of those modern
palaces which, under the spells of the two master magicians, Art and
Wealth, are springing up on the soil of the New South to replace the
worn-out mansions of ante-bellum days.

"When I looked at Henrietta's house," continued Aunt Jane, "I thought
o' what Uncle Billy Bascom used to say. Uncle Billy's the kind that
can't enjoy this world for thinkin' about the next one. He's spent
his life preparin' for death, and it looks like it hurts him to see
anybody gittin' any pleasure out o' the things o' this world. Every
time any o' the Goshen folks'd put up a house that was a little bit
better than what Uncle Billy'd been used to, he'd shake his head and
say, 'Yes, Lord; folks can make theirselves so comfortable here on
this earth that they won't have a thought about gittin' a clear title
to a mansion in the skies.'

"And that house o' Henrietta's was enough to make anybody forget about
their mansion in the skies. Henrietta's havin' her heaven now, and
she'll have it hereafter, and Archibald, too. For the 'cares o' the
world and the deceitfulness o' riches' hasn't choked any o' the good
seed that's been sown in their hearts. How many young folks do you
reckon would think o' comin' down here and takin' a old woman like me
home with 'em, and treatin' her like a queen, and showin' her all the
sights in a place like Lexin'ton?

"Archibald named 'em all over to me, and Henrietta says, 'Now where do
you want to go first, grandma?' And I says: 'I want to see Henry
Clay's house. Take me there first, and I don't care whether I see any
o' the rest o' the sights or not.' So the next day Henrietta took me
to Ashland, the place where Henry Clay had lived, and I saw the bed he
slept in and the table he wrote on and the inkstand and the pen he
used. And I says to myself, 'I'm in Henry Clay's home. Henry
Clay!--the man I used to hear my father talk about when I was a young
gyirl--the man that'd rather be in the right than to be President.'
And I ricollected the time Henry Clay spoke in town and father went to
hear him, and when he got back home, mother asked him what kind of a
man Henry Clay was. And father says, says he, 'Henry Clay ain't a
man'; and mother laughed (she was used to father's way o' talkin'),
and says she, 'Well, if he ain't a man, what is he?' And father
studied a minute, and then he says, 'Do you ricollect the tongues o'
fire that descended on the apostles on the day of Pentecost?' Says he,
'If one o' th