The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-03-23

we've nothing to complain of, Caudle-London
air always disagrees with 'em. Delicate
health comes with money Pm sure of it.
What color you had once, when you'd
hardly sixpence; and now, look at you
"'Twould add thirty years to your life
and think what a blessing that would be to
me; not that l shall live a tenth part of the
time-thirty years, if you'd take nice little
house somewhere at Brixton. You hate Brig
ton? l must say it, Caudle, that's so like
you: any place that's really genteel you can't
abide. Now, Brixton and Balaam Hill think
delightful. So select There, nobody visits
nobody, unless they're somebody. TO say
nothing of the delightful pews that make the
churches so respectable
"HOwever, do rs you like. If you won't
go to Buxton, what do you say to Clapham
Commonl. Oh, that's a very fine story
Never tell me No; you wouldn't be left
alone, Robinson Crusoe with wife and chill
dren, because you're in the retail way-What!
The retired whoieSdles neUer UiSit the retired
retaiiS at Ciapham! Ha that's only your old
sneering at the world, Mr.. Caudle; but don't
believe it. And after all, people should keep
to their station, or what was this life made
for? Suppose a tallow merchant does keep
himself above a tallow- w-chandler-I call it only
a proper pride. What? You call IL the ariS-
tocracy of fat? l don't know what you mean
by aristocracy but suppose it's only another
of your dictionary words, that's hardly worth
the finding out.
"What do you say to Hornsey or Muswell
Hilll Eh? Too high? What a man you are
Well there-Battersea Too Lolo? You're
an aggravating creature, Caudle, you must
own that Hampstead, then? Too cold?
Nonsense; it would brace you up like a drum,
Caudle; and that's what you want. But you
don't deserve anybody to think of your health
or your comforts either. There's some pretty
spots, Pm told, about Fulham. Now, Caudle,
| won't have you say word against Fulham.
That must be a sweet place: dry, and healthy,
and every comfort of life about it-else is it
likely that bishop would live there? Now,
Caudle, none of your heather principles-I
won't hear 'em. l think what satisfies bishop
ought to content you; but the politics you
learn at the club are dreadful. To hear you
talk Of bishOps-well, | only hope nothing
will happen to you, for the sake of the dear
children!
"a nice little house and garden I know
it-I was born for garden There's some
thing about it makes one feel so innocent.
My heart somehow always opens and shuts at
roses. And then what nice currant wine we
could make And again, get 'em as fresh as
you will, there's no radishes like your own
radishes There ten times as sweet What
And taOe,ity times as dear Yes, there you go
Anything that l fancy, you always bring up
the expense.
o
in a month. | tell you | was made for the
country. But here you've kept me-and much
you've cared about my health-here you've
kept me in this filthy London, that | hardly
know what grass is made of. Much you care
for your wife and family to keep 'em here to
be all smoked like bacon. | can see tits
stopping the children's growth; they'll all be
dwarfs, and have their father to thank for it.
If you'd the heart of parent you couldn't
look at their white faces. Dear little Dick
he makes no breakfast. What lie ate Sir
slices this morning? pretty father you must
be to count 'em. But that's nothing to what
the dear child could do if, like other children,
he'd a fair chance.
"Ha and when we could be so comfortable
But it's always the case, you never will be
comfortable with me. How nice and fresh
you'd come up to business every morning;
and what pleasure it would be for me to put
tulip or pink in your button-hole, Just, as
l may say, to ticket you from the country.
"But then, Caudle, you never were like any
other man But know why you won't leave
London. Yes, | know. Then, you think,
you couldn't go to your filthy club-that's it.
Then you'd be obliged to be at home, like any
other decent man. Whereas, you might if
| you liked, enjoy yourself under your own
apple-tree and Pm sure should never say
anything about your tobacco out of doors. My
only wish is to make you happy, Caudle, and
| you WOll' I leu me 90 IL.
''You don't speak, love. Shall look about
a house tomorrow? 1t will be a broken day
with me- for Pm going out to have little pets
ears bOred-WhatY You aCoR't hare her ears
bored! And why not, l should like to know
! It's a barbdrOuS, SaUage custom o. Mr.. Caudle
the sooner you 60 away from the world, and
live in a cave, the better. You're getting not
| fit for Christian society. What next My
ears were bored and-What? So are youYS {?
| know what you mean-but that's nothing to
do with it. My ears, l say, were bored, and
so were dear mothers, and grandmother's
before her; and | suppose there were no more
savages in our family than in yours, Mr..
| Caudle Besides-why should little pets
ears go naked any more than any of her sis
| ters' They wear earrings you never objected
before. What You're learned better no,0 {?
Yes that's all with your filthy politics again
You'd shake all the world up in dice-boX, if
you'd your way not that you care pin about
the world, only you'd like to get better throw
for yOurself-that's all. But little pet shall
be bored, and don't think to prevent it.
| 81 suppose she's to be married some day, as
well as her sisters And who'll look at girl
without earrings, | should like to know If
you knew anything of the world, YOU d know
what nice diamond earring will sometimes
do-when one can get it-before this. But
know why you can't abide earrings now Miss
Prettyman doesn't wear em; she wOuld-pve
no doubt-if she could only get 'em. Yes
it's Miss Prettyman, who
'"There, Caudle, now be quiet and I'll say
say no more about pets ears at present. Well
talk when you're reasonable. don't want to
put you out OF temper goodness knows And
so, love, about the cottageY What? 'I'aUal
be so far from business? But it needn't be far,
Init ~, a. ~