Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 May 1882 — WIDOW APPLEDORE’S ROMANCE. [ARTICLE]

WIDOW APPLEDORE’S ROMANCE.

“ A man that thinks of nothing but Ejp’mint oil an’ price of wheat I No! mma .Jane, my life has been humdrum enough, without my ending it with Deacon Bliss. I shan’t have him J ” “ Well, well, Rosetta, if you won’t I don’t know’s anybody’s goin’ ter try an’ make you,” chirped plump, rosy Mrs. Phlox, looking up from the stout blue woolen sock she was knitting. “ Is’pose the deacon thought he’d a right to ask you, bein’ it’s a free country. Caleb Appledoro was a awful nice man, but so's the deacon. Lone wimmen are put on. .Job Whittamore n. gleets your garding, an’ just see what work you have with your fires winters an’ keepin’ roads broke out.” “I’m not going to marry just to have some one tend to the garden and do the chores,” said Mrs. Appledore. “I’ve never found fault with them that’s dead and goue ; but I know what it is to live with a person who does not care two pins for the things I do, and if I ever do marry again it wiil be some one who can sympathize with me. I can’t say I swallow nil ’Lias Bradshaw says about the marryin’ of souls and affinities, but there’s some truth in it you may depend. Besides, I’d like a little romance to my life before I die.” “Ro-mance is all well ’nuff,” said Mrs. Phlox; “but you’re39next March, Rosetta, an’ sech a mac as Deacon Bliss don’t grow on every bush. Bein’ agood provider, an’ a splendid farmer, an’ a deacon, an’ a pillar in the church may not be romantic, but they’re good recommendations in a man you’re thinkin’ of marryin’. I hope you’ll think twice. ” ‘* I have thought, and I shan’t marry the deacon,” said Mrs. Appledore decisively ; “an’ if that’s being romantic, I’m not ashamed of it. ” The little widow did not look romantic. Her complexion was a dull white, and her hair was a dull brown. Dull,

too, were her large gray eyes that blinked behind short-sighted glasses, but her form, though meager and devoid of curve, was not without grace, and she had a dear, sweet soprano voice, which, though it was untrained, she could use with taste and feeling. The Harmonicum, the Dixville musical association, made her the head of all their committees, and relied upon her to sing all the solos. Indeed, without her it could not have existed. The wheezy melodeou, which was a dozen years old before it became the property of the society, had at last collapsed under the energetic sinners of Prof. Jackson Jones, who did the accompanying, and they were trying' to buy a fiiano. They had given concerts and md oyßter suppers till Dixville was tired, when Dr. Ollapod suggested a lecture. It was whispered that the doctor had expected the committee to invite him to read one of his papers on the Semitic tongues; but if he did he was disappointed. They corresponded with many popular lecturers, who all declined to visit Dixville on the plea of engagewhom they knew nothing save that he had lectured in the neighboring villages, to address them. The professor had suddenly appeared in Dixville mounted on a fine gray horse. The next day he was seen to enter the postoffice with a green bag on his arm, and the gossips immediately reported that he was wealthy and had come from Boston. He at once accepted the invitation of the Harmonicum committee, and announced that his lecture would be on the “ Philosophy of Art.” The meetinghouse was hired, and Mrs. Appledore, with a select few, began practicing some music for the occasion. It was the afternoon before the lecture, and Mrs. Appledore had invited her sister to spend the day with her. Domestic duties seemed to be just what Mrs. Phlox was made for. Her husband and sister usually did all her thinking. In return she served them with her hands; but the few notions that did creep into her round head she clung to pertinaciously. The worst kind of a fool i 3 a beetleheaded one,” she said, after a long pause; “an’ puttin’ this and that together, Rosetta, I think you’re preparin’ with your romancin’ to be just that kind of a one.” “Idon’t see how sisters can be so unlike," and Mrs. Appledore drummed a harsh accompaniment to her words on the middle C of her piano. “To be sure, you are the oldest; but age need not make one’s soul a clod.” “It .would be well for you tp remember that all the advantages ate not on your side,” cried Mrs. Phlox* rising with dignity. “There are bodies, yes, and dispositions, that are clods,” and Mrs. Phlox jerked on her calash and went home. The meeting house was full, and the Hex'* day the Dixville Times declared the lecture to have been a most soulful and eloquent dissertation ; but Mrs. Appledore’s attention wandered, and she only knew that the entertainment was to be concluded by Dr. Ollapod’s sonorous call for “moosici” “lam delighted,”said Prof. St. Clair Smith, bowing low before her, as soon as possible after the “ moosic.” “ I never heard such a delicious voice.” Mrs. Appledore coughed behind her hand to conceal her flattered embarrassment, and turned a questioning look on Prof. Jackson Jones, who stood near. “You always sing splendid,” said that gentleman, drawing himself up. “I dare say I put you out. That flute obligato is a deuced hard thing to do. I didn’t do myself jnstice to-night.” “ You’ve always dragged,” said Karl Leopold, who took every opportunity to criticise the Harmonionm doings. Prof. Jackson Jones pulled at his cravat, and Mrs. Appledore’s face was full of resentment. “ I never heard anything finer in Boston,” said Prof. St Clair Smith, coming to the rescue, “ and I suppose you know what that implies.” The night after the lecture was a very stormy one, and Mrs. Appledore was slowly twisting her hair in crimpingpins, when the door-bell rang. “I could not endure the loneliness of the hotel, dear Mrs. Appledore,” said Prof, ments, and the committee at last invited a certain Prof. St. Clair Smith, about