Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 July 1875 — AUNT JEMIMA’S EAR-TRUMPET. [ARTICLE]

AUNT JEMIMA’S EAR-TRUMPET.

“If you insist on making a laughingstock o£yourself, just for a foolish whim, I suppose you must; but I don’t propose to make such a fool of myself and the speaker curled her lip scornfully. “ How will you feel when you have to shout an explanation of everything you see through that horrible old ear-trumpet?” “ Oh, Maud, don’t talk so. Aunt Jemima is good and kind, if she is oldfashioned, and I could never forgive myself if I should treat her unkindly. She has no daughters to love her, and we will loss nothing by giving her a little of the love she so much craves.” “Do as you please. I only hope for your sake that you won’t meet any of the Mortimers, and, thank goodness! Harry Morton is still in Europe, so you will not meet him.” “ I do not think, that I will lose the respect of any intelligent person Try showing a little kindness to a dear, good, old, lady-like auntie, even if her dress is not of as late a style and as costly material as Madam Grundy’s.” At tliis moment the subject of this dialogue entered the room, and Bessie arose to accompany her on her shopping tour. They were an oddly-assorted pair: the tall, straight, military-looking old lady, in her homespun gown, her Bay ;State shawl, thick leather shoes and blue yarn mittens; and the dainty little lady, sweet as a rosebud, in her crimson cashmere dress and wraps'of velvet and fur. Aunt Jemima was a maiden aunt of Mr. Goldwin, Bessie’s father, and had come to the city of C. to visit her nephew and do her yearly shopping—for she lived a hundred miles away, up among the Vermont hills, and only visited the city once a year. Mr. G. and Bessie always ■welcomed her warmly and treated her "kindly; but Mrs. G. and Maud—the eldest daughter—were coldly polite, and only endured the visits of the old lady from a hope that they might be remembered in her will, for she possessed a snug little farm and a productive dairy, and rumor said that the money made by the sale of her butter and cheese was stored up in the village bank until it had come to a goodly sum. While we have been telling you all this Aunt Jemima and Bessie have reached a fashionable dry goods store on Main street, and after taking a survey of the “gimcracks”—as she is pleased to call them — in the window the old lady fallowed Bessie into the store. A polite clerk came forward and smilingly inquired what they wished to look at.

“ Nothing for myself this morning, Mr. Greyson,” said Bessie; “ but auntie here ■wishes to make some purchases.” “Yes,” said Aunt jemima, “I’vecome all the way from the Green Mountains, and, as I don’t git to come every day, I calculate to buy a right smart chance of goods. If you do well by me I shouldn’t wonder if I buy goods to the amount of twentyfive dollars. I guess you don’t sell such a bill of goods as that every day, young man.” And then she began the selection of the goods, two or three pieces of prints for her next summer’s dresses, some chintz for curtains, a pair of table-linens and a dozen napkins. “ Not that they are of any use,” she explained, when she called for the napkins; “ but the folks up where I live have got to trying to ape the city folks, and I might as well be like the rest.” “ Now what said the clerk, after all these articles were selected. “ I want a piece of your best black silk to make new sleeves in” my silk gown. I’ve had that gown ever since brother Nathan’s youngest child was bom, and that will be eighteen years come next harV vest. It was an amazin’ good piece. I think this will match it,” selecting the best piece on the counter. “ Let me have two yards of this and now count it up and let me see how' much I owe you.” “ I will send the package around to Mr. Goldwin’s, and it will be there as soon as you will,” said the clerk. “ La, no ; I’ll just take it under my arm. I’ve carried a weightier load than that many a day.” Andthen she insisted on shaking hands with Mr. Greyson. She felt u kinder acquainted with him, and he was a proper-mannered young man-” As she passed out of the store she remarked to Bessie that she must call on Mr. Olmstead’s family. promised never to come to the city without going to see them, and I don’t know but I may stop for dinner—if you are not in a hurry to get home I wish you would stop with me, for I

