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W. F. SMITH, Publisher.
VOLUME IX.
THE MINER'S PROTEOB.
BT ULLTX li. ACKEBBTEOM.
Wn!, yon nee, it’s a qneor story, Minay ;
The little gal'a none of our kin;
Bi:t, you bet, when the old mon go under,
She’s the one who will handle our “tin.”
Mr pard an’ me’s rough minin’ fellers,
We ve got nary children nor wife,
But we love little yellow-haired Nellie,
An’ we ll rear her up right--bet your Ufa.
How oiJ ? Wad, she’s nigh 8,1 reckon;
rive yea-e nines we brought her out here;
Aii’ nc was the cunnin’eat baby
IVe’d looked at for many a year.
Ton see, ’twas the time the Apachea
Broke out. Blast the red imps of sin I
The emigrunt train crossed their trail, Ml ■a,
/.a’ the Injuns they rcooped ’em all in.
thar Icy men, children an’wimmin;
he red devils raised all their ha’r.
couldn’t do nothin’ to help ’em,
f i my pard an’ me buried ’em thar.
B ; found one likely-lookin’ young oretur'
Lyin’ out from the rest of the heap.
She was dead, like tlio rest, an’ Nellie
Lay close by her side—fast asleep.
Wal, ’twas nigh ninety milo to the settlements
Bill an’ me turned the thing in our mind—
An’ at last we concluded to keep her,
An’ bring her up lovin’ an’ kind.
Vi o buried her poor dad an’ mammy,
Likewise all their unlucky mates,
A wo named her Nell, arter a sweetheart
My pard had once back in the States.
Bat the trouble we had with that young un
Was Bomothin’ quite funny to see,
Bill give her up for a mystery—
Likewise sho waa too much for me.
H r dunied duds wo couldu’t get on right,
An’ we cussed every button an’ string;
But arter a spell we did better,
When wo once got the hang of the thing.
An’ she’s g rowed up quite perthke an’ bloomin’;
We.take her ro work every day;
While Bill an’ rue's busy a minin’
bhe’ll i it by the rock pile and play.
Ait’ she’s made better men of us both, Miss;
We don’t cuss now, nor go on no spree,
'('anso we’re workin’ and savin’ for Nellie,
J ho pride t'f lav old pard an’ mo.
A O Til 1111) MRS. TERR Y.
“ She ain’t the same sort us your first
wife, Henry,” said Mrs. Perry, with an
ominous closing of her upper lip over
the lover one.
Mrs. Perry called herself a devout
Christian, All through the country sho
was held in estimation as one of the salt
of the earth, comforting beside a sick
bed, efficient in a neglected household,
and welcome everywhere. And when
Alice May camo to the old homestead,
as her son’s second wife, sho naturally
looked up with reverential affection to
the venerable, white-capped old lady.
“Sweetheart!” the young husband
had said, looking fondly into the eyes of
his bride, as they stood under the blos
soming boughs of the quince trees on
the soft May night when first he brought
her home, “do you think you can be
happy here ?”
“Oli, Harry,” the 3 T oung wife had re
plied, “ it is liko a little paradise.”
But Mrs. Henry Perry soon found out
that Lilac Farm was something more
practical than her ideas of paradise.
“ Don’t know how to churn ! ” said
Mrs. Perry, Senior, in amazement.
“Why, Alice, where were yon brought
np ? Harry’s first wife thought noth
ing of churning twenty pounds of but
ter of a morning, beside doing all the
housowork and getting breakfast for four
hired men. ”
Alice colored to the very roots of her
luxuriant chestuut brown hah’.
“ I know nothing about cne country,
dear Mrs. Perry,” she said, for she was
too shy to use. the tender term * * mother, ”
unless by the special invitation which
had not boen accorded. “ I was educaed,
you know, at a boarding-school; after I
graduated I taught school until I met
Henry, and ”
“ I dare say,” said Mrs. Perry, dryly;
“ but if you are going to be a farmer’s
wife it is high time you acquainted
yourself with some of the duties pertain
ing to your position. My son’s first wife,
Uow, was a model. ”
Alice looked eagerly up.
“Please, Mrs. Perry,” said she, “tell
me wliaf she used to do. Of course, I
have had no experience, but——”
“ Well,” said Mi's. Perry, looking up
to the top fringe of the curtains and
touching the tips of her fingers reflect
ively together, “she hail a faculty,
Dorothy had. She was a famous cook.
