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Sweet Marjoram

Sweet Marjoram image
Parent Issue
Day
22
Month
November
Year
1878
Copyright
Public Domain
OCR Text

A garden inclosed is my sister, my sppnae; thy plnts are an orchard oí pfeaáant friiits: eaniphire with spikenard, spikenard andsaffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees nf fr;i;ikijH:(-n.se: nyrrh li all thocMef spicesf which 1 haví! liíií np for thee. O my. ferfoTeí.- 'Sotomoit Song iv., 12, 13, 14: vit., 13. Margery's spice-garden was not exactly like the one plaaited i'or Egypt's dattg&tea: by the great Jewish Sultan, tliongh the iplants wére, indeed, an orchard of pleasant fnii.tSj coiisifiiig of ;i hedge-like yow of onrraiit bushes and a half-dozen gnarled, stiiuted .trece, that Bi Hutchius Huid liore the best " squiitches " in all'tlie townshijJ. The grouná-iiot ocenpied by the fruit wa laid out in orderly little beds, filled with " yarbs." Thoroughwort and motherwort, for the inftision of bitter teas, to be drunk religiqusly in the spring of the year", a penitehtial ceremonial ingly lianded down from the cornmemoration of the Passover, by the eating of bitter herbs. Other medicinal plants, mure grateful to the palate - ■■mint and pepperrnint, panayFqyal, cat'nip And hoarhoimd - grew near by, vith árnica for woundi! and bruises, lavender for the linen chcst, coriander and caraway for the good housewife's cookies, anise and saffron for spasmy babies, rosemary for perfume, thyine and sage for home-iuade " sássingers," tansy for batler puddings, with 'snert mild aromaties as fennel and dill for the gentle stimulus to mental exertion needed by the ruminating old deacons, as they listened to the words of the good minister, which drifted down upon his hearers as soothingly as poppy-leaves. As Margery. sortéd her. herbs, that brigkt October day, passing some of them through coarse wire sieves, rubJ bing thetn tine, and packeting them away in neatly-labeied bags, while others, not so dry, were tied ín bunches and hung from the brown rafters of the attic, a stranger would have noticed a certain appropriateness between the girl and her surronndings. Her presence seemed to diffuse just such a .faint, pleasant perfume. Both the dricd bunches of herbs and her pale clieek reminded you that, though faded now. there had been bloom there once. You feít thát not very lóng ago she liad seen Juue, with sunlight, and song, warrath ánd perfume and life, and, thmfgh it had all gone from her as completely as from the withered leaves in the little paper bags, hpr mission, like theirs, was to do good, to give ease to the. suffering, and even a mild spioc, a chcerful flavor and perfume, to all thal was monotonous and dintasteful abou,1 her. Margery was not ealled an old maic' by the school chilflren. There was no' a gray thread in all her wealth of au burn hair, she did not arates in an tiquated style, or keep a oat, or drink tea, or belong to the sewing so ciety, or show any of the usua characteristics of old maids. The coz little parlor looked out upon the spiet garden from a bay window, which Mar gery had had built for her geraniums and the flowers and the open piano - f o Margery was a music teacher - gave the room a very pleasant air. Her music kopt up with the times, like her dresses. Both were always modern and pretty. She went to all the partios and musicales (and did not go alone, either). Slie helped to get up all the fairs and festivals and tableaus. Society at Baxter's, the little town where she lived, would have been at a standstill -without her. In short, slie was not an old maid at all, but only an old young lady. Margery was never slighted, and yet it was probably ten years since she had an offer. She had had her love story, of course ; but that was fifteen years ago, and everybody at Baxter's, including Margery herself, wonld have been very much surprised to have heard that she was going to be married. And yet everybody and Margery were destined to exactly that surprise. If you had asked the people at Baxter's for Margery's love story, you would probably have receivedtwo different versions. Some would have said that it was Jack Bogardus, and some that it was Fred Frothingham ; but all would have agreed that she had been "disappointed." Margery's story, so far as she knew it - for Margery herself did not know all of her story - was this : Jack Bogardus was an orphan and her cousin. He had been adopted by lier father, and they had grown up together. But Jack was a willful boy. Margery's father did not understand him, and at last he ran away to California. Margery knew that he was going, and she did not discourage him. It seemed to her that this was really best for all. Jack had promised to come back some day, when he had "made kis pile," and claim her for his wife; if sho would only wait. Margery had waited, her father had died, and she was