Charles City intelligencer. [volume] (Charles City, Floyd County, Iowa) 1864-1866, 1866-04-12
MoraI Gales.
JEROME FENWICK's CURE.
BY LUCY A. RANDALL.


lonely when you are away"
The little kitchen had been swept
and secured until every board glis.
tened like polished ivory-the red mo-
reen curtains were drawn over the ii.
ny-paned windows, and the great
chestnut logs in the fireplace were
singing and simmering and bursting
into scarlet sheets of fame, with ca.
PRECIOUS alterations. There was no
costly fresco on the walls-mereIy q
cheap paper where gigantic pink roses
burst into unaccountable bloom among
the green tendrills of a stiff pea vine
but the wooden clock was framed in
the coral berries Of the bittersweet,
and little Christmas cross of hem
lock sprigs and black ivy, yet hung
between the two windows, while Rosa
Fenwick's monthly roses and scented
geraniums tossed their delicate bios
SONS among the red peppers and
lunches of pennyroyal and catnip on
the smoke-browned mantle above the
chimney.
For Rosa, our heroine, was nothing
more dignified than farmers wife.
Ay, but a farmers wife, in this, our
Empire State. is. it must be remem.
bered, queen consort to q member OF
the popular sovercignty-and Rosa
was as fit to wear the royal robes az
any princess of the blood. She was
quite tall, with pale-brcwn hair, and
eyes Of the clear vivid blue that put
you in mind of sunshine after rain,
while the delicate color on her cheeks
fairly rivaled the monthly roses above.
Her dress was very plain aud simple
"a dark.brown calico, ruflled at the
wrists, and relieved by narrow linen
collar, with tiny black-sik apron
tied trinity around her graceful waist.
Jerome Fenwick, a tall stalwart
young fellow of some seven or eight
and twenty, bit his lip, as Rosa still
kept urging:
Stay with me this evening-ouly
this once !"
Nonsense, Rosa how ridiculous
you are !! A man can't stay at home
forever"
"But you were out last night aud
the night before"
Well, what then? Now, my love,
don't you see how very absurd il is 10
expect me to be always dangling at
your apron strings! | tell you I'm
only going down to the Columbian, to
look at the papers and talk over the
news!"
"To the Columbian |" echoed Aun
Tryphosa Fenwick, suddenly appear
ing out Of the subterranean depths o
trap-door, very much Ia ghost up
on the stage, only that she bore par
of glossy red apples in one hand ant
brandished formidable knife in the
other Ah-h-h !! you're going to the
Columbian, be ye. Jerome Fenwick =
eyes, | am-and what then 2" re.
turned the young man, spice of sui
len defiance beginning to mingle witt
the playful tone he had assumed to
wards his wife.
And s'pose you're comm bacl
stupider nor fool. as you come las
night-or perhaps you're comm, will
Peter Stryker at your head and San
Carney at your heels, as you com,
last week pretty doin's these, for
feller that hain't been married q yea
yat |"
"Dear Jerome" pleaded Rosa, look
ing up through sparkling tears
please do not 60 out tonight
What d ,ye s'pose your coming to,
went on Aunt Tryphosa, diggin,
away at the apples as spitefully as
every one had been modern Marsyas
and she spectacled Apollo; "p'rap
you've forget how Pardon Pilkinghar
froze to death. year ago come Eel
ruary, down by the hemlock hollel
with the snow two feet deep on tn
ground. He'd been to the Columbian
too He'd read the papers and talke
over the news And mebbe yon don
remember how Josiah Hopkins wer
off in delirious tremens last June, a
along o. that same Columbian. II
hadn't no pretty young wife at hon
to cry her eyes out arter his good-fo
nothing, bones, though, Josiah HoI
kins hadn't Oh /" calculated AuI
Tryphosa. emphatically, ~ wish thel
!, was a Maine Law. / just do Bette
stay at home, Jerome Fenwick, afol
/ bad comes to worse /"
| Jerome Fenwiek's brow flushed an
r his face became crimson.
: 81 shall do precisely as | pleas
| Aunt Tryphosa. Where's my hat
! "'Tain't for myself Pm speakin
5 went on the wrathful old lady, suspe
J. ding her knife in mid air. thous
= you be my brothers son. It's for X
; sa Do you s'pose she hain't got
J. feelins when you come home night
n ter night, as intoxicated as a foo
s Good land o. Goshen if was Ros
S I'd GO down to the Columbian too, a
e drink long with you. She's got j,