She baked fresh pies every day, for no
one can be expected to like stale pies.
Her hot breakfast biscuits were like
flakes of snow, and we mostly had
waffles for supper, with honey and fresh
a Ppie sauce. She always got up at 4
o’clock of a Monday morning to do the
hashing. Henry’s shirts have never
heen the same since Dorothy was re
moved. And I wish you could have
•eon her ironings. The sewing circle
met here once a month, and the teas
Dorothy got up were the talk of the
neighborhood. And there was a Sister
°f Industry meeting here once a forfc
*nght, and the Singers’ Symposium
•▼ery other Friday, She was a noble
Devoted to Industrial Inter st, the Dilfa ion of Truth, the Establishment of Justice, and the Preservation of a People’s Government.
hearted Christian, Dorothy waa ! And
then she did all the family sewing. She
could not reconcile it to her own con
science and her husband’s income, she
said, * to hire such work done. ’ ”
And Alice, who had committed the
enormity of having a dress made by a
dressmaker, colored scarlet and hung
her head.
‘* Then at butchering time," proceeded
relentless Mrs. Ferry, Senior, “Dorothy
always made the tripe and sausage-meat
i.nd corned the hams herself; and she
cleaned house four times a year. She
was a master -hand at quilting, and she
always made her own bonnets. A woman
tsan save so much for her husband in that
way. As tor the butter aud cheese, I
think, i? she hadn’t died so suddenly,
poor thing, that she could have beaten
any record in the country ! ”
Alice sighed deeply. How could she,
a slender, inexperienced girl of twenty,
hope to cope with these marvelous at
tainments ?
“ Henry never told me all this,” said
she.
“ I suppose he has thought of it many
a time,’’said Mrs. Perry, Senior. “ But
perhaps he didn’t like to allude to it
while you was playing on your melodeon
and reading your books. Dorothy never
got any time to read 1 ”
“But if you’ll teach me,” pleaded
Alice, “ I wfill do my best to learn.”
She locked the melodeon, put away
the books and portfolio aud her basket
of fancy needle-work, and set herself
resolutely to work to fill the place of the
departed Dorothy.
“Why, what a little housewife you
are,said Henry, laughing when she
showed him the tray of golden butter
that she had churned, and succeeded in
burning her fingers at the ironing fire
and reducing her pietty complexion to
scarlet in cooking buckwheat cakes for
breakfast.
“I want to be one,” said Alice, wist
fully.
Sho cut up squares of bright-colored
calico into patchwork, she studied the
cookery-book until her head ached, she
caught a heavy cold working over butter
in the damp dairy-house, and sprained
her wrist washing clothes, which, after
all, looked dim and dirty. She rose
early and went to bed late; she counted
eggs, mixed up whitewash, made herself
sick chopping up sausage meat, and
strained her back lifting a kettle of
pickles off the fire, and still she strove
resolutely on.
“ I should like to do just what Dorothy
did,'’ she said to herself. “I don’t think
Henry is quite pleased when I am so
busy in the kitchen of an evening that
I cannot spare time to come in and hear
him read the Waverly novels aloud. And
my feet ached so this morning with the
cream skimming that I could not walk
with him to the haying ground. But I
am doing my duty, and that ought to be
reward enough 1”
That same afternoon, however, poor
Alice was forced to flee to her own room
with a sick headache, and seek the ref
uge of her pillow. There Mrs. John
Bonney, a cheerful little neighbor, found
her.
“Sick, are you?” asked Mrs. Bonney.
“I’m not very well,” acknowledged
Alice.
“Ah,” said Mrs. Bonney, “I thought
so !”
“ What do you mean ?” asked Alice.
“Why, you’ve been killing yourself
by inches !” said Mrs. Bonney, “ as fas*
as you could. I’ve seen it all. I’m not
your next door neighbor for nothing 1”
“ I am trying to do my duty,” plead
ed Alice, with tilling eyes. “I’m try
ing to be like my husband’s first wife I”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Bonney,
“ Like Dorothy Parker, indeed! Why,
she was nothing on earth but a house
hold drudge, and finally drudged her
self to death, without anybody being
particularly sorry for her. She never
visited, she never read, she never kept
up with the progress of life’s march
around her. Any machine could have
filled her place.”
“ Sirs. Bonney, you ought not to talk
so,” said Mrs. Perry, uneasily.
