The Hard Luck of Some People.
"Tell yo' w'at, Mars' Parson," remarked Uncle Cocklesole, as he sat on the sill of a second-story window and looked down on the mounted missionary and the receding waters, "tell yo' wat it ar', ef hard luck don't jus' play leap frawg wid some sinners an' lan' wid fo' feet on udders, den I'm squinch-eyed in mer judgmen'. Dere's Jim Rasselbait! What de flood do for him? Swup his leaben chillen off de carf an' tu'ned de stove ober in de cabin so dat hit b'un up an he git a hun'ered dollars inshu'ance, an' dar he am, jus' scused ob car and 'sponsibility, goin' eround town rich as Crusoe an' no one ter lay claim ter one single per centum ob de money. An' der's merse'f. Blame ef de waters didn't jus' do nuffin to mer cabin but ransack all de furnicher, an' after hustlin' mer wife and chillens off in a way ter make a feller 'spicion dey's gone fo' good, blame ef they didn't leggo ob 'em jus' roun' de ben', an yer dey is all back ergin an' me wid no inshuance, and no provenger in de house ter s'ply 'em wid. Talk erbout ekal rights! Hit's only fellers like Jim Rasselbait, w'at's bo'n wid a coil, dat gits 'em all."
—Yonkers Gazette.