Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1874-08-06
FLORENCE PERCY PROTESTS.

FLORENCE PERCY PROTESTS.
The following spicy letter from the author
of Crock Me To Sleep TO the New York
World, will be perused by our readers with
interest.
Sir In your paper Of July % | noticed
the following item of news, contained in the
letter Of a special correspondent at Augusta,
Me-:
''Mrs. Elizabeth Akers Allen, equally well
known as FLORENCE Percy" is at present ed
itorially connected with the Portland Adver-
tiser. She is the author of Crock Me to
Sleep, Mother, which poem was written by
her while a factory girl in this State upon
the sheet of coarse brown wrapping paper in
which she had brought her noontime lunch,
and while waiting for the hour to recommence
labor"
The careful particularly of detail visible
in this bit of news gives it a smack of authen-
ITCHY which is almost irresistibly convincing.
In fact, l could almost believe it myself, had
l not been previously informed by an equally
veracious newspaper correspondent that |
wrote the poem by the bedside of my dying
| little boy, in Boston, when. under the heaviest
pressure of misfortune and poverty, was
earning pinched living for him and myself
|
l was naturally enough surprised at this, for
| l never lived in Boston, never did slop.
work without a sewing machine, | never
wrote verses at his bedside, my little boy new
er died, and never had little boy. Still |
did not dispute the story, for consider con-
tradiction as suggestive of ill-breeding, aud
an alternative to be employed only in extrcm-
tiles. And it was as well that l did not, for
/ was presently assured through the same
channel that | wrote the poem out of the low
est depths of poverty and despair, caused by
the desertion of my husband, with whom
had eloped from boarding school, ard who
had repaid my devotion by forsaking me next
day. Notwithstanding the unusual brevity of
my matrimonial career, and the fact that had
previously been the idol of a happy home,
his desertion appears to have left me in utter
wretchedness and imminent danger of starv-
alton, under which depressing circumstances
l wrote the poem referred to-a remorseful
lament for the mother whose heart had bro
ken. This view was scarcely less unhappy
than the former, and would have affected me
deeply, excepting that / never was invited to
elope from boarding school, / never eoped
from anywhere. never attended boar ding
school. My husband never deserted me, and
l never broke my mothers heart. But was
drawn away from the mournful contemplation
of these things by a third statement to the eff
| feet that | wrote the poem on my death bed
in Philadelphia, in wretched howell, where
the rain dritted in across the miserable bed
wherein l soon afterward breathed my last
This was the best story of the three, be-
cause it was conclusive-it put the unfortu-
nate writer out of her misery. But just as
commenced to exult over this contamination,
Jersey gentleman, Mr., Alexander NJ. w.
Ball, found another world to conquer, and
published a book to prove that l never wrote
the poem at all, but that had stolen it from
him What was to believe? | had at differ
ent times been informed through the news
papers that a Miss Elizabeth Alger of New
York City, another lady out West, gentle
man somewhere else. and blacksmith in
Georgia, each wrote the poem, and each had
| friends to swear to it; and, as though the af-
fair was not already sufficiently bewidering,
here comes voice of conviction from my
own State, declaring through the World that
| wrote the poem myself when | was facto-
ry girl in Maine.
! This is all very well, excepting that new
er carried my lunch 10 ''coarse brown wrapp-
ing paper" very much preferring new spaper
when | cannot afford a napkin; that should
| scorn to write such verses on brown paper OBJ
scured by fragments of custard pie and apple
sauce, and that | never was inside factory
in Maine. Like the culprit in court, whose
case was so pathetically presented to the jury
as to touch even himself to tears, must adj
NIT that l did not know have suffered so
much until informed of it by the sympathetic
| newspaper correspondent
| For journals and journalists | have a sim
cere respect, and even family affection but
what offence have ever committed against
that ubiquitous person, the newspaper cor
respondent that in all his flights of fancy he
invariably describes me as in the depths of
poverty, distress and disgrace, and incapable
Of earning respectable living? Why does
he not say, sometimes, by way of variety,
that wrote the poem in fine residence on
Murray Hill, in palatial mansion on Fifth
avenue, in the midst of the regal rectangular
ity OF Philadelphia, or in a vine. clad country
seat on the Hudson? Why not, instead of
calling me pauper, disobedient daughter,
a discarded wife, starving sewing woman,
or wretched factory operative, with her
lunch wrapped in coarse brown paper Chat
is the unkindess cut of alp, why not allow
me sometimes to be a favorite Of fortune, a
lady of fashion, or-if it be not too much to
ask-a newspaper correspondent!
One of two things is proven by these mel
ancholy recitais of my impecuniosity; for
with all these-and other-demands in my
behalf on the public sympathy. have never
yet received the first offer of assistance from
philanthropists. Either the advantages of
advertising are oyer-stated, or the children
Of this world do not believe in the newspa-
pers
make this faint protest against the ire
pressible newspaper correspondent simply
from lingering instinct of self-defence, and
| not because ! expect to convince him against
whom gods and men contend in VAIN