“No, mam,” says I shortly; “I hain’t devoured Martin Farquhar Tupper, nor no other man. I hain’t a cannibal.”
“Oh, you understand me not; I meant, devorhed his sweet tender lines.”
“I hain’t devoured his tenderlines, nor nothin’ relatin’ to him,” and I made a motion to lay the paper down, but Betsey urged me to go on, and so I read:
GUSHINGS OF A TENDAH SOUL
“‘Oh, let who will,
Oh, let who can,
Be tied onto
A horrid male man.’
“Thus said I ere
My tendah heart was touched;