black beetles in ones bed Why don't / poi
son EN-? A pretty matter, indeed, to have
poison in the house Much you must think
of the dear children. A nice place. too, to be
called the Turtle-Dovery Didn't / christen 10
myself? know that-but then knew nothing
of the black beetles. Besides, names of
houses are for the world outside; not that any
body passes to see ours. Didn't Mrs. Digby
insist ON calling their new house, "Love-in-
Idleness," though everybody knew that
that wretch Digby was always beating her
Still, when folks read "Rose Cottage" on the
wall, they seldom think of the lots of thorns
that are inside. In this world, Mr.. Caudle,
names are sometimes quite as good as things.
'That cough again You've got cold, and
you Il always be getting one--for you'll always
be missing the omnibus as you did on Tues
day-and always be getting wet. No consti-
tuition can stand it, Caudle. You don't know
what felt when heard it rain on Tuesday,
and thought you might be in it. What I'm
very good? Yes, trust so; l try to be So
Caudle. And so, dear, I've been thinking that
we'd better keep chase. You can't afford IT,
and you ,cont? Don't tell me; know you'd
save money by it. I've been reckoning what
you lay out ON omnibuses; and if you'd a
chaise of your own-besides the gentility of
the thing-you'd be money in pocket. And
then, again, how often could go with you to
tOwn-and how, again. l could call for you
lilyoJ 70 bn ltt1a of at no oh
dear! Now you're obliged to be hurried
away know it-when, if you'd only car
Fiage of your own, you could stay and enjoy
yourself. And after your walk you want en-
ioyment. OF course, | can't expect you always
to run home directly to me; and | don't,
Caudle; and you know it,
"a nice, neat, elegant little chaise. What?
You'll think ofH? There's a love You are
a good creature, Caudle; and twill make me
SO happy to think you don't depend upon an
omnibus. A sweet little carriage with our
arms beautifully painted on the panels. What?
ATntS are rubbish; and you don't kaolO that you
hare ana? Nonsense: to be sure you have
and if not, of course they're to be had for
money wonder where Chalkpit's, the milk
mans arms came from | suppose you can
buy 'em at the same place. He used to drive
a green cart; and now he's got close yellow
carriage, with two large tortose-sheu cats,
with their whiskers az If dipt in cream, stand
ing on their hind legs upon each door, with
heap of Latin underneath. You may buy the
carriage, if you please, Mr.. Candle; but unless
your arms are there, you won't get me to
enter it. Never Pm not going to look less
than Mrs. Chalzpit.
''Besides, if you haven't arms, Pm sure my
family have, and a wife's arms are quite as
good as a husbands I'll write tomorrow to
dear mother, to know what we took for our
family arms. What do you say What
nanqie in a StOne-kitcdeR proper? Mr.. Caudle,
you're always insulting my family-always
but you shall not put me out Of temper to-
night Still, if you don't like our arms, find
your own. dare say you could have found
'em fast enough if you'd married Miss Pretty
man. Well, will be quiet: and | won't men
ton that lady's name. A nice lady she is l
wonder how much she spends in paint Now,
don't tell you won't say a word more, and
yet you will kick about
"Well. we'u have the carriage and the
family arms No, don't want the family
legs too. Don't be vulgar, Mr.. Caudle. You
MIGHT perhaps, talk in that way before you'd
money in the bank; but it doesn't at all become
Won now. The carriage and the family arms !
We've country-hOuse as well as the Chalk
pits: and though they praise their place for a
fittJe Paradise, l dare say they've quite as
many black beetles as we have, and more too.
The place quite looks It,
U0ur carriage and our arms And you
1,,ow love. il won't cost much-neXt to
notbing-to put gold band about Sans hat
no STndav' No: don't want full-6lown
1,yerv AT least, not Just yet. I'm tod the
Cboii,nits dress their boy on Sunday liEe
Srago1-dv: and don't see why we sho9ldn
~ s,iat We like with our own Sam. Never