Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 December 1874 — IN A TRUMPET. [ARTICLE]

IN A TRUMPET.

BY ISABELLA T. HOPKINS.

“I know it,” said Miss Pamphylia, answering a rueful glance from Miss Mehitable’s brother; “ still it’s a great comfort to reflect that she could have the trumpet.” Miss Pamphylia certainly had a very Seculiar way of looking at human griefs, he would stand still for one moment of dire dismay and then suddenly illuminate with “reflection” about something that had or hadn’t been, or could be, after all. It always reminded Miss Mehitable’s brother of a cluster of ripe grapes he had noticed one October day when the skies were fitful. For one instant, while a cloud crept over the sun, they hung heavy and dark as the leaden shadow behind them; then, as a quick, strong ray of sunlight pierced the cloud, the red wine that was in them took fire and gleamed and blazed until his very pulses warmed as he looked. He felt them suddenly warming again in just the same way as Miss Pamphylia uttered the words “ she could have the trumpet.” What a thing it would make of life if that “ could” only began with a “w” instead of a “c”! But as it did not, and there wasn’t the least prospect that it ever would; Miss Mehitable’s brother patiently took it with the “ c,” much as he would have hugged a warm soap-stone, if wandering in the dark among the glaciers of the Alps. Miss Mehitable, meanwhile, peacefully unconscious that either of them had said anything, sat gazing into the glowing hearth of coals with a satisfied little smile on’ her face and a fresh-folded handkerchief in her lap. She always did have a fresh handkerchief in her lap—it was so tidy just where the hands lay; and as for her smile, her very features were as likely to disappear. That was because she found life always so pleasant; indeed it contained but two regrets for Miss Mehitable, and it would have been foolishness to let such a minority disturb all the rest. One of these regrets was that Pamphylia did not feel quite inclined to marry Phenix; He had asked her every Thanksgiving Day for ten years in succession—though never until after dinner, for he liked everything hot, and the faintest hope is a warmer sauce than disappointment —but it was of no use. Miss Pamphylia’s inclinations did not quite agree, and the trial was put over till another term, leaving the first part of the evening a little downish, until Miss Pamphvlia regularly brightened with a consoling thought. “ After all,” she said, “it is a great comfort to reflect that he needn’t ask me if he didn’t choose.” “ Don’t be a goose, Phenix,” Miss Mehitable always said, gently, the next morning, to comfort him; and though perhaps he had seemed a little like one pluming himself and picking up his crumbs so many months, only to be slain on this fatal day, still, when Hetty said this he remembered what he really was, and rose from his ashes to begin another year. But it seemed stich a pity about spoiling the evenings, particularly as Miss Pamphylia only came once a year, that she had at last I 'insisted upon a different arrangement. “ Don’t ask me again until I am ready to say yes,” she • said, with the firmest air. “And when will that be?” asked Miss Pamphylia hesitated a moment, and then looked up with a sudden gleam of mischief in her eyes. “ Whenever Hetty asks for* the trumpet,” she said. That was coming very near the second Of Miss Mehitable’s regrets in life, which was simply the miserably indistinct way in which people were allowing themselves to speak the last few years. It was growing upon them, too, instead of improving, until she had really given up expecting to hear anybody unless they came and Spoke directly to her. Then,'of course, they took care to enunciate properly, knowing how much she disapproved the modern carelessness, but the moment they turned away it was all forgotten, and even Phenix and Pamphylia, who were as well brought up as her-

self, did no better than the rest. One said, “ M-m-m-m,” and the other answered, “ M-m-m-m,” and it was only a miracle that they ever made head or tail of each other’s remarks. But Miss Mehitable always preferred her friends should please themselves rather than her; so she sat peacefully by, heard what she could and let the rest go. It was not till the circle of those who attempted proper enunciation had thinned down to the very strong-winded ones, and Miss Mehitable’s replies to even their remarks sometimes fitted about as well as if she had put her own bonnet on Phenix’s head by mistake, that one of the bravest of them ventured a suggestion. Would it not be a little strange if all her friends had lost their voices at once? Might it not be possible that her hearing had lost a trifle of its acuteness? The suggestion was repudiated with only the least perceptible sharpening of Miss Mehitable’s usual gentlefiess, but when Phenix brought home from the city one day, as a delicate offering, an eartrumpet, new in design, graceful and light, she rose to her feet and flamed into such a blaze of indignation as all the rest of her gentle life could hardly sum up.

