The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-03-20
THE TWENTYTHIRD LECTURE.

GOING TO THE SEASIDE, OR NOT, THIS SUMNER
THAT'S ALL"
"Hot yes, it IS hot. I'm sure one might as
well be in an oven as in town this weather.
You seem to forget it's July, Mr.. Caudle. Pve
been waiting quietly-have never spoken; yet
not word have you said of the seaside yet.
Not that | care for it myself-oh, no; my
health isn't of the slightest consequence.
And, indeed, was going to say-but | won't
that the sooner, perhaps, Pm out of this
world the better. Oh, yes; l dare say you
think so-of course you do, else you wouldn't
lie there saying nothing. You're enough to
aggravate a saint, Caudle; but you shan't vex
me. No; I've made up my mind and never
intend to let you vex me again. Why should
/ worry myself?
"But all want to ask you is this Do you
intend to go to the seaside this summer
Yes? You'H 90 to GraUeSend? Then you'll
go alone, that's all l know. Gravesend
You might as well empty a salt-cellar in the
New River, and call that the seaside. What
RS handy to business There you are again
| can never speak of taking little enjoyment
but you fling business in my teeth. Pm sure
you never let business stand in the way of
your own pleasure, Mr.. Caudle-not you. 1t
would be all the better for your family if
you did.
"You know that Matilda wants sea-bathing;
you know it, or you ought to know it, by the
Caudle-you'd have let the summer pass over
and never said a word about the matter.
What do you sayP Margdte'S so erpenSiUe
Not at all. I'm sure it will be cheaper for us
in the end; for if we don't go we shall be all
ill-every one of us-in the winter. Not that
my health is of any consequence; know that,
well enough. 1t never was, yet. You know
Margate's the only place | can eat breakfast
at, and yet you talk of Gravesend But what's
my eating to your You wouldn't care if l
never eat at all. You never watch my appe-
tite like any other husband; otherwise, you'd
have seen what it's come to.
"What do you say? Ho,O much ,UW 1t cost?
There you are, Mr.. Caudle, with your mean
ness again. When you want to go yourself
to Blackwell or to Greenwich, you never ask
how much will it cost What? You neUer 40
to BlacE7oeH? Ha! don't know that and
if you don't, that's nothing at all to do with
it. Yes, you can give guinea plate for
whitebait for yourself. No, sir Pm not
foolish woman: and | know very well what
Pm talking about-nobody better. A
guinea plate for whitebait for yourself, when
you grudge pint of shrimp for your poor
family. Eth You don't grudge 'em anmhinq?
Yes, it's very well for you to lie there and say
| so. What aCW 1t cost? It's no matter what it
will cost, for we won't go at all now. No
Wen stay at home. We shall all be ill in the
winter-eyery of u.s. all but you; and
, nothing ever makes you i'll. I've no doubt
we shall all be laid up, and there'H be a doc
tors bill as long as railroad but never
mind that. It's better-much better to pay
for nasty physic than for fresh air and whole
some salt water. Don't call me woman, and
ask, what it will cost tell you, if you
were to lay the money down before me, on
that quilt, wouldn't go now-certainly not.
It's better we should be sick; yes, then you'll
be pleased.
like your unfeeling self Pm talking of our
all being laid up and you, like any stone,
turn round and begin to go to sleep. Well, l
think that's a pretty insult! HOo can you
sleep aoth such a splinter an your flesh? | sup
pose you mean to call me the splinter ?-and
after the wife Pve been to you'll But no, Mr..
Caudle, you may call me what you please;
throw away my tears upon any such person
now. What Don't? Ha that your ingrati-
tude But none of you men deserve that any
woman should love you. My poor heart!
Everybody else can go out of town except
us. Ha! If I'd only married Simmons
What Why didn't /? Yes that's all the
thanks l get. Who's Simmons? Oh, you
know very we'll who Simmons is. He'd have
treated me little better, think. He aUdS
gentleman. You can't tell? May be not but
| can. With such weather as this, to stay
melting in London; and when the painters are
coming in You Uon't hare the painters mi
But you must; and if they once come in, I'm
determined that none of us shall stir then
Painting ia July, with family in the house
We shall all be poisoned, of course; but what
do you care for that
"Why can't tell you uOhdt 1t WW cost? How
can | or any woman tell exactly what it vii
cost Of course lodgings-and at Margate
too-are little dearer than living at YOU
own house. Pooh! You knO1o that A? Well, j
you did, Mr.. Caudle, ! suppose there's NJ
reason in naming it. Still, if you take zen
for two months, they'r cheaper than for one
No, Mr.. Candle, | shall not be quite tired of i
in one month No: and it isn't true that | NJ
sooner get out than | want to get home again
To be sure, | was tired Of Margate three year.
} ago. when you used to leave me to walk abou
the beach by myself, to be stared at through
all sorts OF telescopes. But you don't do tina
/ again, Mr.. Caudle, | can tell you.
What a0W / do at Hdrgate? Why, ism
! | there bathing, and picking up shells, and
} ar'nt there the packets, with the donkeys
and the last new novel, whatever it is, t
4 read for the only place where l really relisl
4 book Is at the seaside. No; it isn't that
t like salt with my reading, Mr.. Caudle
| suppose you call that Joke? You nigh
j keep your jokes for the daytime, | think
But as was saying-only you always wi
d interrupt me-the ocean always seems to m
to open the mind. | see nothing to laugh al
g but you always laugh when say anything
u Sometimes at the seaside-specially when tn
!, tides down. feel so happy: quite as if
s could cry.
II "When shall get the things readyY Fc
d next Sunday? What wW II cost? | sha
10 send for the painters tomorrow. What
Il | can 90 and take the children and Jo,,U eto,