Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

[For The Sunny South.] A RAT IN THE MEAL-TUB. BY LIGNUM YITJE, M.P.M.C. While Bitting one night in my old arm-chair, I heard, a* I thought, a strange noise somewhere; Laid down the stump of my “Peace-Maker” cigar; Then listened, and heard a very faint squeal. And concluded at once there was a rat in the meal. Now, the meal, I well knew, was kept in a tub, And to get the rat out would create a hub-bub; But with the aid of my dog, my daughter and wife, / got rid of the rat and the rat of his life. After a terrible muss, I accomplished it thus: Call np pup Phil and the old ratter Grant; Go, Maggie, quickly (now, don’t say you can’t), And tell Mr. Dibrell to send General Grant over; And, Sissie, you run and hold down the cover; Joe, whistle tip Phil,—he's a whelpish young churl, But he's not afraid of all the rats in the world. Ma, you keep quiet,—we’ll call on you when ready. Now, His, don’t raise the lid,—don’t be too heady, For you hear in the barrel he's floundering about, And doing his best all the time to get out. But here comes Phil, our splendid young ratter; And Grant, too—but hold him; he makes such a patter! We don't want the old cat—he’s certain to run. Now stop till I see what’s best to be done. Kate, you get the poker, and Bettie the cane,— Or, if she can’t find it, that stick in the lane. Make haste now,—it won’t do to be slow. Or the rat will escape; he’s trying, we know. Come over here, Maggie; I'll get you to stand Near the stone jar,—that's on your right hand;— And if he jumps out, stamp his head with your heel, And never stop stamping till he’s too dead to squeal. Let Sissie M. take her place near the wall. And be ready when I say “ Ready now, one and all,*' To put her foot down on that hole in the floor— Over there, Sissie—in the plank, near the door. Ma, you may come now, and stand over there,— You’ve always been willing my troubles to share; And as now there's a chance some eclat to make, A share of that, too, you are welcome to take. Ann you a broom-stick—you can handle it best— And like a good marksman be sure to take rest, That when he comes near you, by well-aimed whacks, You can lay the meal-stealer stone-dead in his tracks. Now for it, then! Are you all in your places? But the girls are all scared,—just look at their faces! To stand up Sissie M. is now* scarcely able. And #hen the rat jumps, shell make for the table. But we are in for it now, and with each to her duty, There’s not the least doubt we'll secure our booty. Raise up the cover little by little, and let us all see If he’d make a good roast for a heathen Chinee. Yes, he’s sitting there quiet, with his tail round his legs, And his c*ars standing straight like driven-in pegs. His eyes shine as brightly as polished jet beads, And his whiskers all moving as they do when he feeds. He has a little blood on the tip of his nose, And one leg is skinned clear down to his toes. Don’t hit him, Kate,—while in the barrel, I mean; For the meal as you see, is already unclean, And I don’t want (I say it more in anger than sorrow) Any part of a rat for my breakfast to-morrow. Now take off the cover,—let us give him a chance, Though his present surroundings do but little enhance An interview soon with his now absent friends. However, for that, we see much now depends. ' Now he jumps up, trying hard for the top. Stand by with the poker to give him a pop; For ten chances to one, he gets down on the floor, If you see him again for a year or two more. Hip! there he goes !—sick him, Phil—catch him—sick him, sir! Here, Grant!—take him—seize him—here.—here! There he is/—look out—hit him—now's your time, Ma! At him again!—strike him before he’s too far! Catch him, Phil—shake him!—I wan’t him to feel It's bad for his health to wallow in meal; And of all the mean places he’s seen 'neath the sun, A meal-tub's the meanest for a rat to have fun. Round and round the room, 'mid boxes, barrels and jugs— The dogs in full chase, as we’ve seen ducks chasing bugs— Went the rat, watched by each of the feminine reserves, Till he plunged out of sight into a box of preserves; But finding that here he would soon, come to grief, And eating preserves would afford no relief, With the strength he had left he quickly bounced out To find safer quarters, if elsewhere about;— Then w ith a l>ound from the floor— if passes belief— He plumped himself down in my barrel of beef. Up rushed little Phil, while the poker and sticks Were raised upon high to put in the