I asked her a thousand questions at least, but not one ov them did she answer, but kept talking all the time faster than Pochahontas kan pace down hill teu saddle.
Az near az i could find out she had lived 194 years simply bekauze she couldn’t die without cutting short one ov her storys.
I asked her teu show me her tounge—I wanted to see if that member waz badly worn; but she couldn’t stop it long enuff teu sho it.
This woman haz reached her ernomus age without enny partikular habit.
She haz outlived every boddy she haz kum akrost, so far, by out-talking them.
The only subject that I could for a moment arrest the flood ov her language with, waz the fashions; but this waz a subjekt upon whitch i unfortunately wan’t mutch.
As a last hope ov drawing her out upon sum fakts az teu her mode ov life, i tutched upon that all-absorbing topick teu both old and yung—i refer now teu matrimony.
Her fust husband it seemed, waz a carpenter, and, teu use her own words, “waz too lazy teu talk, or teu listen while she talked, and so he died.”
Her seckond husband waz a pretty good talker but a poor listener, and, tharefore, he died.
Her third husband waz a deff and dum man, and, az she remarked, “either he or she had got teu die, and the man died.”