In spite of the opinion prevailing in those days, that when a young man embraced the career of an artist it was a farewell to all hope of a sober and prosperous career, my father had been willing for me to follow my manifest bent, and I was to sacrifice a university career as the alternative. But the last enemy stepped between me and my hopes, and there was nothing for it but to go to work. I had an ardent admirer in Mammy, who, in her innocence of a proper standard, frequently compared my productions to a “music back” or a tobacco label. That was before the days of chromos. Mammy turned up Sunday mornings to look after my buttons. Those were days of fond reminiscence and poignant regret on my part. “Seems to me hit's time for you to be getting some new shirts, Mahs William,” she said, one Sunday morning. Mammy touched me sorely there. A crisis was certainly impending in my lingerie. “Oh, I reckon not. You must have got hold of a bad one, Mammy.” “I got hole uv all uv um what is out uv wash; and them gwine. The buttons is shackledy on all uv um, too. I wish I wuz a washer; then you wouldn't have to give yo' clothes out to these triflin' huzzies whar rams a iron over yo' things like they wuz made uv iron too.” “I suppose that you are getting along pretty well, Mammy,” I remarked, irrelevantly. “Oh, I kain' complain. I made two dollars an' five an' threppence out'n the Scott party last week; an' I hear tell uv some new folks on Franklin Street gwine give a big party, an' I'm spectin' somethin' out uv dat. Lawdy, Lawdy, Mahs William,” she added, after a pause given to reflection, “hit certainly does 'muse me to see how some 'r dese people done come up. But they kain' fool me. I knows what's quality in town an' what ain't. I can reckermember perfick when some uv these vay folks, when dey come to your pa's front do', never expected to be asked in, but jess wait thar 'bout their business ontwell yo' pa got ready to talk to um at the do'. Yes, sah. I bin see some uv dese vay people's daddies”--Mammy used this word advisedly--“kayin' their vittles in a tin bucket to their work; that what I bin see.” I was shaving during this monologue of Mammy's, with my back to her. A sudden exclamation of the name of the Lord made me start around and endanger my nose. I was not startled at the irreverence of the expression, however, as sacred names were familiar interjections of Mammy's, as of all her race. “Ev'y button off'n these draw's,” Mammy answered to my alarmed question--alarmed because I anticipated some disaster to my wardrobe. “Hit's a mortal shame. I'll take 'em home, an' Monday I'll get some buttons on Broad Street an' sew um on.”