best licks. Then the dog’s tail kept shaking, and poor ratty quaking From the cold bath of brine he was hurriedly taking; But quickly perceived, by the barrel deceived, He was taking more risk than before, he conceived: For besides being hunted by the best rat-dog in town, He must get out of that, or else he would drown. The brine had been gaged, and an egg it would swim ; But the rat soon discovered it was not gaged for him. So w’ith dashes and splashes, and strugglings to rise, He spurted some brine into little Phil's eyes. Thus time he secured, with Phil hors du combat, And we couldn’t help shouting, “Hurra for the rat!” In a second or less he leaped upon the chine, Having gained a sure footing, as not far ’neath the brine A shin of the beef had a place near the top, Which made it quite easy to take such a hop. He’d no sooner jumped than the poker and sticks Fell all round on the barrel like a thousand o* bricks. Then dresses were splashed and crockery smashed; And with the calico wetted, the wearers got fretted. To show you how wildly they made the attack, The one with the poker thumped Mag on the back; The broom-stick was wielded as never before, For it Hindered the knob off the pantry door. They fell back in order, but found the rat gone; Looked at their dresses—wished he’d never been born; But as he was born, and kicked up such a strife, Each one of them vowed he should forfeit his life. But the troubles of these old and young lasses Was unended yet; for a great jug of molssses Had received such a hard, such a terrible whack, That every drop of the stuff escaped through the crack, And had made a big puddle, spreading out very far— Quite as black as my hat and as sticking as tar. In dancing around, as in a reel when you begin it, Each one of the girls got their little feet in it. They were as statues at once, and for help ’gan to beg; For—horribile dictu! they could budge—not a peg! But with a strain on my muscles, my sinews and thew’S, I got them all out, with the loss of their shoes, Meantime little Phil on the stage reappears. With the shout of his master still ringing in his ears, Saying, ** Catch him, Phil—shake him,—/ want him to feel It's wrong for old rats to walloic in meal.** He rushed into the room, up to an old chair, And looked, if he spoke not, “What do you all here? Girls are all out o’ place. What a mess you have made! Let me go for him, for Tm not afraid! Don’t you see here?—Look at the spikes in my collar, As keen as long dirks and as bright as a dollar; And I very well know, if there’s a rat North or South, Which by no possible means I can kill with my mouth, My master has told me that rat to pursue,— Spring out my long spikes and stick the thing through. Or if from the chase I should get out o’ breath. Just show* him the spikes and scare him to death.” He pompously said farther, or seemed this to say: “ It is onl Y *>y chance I am with you to-day, For old master has loaned me to a man in Cuba; But I must catch you this rat before I go away.** Then his little eyes flashed, and forward he dashed Across the river of syrup and the crockery smashed, And lit on an old rag with all four of his paws, In a terrible hurry, but without the least cause. The thing jumped at was an old piece of cloth ; lay on the floor, all eaten by moth. _an old rebel flag, once a pelican's bed, Under which the poor rat had fled (for relief) When he took his last leap from the barrel of beef. But his race had here ended—his troubles all o’er. From a hole in his head from the knob of the door. Which caromed on him when Ma shot her cue. It was the queerest-killed rat that ever I knew. But Phil did not know the meal-stealer was dead. For he was wiping his eyes the last time it fled; And that the rat was beneath he could only suppose, Being led by the scent of his sensitive nose. He seized up the varmint; shook him this way and that; Then with a satisfied look, down by it he sat. As much as to say, “My mission’s fulfilled, For here is a rat that little Phil killed.** his and shaking it heartily. “I’m mighty glad folks’ clean, white bed. Bless God! he look (xwcdg TO f OIIU IX DO \ IIF \ TS to see you. I thought you were dead and gone like a load o’ chareoal in a snow-bank. He ' bUxlithol oI’AO. to heaven long ago. - ’ couldn’t sleep nary wink.