“An ear-trumpet! Was she to be the scape-goat of everybody’s carelessness, and wear this crooked horn as the badge of it? Deaf? How should she be deaf any more than he was, when their birth‘days were the same ? Would he have the great kindness to carry that instrument into his own room and keep it there, since waste was sinful, until she should ask for it?” It did not seem to Phenix that Pamphylia could say anything this time, but as he passed between her and Miss Mehitable her face brightened. “ Still,” she whispered, “ it’s a comfort to think you’ve increased the regular sale.” The grapes had purpled and been gathered five times since then; to-morrow Woujd be Thanksgiving Day once more, End the ear-trumpet lay on the piano in Phenix’s room, shining and bright as on the first day it had been banished there. “Turkey, of course,” said Phenix, as they sat round the fire after tea, letting the lights and shadows give lessons in blind man’s buff in advance. “ Couldn’t there be anything else for a change? This will be my fifty-fifth in annual regularity.” “And my fiftieth; a real old maid,' laughed Miss Pamphylia, softly. “Nonsense,” began Phenix, with a glance at her bright brown eyes and chestnut hair; but Miss Mehitable turned gently from the fire. “ Oh, yes, dear; they often live to a great age. I remember one allowed to wander in your father’s field that was over a hundred; at least the inscription on its back said so. I suppose it is because they are so slow about everything.” ; “ Not turtles—turkeys,” shouted Phenix. “ Dindons for dinner to-morrow.” “But, please, don’t speak so loud, brother," said Miss Mehitable. “ I like distinctness, that is all. Though I am surprised at your thinking of dandelions, so altogether out of season; and, be sides, cranberry sauce is Latin for roast turkey always.” And Miss Mehitable laid her hands on the folded handkerchief with a peaceful smile. This was what drew the despairing look from Phenix and sent Miss Pamphylia to take refuge in reflecting that Hetty “could have the trumpet?’ Not that they cared in the least on their own account; it was only the thought of tomorrow, when there would be company. They were so proud of Hetty, and couldn’t bear to have her make herself ridiculous.

Nothing seemed less probable as Miss Mehitable took her seat at the table the next day, faultlessly dressed, and smiling benignantly upon every one, with Cousin John, a clergyman of the Methodist persuasion, on her right hand, and a distinguished professor of elocution on her left. “ Pretty strong outposts, and Hetty always (does look well,” thought Phenix, with a sigh of relief, as he took up the ball she had gracefully set rolling, and croquetted it among his neighbors. It flitted about for a while in a velvety way most soothing to his fears, when suddenly, just as his anxiety began to subside, there was a crash at Miss Mehitable’s end of the table, reverberating like a clap of thunder. She had set out on a series of reminiscences with Cousin John, who had just returned after a twenty years’ absence, and he was inquiring at the extreme of his pulpit tones: ’ “Where is the Judge now?” Miss Mehitable nodded and smiled, as she always did when she felt pretty sure, but not quite, that “ O yes” was the right answer. This wouldn’t do, for every one had started at the crash and was listening; so Cousin John tried again. *• The Judge; where is the Judgen&wl" “ Oh, standing on the very same spot,” said Miss Mehitable; “ just on the crown of the hill. Very windy on a cold day and a little conspicuous, but local attachments are strong, you know, and we have worshiped there a great many years.” “Ah," said Cousin John, looking suddenly into his plate, and Phenix told him it would not be New England Thanksgiving if he did not send it up for more turkey; and one began to say what a terrible thinning thete was in the rank and file of the poultry-yards to-day. Miss Mehitable nodded and smiled so appreciatingly that the Professor wondered how Cousin John managed to get into such trouble.

“A tSftible sacrifice among the feathered tribes,” he said; addressing her. “ Oh, very sad!” said Miss Mehitable, with a sudden shadowing of her face. “ I’m afraid very few of them will ever come back. And to think the only return we can make is to decorate their graves' We did a great many last year, and there will be more than’ ever I’m afraid when this campaign is over.” After this it struck Miss Mehitable that the conversation became very general ; so much so that she really could not catch the opportunity to ask Cousin

