St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1902-12-06
The Und0if1g of
Mary Lizzie.
:l5J5J5Jg55N5J5J OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
By Rebecca M. Sampson.
Rebecca NJ. Sampson.

A. GRl1Al event naO De1allen Mary
n Lizzie. One of her poems had been
published. A neighbours baby had
died suddenly, and Mary Lizzie in a
spasm of sympathy had been moved
to write poem that was published in
the local paper, under the title I'm
Memoriam."
''Mary Lizzie! Don't you touch them
dishes!" cried her mother, the morn
ing after the poem had appeared,
when Mary Lizzie, in working apron
and sleeves rolled up above her ell
bows, started as usual, to clear up.
''You let them dishes alone!" con-
tinued the mother commandingly.
mo one in town shan't ever get the
chance to say, after what's happened,
that I kept you grubbing at house
work instead of letting you exercise
your talents. You go up to your
room this minute and set right to
work to make poultry"
"But, NAL" Mary Lizzie protested,
with a wistful glance toward the
stack of unwashed breakfast dishes,
show ever are you going to manage
without me to help, and with the
baby teething?"
II don't know and 1 don't carc!"
snapped Mrs. Walters, whose loud
voice and excitable manner gave her
a reputation for temper she was far
from possessing. Il only know that
Tn not going to be the one to blight
your prospects as poutry-writer.
Now that you've got yourself into
print you'll have the editors all over
the country running after you to con-
tribute. You amt got no right to
throw away such chances. Has she,
pa?"
This appeal was addressed to her
mild farmer-husband, who had come
in for lard to mix with horse lini-
ment.
.sYou oughtn't to throw away
chances, Mary Lizzie" the father
said, in a weary voice, as he hurried
Nv tiptoed out of the kitchen.
- This opinion from her father set
tied the question for Mary Lizzie.
She pulled down her sleeves, took Off
her bingham apron and went meekis
upstairs.
There was no dessert for dinner
that day, no pie for supper either;
and at breakfast next morning, the
usual standby of hot cakes was miss
ing.
On the fourth day of this sort of
thing. the long-suffering father ven
tured a plaintive: "Ain't we never
going to have hot cakes?'
s.I'd like to know what time you
think I've got to make such
things!" fired up the excitable
thought Mary Lizzie did the
baking.'' said the father.
.Do you think I'd allow Mary Lizzie
to get herself all het up first thing
in the morning, now that's she's got
her poutry-writing to do?" asked the
mother, with offended emphasis. .
81 wish Mary Lizzie would quit
writing that fool stuff" the father
retorted with unusual spirit.
"Pa! What dreadful thing to
saw! You don't deserve to have a
child with Mary Lizzie's talents!'
c.sped the astonished and indignant
mother. in tones that speedily sent
the father on business to the barn
Poor Mary Lizzie! Day after day she
sat in that stuffy little room and
,rnawed good pencils to shreds and
spoiled good paper with. stuff which
even she, unhappy child, knew to be
only nonsence.
"It's no use ma! I can't write!
wish you'd let me go back to house
keeping!" she entreated her mother
after fortnight of the infection.
.You ought to be ashamed OF your
self, to talk of giving up your poultry
writing!" yretorted the obdurate
mother, in a heat OF indignation.
Mary Lizzie crept back to the sutfo
eating attic room. II hate poetry!
hate writing!" she cried, fingine
Mcneil and paper away in a passion
Of resentful tears. Il wasn't borr
to be anything but housekeeper' &c
nave never thought of writing poetry
;fEJ hadn't felt so sorry about thai
dear little baby dying. That's how
came to write In Menoriam. l dom
believe I could do it again it triee
for lifetime. I don't want t.
either. I'd rather be downstairs
4I.;. n,;nufe baking pies for father