“It’s the truth,” said Mrs. Bonney.
“However, do as you please. It’s a
privilege which people generally claim,
I have observed ; kill yourself if you
like. Perhaps the third Mrs. Perry will
be a little more sensible.”
So Mrs. Bonney put the bouquet of
tea-rose buds, which she had brought,
into water, and tripped laughingly
home, while Alice, clasping her hands
over her throbbing temples, tried to
ask herself which was right, herself or
Mrs. Bonney, and iu which direction
her path of duty really and actually lay.
And it was at this critical moment
that she heard the nasal, monotonous
voice of her mother-in-law down-stair*
talking to her husband, and nttering
INDIAN SPRINGS, GEORGIA.
the sentence which opens our sketch.
“ She ain’t the same sort as your first
wife, Henry,” said Mrs. Perry, Sr.
“ And she never will be, let her try as
she will. She hasn’t got the faculty,
you see.”
She lay there quite still and quiet,
with closed eyes. She never opened
them when Henry Perry himself tiptoed
into the room, and, believing her asleep,
tiptoed out again, muttering to himself :
“ Poor little daisy, she is entirely done
up 1”
The next morning, however, Alice rose
and dressed herself with care.
“Bless me,” said Mrs. Perry, Sr.,
“where ore you going, Alice?”
“To the village,” answered Alice.
“What for?” cross-questioned the
elder matron.
“To engage a dressmaker and seam
stress first,” said Mrs. Perry, Jr., “and
to get a strong girl to do the housework
next.”
“A girl 1” screamed the oldiady.
“ Dorothy never—”
“No,” said Alice; “ I know she never
kept a servant. But Dorothy cleaned
and churned and sewed herself out of the
world. I’ve no intention of setting my
own career in that sort of a way. I find
that I can’t do the work of this farm my
self without breaking down my health,
and shutting myself out of the world of
books and science. I do not think my
husband desires such a sacrifice ”
“Of course I don't,” said Henry,
promptly. “The house has been as
lonely as a convent since you buried
yourself in the kitchen and dairy. I
marriod you for a companion, not a
drudge. Have half a dozen servants, if
vou like. Alice, only let us have books
and music and pleasant woadland walks
again. ”
“Thank you, dearest,” said Alice, as
she kissed his forehead.
Mrs. Perry, Sr., rolled up her eyes
and clasped her hands, and declared
sotto voce she didn’t know what this
world was coming to.
Mrs. Bonney was feeding chickens at
her door when Alice Perry returned
from her walk to the village.
“ Are you better ?” asked this young
red republican, smiling cordially.
“Thanks!” Alice answered, “I am
much better. I have just engaged a
sewing woman and a stout Swedish ser
vant girl to do the housework at the
farm. lam no longer ambitious to do aa
Dorothy did.”
And Mrs. Bonney waved her sun
bonnet in the air, and exclaimed :
“Bravo! There will be no third
Mrs. Perry, after all.”
And her words were prophetic.—
Rural Press.
A.X EDITOR.
Editor Watterson, in the Louisville
Courier-Journal , speaks as follows about
conducting a newspaper : “ Some peo
ple estimate the ability of a periodical
and the talent of its editor by the quan
tity of its original matter. It is com
paratively an easy task for a frothy
writer to string out a column of words
upon any and all subjects. His ideas
may flow in one weak, washy, everlast
ing flood, and the command of his lan
guage may enable him to string them
together like bunches of onions, and yet
his paper may be but a meager and poor
concern. Indeed, the mere writing part
of editing a paper is but a small portion
of the work. The care, the time em
ployed in selecting, is far more import
ant, and the fact of a good editor is bet
ter shown by his selections than any
thing else; and that, wo know, is hall
the battle. But, we have said, an editor
ought to be estimated, his labor under
stood and appreciated, by the general
conduct of his paper—its tons, its uni
form, consistent course, aims, manliness,
its dignity, and its propriety. To pre
serve these as they should be preserved
is enough to occupy fully the time and
attention of any man. If to this be add
ed the general supervision of the do
tails of publication which most editors
have to encounter, the wonder is how
they find time to write at aIL”
THE DOG'S EYES WERE BEST.
A gentleman, accompanied by a favor
ite dog, visited the 6tudio of a rising
artist. There was a picture on the easel,
and the dog began to bark furiously
at it.
