430 
don’t marry for money or position nowadays— 
not at all. The accomplishments taught at 
modern boarding schools are doubtless of a na¬ 
ture to add to the comforts of a home and the 
happiness of a husband in a far greater degree 
than any old-fashioned out-of-date skill in the 
vulgar matters of cooking or prudent house¬ 
wifery. Frederick Augustus is above a low 
hankering for well-brewed coffee with his 
morning steak, and Laura Matilda, fresh from 
boarding school, doesn’t own to an appetite at 
all. Pity that they could not subsist on senti¬ 
ment and moon-shine, and that the appetite 
should recur sometimes when there is not even 
bread wherewith to satisfy them. 
The deacon and his young wife were not 
troubled with sentiment—or the want of bread. 
He was a shrewd matter-of-fact man, and she 
proved herself a smart, capable woman. The 
quiet, but resolute and decided manner in which 
she assumed control over all household matters 
was well calculated to silence opposition or 
complaint had there been any, but there was 
none. The husband was but too glad at being 
relieved from the cares of indoor arrangements, 
and as the wife never meddled with outdoor 
affairs or offered anything that looked like hen- 
pecking it was no wonder they got on in a pleas¬ 
ant, amicable manner. 
Five years after the date of the marriage one 
of those little accidents which are usually ludi¬ 
crous, but sometimes serious, happened to the 
good deacon while working overhead in the tan¬ 
nery. He had taken up a rough loose floor and 
was replacing it with a better, when, happening 
to step on the end of a board he was suddenly 
dumped into one of his own vats—not necessarily 
a serious affair, as the vat was nearly full of 
water and hides, but, unfortunately, the adze 
with which he was working preceded him, and 
when he scrambled out of the vat the blood was 
spouting from a ragged gash in the neck—spout¬ 
ing in dark purple jets which kept time in 
ghastly unison with the pulsing of the heart- 
Long ere the doctor could be summoned the 
deacon was gone and Hannah Needham was a 
widow; a widow, but not childless, for, in little 
more than a year after her marriage, Hannah 
had given birth to a female infant, which I, the 
present veracious narrator, recollect having seen 
when it was a few weeks old, and thinking it de¬ 
cidedly the reddest, ugliest little squab mv eyes 
had ever rested on. And this little squalling, ill- 
looking lump of humanity had grown up to be 
the rosiest, freshest, smartest young woman in 
all the country round-about. It seemed but yes¬ 
terday since she as a little chubby thing of six 
years, and now she was setting up for herself 
as a belle and heiress; dressing, doubtless, with 
an eye to masculine approbation and playing the 
deuce with such soft-hearted spoons as Ned, 
who was evidently “head over heels” in love 
with her. 
Deacon Needham had, like a thoughtful, pru¬ 
dent deacon as he was, made a will in which he 
had left his young wife the use of the property 
during her “natural life,” to revert at her de¬ 
cease to the younger Hannah. There were no 
churlish restrictions in the will, but the young 
widow had been left free to manage her affairs— 
matnmcnial or other—in any way she might 
choose. Like a sensiVe young uidow she 
FOREST AND STREAM 
was, she had chosen to remain single, and had 
managed the large farm and tannery so well as 
to have improved the value of the very pretty 
estate left in her charge. Now, it was but rea¬ 
sonable to suppose that the young and hand¬ 
some widow would have any number of chances 
to change her state and name, and, sooth to say, 
numerous wooers, most of them respectable and 
some of them wealthy, had paid suit to her 
charms during the first six years of her widow¬ 
hood. They had all, however, been steadily and 
persistently refused, until at last people came 
to understand that the widow rather preferred 
her independence and power as mistress of the 
Needham estate to the soft blandishments of 
any masculine whatever. It was understood 
likewise, for the widow had intimated as much, 
that any likely young fellow who succeeded in 
winning the younger Hannah to wife would have 
the use of the estate during the life of the 
blooming “relict,” with the most sanguine pros* 
pect of reversion. In the country where few of 
us ever get very rich, this made the youthful 
Hannah rather an heiress, and, as nature had 
made her a beauty beyond all dispute, it is 
little to be wondered at that she should cause 
a commotion beneath the vests of rural 
Brummeldom. 
Thus stood matters at the time Ned and my¬ 
self were to start westward on a hunting tour. 
