Sir, I reside in Ruralville,
Southeast of Bluff, a craggy hill;
A broad majestic stream rolls by,
Whose crystal surface charms the eye.
If you still wish to win a bride,
Come where the farmers' girls reside;
Henceforth I write no more to you,
My much respected friend, adieu!
NOTE. If Jere isn't "done brown" now, we are no judge of human nater. Cheer up, Jere, "a faint heart never won a fair lady." "Pull up your dicky up," and try again; and if you get "sacked," remember and practice the advice of the old Poet:—