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A thick throbbing at my heart, and fancies thronging on me. A disposition to sleep, or to think on things melancholy and horrible while I wake. Strange that one's nerves should thus master them, for nervous the case is, as I know too well. I am beginning to tire of my Journal, and no wonder, faith, if I have only such trash as this to record.

"You see, my lad, that it is the middle class which ought to govern the country. What the book says about the ignorance of country magistrates is very good; but the man writes pretty considerable trash when he wants to regulate the number of hours a free-born boy should work at a factory, only ten hours a day pooh! and so lose two hours to the nation!

Neither were there many of the wretched people, kidnapped from the jails and slums of English sea-ports, such as in those early days when negro labour was scarce, were sent by ship-loads to Virginia, to become the progenitors of the "white trash."

You think because you are in a rig o' that sort, Pete Allen, you can make men an' women break the'r necks to git out o' your way. If you had touched me with that thing I'd have stomped the life out o' you. I know you. You used to split rails an' hoe an' plow, barefooted over in Dogwood. 'White trash, the niggers called your folks.

"Nonsense, child. Can't you spend your time better than fooling with such trash?" "It isn't trash, mamma. The girl went to France, to Paris, and she danced she was famous." Mrs. Ellison shifted uneasily. "You are old enough to begin reading books of proper sort. I don't know how you pick up such notions as this," said she. "Is not the book yours, mamma?" "Why, no, of course not.

"Gerard stole not the trash; he but took it to spite the burgomaster, who stole his liberty; but he shall answer to the Duke for it, he shall. As for these skins of parchment you keep such a coil about, look in the nearest brook or stye, and 'tis odds but you find them." "Think ye so, mistress? think ye so?" And Dierich's eyes flashed. "Mayhap you know 'tis so."

She carried one in her head much more interesting than all that trash. The fact is, nothing could make her forget the factory. When she set forth in the morning on her father's arm, she always cast a glance in that direction. At that hour the works were just stirring, the chimney emitted its first puff of black smoke.

A certain downtown section of New York City is monopolized by the publishers and binders of "yellow-backs," which are turned out in bales and cart-loads daily. Girls fed upon such mental trash are bound to have distorted and false views of everything.

Instead, the voice of the "control" began to recite a verse of poetry a cheap, sentimental bit of trash. It was maddening, under the circumstances. "Do you know where the letters are?" "Hawkins has them." "They were not hidden in the curtain?" This was Sperry. "No. The police might have searched the room." "Where were these letters?"

Lastly thar's the pore white trash, thet lives 'way up in the hollers an' on the wuthless lands about the headwaters. They've little patches o' corn ter make ther breadstuff, an' depend on huntin', fishin', an' stealin' fur the rest o' their vittles.