Yestday was Valentines day and some wicked feller he sent me one which was the ugliest ever see. It is drew with a pen, and its me a settin on a Noays ark with wooden animals before me, and me a writin about them with my toung out and my legs twisted to gather like grape vines, but not a bit like me, more like Billy. There is a big jackus a standin behine me with his mouth to my ear, like he was a whisperin in school, and this is the poetry which is under the pictur, bad spellin and all, I never see such fool poetry!
Now here you are, Johnny, and heres Uncle Ned,
Composing your stories all out of his head.
With Genius behind you and Nature before,
No truth can “kanock” you, no mystery “flore.”
You’re true as a clock to your subject—at least,
You write about beasts, and you write like a beast.
When I got that I took it strait to Uncle Ned, and when he had read it he looked mighty mad. Then I said: “Uncle Ned, what becomes of wicked fellers souls when they die?”
Uncle Ned he said: “Johnny, that is a question which will keep till you have a optunity to see for your self. This gum dasted villin says no mystry can flore you, but I guess its just as well not to go out of your way for to tackle mystries which are peaceful disposed. I respeck your motive in askin the riddle, cause it is the same which under lies the holy religion of the Pattigonions, but the Bible it says for us to love our enmies, cause they dont know any better. So I move we forgive this feller and content our selfs with the hope that what ever is done to him in a other and bitter world it will be good and plenty.”
Thats all I know bout bears to day, but Billy he can crow like a cockadoodle, and the Bible it says let us be up and doin.