Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 April 1880 — THE LAZIEST MAN IN TOWS. [ARTICLE]

THE LAZIEST MAN IN TOWS.

“Nonox o’ bayin' Solomon’s farm?” “ Hardly know, yet.” 44 Yoa’lf get out o’ the notion when yo* see it,’” said the first, &J the two farmers, each on horse-back, took the road leading to Solomon Boyd’s, and a little further on to the village of Hardscrabble. “Why, that’s not the place!” exclaimed the other, when they had reached the topof a hill overlooking a tract of country for which Nature had done her utmost. Yes, that’s Solomon's farm; begins where you see that tumble-down fence, and reaches to the forks in the road, and than yon can see, for that wood-*.” * “Welx-Fm* beat! I never *would have kn<re»the place. I've not been up this way before since Solomon's father died; that must be nine or ten years ago. Let's see, he must be buried just beyond that big walnut-tree yonder, ain’t her* '• “Yes, thaffe their family buryingSound; good ipAny others buried there, ougb; must be more'n twenty graves there. That field, covered with briers,” continued he, “ which slopes down to that old broken-down stone wall, along the creek, was the vineyard.” “ Solomon's father used to ship loads of grapes to Baltimore, and bn East, so I was told.” *** And the finest fruit you ever saw; but thefe's none, hardly, now. Guess the hogs got all the apples this year, for there's not a fence on the place worth mentionin’.” “What's that leaning against that old shed, in the yard? looks like a tombstone?” “It is a tombstone—the old man Boyd’s tombstone; and the other side of that bush you can see the old woman’s.” “ Well, why in the name of common sense ain't they back there on the graves, where they belong? Rather ghostly ornaments fora door-yard.” “ Why. there was provision in the will for tombstones, and so they were bought and paid for; the dealer brought ’em out from town, and set ’em down here for Solomon to pat in their proper places. He was so mortal slow about it that, finally, seme of the churchmembers offered to put ’em up. But the base blocks, or whatever you call the big square stones they put next the ground, had been put under the corner of the house there where you see it’s sunk down; some of the timbers had rotted out, and the house was about to tumble. That wasn’t the worst, though,” continued he, slowly; “we couldn’t find the graves.” “Couldn’t find the graves! You don't tell me that John Boyd’s grave is lost! Why, he was one of the best men in the country.” “ And right well' off, too. No, we couldn’t tell his, or his wife’s, from a good many others that’s not marked; and tne locust sprouts and 4 pisea’ vines were so thick we oould hardly tell where" any of ’em were. Solomon thought *be one next the fence was his mother’s, but he was not sure. Step this way,” added he; quickly, as they dismounted; “you’ll go through there and get a sprain.” And the warning'was not in vain, for the board walk, which led from the barngate (held up by a rail) to the house, was rotten, broken and jagged. 44 Watch out, too, where you step on that porch. The well is just covered with a board. Used to have a chain pump, and a trough to carry the water to a big cemented basin in the milkhouse,” explained he further, as they approached the tottering, leaky poren which ran along two sides of the house, looking very much as if it wanted to part company with the main building. “Why has everything gone to destruction in this way? Looks like an army had been through here. Is Solomon sickly?” asked the other as thev rode away, “ No,” was slowly answered. “ He’s healthy as any man ’round here. The fact is, Solomon’s laay. Nothing suits him as well as goin’ to town; and if be can just get stuck on a jury, and sit round the Court House a bonk three weeks, with Handy and the child home doin’ the work, he’s in clover,’* " That reminds me—how was that Mart in-Johnson case decided last October?” “ Wasn’t decided at aIL Got to be all gone over. Cost like fury, too. His doin's,” nodding toward the house. “ On the jury and would not agree with the rest; he never does—-so knowing and stubborn, whew! He oversize* the Scripture* account, for Solomon’s wiser than eleven men that can render a reason.” Let ns go hack nearly twenty years, when the house and every field and fence betokened industry and good management. Solomon is seventeen, Jim fifteen, and Mandy, the hound girl, about the same age. Solomon has the reputation, which quiet people often have, undeservedly, for great sagacity. He had early learned, however; what folly wisdom is, when It leads to work; ana had saved himself many a trip to the barn by not being able to tell a blind-bridle from # saddle-girth, and many an hour’s toll by not knowing how to stir the apple-butter, so as to keep it from burning. Yet all, except Jim, esteemed him wise beyond his years. “Do you know, Jim,” said Solomon, cme day, with great benignity, “that animals have a language of their own, by Which they communicate with each other?” “Can snails talk?” asked Jim. “Certainly, why not? If other of the lower creation—” “Weil, say, Sol, give us a specimen of the snail vernacular. With a translation, won’t yon? Teach you goose Latin, if yon will,” continued Jim, as Solompu glanced angrily toward him. . “Ton may he a goose, but Tib not a snail,” growled Sol; and he threw no more chunks of wisdom to Jim for a W6#ll . . “Solomon has a torn for books,” explains his mother. “Now, Jim,” continues she, “ismorsfor Umdin’; but la!

