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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
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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--