“Nature maybe relied upon after
all,” Said the gentleman. “The best
evidence of the faithfulness with which
you have painted that dog in the back
ground is the earnestness with which my
dog barks at him.”
“ But that isn’t a dog,” said the artist,
flushing; “it is a cow.”
The gentleman was nonplussed for a
moment, but he quickly replied, “Well,
the dog’s eyes are better than mine ; he
aever did like cows,"
A TUB'S or SIX.
“ I hate to live in anew country,”
said Jones, “where there is no law.”
“Yerbet yer,” chimed in Tliompscto.
“ Law is the only thing that keep3 U3
out of everlasting chaos.” “Yes, in
deed,” said a legal gentleman present.
“It is the bulwark of the poor man’s
liberty, the shield which the strong ai m
of justice throws over the weak, the so
lace and the balsam of the unfortunate
and wronged, the—”
“ Oh, stop ’er,” remarked the man
with one eye. “ I won’t have it that wa v.
Law is a boss invention for rascals of ivll
grades. Give me a country where there
is no law and I can take care of myself
every time. Now, for instance, when
I lived in Ohio I got a dose of law’ that
I will never forget. I was in partner
ship with a man named Butler, and one
morning we found our cashier missing
with $3,000. He had dragged the safe
and put out. Well, I started after him
and caught him in Chicago, where he
was splurging around on the money. I
got him arrested, and there was an ex
amination. Well, all the facts were
brought out, and the defense moved that
the case be dismissed, as the prosecution
did not make out a case in the name of
the firm, and that if there was a firm
the copartnership had not been shown
by any evidence before the court. To
my astonishment, the court said the
idea was O. K., and dismissed the case.
Before I could realize what was up, the
thief had walked off. Well, I followed
him to St. Louis, and there I tackled
him again. I sent for my partner, and
we made a complete case, going for him
in the name of the Commonwealth and
Smith, Butler & Cos. Well, the lawyer
for the defense claimed that the money
being taken from a private drawer in the
safe was my money exclusively, and tlia*
my partner had nothing to do with it ;
that the case should bo prosecuted by
me individually, and not by the firm.
The old ‘ bloke’ who sat on the bench
wiped his spectacles, grunted round
a while, and dismissed the case. Away
goes the man again. Then I got another
hitch on him and tried to convict him
of theft, but the court held that he
should be charged with embezzlement.
Some years after, I tackled him again,
and they let him go. Statutes of limi
tation, you see. Statutes of limitation,
you see. Well, I concluded to give
it up, and I did.
“ But about four years afterward I was
down in Colorado and a man pointed to
another and said: ‘ That fellow has just
made a hundred thousand in a mining
swindle.’ I looked, and it was my old
cashier. I followed him to the hotel
and nailed him in his room with the
money. ‘Now,’l says, ‘Billy, do you
recognize your old boss?’ and of course
he did. Says I: ‘Bill, 1 want that three
thousand you stole from me, with the
interest, and all legal and traveling ex
penses. ’
“ ‘ Ah, you do ?’ says he; ‘ didn’t the
courts decide that ’
“ ‘ Curse the courts,’ says I, putting a
six-shooter a foot long under liis nose.
‘ This is the sort of legal document that
Fm travelin’ on now. This is the com
plaint, warrant, indictment, Judge, jury,
verdict and sentence, all combined, and
the firm of Colt & Cos., New Haven, are
my attorneys in the case. When they
speak they talk straight to the point of
your mug, you bloody larceny thief.
This jury of six, pf which I am foreman,
is liable to be discharged at any moment.
No technicality or statutes of limitations
here, and a stay of proceedings won’t
last over four seconds. I want SIO,OOO
to square my bill, or I’ll blow your
blasted brains out.’ Well, he passed
over the money right away, and said he
hoped there’d be no hard feelings. Now.
there’s some Colorado law for you, and
it’s the kind for me! Eh, boys ?” And
the crowd, with one accord, concurred
in the cheapness and efficacy of the plan
by which a man could carry his court on
his hip, instead of appealing to the
blind goddess in Chicago and St. Louis.
—Salt Lake Tribune.
Holloway, the English manufacture!
of cathartic pills, has accumulated great
wealth and is devoting it to noble pur
poses. He has already erected two mag
nificent institutions—one for the insane
of the “middle classes” and the other
for the higher education of women. TTia
gifts amount to nearly $5,000,000.
