THE LIME-KILN CLUB.

Dunstan Times, Issue 1056, 14 July 1882, Page 4

THE LIME-KILN CLUB.

BROTHER GARDENER ON JEREMIAHS. “ T)ar nm Ranin folkscs I want to keep awny from," beg,in the okl man ns the voices of tho (rice Glnb dioil away on the last sfciainsof ‘‘ Sarah Jane’s Baby.” “I mean flat, class of people who groan ober de wickedness of do world, an’ who have heartaches an’ sorrows to peddle armin’ <ie kentry at ;lo reg’lar market rates. Har’ am do ole man Turner. He comes ober to see me now and den, but he can’t sot still kase somebody stole his dog, or hii him wid a brickbat, or beat him ont of seventy-live cents. He fully belie vs dat de world am gwine to smash atde rate of fifteen miles an hour, an’ it would eanemost kill him to lose his ole wallet an’ find a man honest ’null' to return it. He widder Plumsel! comes ober to berry some butter for supper, an’ she draps down on the cha’r an’ heaves a sigh as big as a barn donh an’ goes on to say that dis am a ■cold an’unfeelin'world. ’Cording to her toll all men am dishonesty all women extravagant, an’ all chil’ren just readv to come down wid de measles. Te rs rim down her cheeks as she tolls how she has to work an' plan while eherybody else has money to flow into Lake Erie, an’ she wipes her nose on her apron as she asserts dat dis wicked world can’t stan’ mo’ dan fo’ weeks longer Deacon Striper drops in to eat pop corn wid me of a Friday ebenin,’ an’ he hardly gits out from under his hat befo’ he begins to tell what his first wife died of; how his second run away • how his third broke her leg by failin’ off a fence and cost him 28 14dol for doctor’s bill, an’ befo’ he gits frew you couldn't make him believe but what the hull world was dead agin him. He predicts a late spring, a hot summer, poor crops, high prices, a bloody war, an’ goes home feelin’ dat he am stoppin’ on airth only to accommodate somebody. I have no sorrow of my own. I’ve been robbed, hot dat was kase I left awinder up. 1 have been swindled, but dat was kase I thought fo’ queens would beat fo’ aces, I’ve bet on the wrong boss; I’ve bought lottery tickets which didn’t draw; I’ve been sick unto death, and I’ve been shot in the back wid ahull brickyard, but I do not sorrow an’ I do not ax fur sympathy. De world am plenty good ’miff fur de class of people livin’ in it Honest men am not lonesome fur company, an’ honest women am sartin to he appreciated. De janitor will now open fo’ winders an’ we will purceed to bizues i.” —Detroit Free Press.