— now he couldn’t. I “ .No. thank the good Lord. I’m still a kicking: tell you. Mass George, colored folks ain’t study- [We have received a great many questions which cannot twon t be long fore I be dar. bless God !” in’ ’bout no sick. " All dey want is plenty to be answered in this issue, as we cannot devote more than kow are '.V 11 getting along. Aunt Sil- eat, somethin'to w ar on dere backs and some- one column to this interesting department. They will all ' e - V VrT 6 ‘ whar to sleep. Dev wants deir own houses, deir be attended to, however. Each enquirer shall have a ‘ Only middlin’. Mass George. I has a mitey own churches, own schools: and if de railroads respectful hearing.] hard time, like most of de colored ones: but I give urn good cars and keep de drunken, rowdy scuffles along somehow, and somehow-or-uther I white folks outen urn. nigger be satisfied. Poor Newnax Girls.—We have mislaid the letter of ice about the come out ‘ ’TIS MASS GEORGE,—’FORE DE LORD, ’TIS ! YOU SUSAN, RUN HERE !** ’Twas a pantomime, lie., for it couldn’t be true, Unless he was a nice little dog and a door-handle, too, And that Phil was a pup I very well knewr, And know I was right in taking this view. Now, what think you?—now, don’t you, too? So I said: “Phil, you are a deceiver, as often before,— That rat was killed by the knob of the door.” But he proudly pranced out, his tail tightly curled, As if he*d just killed the last rat in the world. And the dogmatic fraud w*as rendered complete When he laid the dead rodent at the ratter Grant’s feet; For Grant had been watching, I ought here to say, And had taken some part in the rat-chasing fray; But w’hen Phil brought him out, all bleeding and dead, He grinned his delight, then homeward he fled. Richmond, Virginia. [Reported for The Sunny South.] OLD AUNT SILVEY ON SWIVIL RIGHTS. A Sensible View of the Situation by a Good Old Colored Woman of Atlanta. poor niggers have hard time. Dey don’t know | de white folks, and he want to work fur um; nutfin, ain’t got nuffin. and dey ain’t never gwine - - to have nnffin, cause dey don’t know how to save. If dey scuffles and gits a half dollar, dey ain’t nigh easy till dey gits rid of it. Now, dat’s de God’s troof.” “The white people are all glad, too. Aunt Sil- vey, that you are free; and wherever they find a colored man honest, industrions, and trying to do something for himself, they are ready to assist him. They hated it mighty bad at first, about the negroes being set free, because well-nigh all the money they had was in negro property. But they are perfectly satisfied now; and so iong as the colored people behave themselves properly, we will all get along in the South as nicely and j trouble dey’s de ones what makes it; but de sen many questions answer them in our next issue. “Subscriber,” Palmetto, asks: “What is the best book on etiquette?” . . . We are not pre pared to say. There is a good little work entitled “Book of Decorum;” also one called “ Habits ot Good Society,” by Carlton; and there is quite a small work called “Ladies’ Book of Etiquette.” These can be had of Phillips & Crew, in this city. Miss Alice D. asks “If India-rubber gloves are made, and where they can be had ? When the young men want me to play ‘Upon Honor’ with the young ladies that do nothing but read your paper, I want my hands to look as white as theirs.” . . . Beautiful gloves are manufac- j tured of India-rubber, but we do not know where they can be had this side of New York. Soap and water are sometimes good for whiten ing the hands. Joe (Palmetto) asks: “Is it proper fora young man to retain the hand of a young lady when going in church? Some say that it is not, hut I have been doing so, and could not see why it was not right. Have noticed your answers to correspondents, and admiring them very much, j I now come to you for your advice in the above matter. • . . It is not proper, hut, on the con trary, very improper, unless she be an invalid and unable to walk without assistance. It is proper for you to take her hand and assist her up the steps, since ladies’ dresses frequently cause them to fall; but on reaching the floor, the necessity ceases, and you should then release her hand. J. I. C. (Boxley) says: “I have recently be come greatly infatuated with the childish beauty of a charming little damsel—the belle of the community in which she resides. She refuses to open a correspondence, pleading she has not finished her school-days. I am a young member of the ‘legal fraternity,’ and believe I could contract marriage with this fair damsel. Query— Would it not divert me to ft certain extent from my studies ? And what do you think of my in tended, judging from the description I give.” . . . She is a sensible