The climbin’ roses bloomed out sweet and pink, the orange-trees gleamed with the round globes of gold, and anon clusters of posys amongst the shinin’ green leaves.
It wuz a fair seen, a fair seen.
And I sot enjoyin’ it to the full, and as is the depraved and curius nater of men and wimmen, a enjoyin’ it still more as I turned to it from the pages of a voluminous letter I had jest got and received from Philury.
Yes, as I read of the snow piles, and the dirty slosh of snow and mud that the Jonesvillians had to wade through under gray skies and cotton umberells, I sot with a deeper gratitude and a happier frame to my mind under the clear blue skies of the balmy South land, amongst the beauties and summer fragrance of Belle Fanchon.
There wuz another letter I hadn’t read yet a layin’ in my lap, and my joyful meditation and my comparisons that I had drawed, and drawed so fur, had took my mind from it.
THE JONESVILLIANS.
But anon, as I turned back from the sight of Maggie and Thomas Jefferson a ridin’ off through the sunshine towards the depot, I took up the other letter, and as I opened it I involuntarily uttered them words which have sounded out from my lips in so many crysisses of joy or pain. I sez: