I should have been ashamed if I wuz him. If he had been a woman a-marryin’ and a-killin’ and a-marryin’, and etc., etc., etc., they wouldn’t have stood it half so long—they would have broke it up; it wouldn’t have been any worse in a female for anything I know.
And then there wuz the message from Julius Cæsar a-sayin’ that he had “Veni, vidi, vici.”
I spoze Thomas Jefferson would know jest what that meant. Josiah thought it wuz sunthin’ about some wimmen—Nancy somebody, but I d’no—I wouldn’t ask.
And then there wuz letters from good riz up creeters, sech as John Knox, Sir Isaac Newton, Cardinal Wolsey, Cranmer, Erasmus, etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., and so forth.
Josiah wuz perfectly beat out when we got home that night, and so wuz I.
But we found letters from home, and they seemed to refresh us and take our minds offen our four legs and our two dizzy and tired-out heads.
Babe, sweet little creeter, she writ that she prayed for me every night, and for her grandpapa, too. I wonder if that is one reason why our legs didn’t give out completely that day, as they threatened to time and agin?
Thomas J. and Tirzah Ann writ affectionate letters—Thomas J. a-tellin’ us to be careful and not overdo, and Tirzah Ann sent a heart full of love, and a request to git a yard and a half of lace with deep pints on’t to trim a summer waist.
Ury and Philury wanted to know when we wuz a-comin’ home, and whether, with deep respects, they should take up the parlor carpet, that seemed threatened with carpet bugs, and whether it wuz best to break up the 8-acre lot.
Oh, sweet and tender missives, how near they seemed to bring the old home to us—drag it right along over the glassy bridge of the Atlantic and land it at our feet!