never married. She told my mother once, cheerfully, that she guessed
she must be one of those born eunuchs of the spirit the Bible
mentions--it was intended for her, and she was glad of it, for it had
certainly saved her a sight of worry and trouble.

There is a cherished legend in our town that Major Appleby Cartwright
once went over to Savannah on a festive occasion and was there
joyously entertained by the honorable the Chatham Artillery. The
Chatham Artillery brews a Punch; insidious, delectable, deceptive, but
withal a pernicious strong drink that is raging, a wine that mocketh
and maketh mad. And they gave it to Major Appleby Cartwright in
copious draughts.

Coming home upon the heels of this, the major arose, put on his Prince
Albert, donned his top hat, picked a huge bunch of zinnias, and at
nine o'clock in the morning marched over to Miss Sally Ruth Dexter's.

We differ as to certain unimportant details of that historic call, but
we are in the main agreed upon the conversation that ensued.

"Sally Ruth," said the major, depositing his bulky person in a rocking
chair, his hat upon the floor, and wiping his forehead with a spotless
handkerchief the size of a respectable sheet, "Sally Ruth, you like
Old Maids?" Here he presented the zinnias.

"Why, I've got a yard full of 'em myself, Major. Whatever made you
bother to pick 'em? But to whom much hath more shall be given, I
suppose," said she, resignedly, and put them on the whatnot.

"Sally Ruth," said the major solemnly, ignoring this indifferent