girl, and did just right in refusing to write to you. You had better run Blackstone a while longer and wait till you have taken a good position at the bar before giving yourself np to Cupid’s freaks. Let the girl fin ish her education anyway. Minnie (Dawson) asks: “If I have an engage ment with, and am walking out with a young man, and another young man riding drives up to us and asks me to ride with him, can I with propriety ask the gentleman with whom I am walking to excuse me, and leave him to take the ride ?” . . . By no means. It would be an un pardonable breach of etiquette. The gentleman with whom you are walking has a prior claim upon your company, and it would he exceed ingly impolite in yon to leave him and accompany any one else, even if he, through politeness, should consent. The fact that the other gentle man may be riding does not change the case at all. Should you be anxious to ride with the young man, you should have an engagement to that effect. Infelix (Fort Gaines) says: “I am a young man not quite twenty-one, of ordinary appear ance; not wealthy but possessed of enough of this world’s goods to be in easy circumstances. I love a young lady fifteen years of age, beauti ful, amiable and highly accomplished, who does not love me. She says that as yet her heart is free—that she esteems me as a friend and cannot T . ,, ,, think of me in any other light. What ought I to I tell you. Mass ; do? „ _ _ . You should remember that faint and if dey treat him right and pay him good, poor nigger be happy. He know he got no lamin’, and he have to work hard all his life and den die and have nuffin. ?wTv , ifri.dit g ” r ftin 1 b ° therin he hea<i wid de8e heart never won fair lady. The girl is young A , , - ,, .. , , . , I yet—too young to marry. By the time she is “But are not some of them disposed to test ' £ ld enou | h to & U in ^ ve> have e8 tab- ?hite f lks "’ 8ee 7 CaD ^ UP lished fo * y°™ elf a good character, and still mi oiks. _ , . have enough of goods and good things to be f w .r"'' * rf^i uT S ° me ^ comfortable, your chances, no doubt, will be foolish folks m every crowd, like black sheep in much better t £ an now . There are but few in _ every flock. Bout de cities you know dere s ^ on record of a fellow - 8 failin to capture always some young bloods what thinks dey s j woman wben he ha8 been earnest and constant better n tother colored folks, and if dere s any j ^. be j t.rnilhlp ilpv’s whnt TnuIrDfi if* fill! rift can. ® sible colored folks is down on nm, and dey’s soon fotched around right. Lazy, triflin’ set.” In every Southern home where there were negro slaves before the war, the white and col ored children were raised together, played to gether, ate “pot-licker” together, went a-fishing together, hooked water-melons together, and of course became strongly attached to each other. And there was always some good and faithful old black mammy or grand-mammy who did as she pleased, talked as she pleased, and was a sort of general “boss ” over the whole concern. She always talked loud and blunt, and at all times of the day could be heard bawling at some body, and would frequently keel over the little ones, black or white, or start at them with switches to see them run. But all liked her; every one let her do and say w'hat she pleased, and paid but little attention to her everlasting scoldings. But her ideas upon all subjects were always good, and the mistress always went to her for advice in times of trouble. When freedom came, and all the negroes con cluded that they must leave their old homes, this old colored auntie lingered longer than any, perhaps; but she, too, left after awhile, and many a tear has been shed in the South at the separa tion between the mistress and these old favorite darkeys. And who does not remember with fondness the old Aunt Sally, Aunt Kachel, Aunt Laveeny, Aunt Jane, Aunt Sarah, or Aunt Dinah, of their childhood’s home? And wherever we meet them, even now, we are instinctively drawn towards them. Such was the case with George Middlebrooks, the son of a once wealthy Middle Georgia farmer, as he passed through this city a few days since on his way from Texas to visit the old home stead which he left soon after the war. In stroll ing leisurely, hat in hand, through a portion of the city inhabited mostly by the colored people, he heard a familiar voice bawl out with a terrible crash at some unfortunate little one, and imme diately stopped to see the fearful thunderer. She saw him stop, and looked at him