She raised three-fourths of the world’s cotton, and has one-half of the standing timber of the whole country. Her own cotton mills consume 2,282,900 bales yearly, or nearly as much as New England and all the rest of the country combined, whereas in 1880 she consumed but one-sixth as much as New England. Europe pays her a tribute of over one million dollars daily for cotton. Thus marches on the Great New South.
Bre’r Washington’s Consolation
Saturday night my wife died,
Sunday she was buried,
Monday was my kotin’ day
And Chewsday I got married.
Whenever I heard the old man singing I knew he was in a reminiscent mood and so I put down my book and went out to the barn, where he was building a pen to put the fattening Berkshires in. For a month these slick rascals had been running in the ten-acre lot planted in corn and, at the “lay-by plowing,” sown in peas, all for their especial benefit. The corn had nearly ripened and the peas were in the pod; and now, day after day they had wallowed in the water of the ten-acre field branch or torn down the tempting corn stalks or eaten the juicy peas till their tails had taken on the two-ring curl of contentment and they had grown too fat to run in so large a lot.
“An’ now dey must be put in de parlor,” said the old man as he proceeded to build their pen, “an’ fed on poun’ cake an’ punkins. Fust er good dry pen, bilt on er solid blue lime-rock, ef you so forechewnate es to lib in Middle Tennessee, an’ ef you don’t lib heah,” he half soliloquized, “jes’ bild it in sum mud hole an’ be dun wid it, fur you ain’t gwi’ fatten your horgs no-how ef youn don’t lib in Tennessee,” he said, with a sly wink. “Den, arter you gits the pen bilt bring up a load ob yaller punkins to sharpen up dey appletights an’ start ’em off right; den plenty ob dis year’s cohn wid er sour-meal mash ebry now and den to keep ’em eatin’ good, an’ den, chile, ’long erbout Krismas time jes’ sot your mouf fur spairribs an’ sawsages—e—yum, yum, yum”—and he wiped the corner of his mouth suspiciously.
“Ole Naper cum to my house
I thout he cum to see me,