The semi-weekly messenger. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1897-1908, 1904-11-01

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frozen north never sought 70 natur-
alize herself. and IL knew any
English IL was only enough TO un-
! dersta1d and be understood. but n
knew how TO turn out the contents
OF the bake oven to the queens taste.
She, too. wore aprons. but they were
sleeveless, coming UP to the neck. and
reaching almost TO the feet. and they
We're spotless. for all the baking. Il
| light blue kerchief vas knotted about
her neck. and she wore her hair in
plaits, Iii well-pulled molasses can
dy-very much such hair as that OF
her country Jenny Lind. the
Swedish Nightingale"
It was in this little wooden shop
at the foot OF the hill that I acquired
my discriminating taste for the "horse
cake" that / regard rs the gastrono-
mic accomplishment of my life. ]
have been informed that ever the
bakers OF the present day know how
TO make the "horse-cake." All. no.,
that art was lost when Frau Neatzal-
but that belongs TO the end Of the
story. Her confection was equine in
| shape hence its appelation) and great
skill was especially exercised in fash
Joining the hind legs; and to this day
I am undecided how the "horse-cake"
was more delicious-to begin BY de-
vouring The head Of the charger, hot
from the pan, or to commence at the
crisp. brown tail of the steed, and
q on UP. Subsequently I educated
myself UP to an intense enjoyment OF
Mrs. Neatzel's cherry pies and lemon
snaps, but I was never unfaithful to
my first love.
But n cloud no bigger than z mans
hand was rising on the peaceful hori-
zon of Mrs. Neatzel. In her lowly
sphere she had labored for years. ris-
ing up early and lying down late,
paying her debts, keeping an honest
name, and deserving better han the
b~ack-handed slap fate was about TO
give her. In SCOTS "Kenilworth,"
Anthony Forster. old villain that he
was, exclaims, in accents of horror:
TITS seething the kid in its mothers
milk" when Varney lures Amy Rob-
sort TO her death by counterfeiting
the whistle of her lover In her
very skill at the oven. ard her pros
perity therefrom, this poor friendless
white-faced widow found the snare,
the pitfall, that worked her ruin.
a Few years before the civil war a
rcre.gner made his appearance in
Fayetteville, who claimed to be a
~conpatriot of Mrs. Neatzel, though
a stranger to her. and he found an
acquaintance here in a German named
Schiliing. Those who followed the
ensuing dreary romance to its conclu-
sion always declared that Schilling
put the newcomer up to paying court
to the little Morse woman. telling him
that she had man a dollar of earnings
laid by, and she probably had. n
only possessions of the anorous sutton
consisted in . DOL chest. which he
either sold or pawned, and appeared
in garments fearful to behold in Amer
lean eyes, but probably regarded as
festive. lover-like garb nearer the
North Pole.
Her detractors say that the last
thing that a woman loses is her van
ity. 1t may be that the tongue which
sounded so harsh and gutteral to our
ears was music to the poor woman
at the foo of Haymount, breathing,
as it did. the accents OF her father
land. However that may be, the
stranger came. he saw, he conquered:
they were married and we lost our
dear little baker.
wen then, had we possessed a
Mrs. Wigs of the Cabbage Patch"
our trusting little Swede might have
been rescued from her doom, for she
was as docile and helpless as Miss
Hay in "Lovey Mary" The groom
a 4 name as long and unmanage-
able as any Russian general in the
Cars army, and I never kne
one to try to pronounce it more than
once; the boys never called him any
thing but Mr.. Neatzel.' Lik miss
Hays conquering hero. NJ. Stubbins,"
he loved liquor and drank it boldly
and often, without any p%retense that
he took it or account of Ger injury
got endurin' Of the war" But there
was no benign providence in the shape
of a Mrs. Wigs; and SO, instead Of
losing Mr.. NeatZel." we lost Mrs.
Neatzel, to our sorrow.
And SO this gentle. hardworking,
unsophistocated little Swede succumb-
ed to her fate. Let us hope that it
had it's Conversations: but all hat
we saw of it was that. under it's ma
lign influence, the poor little woman's
once placid face grew anxious and
careworn, the till was emptied BY an
idle, worthless husband. the fire went
out under the oven. the perfume of
spice and ginger vanished from the
walls of the little wooden shop. the
door and windows were closed and
Mrs. Neatzel with her husband went
out from mong us forever.
J. II. n.
Fayetteville. October "a.
II