March 21, this 1844.
Mr. Porter,
I rode three mile ev’ry Satterdy to git a letter outer the Post Offis, spectin’ as how you had writ me a anser; but I spose what with Pineter dogs, and hosses, and Kricket, and Boxin’, and Texas, Trebla, and three Fannys, and Acorns, and Punch in perticlar, you hain’t had no time. I’m glad your Speerit is revivin’; so is mine, and, as the boy sed to his mammy, I hopes to be better acquainted with you.
Well, I got so sick in my speerits and droopy like, that I thot I should ev died stone ded, not seein’ of Barbry for three weeks. So one evenin’ I went down, spectin’ as how old Miss Bass had gone to Sociashun—for she’s mity religus, and grones shockin’ at prayers—to hear two prechers from the Sanwitch Ilans, where they tell me the peple all goes naked—which is comikil, as factry homespun is cheap, and could afford to kiver themselves at nine cent a yard.
When I went in, there sot old Miss Bass and old Miss Collis a-smokin’ and chattin amazin’. I do think old Miss Collis beats all natur at smokin’.
Old Miss Collis had on her Sundy frock, and had it draw’d up over her kneas to keep from skorchin’, and her pettykoats rased tolerble high as she sot over the fire to be more comfortabler like, but when she seed me she drop’d ’em down, and arter howdying and civerlizin’ each other I sot down, but being sorter flusticated like, thinkin’ of that skrape, last time I was here, about old Troup lickin’ of the milk, I didn’t notis perticlar where I sot. So I sot down in a cheer where Barbry had throw’d down her work (when she seed me comin’ at the bars) and run—and her nedle stuck shockin’ in my—into me, and made me jump up oncommon and hollered!
I thought old Miss Collis woulder split wide open a laffin’, and old Miss Bass like to a busted, and axed my parding for laffin’, and I had to give in, but it was laffin’ on t’other side, and had to rub the place.
Arter awhile we got done—but it looked like I had bad luck, for in sittin’ down agin I lik’d to have sot on Barbry’s tom cat, which if I had, I shoulder bin like Kurnel Zip Coon’s wife, who jump’d into a holler log to mash two young panters to deth, and they scratched her so bad she couldn’t set down for two munse! I seed this ’ere in a almynack. Old Miss Bass seein’ I was bothered, axed me to have a dram, but I thank’d her, no.
Ses she, “Mr. Warrick, you ain’t one of the Temprite Siety?”
Ses I, “No, but I hain’t got no ’casion at presence!”