"Your uncle and aunt are purty smart, so as to be jogging about, thank you, Miss Beebe." I hadn't but jest got the words out of my mouth when there was a bell rung so as to make me jump up, and in a minit arter cousin John come in.
Your loving son,
Jonathan Slick.
[LETTER II.]
The Family Dinner and Effects of July Cider.
Dear Par:
"Wal, I see you've found the way, cousin Slick," sez he. "Mary, my dear, is dinner ready?"
She hadn't time to speak before two great doors slid into the partition, and there was another room jest as much like the one we was in, as two peas in a pod. A table was sot in the middle of the room, all kivered with rale China dishes, and first rate glass tumblers, and a silver thing to set the pepper box in—you hain't no idee how stilish it was. But as true as you live, there stood that etarnal nigger, close by the table, as large as life. I didn't know what to make on it, but sez I to myself, if cousin John's got to be an abolitionist and expects me to eat with a nigger, he'll find himself mistaken, I'll be darned to darnation if he don't! But I needn't a got so wrathy; the critter didn't offer to set down, he only stood there to git anything that we wanted.
"Do you take verminsilly, Mr. Slick?" says Miss Beebe, biting off her words as it she was afraid they'd burn her. With that she took the kiver off one of the dishes, and begun to ladle out some soup with a great silver dipper as bright as a new fifty cent piece.