2*eveb go into a newspaper office to
shoot the editor. If you do you had bet
ter take your coffin along. Many editors
have skeletons in their closets, and it is
no uncommon tiling for “ ghosts” to be
found about the haunts of printers.
EDGAR A. EoE’S DEATH.
Statement of the Hospital Phj/sieian T The
Attended Him in His Last Illness .
[From the Baltimore Sun.]
Hr. John J. Moran, of Falls Church,
Fairfax county, Va., who was resident
physiciau at Washington University
Hospital (now the Church Homo and
Infirmary), on North Broadway, from
March, 1849, to October, 1855, visited
the institution for the first time since the
dissolution of his official connection
therewith. Dr. Moran pointed out the
room occupied by Edgar Allan Poe, and
related the circumstances of his death,
which occurred Oct. 7, 1849. The doc
tor states that on the 6th of October,
about 9a. m., Mr. Poe was brought to
the hospital in a hack driven by an
Irishman, who stated that lie had found
bis passenger on Light street wharf. In
reply to an inquiry whether the gentle
man was intoxicated, the liackman stated
that there was no smell of liquor about
him, and that he had lifted him into the
carriage like a child. Dr. Moran did not
recognize Ins patient until the hackman
presented a card bearing Poe’s name.
Mr. Poe was unconscious and very pale.
He was placed in the third-story room
of the turret, at the southwest corner of
the building, about seven-by-ten feet in
size. A nurse was stationed at the door,
with instructions to call Dr. Moran when
the patient awoke, which occurred in
twenty minutes. The doctor, being
much interested in his patient, went im
mediately to his side. A glance sufficed
to show that Mr. Poe was extremely ill,
and he was so informed. In reply to a
question he said he did know how long
he had been sick, and could give iio ac
count of himself. He was much sur
prised when informed that he was in a
hospital. He stated that he had stopped
at a hotel on Pratt street, where a trunk
containing his papers and manuscripts
had been left. The trunk was sent for,
but the owner made no further reference
to it.
Dr. Moran proceeded to make a diag
nosis of the case. The patient was very
weak, but there was no tremor of the
limbs, no agitation of the body, no smell
of liquor on the breath or person, nor
any symptom of intoxication. Owing to
the weak condition of the patient, Dr.
Moran decided to administer a stimu
lant, and so informed him. Mr. Poe
said : “If I thought its potency would
transport me to the elysian bowers of
the undiscovered spirit world, I would
not touch it.”
Dr. Moran then proposed an anodyne,
when Mr. Poe rejoined: “Twin sister to
the doomed and crazed in perdition.’’
Mr. Poe continued to converse most de
spondingly, but was relieved by short
intervals of sleep. As his body grew
weaker his mind retained its force, and
his conscious moments were marked by
vivid hashes of his characteristic genius.
Near the end Mr. Poe became as gentle
as a child.
He died an hour past midnight, six
teen hours after his arrival at the hos
pital. The cause of death was exhaust
ion of the nervous fluid, caused by ex
posure, hunger and other tilings acting
upon a sensitive organization.
The remains were laid in state in the
large reception room in the rotunda of
the college, where they -were viewed by
many persons. Fully fifty ladies re
ceived locks of tne dead poet’s hair, that
fell in jet-black ringlets about his brow.
The funeral took place on the afternoon
of Oct. 8, 1819, the r&lnams being in
terred in the burying ground of West
minster Presbyterian Church, where the
monument has since been erected.
THE FOX AND THE WOLF.
A Fox who was making a Journey
across the country to see his Grand
mother once more before she Died dis
covered a Wolf burying something be
side the Highway. He slipped into a
fence-corner and waited until the Wolf
had passed on, and then crept forward
and unearthed the Object, which proved
to be a dead chicken.
“ Ah. ha !” chuckled Reynard, “this
comes from Keeping one’s Eyes open as
one travels. The Hare would not have
6een the Wolf at all, and the Opossum
would not have had the Patience to wait
for him to move on. It’s a Big Joke on
the Wolf, and here goes for a square
meal.”
The Fox devoured his dinner with
much smacking of lips, but had scarce
ly finished when terrible pains began to
rack his frame and he fell down in the
greatest torment and was soon breathing
his last. When the Wolf returned and
saw the dead body of liaynard and
the feathers of the Chicken scattered
around, he scratched his ear and wrote
in his diary:
“ Moral: Came to his death by being
too Frt* Jhreu,
SUBSCRIPT!ON--S!.SQ.
