“And, Ezra, if Aunt Cassey, your good and kind wife, hadn’t changed her mind and married you instead of Uncle Snake Bit Jim, her name would now be Mrs. Snake Bit Jim.”
“Dat’s what I say, boss; dat’s de application ezactly. I don’ like dis changin’ business. Bless Gord, I wish Cassey hadn’ change huh mine.”
Memories of happier days come to us all. May they soften the pillow of dear old Ezra. His first wife was my nurse, and many a time his willing hands, to give her’s rest, have rocked my cradle.
Who could our baby tears repress
And lull us into drowsiness.
Mammy.
MAMMY.
There are pictures of the past in memory’s gallery before which we love to linger. To one it is perhaps the old homestead in the North, or the South. To another, a woman’s face. To a woman mayhap this picture is suggested by a simple tress of hair, or fragrant dust, once violets, or an old letter, perchance kissed many times, or tear-wet, who may know? To me it is my old—
MAMMY.