The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-03-13

X Ha what a temper that dear soul has |
call it a temper ofsatn. it is SO smooth, so easy,
and so soft Nothing puts her out OF the way.
And then, if you only knew how she takes
! your part, Caudle I'm sure if you had been
| her own son ten times over, she couldn't be
fonder Of you. Don't you think so, Caudle
! Eh. lover Now, do answer Hon can you tell?
/ Nonsense, Caudle; you must have seen it.
I'm sure. nothing delights the dear soul so
much as when she $ thinking of how to please
! you.
"Don't you remember Thursday night, the
stewed oysters when you came home Ihat
was all dear mothers dOings Margaret,
says she to me, it's cold night; and don't
| you think dear Mr.. Caudle would like some
thing nice before he goes to bed I? And that,
Caudle. is how the oysters came about. Now,
don't sleep Caudle do listen to me, for i've
minutes; t isn't often l speak, goodness
knows.
"And then, what fuss she makes when
your out, if your slippers ar'nt put to the
fire for YOU. She's uery good? Yes-I know
she is, Caudle. And hasn't she been six
months-though ! promised her not to tell
you-six months, working a watch-pocket for
you And with her eyes, dear soul-and at
her time of life
"And then, what a cook she is I'm sure
| the dishes she ii make out of next to nothing
/ try hard enough to follow her; but, Pm not
ashamed 10 own IL, OdUillt, ollt QlllJc btdJ'
me. IIa the many nice little things she'd
simmer up for you-and | can't do it; the
children, you know it, Caudlc, take so much
| of my time. / can't do it, love; and ! often
reproach myself that l can't. Now you shan't
! go to sleep Caudle; at least, not for five
minutes. You must hear me.
'Ive been thinking, dearest-ha! that nasty
cough, love!-I've been thinking, darling, if
we could only persuade dear mother to come
| a,rr;t1 aon't ho
asleep; it's impossible-yOu were coughing
only this minute-yes, to live with us. What
| a treasure we should have in her! Then,
Caudle, you never need go to bed without
something nice and hot. And you want it,
Caudle. You don't wantm Nonsense, you
do; for you are not strong, Caudle; you know
you're not.
'I'm sure the money she d save us in house
keeping. Ha! what an eye she has for Joint!
The butcher doesn't walk that could deceive
dear mother And then, again, for poultry
What finger and thumb she has for a chcllen
l never could market like her; it's gift-quite
a gift.
'And then you recollect her marrow -pud-
dings! lOu don't recOiLect 'em? Oh, tie! Cau-
die, how often have you flung her marrow
puddings in my face, wanting to know why
couldn't make em? And l wouldn't pretend
to do it after dear mother. Ishould think
it presumption. Now, love, if she was only
living with us-come, you're not asleep,
Caudle-if she was only living with us, you
could have marrow-puddings every day.
Now, don't fling yourself about and begin to
swear at marrow -puddings you know you
| like 'em, dear
'What hand too, dear mother has for a
pie-crust! But it's born with some people.
What do you say? Why Vasn't IL born ,oih me?
Now, Caudle, that's cruel-unfeeling of you;
wouldn't have uttered such reproach to
you for the whole world. Consider, dear;
people can't be born as they like.
"How often, too, have you wanted to brew
at home! And | never could learn anything
about brewing. But, ha! what ale dear
mother makes You never tasted IL? No, [
know that. But recollect the ale we used to
have at home: and father never would drink
wine after it. The best sherry was nothing
like it. You dare sag not No; it wasn't in
deed, Caudle. Then, if dear mother was only
with us, what money we should save in beer!
And then you might always have your own
nice, pure, good, wholesome ale, Caudle; and
what good it would do you! For you're not
strong, Caudle.
"And then dear mothers jams and preserves,
| love! | own it, Caudle; it has often gone to my
heart that with cold meat you haven't always
had pudding. Now, if mother was with us,
in the matter of fruit puddings, she'd make il
summer all the year round. But | never
could pTeserve-now mother does it, and fOl
next to no money whatever. What nice dogs
in-a-blanket she'd make for the children!
WHAT'S dogs-an-a-Jlanket? Oh, they're deli
cious-as dear mother makes EN-.
''Now you hare tasted her Irish stew, eau
die? You remember that! Come, you're not
asleep-you remember that? And how fond
you are of it! And | know | never have il
made to please you! Well, what relief tC
me it would be if dear mother was always a
hand that you might have a stew when you
liked. What a load it would be off my mind
"Again, for pickles, Not at all like any
body else's pickles. Her red cabbage-why
it's as crisp as biscuit And then her walnutl
and her allsorts! Eh, Caudle! You know
how you love pickles; and how we sometimes
tiff about 'em' Now if dear mother was here
a word would never pass between us. AnC
I'm sure nothing would make me happier, fo
you re not asleep Caudle!-for | can't bea
to quarrel can |, love'
''Ihe children, too are so fond other! AnC
she d be such a help to me with 'em! In
sure with dear mother in the house.
shouldn't care a fig for measles, or anythin,
OF the Sort As a nurse, she's such treasure
And at her time of life, what a needle
woman! And the darning and mending TO
the children, it really gets quite beyond m
now, Caudle. Now with mother at my hand
there wouldn't be stitch wanted in tn
house
"And then, when you're out late, Candle
| for know you must he out Late sometimes
| can't expect you, of course, to be always a
home-why, then, dear mother could sit III
for you, and nothing would delight the dea
, | soul half so much.
And so, Caudle, love, think dear mothe
| had better come, don't you! Eli, Caudle
| no ae1a