NUMBER 46.
PLEASANTRIES.
Why do ducks put their heads under
water ? To liquidate their bills.
Society people, not engaged, repair
to summer resorts in order to re-sorb
“ Pahi o’ dice lost ” — as the youth re
marked after an unexpected visit from
the professor.
He said her hair was dyed, and when
she indignantly exclaimed, ‘ ’Tis false I”
he said he presumed so.
To the cockney Nero may not be
looked upon as a hero, but every cock
ney makes of his hero an ’ero.
An American optician has adopted a
representation of the sun as a trad
mark—probably on account of its specs.
Every one should be charitable in
judgment. “She is insupportable,” said
Talleyrand. Then, fearing he had gone
too far, he added ; “But that is her
only defect.” #
At the close of the sermon tha minis
ter became impressive. Raising his
voice, he said: “Judgmentl judg
ment ! ” and a small boy in the vestibule
shouted, “Out on first.”
New York has an artificial flower
maker named “Ginori.” That’s th
question generally put by the bar-tend
er, and the answer will in time produce
artificial flowers on the answerer’s nose.
A married lady declined to tell s
maiden sister any of her troubles, say
ing : “ When ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly
to be wise.” “Yes,” replied the sister,
“and I’ve corae to the conclusion chat
when singleness is bliss, ’tis folly to be
wives.”
’‘What did you say the conductor’s
name was?” “Glass—Mr. Glass.” “O,
no!” “Bat it is.” “Impossible—it
can’t be.” “And why not, pray?’
“ Because, sir, Glass is u non-conduct
or.” [Deafening applunse from the sci
entific passengers.]
A fashionable New York belle boast
ed, on her return from Europe, thas
while there she had some of the
celebrated men at her feet. It is mo?*
satisfactory to employ a first-class
chiropodist than to goad your brother
to profanity when he uses his razor.—
Puck.
An author says it may be regarded as
an established fact that apples will keep
better in moist or damp cellars than dry
ones. But that depends altogether on
how many small boys there are in the
family. It isn’t so much in the humid
ity of the cellar as in the gorgeability u.
the boy.
Tins twain were In a palace car—
Said hOj “ I do believe me
This vehicle hath lungs; ” said she,
“How, Thomas? Undeceive me I"
“ I will,” he added, pointing at
A ventilaUng panel;
“ It must be bo, for don’t you sea
That Pullman-airy channel ?”
—Rome Sentinel.
According to Dr. Delauney, “sleepers
frequently compose verse or rhythmical
language while they are lying on the
eight side. This verse, though at times
conecfc enough, is absolutely without
sense. ” This explains the genesis of a
great deal of poetry which finds its way
into a newspaper office.
“ Prisonek,” says the Judge, severely,
to the scoundrel who has been brought
up before him on the charge of murder
ing the wife whom he had abandoned foi
many years—“ prisoner, what can you
plead in justification of your atrocious
crime?” “ Well, you see, your Honor, I
did it from the best of motives. I wished
to save myself from the shame of biga
my, and to place myself in a position to
make the other woman my lawful wed
ded wife.”
“Pat,” said a gentleman who was
fond of using high-sounding phrase
ology to his man of all work, “lam go
ing to town at 10 o’clock, and shall weed
out the cucumber beds in the interim.”
“Interim?” thought Pat. “That’s •
mighty quare name for a garden, any
how.” “Is Mr. Smith at home ?” asked
a visitor, who called shortly after ward,
“Yes, sorr; ve’il find him at work in
ais interim there beyant,” announced
Pat.
“I say, mammy! didn't you tell Peleg
dat he mustn’t go in bavin ?” “ Yo,
right I ded, chile! has ye been dis’beying
my ’structions, Peieg !” “No, mammy,
I hasn’t! I ’clare to goodness I hasn’t
been in bavin. Yo’ see I put on Uncle
Josh’s britches by mistake der smornin’,
an’ dere were such a heap of looseness
to ’em that when I un’ertook to jump
ober de brook dey dropped off an’ I
hather guin arter ’em. Oh, no, I hasn’t
been bavin, mammy!” —Rome Sentinel.
The Atlanta Constitution says there
are at present fully 5,000 girls and
women earning their living in the fact
ories in that city, while ten years ago
there were hardly 500.