Litchfield enquirer., 1874-04-09
From the i; anti. ontly. TAE CoHANSEY TEA-FiCHT.

"It is pouring cats and dogs!' said Fi- olet, looking out of the window at the storm. ''There isn't & bit of use in think ing of it. is there, aunts's
 "I should say not" answered Aunt Elis- abeth. ''To be sure it may clear up be- fore five o'clock, but unless the weather improves, I think yoa had better give it up"
 ''Give mp what?@ asked Grandmother Howell
 ''Going to Annabella Fioyd's tea-tight. grandmother, T answered.
 "My dear!'' said Aunt Elisabeth. She had q horror of slang, and she had never heard this particular phrase, which had just begun to come into use twenty years ago.
 "A tea-fight! And what is tea-fight?" asked grandmother.
 ''Ob, a little sociable tea-rarty all of girls, you know" I explained. Anna bella Floyd, across the creek, has one this afternoon, but I am afraid we can't go."
 "Umph!" said grandmother. ''I re- member tea-fight on Cohansey Creek worth going to,-but it was mans tea
 fight, not girls. though girl helped get it up, after all. !"
 "Oh, please do tell ns about it, grand mal' said Violet and I together; and Aunt Elisabeth added: ''Yes, do, grand mother; it will help to make the time pass pleasantly"
 Violet and myself were making our an- nual visitation to Aunt Elisabeth in Greenwich, New Jersey. We had been there so often that it was like another home to us, and we knew every house and store and tree in the broad, quiet street, and every face in the meeting house, for Aunt Elisabeth was Friend, and we al- ways went to meeting with her. These visits were among the happiest times of my life. I loved Aunt Elisabeth dearly, and all but adored my great-grandmother Howell. liked the place and the people and the quiet friendly ways,-yes, and the meetings too, even when there was no preaching and we had silent season. Violet sometimes found 1t rather dull, but never did.
 Aunt Elisabeth lived near the landing in a wide, comfortable stone house, shaded by such enormous and aged will lows as l think grow nowhere else. From my window could see the green at the end of the street, with one gigantic but tonwood growing in the centre, the river, or creek as we always called 1t, and the schooners and steamers on their way up to Brldgeton, the metropolis of West Jer- sey; and wonderful, quaint pretty, hos pitable little metropolis 1t is. have not seen that prospect for many a long year, but l have only to shut my eyes to call it all up before me as plain as day.
 This particular day we were engaged at a small tea party at Annabella Floyd's, over across the river. We were very much bent upon going, but during the mornl ng such a storm of wind and rain had set ID, that even Violet confessed the expedition must be abandoned. Under these disastrous circumstances, it may be believed that We hailed with delight the prospect of a story from grandma
 Grandma Howell was past ninety. She was somewhat infrm, but her mind was bright and her feelings as keen as they had ever been. She had not the absolute patience and seIf-restraint or Aunt Eiisa- beth, her granddaughter, and would sometimes wax warm in debate, while her sarcasm was not weapon to be light ly encountered; but nevertheless, every body loved and respected Grandma How ell.
 Well, get your work and sit down, and I'll tell you the storyi"' said grandma, who never could bear to see any one idle. "It all happened in the year 1774. Think of that, children! Those willows over there were quite small trees, remember An well, it seems long time to wait.
 'It was in the beginning of that year, that Aunt Betsy broke up housekeeping and went to live with her nephew, Abiram Haskins, taking me with her. Aunt Bet sy was widow, and Abiram's mother had died not long before; and as he was a bachelor and had large farm, he needed some woman about the house. So he asked Aunt Betsy to come and take charge, and she consented. His house stood near the end of the street, little back, and not very far from the creek The house was burned down afterward, but if you look sharp you may see traces of the cellar in Richard Sheperd's field to- this day. It was good house, with roomy cellars and chambers, and large rooms downstairs: and when Aunt Bet sy's furniture was put in, it looked very well. only there was always a stiff, scrimp- ed look and musty, woolly smell about it. Abiram was 8 Friend, as his father had been before him. but he wasn't very jealous in religious matters, and had the name of sitting very close to the world and it's goods. However, his character was good at that time, though I don't think anybody liked him but Aunt Bet sy.
 ''l had lived with Aunt Betsy ever since my father died, and when she moved I went with her. I didn't like the change at all, and said all could against it, though I knew all the time that might as we'll talk to the winds. Aunt Betsy was very quiet tempered, but she was more set in her way than any person ever saw.
 "Thee is wasting thy breath, Sybilliar said she at last I have made up my mind and I shall act upon it. If thee doesn't like the change, thee must find home somewhere else
 "This threat, as I considered it. shut my mouth and reused my temper at the same time I said no more, but made up my mind that aoould seek home somewhere else pretty speedily. You see I didn't like Abiram. I thought him hard-hearted and miserly, and besides, though he had never said so in words, i knew that he wanted to marry me, and that Aunt Betsy's heart was set on the match. Now, if you don'tlike man, the fact that he wants to marry you makes you dis like him all the more. Moreover did like somebody else, and knew that he liked me. That somebody was Lewis Howell We had been neighbors always till father died, and I think our love grew up with us, for I don't remember when it began. An we'll, children, Lewis has been dead sixty-fve' years. The little oak saplinp that sprouted out of his grave over m Fairtown burying-ground is big tree now. It can't be long before they lay me beside him.
 '.Aunt Betsy did not like Lewis. She said he was worldly and unsfeady-that his father had been soldier in the old French War, and that Lewis was just like him. Then Lewis wasn't Friend, but went to the Episcopal church, for there was one here then. Aunt Betsy would never let me see hIm if she could help it, and never would allow that we were en- gagged. It was just boy and girl fancy, she said, and would soon pass away. She had an inward persuasion that she should see me married to some steady Friend, who was able to take care of me, and not &<x< T 1 S