with a dreadful scowl upon her ebony countenance; but in a few moments her familiar old features began to relax as George advanced towards her, and she ejaculated to herself: “Bless de good Lord, if I don’t b’lieve dat’s Mass George!” Georgjfe advanced nearer, and a dubious sort of smile illuminated her face as she asked: “Ain’t dat yon. Mass George? Tis, too—’fore de Lord it is ! Yon Susan, run here !” “Why, Aunt Silvey, is it possible that this is you ?” said George, taking her rough old hand in old cheeks as George moved off. quietly as one family. “ Dat’s de troof, Mass George. I b’lieves every " word of it. But de colored folks is ign’ant and thinks de white folks is agin nm, and wants to put um back in slavery agin; and den furein folks comes along and tells nm so, and tells um not to have anything to do wid de white folks; and so we’s had a heap o’ trouble.” “But that is all a mistake, Aunt Silvey; and the colored people have already found out that those who tell them so are always after office, and want to get the black man’s vote. Every single one of them has either had an office or tried very hard to get it.” “Dat’s so! De good Lord know it’s so.” “Yes, yon can rely upon what I tell you.” “Bless God! don’t I know de very night you was horned ? ’Course I do. And when I thinks of old times, and think of old Massa and Missus, I gits very sad; and sometimes when I thinks of how we’s all scattered, my old eyes flows wid tears. Massa and Missus both in heaven now, and I wants to be dar wid um,—God knows I does.” “That’s right, Aunt Silvey; we all have our troubles here, and should try to live so we may I always find ’em next day.” meet in a better place. j ^ MA x who has a scoldin Dat s de doctrine. Jean K. (Marietta) says: “Seeing so many in structive answers to correspondents in your col- “ Well. Aunt Silvey, if all the colored people ; urnns, I want you to please give me advice. I had some of your good sense there would never am a young lady twenty years old; am not very be any more trouble. But I must leave you; so ugly, and have fallen deeply in love with a good-bye,” said George, as he handed her a five- young man. I think he loves me, or at least he dollar bill and shook her by the hand. has told me so, and I nnthonghtedly wounded “God bless you, Mass George ! Poor old Silvey 1 his feelings by laughing at his jealousy. He is ain’t long for dis world. She wants to meet you very jealous, and so am I. He has been mad at in heaven wid Massa and Missus;” and as she i me some two or three months. I see him almost spoke, great tear-drops trickled down her rugged every day, and the last time I saw him, he WIT AND HUMOR. An era unknown to woman —the middle ages. How to treat a wife—Treat her to a new dress. slightly bowed to me. Now, what I want to know is, how shall I win him back ? I am very unhappy, and can never love any one else. I am willing to make any amends he would hear, but don’t know how to go about it,” ... If yon gave the offense, as you say, and did it nn thonghtedly, yon should let your beau ideal knoifr that yon are ready to make acknowledg- “Cant you make any allowance for a mans ments; and if he is not a heartless case, it will being drunk.-' “Certainly, said the judge; : be an eaS y matter to make things all right a g a in. “I ll allow you thirty days m the work-house. B. B. (Quitman) says: “They tell me you are “little and ugly;” but if you are, The Sunny A ferryman was asked by a timid lady whether any persons were ever lost in the river over "“““r “8^ oul “ you are, m bunny which he rowed. “Oh! no,” said he; “we ^outh does not represent you, for it is big and pretty. VV e all wait anxiously each tune for its . smiling pages. But my motive is not to flatter, “Dat’s de doctrine. Mass George; and dat’s | to •mYnauirv after her health said she wasTcdtv b . U * information. I see in the papers what I wants'” exclaimed the „nod olrl soul 1 t0 inquiry alter nei ueaiuisaiasne was pretty that a bill passed the House of Representatives 1“ in gTr 1„JKtg«h,rl if*. .bo.; ' t he°mLt"h'■ “ * "“. {“<•«<« (“H«'“* *»« ““!