Jonas Lee [pp. 33-39]

Jonas Lee.
habits were as precise and as punctual as
the ticking of his old hall clock. He rose
at five and took an early walk, no matter
what the weather. At seven he breakfasted,
and spent the morning in his house seated
by the fireside, or if it were pleasant weather,
in his garden, often turning his hand to the
care of the old-fashioned'flowers which
grew so luxuriantly for the old man. In
the afternoon he went to the village inn, to
read the papers and drink his ale. Here
certain old fellows, who were his most in timate companions in youth, were admitted
to his conversation and friendship. A rare
sight it must have been to see them over
their ale, often mellowed by liquor, but re strained by the sobriety of Jonas, who
rarely drank deep, and by a certain awe of
him, which they shared with the whole vil lage. Jonas used to seek his cottage at
dusk, and after tea his time was spent in ru minations by the fire, occasionally varied
by the perusal of sundry old volumes, which
formed his sole library. At ten precisely
he retired, but not until he had brewed and
drank a glass of whiskey punch. Of these
same punches strange stories were told.
The favored few who from time to time,
were admitted to participation in them,
averred that they transcended all known
drinks, and were with such consummate
delicacy and skill concocted, as to fill the
favored taster with a mellowness superior to
the highest gratification over any other
drink, and to be rivaled by no other sensa tion. Indeed, the state in which his guests
came home after these convivial bouts was
such as to warrant their story; and the ex treme eagerness with which they availed
themselves of further invitations served to
strengthen the belief in Jonas's skill.
Such for many years was Jonas's life. He
was a solitary man, and seemed always to be
in a serious, though not melancholy, frame
of mind. As the expiration of his annuity
approached, he evinced a greater energy, as
though the prospect of his' death, in which
he never ceased to believe, was a pleasure to
him. He unobtrusively made many preparations for it. After the events which I am
about to chronicle, were past, it was reported
that he had purchased a coffin and had selected a site for a grave. Certain it is that
he in many ways showed expectation of a
change. He arranged for the sale of his
cottage, and made presents to his few remaining friends of such articles of property
as he could dispense with, without immediate inconvenience. All this time he continued to appear the same robust, vigorous
man as before, and nothing beyond the
whiteness of his locks denoted the approach
of old age.
Finally the end of the year was upon him;
his little fortune was all spent, save the portion set apart for funeral expenses, and a
small sum which would suffice to discharge
his bills for provisions and fuel during the
last few months. He was rather surprised
to observe no diminution of his physical
powers, but even that failed to shake his belief in his approaching death. In his own
mind he had settled that the end of the year
was to be the end of his life, and he made
preparations accordingly. On the last day
of the year he solemnly invited two old
friends of his to his cottage that evening;
they were no whit less eager to come than
usual, and eight o'clock saw them all three
gathered in Jonas's little best room. His
guests were so old as to be almost childish,
and their gentle simplicity formed a striking
contrast to his sober and thoughtful demeanor.
Never before did Jonas brew such punch.
Never was sweeter sugar, hotter water, more
highly flavored lemons, or whisky of more
delicate aroma and genial strength. Late
into the night the carouse was prolonged,
while the old clock deliberately ticked away
the fast fleeting hours of the passing year.
A little before midnight the party broke up
and Jonas stood in his doorway and watched
his two guests stagger away homeward. He
1887.]
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