The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-08-07

common sized braided rug, and looks
powerful. The ''rat" that she rolls
the hair round is as large as rolling
pin, and about yard long 1t takes
three hours to git her rugged for
afternoon. Pa
sot out, one day, to have my hair
riggcd up in that style, and Felishear,
the dressing-maid, she began on it.
I stood it very we'll for about two
hours, and then 1 got narvous. My
head felt as if it was being put into
cider press and squeezed to pummy.
Bime-hy, she begun to put a hot
thing into the frunt hair, that looked
some like little gridiron, and I
jumped right up and upset the hull
consarn.
81 won't stand It'll" sez I. "What
on airth are you sticking that hot
thing in there for?"
"Faith, num-" sez she. Miss Brin-
die sez Felishcar is Frenchman, but
1 know she's Irish, tit's only the
crimping iron. It's no hurt it'll do
ye."
"No you don'tl'' sez 1. 81 haint
no freedman, that should have my
hair sqCizzled, and I'll let it stay
natral, as straight as candle, and
stick to my old black cap," sez 1.
So l tore out the rats, and hove
'em onto the floor, and did my hair
up in q plug behind, stuck in my
brass comb, and put on nv old CAP
with the red ribbin, and the black
chenille.
Arter I had been to York q spell, 1
found out that Mary Miles lived
there. Mary was an old crony of
mine. AIany's the day we've sot up
in the wood-shcd chamber to home
and scratched heads and told ghost
stories. She married Sam Mills, and
they moved all around the lot, and
finerly locationcd themselves in York.
Uncle Eben used to try to court her,
but she made fun of his new grey
striped pantaloons, and they broke
off to once.
But, anyhow, 7 thought I must go
and see her. And i told Miss Brin
die SO. She scd I'd better not. I
should bo sure to get lost, or into
some diilikilty or ruther. But told
her L rnyther guessed L could take
keer of myself. I'd milked a kickin'
COW, and had the smallpox, and lick
ed Tom jerks Ben for stealing my
watcr-millins, and l guessed 1 could
manage.
She sed it was so nigh the fust of
May that she shouldn't want to go.
l told her SO long as the fust of Nav
didn't come Satterday it wouldn't
make no difference. Satterday was
my day of bad luck. Nothing never
happened to me that was onlucky ex-
cept on Sattcrdays. 1t was Satterdav
that my pig died of the staggerations,
and 1t was Satterday that J. had my
brown bumbaZine gownd cut, and it
allus nipped me under the arms, and
gave me pain in the stummuk.
She sed no more, and the last day
Of April, jest afore night, I sot sail
Tor Mary's. I found the place with
outno diffikilty. It was number r.ne
million and something, West forty,
or fifty, or sixty-ninth street, dis
remember which. I've got it all sot
down in my diarrhea to home.
Inc door stood wide open, and in
[ marched, with my bandbox of
clothing in my hand. Mary was
down on her knees q scrubbing the
floor, and there were three pals of
white-wash, and n paint-pot, and a
bottle of varnish alongside of her.
The entry was as full of furniture
as Smiths Cabinet store. There was
cheers, and beds, and crockery, and
sofys, and pots and kittles, all mixed
up together.
"Gracious airth"' sez I. "Nfary
Miles, l want to know if this is the
way you clean house in York;"
She jumped up and run towards
me, upsetting pail of white-wash
and q three-legged stool piled full of
tumblers as she come. She appeared
to be powerful clad tO 600 mo b,t