| All flesh is grass: all paper's rags, (So it is said by wicked wags.) But I would like to pass along Among th' epistolary throng. Till I reach the town of Kent Nor to a paper mill be sent. And come to an untimely end. Before I find my writer's friend; Whose name is Putnam, or Sam Put. In the old State Connecticut. |
| This is going to my tailor. A trust-worthy man is he; Like a clock, for ever ticking. He keeps his account with me. To send my bill I here request him For the br—ches he has made: Thanks to good old uncle Samuel. He must send it on pre-paid. |
(The address was in prose.)
| When you C this letter. You'd better letter B. For it is going over Unto Tom McG. In the town of Dover. State of Tennessee. |
Address on a Valentine:
| Mr. Post Master, keep this well, for every line is going to tell how much I love my Bill Martell. Syracuse, N. Y. |