Michigan historical collections . ay -twas ivhat was in it Caused the fall of Mr. Bennet,But ther aint a word of truth in what they say. Leaving Wiggletown the Widow Bedott goes to visit a sister, , who lives in Scrabble Hill. While there she learns that theBaptist minister has recently been bereaved of his beloved consort, solaying aside her violent prejudice against the Baptists, she cultivatesthe acquaintance of the elder, calling at his home occasionally in theevening in order to converse uninterruptedly on religious subjects. Dear me, she says, its awful tryin to be without a c
Michigan historical collections . ay -twas ivhat was in it Caused the fall of Mr. Bennet,But ther aint a word of truth in what they say. Leaving Wiggletown the Widow Bedott goes to visit a sister, , who lives in Scrabble Hill. While there she learns that theBaptist minister has recently been bereaved of his beloved consort, solaying aside her violent prejudice against the Baptists, she cultivatesthe acquaintance of the elder, calling at his home occasionally in theevening in order to converse uninterruptedly on religious subjects. Dear me, she says, its awful tryin to be without a companion,as I remarked in some stauzys I was a writin tother day. What sittiwatiou can be wuss Than not to have nobody to care for iis! Eiches and honors that most folks prize Aint of no vally in my eyes In comparison with a congenial heart, In all our consarns to take a part; To recipperate all our buzzums emotions, And to take the lead in our daily devotions. Aint them you^* sentiments, elder? FRANCES MIRIAM BERRY WHITCHER. 423. i^r^U^X^J^ ft<J^W^ Hugelina, another valued correspondent of the Scrabble Hill Lumi-nary, also a devoted admirer of Elder Sniffles, writes as follows con-cerning the elders bereavement: As droops the frail effulgent flower, By wintry breezes tried—So, in an onexpected hour, Dear Misses Sniffles died. No more her sorrowing pardner hears The voice he loved below,While tears, unmitigated tears Keveal his bosoms woe. In that respect such grief as liisen Is different from m\ , in my hearts dark, mournful prison. Lies ranklin unbeknown. 424 ANNUAL MEETING, 1906. WidoAv Eedott concludes to offer some of her poims to the PoetsCorner of the weekly Luminary, and the following appears: K. K. CAN^T CALCULATE. What poor short-sighted worms we be— For we cant calculateWith any sort of sartintee, What is to be our fate. These words Priscillas heart did reach And caused her tears to flow,When she heard the elder preach About six months ago. How true i
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