2. CHAPTER II.
I was born in Missouri. My dislike for the Northern
scum was inherent. This was shown, at an early
age, in the extreme distaste I exhibited for Webster's
spelling-book—the work of a well-known Eastern
Abolitionist. I cannot be too grateful for the consideration
shown by my chivalrous father—a gentleman
of the old school—who resisted to the last an attempt
to introduce Mitchell's Astronomy and Geography
into the public school of our district. When I state
that this same Mitchell became afterward a hireling
helot in the Yankee Army, every intelligent reader
will appreciate the prophetic discrimination of this
true son of the South.
I was eight years old when I struck the first blow
for Southern freedom against the Northern Tyrant.
It is hardly necessary to state that in this instance
the oppressor was a pale, over-worked New England
“school-marm.” The principle for which I was contending,
I felt, however, to be the same. Resenting
an affront put upon me, I one day heaved a rock[1]
at
the head of the Vandal schoolmistress. I was seized
and overpowered. My pen falters as I reach the
climax. English readers will not give credit to this
sickening story—the civilized world will avert its
head—but I, Mary McGillup, was publicly SPANKED!