left alone. That same year Jack wrote that he had prospered and that he was coming home. The same mail brought her a little box, containing a ring of California gold. It came on Thanksgiving day, and the day had ever since been a sad one for Margery ; for, thongh Jack came back to the village, and others saw him,he did not even calí upon her, and he returned to the West the next day, without leaving any message for her. There had been no explanation since. It was still the same cruel mystery that it had been fifteen years ago. She did -not even know at the time that he was in town, for she was in great perplexity and trouble. Fred Forthingham, the son of the wealthiest man at Baxter's, had been one of the first to enlist when the war of the great Kebellion broke out, and it was now the second year of the struggle. On the eve of a battle, not knowing whether he would survive the terrible work of the next day, Fred wrote Margery a letter, telling her that he loved her and asking her, if lic lived to come home, to be his wife. Margery replied, telling him as kindly as she could how impossible it was. Thi letter Fred never recived, for he was wounded in the battle, his father - í- tim. and he was broughr 1-y"1v to Baxter 's the day Deiore me arnval ot Margery's cousin. The journey threw him into a fever, and when he was laid upon his own bed, with his mother bending over him, he did not know her, . but raved deliriously about Margery, calling her by all the sweet names that his disordered mind could supply. Mrs. Frothingham imagined, from this, that Margery and her son were engaged. The possibility that Fred could love and not be loved in return never entered the head of the doting littlewoman, and so she wrote to Margery, calling her "my dear daughter," and begging her to come to Fred, for her presence alone could cure him. Margery had no mother or friend to consult, and ta her the only thing to be done seemeí to be to confide in Mrs. Frothingham, and, taking a little basket of poppy-leaves, to make a pillow for the sufferer, she hurried to the Frothingham mansion. The girl who admitted her told her that Mrs. Frothingham was tired out from watching all night with her son, and had lain down to try to take a little rest, but had left word before doing so that, if Margery came, slie was to "be shown directly to Mr. Fied's room. Margery drew back I at this announeement; but just at that moment the village doctor called to her from the head of the stairs, requesting her to help him administer some medicine to his patiënt, as hewas quite wild. Margery did as the doctor directed, and Fred received his medicine tractably from her hand. A few moments later tfrs. Frothingham came in ; the doctor went away, and she stumbled througli lier explanation, she liardly knew how, and leit the fond mother tearful and indignant at her obduracy. It was not until weeks after that she learned that Jack had been in town on the very day. when she had been so faithful to him, and had not even called upon lier. This was all that Margery knew. She had waited faithfully for some explanation ; had written to him several times ; but her letters came back to lier through the Dead Letter Office, showing that Jack had never received them, and that his present residence was not known at his former address. She never doubted Jack through it all. She was true, and she feit snre that he was, too. There was some strange mystery between them. It might never be cleared np in this world ; but it would be sure to be in heaven, and they would have all eternity to understand one anoLher in. Margery could not grow old and sour, for there is always youth and sweetness where there is hope. Margery was sorting her herbs in the sunny drying-room, which the school children called Miss Margery's herbarium, when she was called to the door by Bina Hutchins. Bina drove a provisión cart, supplied in part at the shire town, fivo miles away, and supplying in iifi circuit as many villages. " Mornin', Miss Margey," said the old man, cheerily. " I'm round taking my orders for turkeys for Thanksgiving. Nigh about disposed of the whole flock now. MÍ3S Frothingham bought Suleiman Pasha; they took Achmet Pasha at the hotel; I sóld Ismail Pasha and Mukhtar Pasha at the Corners ; and the restaurant keeper at the junction spoke for Mehemet Ali last summer, when he saw him struttin' about in our pastur'. I feel as if I owed a sight to yon, Miss Margery, for naming them turkeys for me. " Tlio heft of the peoplo in this section are interested in the war - leastways they pertend to be ; and when I showed 'em the names o' them turkeys on my order-book, there was een a'most a scrimmage to see who'd get his name down opposite the high-soundingest of 'em. Dickson, the restaurant keeper, hez it printed on the posters he'll hang I in the station on Thanksgiving day: ' Meliemet Ali beheaded. this