| [8] | By Zeba Smith. |
VIII.
BILLY WARRICK’S COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
CHAPTER I.
WARRICK IN DISTRESS.
Piney Bottom, in Old North State,
Jinuary this 4, 1844.
Mr. Porter,
Sir:—Bein’ in grate distrest, I didn’t know what to do, till one of the lawyers councilled me to tell you all about it, and git your apinion. You see I are a bin sparkin’ over to one of our nabors a cortin’ of Miss Barbry Bass, nigh upon these six munse. So t’other nite I puts on my stork that cum up so high that I look’d like our Kurnel paradin of the milertary on Gin’ral Muster, tryin’ to look over old Snap’s years—he holds sich a high hed when he knows that he’s got on his holdsturs and pistuls and his trowsen and sich like, for he’s a mity proud hoss. I had on a linun shurt koller starched stif that cum up monstrus high rite under my years, so that ev’ry time I turn’d my hed it nigh saw’d off my years, and they are so sore that I had to put on some Gray’s intment, which draw’d so hard, that if I hadn’t wash’d it in sope-suds I do bleve it would a draw’d out my branes. I put on my new briches that is new fashon’d and opens down before, and it tuck me nigh a quarter of a hours to butten ’em, and they had straps so tite I could hardly bend my kneas—I had on my new wastecoat and a dicky bussam with ruffles on each side, and my white hat. I had to be perticlar nice in spittin’ my terbaccer juce, for my stork were so high I had to jerk back my head like you have seed one of them Snapjack bugs. Considrin’ my wiskurs hadn’t grow’d out long enuff, as I were conceety to think that I look’d middlin’ peart, and my old nigger ’oman Venus said I look’d nice enuff for a Bryde.
It tuck one bale of good cotting and six bushils of peese to pay for my close. Dod drot it, it went sorter hard; but when I tho’t how putty she did look last singin’ school day,—with her eyes as blue as indiger, and her teath white as milk, and sich long curlin’ hare hanging clear down to her belt ribbun, and sich butiful rosy chaeks, and lips as red as a cock Red-burd in snow time, and how she squeased my hand when I gin her a oringe that I gin six cents for—I didn’t grudge the price.