could never find my way back again if you were to leave me.” “ Oh, stop, by all means, auntie. I shall be delighted to see Mrs. Olmstead, and I have not been there for so long. She is such a dear, good woman, always so cheerful and happy, that it does me good to see her.” Mr. and Mrs. Olmstead were both at home, and evinced as much pleasure in meeting Aunt Jemima as if she had been a mother, and indeed she had been almost as good as a mother to them. When Mr. Olmstead went to take charge of the little Methodist Church among the Vermont hills fifteen years ago he found no more ready hand or willing heart to aid him with the contents of her purse or her earnest prayers than Aunt Jemima; and, since he had come to the city to live, her yearly visits, were looked forward to as one of the sunshiny days of their lives. Bessie was warmly welcomed, as indeed she was everywhere, for her gentle manners and loving heart had made for her many friends. “ I am so glad you have come, my dear,” 9aid Mrs. Olmstead, “ for we have an invalid here who gets somewhat lonely with no young company about. Perhaps you remember my brother Harry —I believe he used to be a school-mate of your sister Maud. Well, he returned home very suddenly three days ago, and the awkward fellow slipped on the icy pavement just aft-er-leaving the train, and now he has a sprained ankle that will keep him a prisoner for the next week.” Bessie did remember the rollicking boy who used to carry her sister’s books for her, and who sometimes would take her to ride on his sled, and always had such splendid stories to tell her; and how well she remembered when lie used to get his mother’s permission to spend the evening with Maud and her, how he would make a horse pf himself, and she would ride mounted on his back like a very queen on her throne. Just then the door opened and a handsome, blue-eyed, tawny-bearded young man entered the room, leaning on a crutch. His fine, expressive countenance lighted up with real pleasure as he recognized Aunt Jemima. “ I hope you are quite well, auntie—and really you look well. You just look like the same Aunt Jemima who used to feed me on doughnuts and strawberries and cream when I was staying with my sister at the parsonage.” Bessie was sitting where he had not observed her. She now came forward with an easy grace and offered her hand. “ You have not forgotten the little girl whom you used to draw on your sled and invent fairy stories for, ten years ago, have you, Mr. Morton?” “ Bessie—Miss Goldwin, this is indeed a pleasure.” “ It is quite an unexpected one to me, Mr. Morton. I thought you were in Europe.” “ And so I have been; but not all the excitements of travel or the grandeur of the Old World could make me forget home. So, one day, when I was in Liverpool, I learned that a ship would sail the next day for New York. I did not stop to take a second thought, but went directly to my hotel, paid my bill, packed my luggage, and that night I slept on board the good ship Petrel, and here I am.” Nearly ten years ago Harry Morton, a boy of eighteen had been sent away from home to finish his education at college. Immediately after graduating he took up the study of law in a distant city, and, studying -with determination and energy, was admitted to the bar in about half the usual time. Before commencing the practice of his profession he decided to spend a year or two in travel. He had made a hasty tour of Europe, and had returned to his native city to begin his life-work. His parents were both dead, and all the legacy that they left him was their example for honor and integrity. All this time we are almost forgetting Aunt Jemima, with whom, to Bessie’s astonishment, Mrs. Olmstead is conversing in a moderate tone, without the aid of the ear-trumpet. But every day must have an end, and after spending two or three hours in social converse, ana partaking of an excellent dinner, the visitors make their adieu and take their departure. Harry Morton inwardly chafed at the lame ankle that would not permit him to escort them home. That night, in her dreams, Bessie saw a pair of blue eyes smiling into hers, and the rich tones of a manly voice seemed ringing in her ears all while. Ah, Bessie! Bessie! to-day has been an eventful day in your life, little as you realize it now.

The next day Aunt Jemima started home, to the delight of Maud, who had been so badly mortified at her countrified manners; and the real sorrow of Bessie, who had become warmly attached to her. It was, to say the least, surprising how rapidly Mr. Morton’s ankle recovered, and how often he found opportunities to call at Mr. Goldwin’s. But what is the use in telling about it, for it is just the “old, old story.” And so the winter passed away, and the jingling of sleigh bells gave place to the song of the robin and the cooing of the dove, those harbingers of spring. And out in the country the violets were opening their blue eyes almost in time to bid farewell to the wreaths of snow on the north side of the hills. And all this time the little blind god had been busy, and his darts flew thick and fast. But Harry Mojrton did not spend all his time in he had taken an office, and a “ shingle” bearing the inscription, H. Morton, Attorney-at-Law,” was hung over the door. But clients were slow in coming and our young lawyer sometimes felt almost discouraged, for visions of a home of his own, with sweet Bessie Goldwin for its mistress, had been floating through his brain for the past six months, and only his poverty prevented the realization of his vision. Proud and independent in his disposition, he would not bring a wife to share his poverty but would work and wait if only the work would come; but this waiting for work to do‘was sorely trying to his patience. One day about this time Mr. Goldwin came in with an open letter in his hand, and, passing hastily to the room where his wife and daughters were seated, said: * Here is a letter from Mr, David Hopkins, ol El wood, the home of Aunt Jemima. The poor old lady is no mhre, and Mr, Hopkins, as her’executor, writes to say that| she chose Bessie for her heir-

ess. It seems by her industry and rigid economy that she has acquired a snug little fortune, which, on one condition, she bestows upon Bessie. The condition is that within three months from her death Bessie becomes the wife of Harry Morton.” Poor Bessie looked as if she scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry. She felt a sincere grief at the loss of good Aunt Jemima, and a great pleasure that now every obstacle w r as removed from the way of the realization of her life’s happiness. “ Here is also a package prepared by herself, and directed to be delivered to Maud,” continued Mr. Goldwin, as he handed the package to his eldest daughter. It was carefully packed, whatever it was, and Maud hastily tore off the wrappers, expecting at' least to find a set of jewels, but what was her consternation to find that all it contained was Aunt Jemima’s ear-trumpet, and a note in the old lady’s own handwriting, which ran thus: To Miss Maud, who could not “ make such a fool of herself ” as to he seen in company with a plain old country woman, and who may one day be old and need such an instru-. ment, I send my “ horrible old ear-trumpet.” For her sake it was rather a pity that her old aunt was not so deaf as she thought her to be. JEMIM.vGOLUWfeX. Maud shed tears of mortification and disappointment, and the generous Bessie insisted on sharing her fortune with her; but Mr. Goldwin' would not permit it. “ It shall be just as Aunt Jemima willed it,” said he, “ that is if Harry Morton does not object, and I do not think we need fear about that.” And he took up his hat and started down street, and Bessie, watching him from the window, noticed that he was going toward the young lawyer’s office. Harry Morton says that to Aunt Jemima he is indebted for his wife. “ First it was Bessie’s kindness to the old lady that attracted him to love her, and then the fortunate legacy enabled him to win her.” And Mrs. Bessie says: “ Dear old aunt Jemima, how happy she has made us.”— American Farm Journal.