morning. This great Turk to be raffled for at our free lunch.' And Miss Frothingham told me she was going to put hor turkey's name into all her invitations. She showed me oue of tlie menoos that that young lady who is stayin' there painted for her on white satin. She's printed Suleiman Pasha in what she calis Turkey red, with guns and moons and little cupidses, in turbans and baggy trousers all around the border. They do say Fred Frothingham's going to marry her. She's some sort of relation to bis fust wife. I say, Miss Margery, it seenis kinder curas to me there shud be so many Generáis in Turkey by the name of Pasha. The only way I kin account fur it is that it must have been the name of the last Sultan. They say that the Sultans have wives enough to fill a female seminary, and that the Sultan's crack regiment is made of his own sons. I don't know how I should have managed about naming my turkeys if it hadn't a-been for the Pasha family. A whole brood of turkeys came after you sent me that list of names, an' I called 'em Constantinoijle Pasha, an' Bagdad Pasha, an' Bosphorus Pasha, an' one on 'em Jerky-nek-off Pasha, though my wife said that was kind of mixin' things, ftir it seemed to her that Jerky-nek-off sounded more Rooshan than Turkey. " I did very well with the whole flock exceptin' the Sultan, the very biggest j and gamest feller of all. 'LI weigh twenty-eight pounds easy, an' tailfeathers enough to make half a dozen handsome fans. I prided myself on the Sultan, but I'm going to lose money on him. You see the ladies of the Methodist church at B'thesdy Springs hed come to the conclusión that the tabernacle, though it was agood enough place for thesummer boarders to git religión in, was too windy and chilly a place to get iip any sort of religious warmin' during the winter: an' they voted to have a fair I about Thanksgiving time to raise money ' to build a chapel. Well, after they'd engaged the Sultan of me, an' advertised him in all the papers as one of the attractions, what'd they do but conclude they couldn't afford to take him unless I'd dónate him. The idee ! When I'd been fattening him np all summer expressly for them, an' declined him to Miss Frothingham and Mr. Dickson, who'd either on 'em have given a good price for him ! And the most aggravating thing about it is that Eider Dusenbury has sold 'em his 6-year-old lame gobbler, and that every one that tackles him will think it's the Sultan, and my turkeys will lose their reputation. "I declare now, Miss Margery, the idee just strikes me that the Sultan is lust the turkey for you. It would please me fust rato for you to have the best bird in my lot. You must wear out a sight of wing a-dusting, you're so neat ; and the Sultan's are strong enough to last a year. I'll throw off a shillin', seeing it's you, and take lialf out in dicker. all the sweet majorum you can spare. T here's allus a cali for it about this season." Margery had stood, while the old man was talking, beneath the little porch, whose pillars had been lifted out of the ground by the strong old vines that twisted. about them in such snaky contortions. An amused smile had flickered on her face as she listened. "But, Bina," she expostulated, "the Sultan is entirely too large for a Thanksgiving dinner for only poor little me." "I didn't know but you might have company," suggested Bina. "Tlia old people from the Town House haveirt had a regular Thanksgiving dinner since the one you gave them." "Mrs. Dusenbury told me," replied Margery, "that whatever is left from the church festival to be sent there, so that they are provided for this year. However, I will take the Sultan. You may shut him up in the dog-kennel. We haven't kept a dog since Oousin Jack went away. And you may have my whole stock of sweet marjoram ; for I shall not kill the Sultan this year, and perhaps I shall give him away." And Bina drove away with the sweet marjoram, leaving Margery peering admiringly into the Sultan's prison. All this time Jack was coming nearer and nearer, to help her celébrate Thanksgiving, for Jack had his story, too. He had been unfortunate ever since his return to California. Everything had gone wrong. And he did not care, for wealth was nothing to him without Margery. He had come back that autumn years ago to claim her. As he stepped from the cars, the flrst person whom he met was the village doctor, who shook hands with him pleasantly and offered him a ride. "What is the news, doctor?" vas Jack's first question. "Everything is about as usual," replied the physician. "Let me see. Fred Frothingham was a friend of jours. Was he not? He has come back from the war, wounded; bat I guess we will pull him through. The sweet face of his little nurse would make any man well, I should think, even if had not the luck to be engaged to her, which Fred has." " What, Fred engaged ? " asked Jack, " And to whom?" " Why, to your