"Devoured who?" says I, in a tone pretty near as cold as a cold icicle.
"Mahten, Fahqueah, Tuppah, that sweet authar," says she.
"No, mom," 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,
Thus said I 'ere
My tendah feelings gushed.
"But oh a change
Hath swept ore me,
As billows sweep
The 'deep blue sea.'
"A voice, a noble form
One day I saw;
An arrow flew,
My heart is nearly raw.