The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1889-02-07
A WOMANS VIEW OF THE SITTTA.
ALTON.
:" The Last Ear of Corn.0


| red it ter the chiIluiYs, and they wuz
mighty proud,
Ter see SIGH poetry dad writ, but Jimmie
up an lowed;
Hits mighty pretty, that's a fac, but
Law! what would folks say,
Ell ma would write the truth on pap, an
tell hit yore own way,
Altho you re not what they call, an eddi-
Gated lady,
The Constitution Il give you room jus
trus ter Mr.. Grady"
An then that boy fotch pen an ink an
hunted up my specks.
Come, ma, he SEE, now do it, speak for
the female sects,
But Laws p | SEE, why Jimmie" / ups
and SEE l then,
Why Jes' ter think ur yore ole ma err
sassin' ur Their men
Tho have had my 'pinions, I've KEEP um
mighty still,
Fer forty year, or more, but now, raly
b'lieve | will
I'll grab that pen yore daddy yused, fer
wunst III make her talk.
But, Jimmie, eff he fms hit out, yore NAM
my II have ter walk!"
So, Mr.. Grady, this is how I'm writin YOU
this letter,
Ter tell the truth erbout our craps nv
old man knowed no better
Than ter lay our loss on drouths an foods,
when he was sich shirk.
Them craps was ruined long afore, jes' fer
the lack er work
He sed our cotton shed hits fruit" and
hit wuz powerful short"
But law sum naybors jinin' us, had quite
ernuther sort.
They never sot up in er porch, an lef hit
fer er niger
Ter make er crap, an then cussed round
bekase hit wuzzent bigger.
Erbout that drouth the truth is this, the
drouth hit don't much hurt
When good peart mule, an man behine
keeps stirrin' up the dirt
But when er man gives up the fight, an
sets down in ther shade,
| tell you, sir, hit ar tack, no honest
liYen's made
The food hit cum, I'll not deny that we
had trouble which
Jes' cum from this, them low Ian drowned
whar he'd not cleaned er ditch;
An then he plum gin up, he did, an flop
ped down on ther beds
Hits is the Lawd's will, would you be.
lieve, was what the critter sed.
But when | red what he has writ erbout our
pillow mules deth,
LATED an cried together tell like ter los
my .brethl
Why, sir, he kilt that pc ole beast, he
broke her clean plum down,
En- tendin lance meetin's, er ridin' hel
ter town
En- skeleton she were. with a so upon hel
back,
An she died ur thirst an hunger, hitched
to er town boss rack.
Err nuther pint he's touched upon, our
KILN "Jimmie's steer"
But rally, now, that po' ole OK, he didnt SO
much keer,
He had no pleasure in this life, it had bin
menny er day,
Sence he had er good squar meal er les
er bite er hay.
Altho' las summer, tbs the truth, in our
bermuda fel,
Three tons to ever acre would er bin err
bout the yieP
But law! he never cut it you see, that
warn't his way
That grass grew rank an pretty, but hit
rotted whar hit lay,
An when twas ripe and reddy what did
my ole man do?
He rid off in e. buggy fer ter tend er bob
bycue!
Now do you think hits strange, sir, we're
hongry an Iorlorn
An the bailiff S cum an tuck erway 1.-THE
last ear NV corn.
de says we We got no bread to eat" but
some one tell me why
My ole man raised no wheat nor oats, no
barley, peas or rye,
NO taters an no sorghum, no shotes within
the pen?
He jes wuz plagued lazy, sir, like plenty
yuther men;
He loved his ease and pleasure, and some
days Nv Of the week
lie had to 60 er fshin' er down in that thar
creek:
He luved ter ketch the rabbits, the foxes
an the coon:
He luved ter rock in rocking cheers, an go
ter leep at noon.
My huSban' quotes the Bible erbout the
"sparrers fall,
But him that quotes the Scriptures had
better quote it all.
Annuther tex that's plainly writ, hit Gums
ter me jest now,
Err man mus earn his Twin by the sweat
ur his own browY
That tex don't say er man can strut eroun'
neeth an umbreller,
An have his sweatin' fer him done by
some other teller,
An git his cloze and vittles frum er man
that works in town,
An pay him back in cussin' when he sends
his bill er roun'.
Now, who mus bear our losses, my hus-
ban or this man,
Who's fed and clothed us all the year,
since fust the year began?
I've studied on this subjeck, I've think er
long time sho,
An I've persued the meIchant when I've
traded in his sto',
An | will tell the truth eff they hang to er
linn,
The farmer has er easy time, now les
compared with him.
He takes no res from weary toll, ter him
no holiday,
An eff at last he gets his dues, the labor
ers wuth his pay
Attic he sent the baihff that tuck er way
our corn,
We'd eaten more than that of his as sure
as you ar born
Fer which we never paid cent; and ]