Cousin Margery, to be sure. I thought you would know of it." " Doctor, are you sure of this ? " asked Jack, a little unsteadily. " Of course I am. Mrs. Frothingham told me ; and I have even more positivo proof, for I have just left the house, and Miss Margery was nursing the young man." Af ter that Jack stayed inBaxter'sonly long enough to see, from the door of the little shop opposite, Margery taking leave of Mrs. Frothingham, at the head . of the great flight of stone steps. Then he shut his sore heart np witliin an iron will, and went back to California. The years that followed were a long, dreary 'dcsert in his life. Perhaps God permita us to live through such years of blank n'oss and weariness to show us by contrast the oxceeding preciousness of the joy Ho has in store for us. And so Jack lived until the antumn of which we have; been speaking. Then all his misfortunes seemed to culminate. He could nowhere flnd employment, and he was very poor. As a last resort, he accepted the position of bartender in a saloon. He was new to the business, and the proprietor procoeded to give him some instructions. The veterau in drinks flrst concocted a mint-julep, after some infallible recipe of his own. "There!" said he. "Try that, young man, and own up that you never tasted anything like it in your life." "I would rather you would taste and see if it is right, sir," replied Jack. A proposition readlly complied with by the compounder of intoxicating beverages, and follo-wed by a frightful scène of choking and expectoration. "There is something wrong about the mint," he sputtered ; and then, examining the pail of green sprays upon his counter, lie exclaimed : " Blessed if that stupid market-woman hasn't left me sweet marjoram, instead of spoarmint ! " The word sweet marjoram rocalled to Jack the dear girl for whom it always seemed to him that the little plant must have been named. What would she have thonght of his present occupation ? And then and there he resigned his position as bartender, obtaining from lus would-be employer the little bouquet of sweeii marjoram and pressing it between the leaves of his neglected Bible. But now he had nothing to look to for subsistence, and he stroüed disconsolately toward the depot, wondering what would be the next scène in the strange drama. The train from the mountains was just in, and, springing from it, Jack was surprised to see his old friend, Fred Frothinghan. The two young men greeted each other pleasantly. Fred said that he had been spending the summer in California, and had invested in a fruit farm, which he hoped to visit once in two years, and that he was now in seareh of some one to keep it for him. "I am the very man you want," cried Jack, impulsively. And then, as a sudden thought struck him, he asked: ''Shall you bring your wife with you, when you come, Fred? " "My wife died five years ago," replied Fred, gravely. Jack staggered as though he had been struck. "Margery dead!" he exclaimed. "Margery!" reiterated the other, in surprise. "My wife was Rose Bateman. I would not teil every one, Jack ; but your Cousin Margery refused me, and alter I met Eose I was not sorry for it." And so it was settled that Jack should keep the fruit farm for his friend. "There is a very pretty cottage on it," said Fred, "and, with al} those pears and grapes, you will soon be a rich man." He was surprised that Jack was not willing to onter upon his duties at once, but the young man insisted on purchasing a ticket to Baxter's with the advance money which Fred gave him. And this was how it happened that there was a Thanksgiving dinner that year at Margery's, and that the Sultan left his prison in the kennel, and was decapitated on the same evening with his Generáis of tho of t-repeatcd name of Pasha. "Dear me ! " said Margery, in dismay, as she dresscd the turkey, "and to think that, among all my herbs. I haven't a sprig of sweet marjoram for the stuffing." " But I have," replied Jack, as he brought forward his Bible, with the litThe tears stood in"]fargëry's êyes"as"ïfe told their story, and I do not think one of the precious leaves would have been used in the Sultan's stuffing had she not thought that nothing was too good for her wedding dinner. Fred Frothingham was at the wedding. " And now you can uïiderstand," said Jack to him, " why I was so anxious to come East. Even in a land flowing with milk and honey one may long for cold water, and all your orchard of pleasant fruits could not make me for get a little garden of herbs." "And you wanted to transplant one of its flowers to the Pacific eoast?" queried Fred. "Whatflower?" asked Margery, unconsciously. A peal of laughter ran around the table, and Jack passed up his plate (for Margery had insisted on carving the Sultan herself), with the demure request, "My dear, if you please, I wil take Sweet Marjoram."

Article

Subjects
Old News
Michigan Argus