“leg lane, thursday, six o’clok.
“dear Sir,—i was gratley Consarnt you shood get in Trubbil on my Acount last Nite, and the Naybors alow ye Behavd lik a Reglar gentleman. Spicer’s gon to the Sittay on bisnis that’il keep him All evenin’—So if you Cood make it Convanient to slip in fair an asey About 8 o’clok, wee wood have a Cup of taa, an’ sum Agreeabel con-versashin. The Favir of yer Compnay will grateley Obleege,
“Yours to Comand,
“Sarah Spicer.”
“P. S.—For the Seak of Geesus, don’t let aney body no Nothin’ at the Fox and Gose—they’r’ Sure to split, an’ no mistake. If Mister Magrale wood sit in the wee Windy next the Door of the Fox, and the divell druv Spicer horn, he’d be sure to see the oul screw Turnin’ the corner, and have Time to give us the offis.
‘My Pen is Bad, my ink is pale,
But my Hart too you will niver fail.’
“Your Lovin’ friend, S.— S —.”
“n.b.—You’l Fine the door onley shut too—Push, an’ it will Opin.
“Yours, as Before.