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Item No. comdagen-6602032538175440702
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mother, son, and sire, The last sad honours of a funeral fire? Is then the dire Achilles all your care? That iron heart, inflexibly severe; A lion, not a man, who slaughters wide, In strength of rage, and impotence of pride; Who hastes to murder with a savage joy, Invades around, and breathes but to destroy! Shame is not of his soul; nor understood, The greatest evil and the greatest good. Still for one loss he rages unresign'd, Repugnant to the lot of all mankind; To lo

Details

warn't there; so the old man he got a letter out of the office, and we waited awhile longer, but Sid didn't come; so the old man said, come along, let Sid foot it home, or canoe it, when he got done fooling around--but we would ride.  I couldn't get him to let me stay and wait for Sid; and he said there warn't no use in it, and I must come along, and let Aunt Sally see we was all right. When we got home Aunt Sally was that glad to see me she laughed and cried both, and hugged me, and give me one of them lickings of hern that don't amount to shucks, and said she'd serve Sid the same when he come. And the place was plum full of farmers and farmers' wives, to dinner; and such another clack a body never heard.  Old Mrs. Hotchkiss was the worst; her tongue was a-going all the time.  She says: “Well, Sister Phelps, I've ransacked that-air cabin over, an' I b'lieve the nigger was crazy.  I says to Sister Damrell--didn't I, Sister Damrell?--s'I, he's crazy, s'I--them's the very words I said.  You all hearn me: he's crazy, s'I; everything shows it, s'I.  Look at that-air grindstone, s'I; want to tell _me_'t any cretur 't's in his right mind 's a goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s'I?  Here sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so pegged along for thirty-seven year, 'n' all that--natcherl son o' Louis somebody, 'n' sich everlast'n rubbage.  He's plumb crazy, s'I; it's what I says in the fust place, it's what I says in the middle, 'n' it's what I says last 'n' all the time--the nigger's crazy--crazy 's Nebokoodneezer, s'I.” “An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss,” says old Mrs. Damrell; “what in the name o' goodness _could_ he ever want of--” “The very words I was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to Sister Utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself.  Sh-she, look at that-air rag ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, _look_ at it, s'I--what _could_ he a-wanted of it, s'I.  Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she--