The farmer and mechanic. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 18??-19??, 1903-03-10
Bill Apps Letter.

&~& @%E &E@AA &a"fa& ~ #H
every cay and keeps up ~lth the seusa-
tIons. Most % the time xh~ sits in h~r
accustomed corner and plies her needle
AID thread. making little garments Tor
her grand children. OF Esw covers gor
the cushions Or meldiBg ucdercloth@s or
daruing stockings or something. whoa
she gets Tired she walks in the gar5ea
or goes down 20 see Jessie. and the
! chIldren. She went 10 to@n yesterday aga
bought some thread and some toilet soap
and got weighed and asked the .Amlly
all around TO guess how much ana cnc
guessed IL. exactly one hundred aud a:ts
pounds She asked me TO guess. but I
said no-she had had her way so Often
and SO long that / couldn.; rome near IL
and she shook her fist at me-. Good g-a-
| cious, when I married her she didnt
weigh a hundred and wore number tao
shoes and stepped like a deer. 'Terupus
fugit." next week VIII be the Gfty-fourth
anniversary Of our wedding day. hfty-four
the talismanic number made up %
mines or its multiple. As :. s 8 IS. =
54,-3 and 8 are 9. l and : are 9. > ana :
are 9. 5 and 1 are nine. And soon our
birthdays viii come along again. the first
and fifteenth OF June. and time keeps
rolling on.
! Ny wife was reading the paper and sud
denly stopped and spoke 10 me. saying
Well, isn't it about time to quit writ
ing about the negro Why so2' said /
Why don't you see that the whole busi-
ness of the race problem was settled in
Atlanta last Sunday? The mayor ana
tho preachers, black and white. all made
speeches. and seemed 10 agree and every
thing is harmonious. So II | was YOU !
would write about something else. Take
up George Washington for a change and
let Booker go dead.
Well, they did play on the ramonican
right smart and / hope the problem viii
take a rest. for everybody is tired or il.
Even C~rumpacker is tired, and now says
the negro must work out his own saliva
ton. That's all right. When they call
off the dogs I'll quit. They are waking
up to the true character of the negro. a
Chicago man who has been visiting the
prisons says there are about forty-six
thousand negroes in that city. which is
about two per cent of the population ara
that the prison records as shown him BY
/ wardens. show the negroes to be thirty
Fer cent OF all the criminals confined, AMI
that the negro quarter of the city is tho
rendezvous and the refuge of nearly all
the white burglars and thieves that infest
the city.
But that's none of my business, as my
wife says. Chicago needs them for mu
nicipal politics. But | have quit. Lei
the negro go along and e%volute, "a
Crumpacker says. I had rather look cut
of my window and see two little girls
coming up the walk hand in hand TO scn
me than to write about anything. Aud
the little boy is coming, too. His nurse
is rolling him in his carriage and r.
will run to me as soon as he gets in
the room, and will nestle on my knees
and say his little words, and my greatest
comfort is that all of them love me and
won't go home without kissing me a
sweet goodBy. That nurse is a copper
colored girl about twelve years old. aud
she loves that baby and watches him as
carefully as a mother. She is the daugh-
ter Of our sexton, who is the ianitor OF
the public school. He and his good wife
are exceptions to all the frailties Of the
race, and SO are their children. If there
were many like them there would be no
race problem. Those three little childrea
come to see me every day and make me
to forget myself and my long illness, and
| find myself whispering: Suffer little
children to come unto me- And a little
child shall lead them" What a pity
| they have to grow UP and lose their in
nocence and see grief and trouble How
sweetly sad are the memories of our
youth.
One poet says:
OH would I were a boy again,
When life seemed formed Of sunry
years.
And all the heart then knew Of pain
Was wept away in transient tears.
And another says:
1 remember, l remember, the house where
l was born.
The little window where the sun came
peeping in at morn.
1t never rose a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now | often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
And so do l remember the little window
and the long happy days, but l have
never wished that l had died in child
hood, nor do I wish to die now. l wish
to live for the sake of these same grand
children, for l know / can do something
to guide and comfort them along the
Journey of life, and they would miss me.
A child without a grandpa and grandma
mas not mad It's snare OF happiness
What a beautiful verse is the last one
of poor Tom Hoods poem:
II remember. I remember, the fir trees.
dark and high,
| used to think their slender tops wer
close against the sky,
1t was q childish ignorance, and now It's
little Joy.
To know I'm farther off from heaven
than when | was q boy"
Last summer the little baby boy was
Sick. We feared he would die. AS he
lay upon a pillow in his mothers LAP,
the little 4-year-old girl went up close
and whispered to her mother, Mamma,
if baby dies mayn't l keep him for a
DOLE never tire of their childish
ak. 1t is always sincere, and that is
truth, for sincere means without wax
unsealed, "sine cerum"-no secrets, open
and read if you wish. 1t is an old adagc
that children and fools never lie" and
this reminds me of George Washington,
who, tradition says, cut down a cherry
tree, and when his father inquired who
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