John as many questions as she would like, or to be particularly polite to the Professor. However, everything seemed going on delightfully, though she noticed the same general carelessness of enunciation; still, she was used to that, and she would catch Cousin John after they returned to the parlor. But Cousin John wasn’t to be caught; he was very busily engaged with so atn one else whenever she passed near him, and, indeed, every one grew very talkative, and even the candles and the firelight seemed to Miss Mehitable gayer than on other nights. “ Strange ways New England people are falling into,” said Cousin John’s nearest neighbor. “ Thanksgiving dinner at 1 early candle-light’ is something equally new and nice.” “ Is it new or old?” asked Phenix, and then came a free discussion of dinnerhours in times past, present and to come. “ I wonder what time Abraham dined?” said Miss Pamphylia, suddenly. Cousin John said that was a tentative question; it would be easier to say what he dined upon; and some one answered: “ Oh, yes, that was on a Mess-o-pot-amian plain.” Miss Mehitable nodded and smiled, but the Professor thought he would make it a little more distinct for her. “We are wondering at what time Abraham dined,” he enunciated, coming ,very close, on pretext of picking up the ’handkerchief which had slipped from her lap. “ Oh, he dined at four o’clock; I was intimately acquainted with him,” said Miss Mehitable, a glow of pleasant recollection suffusing her gentle face. But, at the same moment, she caught a very peculiar one on the Professor’s; she glanced at Cousin John’s. Was it possible the turkey had not agreed with him that he was looking so very red? She looked at Phenix —he was white; Pamphylia was blue, and the rest were all looking the other way. A sudden and dreadful suspicion seized Miss Mehitable. A professor of elocution must enunciate well; if she had misunderstood him whose fault must it be? “ Cousin John,” she said, turning toward the white necktie that had eluded her so many times that evening, “who did you understand the Professor to speak of ?” “Abraham,” replied Cousin John, with truth and distiuctness united in tremendous force. ’ts’ “ Did you, Pamphylia?” Miss Pamphylia, and, one after another, Phenix and all the rest, nodded assent. Two round red spots came into Miss Mehitable’s cheeks, and she dropped her hands on the handkerchief with a gesture of surrender. Then she looked up with the unfailing smile. “Then, Phenix, will you have th£’ kindness to bring that instrument you have been keeping in your room for me?” Phenix cast one leok at Miss Pamphylia. She stood petrified, and her brown eyes seemed leaping after him as he left the room. Hetty had asked for the trumpet! But by the time he came back Miss Pamphylia had vibrated to a “ reflection,” and found her balance again “ Still,” she was saying to herself, “it is a great comfort to feel that it will be keeping a promise; and I’ve got on my new black silk, and Phenix is a great deal too good for me—that is the only trouble.” “ Now, Phenix,” said Miss Mehitable, inserting the trumpet in her ear, “ let me hear something pleasant through this, if you can.” He looked once more at Miss Pamphylia. Her eyes shone this time, and he went across to her with the tread of a conqueror. With his right hand he led her to Miss Mehitable, the left he raised the mouth of the trumpet to his lips. “If you will give us your blessing and allow Cousin John to perform the ceremony, I believe we are ready," he said. It is strange how much less time it requires to do things than to get ready for ■them- It did not seem five minutes to Miss Pamphylia before it was all over, and Phenix was showing the last guest out at the front door. Miss Mehitable sat holding the trumpet as if she would never let it go again. I“ If I had only had sense enough to ask for it five years ago!” she said; “ But 1 do hope, Pamphylia, you will find it pleasant having a husband at last!" Miss Pamphylia grew suddenly serious. “ I don’t know,” she murmured, over the edge of the trumpet; but in a moment her face cleared and shone into Miss Mehitable’s. “ But if I shouldn't, it will be a great comfort to me to reflect that I have lived single as long as Lhave!” she said. —Scribner'4 Monthly. —A little advice to farmers. Help your wives in every way you can, trivial though it may seem to you. For instance, keep an extra pair of shoes or slippers in the hall or entry, and always remember to change your dirty boots before entering her clean rooms. Then you may be sure of a smile of welcome, as no dirt will be left after you for her to clean up. In the evening comb your uair as carefully as ever you did in your courting days, put on a clean coat or dressinggown, and when you take your paper to read do not read to yourself and leave her to lonesome thoughts while sewing or mending, but remember that she, too, has been working hard all day, and is still working. Read to her whatever interests you, so that her interest and opinions may grow with yours, and that she may comprehend something besides love stories, of which too. many have read more than they should. You will both be happier, and being a farmer’s or mechanic’s wife will not be such a dreadful •'tiresome and lonely life as many girls have every reason to think it is.—Massachusetts Ploughman. —A Shawmut avenue grocery store is ornamented by a new placard which reads: “My Back is Up! Fresh milk only six cents a quart!”— Boston Globe.