plow, and it mows like Winter.^ “It’s too cold to work out today,” says tke young man. decidedly, from his big arawshalrby tke fire. better?” - soddtrif SOFSd Wdj! “Could you enth bit o’chicken if I fixed it for your’ Leek of exendee and overrating cause this rather fat, healthy-looking boy occasional fits, of dyspepsia. Having oaten the chicken, he musingly against the window. 4 Wish I .had the paper from the pqSt“Osn’t you step over and get it?” asks his mother, kindly. ••Don’t want to be on tke track when the Express is so near due,” ia the very lame excuse he offers for not going, as he lounges into a chair again. The. railroad ran across the corner at the Boyd farm, between the house and the village, just on the other side. It may be that John Boyd and his wife made a mistake in allowing Solomon so much leisure for books, and Jhn so much money for trading. However, we leave that for thoee parents to decide whose boys have alt turned out precisely aa they once planned. One idea was uppermost in their minds, and that was,' to spare thalr children, if poesibb, the privations and hardships they themselves had undergone. John Boyd himself once had a V turn fox books” and a “ torn” for trade, too. Yet books were denied him; and many times had he seen some duller man pocket the “ big profits” resulting from a speculation, into which he had not ventured from want of capital. Time passed. The father and mother died, leaving the'farm to Solomon, and its equivalent in money to Jim, who proceedeth, forthwith, to a Southern city. Solomon did not have the usual anxieties of courtship. He just married Mandy. He needed some one to keep house for him, and Mandy could “cook just like mother”—a qualification few wives possess. The neighbors often wondered how Solomon Boyd, who never worked, and who dragged a round-glower every year, found money tq pay nis taxes and. store bills. Sometimes Mandy wondered, too, and fretted some over the leaky house and broken well. Nevertheless, she trusted all to Solomon's superior judgment; for you remember that he said little and •was reckoned wise. One evening, when their little Nannie was six years old, ’Squire Skinner came over. Mandy was in the kitchen, getting supper. Hearing loud, angry words from the sitting-room, she hastily entered to close the door to the bedroom beyond, where Nannie lay sick, when the words “mortgage.” “sell the farm,” with oaths from Skinner, seemed to freeze the blood in her Terns, and she stood riveted to the floor. “I’ve been put off as long as I’m goin’ to,” said the ’Squire. “ 1 worked hard for that money, and now T m goin' to have it. And Johnson and Burbank wants their’n, too. Nice state of affairs for a man that’s had the chaiice you’ve bad—best farm in the State, and three mortgages hangin’ over it.” “Can't make any money on a farm,” muttered Solomon. “ Not leafin' round and lettin’ things go to pieces, and borrowin’ money from everybody,” retorted Skinqer. 44 Yes, and 1 wrote to Jim about that threehundred dollar note that he's security for.” At this Solomon looked up with a jerk. “ Intend havin’ a grand final settlement with you fellers, growled S.tinner, as he strode away. Mandy-sunk down on the floor where she stood, her head drooping lower until'it rested on her knees, around which her arms were tightly locked. She understood it all now* They had been living on other people's money, and now the farm most go to pay their debts. A choking cough from the bedroom roused her. She arose, gave Nannie a drink, then finished up the evening work with such an aching heart. Solomon dozed a while over an old dictionary, and finally shambled off np stairs tq bed, while Mandy remained with the sick child. 4 Midnight came, and Nannie was more restless and feverish. Two—three o’clock. Mandy could wait no longer. / “ Solomon, get up, Nannie is worse.” “ Can't you do something for her?” asked he, turning heavily, making the cord bedstead creak like an old door. , “I have done all I oan. We most have the doctor.” “ Is it daylightP’ 44 No, nor won’t be for two hours; but it's starlight. Here, Til leave the .lamp on the stairs. Now, do hurry, for once,” said Mandy, almost bitterly, as she descended to the kitchen, where she grabbed a shawl and ran to a near neighbor. “ Yes, Mandy, Til come as quick as I can,” was Mrs. Burk's answer to her tap on the window. She flew back home, found the lamp on the stairs where she had left it, and the house all quiet. " “Where’s Solomon?” asked Mrs. Burk, soon after her arrival. “ Gone after the doctor.” “And none too soon,” said the elder lady, looking cijkically at the sick child. “There, don’t cry, Mandy—hope for the Then she busied herself with the countless deeds the sick-room suggests to the experienced nurse. Yet, after all was done, thev still waited long and' anxiously for Solomon and the doctor. Morning came, and the lamp was blown out. Mandy heard shuffling feet in the kitchen. In an instant she was there, and saw her husband, his hat down over his eyes, standing before the fire. 44 Where’s the doctor?” “He’ll be here directly,” was the evasive answer. ' “Directly! Why didn’t you bring him with you? Did you tell him the child was dying?” asked Mandv. wildly. “ Til go right away,” said he; “guess it's daylight?’ And he shambled off more rapidly than usual, while it dawned on Mandy’s mind that he was lost starting. He had gone to sleep again, and did not wake until morning. One moment Mandy stood irresolute. Her first thought was to run for the doctor herself, her next that she most not leave the little sufferer for one moment—it might—oh, oould it be too late? • 44 Oh, my Father!” she cried, with streaming eyes. And the Father heard and aent her strength for this hoar. 44 Has the doctor oome?” asked Mrs. Burk, as Mandy returned to the sick room. “Not yet,” replied Mandy, with such apparent calmness that the kind old soul suspected nothing wrong. A strange feeling came over Mandy while she watched the little girl—so auiet now after the restless night A slight shivering passed over the child, and the blue eyes opened wide and looked appealingly at the mother.. “ Nannie, are you ’fraidF* The child shook her head feebly. “ Are yon Jesus’ little lamb?” 44 Yes Jesus —lamb,” murmured the thick voice of Nannie. The mother’s head sank down on the quilts, and a little hand was laid softly, fondly on her cheek. , »• After a while Solomon came, bat alone. Diphtheria claimed many precious victims that spring, and the doctor hod been oaUed & another direction >• , ' - *

A few week* later the farm was gold;' and the entire proceed* therefrom did them a few days after the sale, “you know that shop-lot of mine, over In town” (he called Hardscrabble, town), ‘‘well, you might move there for awhile, until yon can do better.” • •* Into that old ahepf** 44 Yes; it won’t be so bad for this summer. That back room, where the turning-lathe was, has a good floor. Tbs boards on the roofs slipped Tound so that it leaks some, bnt Solomon eaa easy fix that, and put hinges on the door, too,” Mandv sighed. 44 And Solomon might fix up that shed, in front, for a shop of some kind.” oou tinned the old man encouragingly. 44 Maybe Jim would send yon a few cigars to start a store.” 44 He might,” said Solomon, dubiously, for hs had that day received a letter from Jim, which ran thus: 44 Bro. Sol.: I have this day received a letter from Skinner, conoeming a note on which lam the supposed security. How is this? You must have put my name on that paper yourself, for I am sure I never did?’ ‘(ldleness and vioe go hand in hand.) “Furthermore, it is impossible for me to pay it. Business is dull: expenses enormous. Last year the books showed a balance in my favor of ten thousand dollars, yet it did not meet my family and personal exEues. Trying this year to retrench. ve taken the children out of school, and cut down the wages of nearly all my hands,” etc., etc. Moving to the shop, in the rain, Mandy caught a hard cold, which hang on all spring, and, finally, from want of proper care and nourishment, she died; ana another grave was made among the forgotten. Summer passed, frost came, and one afternoon Solomon sat in the front door of the shop—store now, for Jim did send the cigars, and these constituted the entire stock. The express stopped —an unusual thing at Hardscrabble—and a man, having a sickly, sallow look, got off and made his way up to Solomon’s door. “Jim!” “ The same, Sol.” 44 Well, you don’t look the same.” 44 Been having the yellow fever,” exolaimed Jim. 44 You know how it hast been down there with us this summer.” 44 Why didn’t you come North?” “Didn’t have the money. Hard times and big expenses broke me up. The Howards got me a through ticket, or I would not be here now.” “Where’s your wife and children?” “Dead,” answered Jim, sadly; 44 buried ’em all in one week.” Here we leave the Sluggard and theGreat Waster. The cigar-shop is a lounging place for idlers, where vastly more talk and trivial controversy tran-* spire each day than business. Solomon, slovenly clad, hair uncombed* half the buttons gone from his clothes, shoes nm down at the heel, and minus strings, folds his hands and slumbers, while his customers help themselves td cigars, and are supposed to drop the money in a box beside them on the old work-bench, which serves for a oounter. Now and then Uncle Zade drops in, and his kindly advice is always this: “Now, Solomon, don’t make any more debts; live honest. Work is the best investment yet. Get something td do, and try to lay up some moneys Work is no disgrace, except when badly done.” —Deboie Dunbar.