The Carrollton sun. (City of Carrollton, Parish of Jefferson, La.) 185?-1???, 1860-09-01
: MISCELLANEOUS.
Hard Times.

haunt out in silks feathers and flowers from one
years end to another. They at the bottom
of it all. "UNCLE JoE.'' :
Yes, stree you have hit the nail on
the head this time, for certain, you
crusty old Adamite The sswomen are
at the bottom of it all !''-the veritable8
Ewes that have made your Paradise of
Dong -winded credit and promise to pay
saystcm, a bleak, barren realm of stand
'on-your-own-feet money panic s The
ones who have lured SO many importing
vessels to our shores, laden heavily with
silks, luces and broadcloths, for which.
was exchanged broad pieces of gold and
silver. The weak headed, short sighted
mortals that have crowded our country
with fatherless and motherless paper
money; that have driven so many men,
helter- skelter, into western specula-
tions; that have stopped our cotton fac
tories, and sucked the golden blood
out of the life-giving veins of our big
and broad corporations the money
ravens that hang like a mighty cloud
over our commercial fields, pluckingi
the yellow kernels from off the golden
ears of homo interests, and plumiag
themselves anew with rustling silks,
tossing feathers and imported laces.
..Women at the bottom of it all.' Of
course they are! Was there ever any
mischief done but what they were at
the bottom of it? Don't the women
gulp down an ocean of foreign liquor,
yearly! Don't women wear broadcloth
Just as much as though their coats hadn't
a petit to them Don't women use SO
much cotton that they run the price Of
it up until factory-owners cannot afford
to purchase it ? Don't they cover so
much ground with their great hoops as
materially to affect the cost of land and
the spread of civilization ? Don't they
bring millions of little mouths into the
world, and then fritter away foolishly
the money that should so to fill them !
Aunt Sam, not Uncle, has been tarn-
ing the crank of moneymattors. for
months past, and, goodness gracious
what whirligig affairs are in Still
she sits calm and unruffled in her broad
cloth petticoat and her husbands bree
ches, seemingly unconscious Of the
great tumult about her.
She goes to church, little noting
that the wrinkled faces which she sees
are the fruits of her bad management
that, clinging to her skirts, are souls
without number, which have been pre-
vented from being preached into heaven
by the all-absorbing topic of "hard times,
hard times ~
She haunts out in the street with fca-
theirs waving, ribbons futtering, coat
inflated, and silk skirt trailing; while,
dragging himself about in her shadow,
her poor little liege lord fellows,
crouching and shivering, with elbows
and knees out to the weather, his wife's
Canton Grape shawl huddled about his
shoulders, the ragged tails of an old
fashioned coat hitting his heels at every
step, u crownless hat upon his head,
his cigar-case empty, and his limbs
quaking.
Business mon double up like jack
knives, at the street-corners,. ,as the
strange pair pass by, clap their hands
over their costive pocket books, and
groan aloud. Little children follow.
freezing and starving, in their footsteps.
Aunt Sam pushes on her relentless
way, without a single pang Of con-
science, while innocent Uncle Sam, la
mcnting the misery which he is forced
to share, but powerless to relieve, tot
ters, pale, wan, and thinly clad, behind
her. From deserted factories, sus-
pended banks, from the stagnant waters
of trade, the counters Of broken mer-
chants. from rOrped custom-houses,