“™ ready to shout | in tne 0 I am sorry for them.) Now, people call me an “But. Aunt Silvey, what do you all think of , A ROOR >' ou f n « man remarks that the only ad- old maid (and I reckon I am), and I am terribly civil rights? You know the Yankees are trying I ™ ehe « ets A 10 ' 11 capitalists is to live within afraid they will tax the old maids next, and that to make you believe they think so much of you | Lls m . c ° me ’. the . dlfficult > Le ex P erl ‘ would “? ver do ’ y° u , know ll teke8 * U , tke that they want you to be upon a social as well as ences 18 to llve wlthout an mcome ' 8Ur P 1 « 8 the - Y «“ f® 4 *° keep a 8 *pply ofhfiir. political equality with the whites.” i At a printer’s festival lately, the following complexion and the like. Now, dear Sunny “Lord bless you, chile, de swivil rights ain’t i toast was offered: “Woman-second only to the ! Sou A H ’>’° u , hv ® m , th .® ! Gate and lf ® v ® r troublin' de colored folks. We's done foun’ out i press in the dissemination of news ! ’ The ladies such a bill should be introduced, I want you to long time ago dat dere ain’t no sense in all dem are yet undecided whether to regard this as a com- exert your influence for us,—at least for awhile, carryin’s on. Poor nigger think one time he pliment or otherwise. as my prospects on the placid sea of matrimony was‘gwine to git somethin’ for votin’. Some A boy writing of toads says: “Todes is like are a little flattering just now. Will you advise think he gwine to git lands and houses to live in; | frogs, but more dignity, and, wen vou come to me 10 re ™ am 8e \*T? US ^? 1, F 1 ?/’i ?*t d , taX , atl0n ’ but bless God ! he ain’t found but one way yit think of it, frogs is wetter. The ‘warts which or . acce P t a wealthy but bald-headed widower to git house and land, and dat’s to work for ’em todes is noted for can't be cured, for they is mln ( ’ ,s , tk< f ® responsibilities . I am not and pay big price. “But don’t the colored people like to vote ?” “ What dey keer for votin’? Somebody have to start big lie every time ’lection come round, to git um 'cited and oneasy to make um vote, and cronic; but if I couldn't git well Ide stay in the Particularly anxious to marry, but don’t think I , It & J ; could pay a tax of twenty-five or twenty dollars house. pay a tax of twenty- . on account of single-blessedness. . . . You Thackeray tells us of a woman begging alms have been misinformed about my personal ap- from him, who, when she saw him put his hand pearance. I have quit that way I had of being what good do it do um? Nobody keer for poor kjJJ Yo^aVl "ouV life!”’ But‘when 8 hf Sly 1 “t 1n ° f W noor^igger h^to^or^ha^a^ev^r ^Sd de pulled ° nt his ™nff-box, she immediately added: sen^tioTabont toxing the bachetore haTe^tended man he^vote fo^dome^ot de^fflEce^wharhe & makes “And never overtake ye !” to the old maids;, ancf if they become excited, we money widout work, but don’t none of it rattle Take the sage advice of Mr. Weller, who shall have a splutter sure enough. But as we in poor nigger’s pocket. Colored folks been spelled it with a A : “\en you re a married man. are the special champion of that much-abused thinkin’ ’bout dis long time. I tells um to go bamivell you 11 understand a good many things class we just put our foot down right here and ^rn as y° u d° n * understand now, but vether it s boldly announce that no law taxing them shall ' ir'n-ji . V1IT — little, as the charity boy said ven he got to the and blow each legislator into smithereens before colored ueoule ‘ with the'whites in end of the alphabet, is a matter of taste. I think it shall be done. Glad to know, however, that ' it isn’t.” our friend here has such flattering prospects in fiffids^datWe^indo’^ votin’ de^-understan'. 0 ’™ worth while goin through so much to learn so ever he passed. We ll upset the capitol building “But the mix up the “Lor - bless* vou. ^hUe,'^colored folks ain’t “Now, young people,” said a professor of nat- th ® matnmonial hne; but don t be frightened studying' ’bout no sich foolishness. Dere’sdone ural history to his class, “now then as to hens. Int ® the tk f , f ® ar ° f . vl’ find been too much mixin’ np of de white and col- A hen has the capacity of laying just six hun- RnIess the fel1 d th . e - bl11 t/ww/fi^ fi d ored folks already; and I’se ’stonished at de dred eggs and no more; and she finishes the job bet *er remMii ael^astainiixg, wh et her he Yankees. Wouldn’t I look nice settin’ np in de in just about five years. Now. what is to be ^y]lit*)le-^P<>nsiibilta.es or not It might be white folks' parlor! What I want to go dar fur? done with her after that?” “Cut ofl her head cheaper to pa j the tax. I would suggest that Make me feel like mud-cat in de fryin'-pan. and sell her for a spring chicken!” exclainAd yon buy less hair and complexion, and sav Think of big, black nigger lyin’ np In white an urchin whose father dealt in poultry. money for emergencies.