We had arrived at home from the Rock Shanty 
on Wednesday, and were to set out on the 
following Monday for an all-winter hunt. So, 
to make sure that Ned was all right and ready, 
I stepped over to his mother’s on Sunday even¬ 
ing. He was not at home, but as his sister 
Kate said: “Over to the widow’s, as usual.” 
Over to the widow’s I went, and I found not 
only Ned, Cut one Mr. Enoch Daniels in the 
field. Enoch was a Vermonter and a most in¬ 
veterate inventor; he had a penchant for patents 
and had taken out three of them before his 
twenty-first birthday, one of which had netted 
him several hundred dollars. Some nations 
have a genius for painting; other for music; 
others for poetry or sculpture. History will de¬ 
cide that the New Englander has a genius for 
machinery—the intricacies of belts, eccentrics 
and drums; the complications of cogs and the 
perplexities of pinions are to him a simple sum 
in addition, while he reduces the multiples and 
multipliers of speed and the rule of three. He 
can poetize too, after a hard, dry fashion, can 
your genuine Yankee; but poetry is not his 
forte; his specialty is edge tools and machinery. 
It happened that Enoch had invented and 
patented a “power wheel,” as he called it, and 
his ostensible business at the widow’s was to dis¬ 
pose of a “right” to use one of his wonderful 
wheels in the tannery, a project which Jonas 
Sprague, who had grown to look on himself as 
part and parcel of the tannery, had been induced 
to look upon with favor. So Enoch had made 
his appearance on the previous Friday with a 
two-horse load of implement’s and “fixin’s,” had 
gone to work forthwith and was fairly installed 
at the widow’s until the job should be com¬ 
pleted. As Enoch’s “folks” were old acquaint¬ 
ances of the Spragues and known to be respec¬ 
table. pious people, it was no wonder the widow 
received him kindly and invited him to make her 
house his home so long as he might sojourn in 
the country, an offer he was not backward in 
accepting, and one which was evidently much 
to his taste, whatever Ned Miller might think of 
it. The latter did not appear to view the ar¬ 
rangement at all favorably, but sat sulky and 
sullen in the corner while the two Hannahs 
joined Mr. Daniels in singing “Greenland’s Icy 
Mountains,” “Days of Absence” and “When 
Shall We Three Meet Again.” Undoubtedly the 
course of true love wasn’t running any too 
smoothly with Ned, and I am sorry to say I 
took a malicious pleasure in joining the party 
for the purpose of playing into Encho’s hand, 
to the confusion and distress of Ned, who 
scowled most savagely at all of us and was in a 
detestable state of jealousy that greatly amused 
the widow, who, I could see, with difficulty kept 
from laughing outright. I could not help think¬ 
ing that he was not only savagely jealous of 
Enoch Daniels, but also looked on my visit with 
distrust. I, who, as he ought to have known, 
would not relinquish the rifle and tomahawk 
for any angel in calico that ever wore gaiters. 
What did I care for his inamorata? Had I not 
lived within two miles of her for years without 
caring a straw for her beyond the natural and 
involuntary admiration we all feel for a hand¬ 
some young woman? What was the love-sick 
spoon thinking of? Not of hunting, certainly; 
for it was with difficulty that I could get him to 
converse about our intended hunt at all. Never¬ 
theless, he contrived to put in a sulky appear¬ 
ance early on Monday morning, and, “with much 
heartfelt reluctance be it said,” put his traps 
on board the stage, followed them himself, took 
a rather lugubrious leave of his friends, and 
started off much as though he were going to 
the gallows. 
KILLS BIG CATFISH WITH AXE. 
DeLong, Ky., Sept. 13.—Caught in the shallow 
water of the Big Sandy river and unable to make 
its way back to the Ohio, a 95-pound catfish, one 
of the veritable monarohs of the inland waters, 
met its fate above Offutt, Ky. 
It was slain by Marvin Crum, who drove it 
into a pool so shallow that he was able to strike 
it on the head with an axe. 
The presence of the great fish in shallow water 
had been known to rivermen for several days. 
Many plans were made for the capture of the 
monster, but while the weather was hot it was 
not deemed expedient to undertake the catch. 
The fish would probably have spoiled before it 
could have been dressed. Taking advantage of 
the low temperature Crum went out after this 
unusual quarry, and after an exciting half hour 
succeeded in landing it. 
