WARRICK IN LUCK.
“I’d orfen heerd it said ob late,
Dat Norf Carolina was de state,
Whar han’some boys am bound to shine,
Like Dandy Jim of de Caroline,” &c.
Piney Bottom, in Old North State,
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!”
Ses she, “You is welcome.”
Well, we chatted on some time ’bout prechin, and mumps, and the measly
oitment, and Tyler gripes, and Miss Collis she broke out and sed:
“I never _did_ hear the beat of them Tyler gripes! I have hearn talk of
all sorter gripes, and dry gripes, and always thought that the gripes
was in the stomic, before now, but bless your soul, Miss Bass, this here
gripes is in the hed! I told my old man that no good would come of
’lectin’ Tyler, but poor old creeter, he’s sorter hard-headed, and got
childish, and would do it. O! me? well, we’re all got to come to it and
leve this world! Bless the Lord! I hope I’m ready!”
“That’s a fact,” ses old Miss Bass, “you’re right, Miss Collis; old men
gits uncommon stubborn; a hard, mighty hard time, I had with my old man.
But he’s ded and gone! I hope he’s happy!”
And they both groaned and shet their eyes, and pucked up their mouths.
Ses she, “He got mity rumitys and troubled me powerful, and the old
creetur tuck astonishin’ of dokter’s stuff, and aleckcampane and rose of
sublimit—but he went at last! The Lord’s will be done!—_Skat!_ you
stinkin’ hussy, and come out of that kibbard!” ses she to the cat; “I
_do_ think cats is abominable, and that tom cat of Barbry’s is the
’scheviousest cat I ever _did_ see!”
Ses Miss Collis, “Cats _is_ a pest, but a body can’t do well without
’em; the mice would take the house bodily,” ses she. “Miss Bass, they
tell me that Dicey Loomis is a-gwying to be married—her peple was in
town last week, and bort a power of things and artyfishals, and lofe
sugar, and ribbuns, and cheese, and sich like!”
“Why,” ses Miss Bass, “you don’t tell me so! Did I ever hear the beat o’
that! Miss Collis, are it a fact?”
“Yes,” ses Miss Collis, “it’s the nat’ral truth, for brother Bounds
tell’d it to me at last class meetin’.”
Ses Miss Bass, hollerin’ to Barbry in t’other room: “Barbry, do you hear
that Dicey Loomis is gwying to git married? Well! well! it beats me!
bless the Lord! I wonder who she’s gwying to get married to, Miss
Collis?”
Ses Miss Collis, “Now, child, yure too hard for me! but they do say it’s
to that Taler from Town. Well, he’s a putty man, and had on such a nice
dress—’cept he’s most too much nock-nead, _sich_ eyes and _sich_
whiskers, and now _don’t_ he play the fiddle?”
Ses Miss Bass, “Well, Dicey is a middlin’ peart gal, but for my part I
don’t see what the taler seed in _her_.”
“Nor I nuther,” ses Miss Collis, “but she’s gwine to do well. I couldn’t
a sed no if he’d a axed for our Polly.”
Then in comes Barbry, and we how-dy’d and both turned sorter red in the
face, and I trimbl’d tolerable and felt agurry. Well, arter we talk’d a
spell, all of us, Miss Bass got up and ses she:
“Miss Collis I want to show you a nice passel of chickens; our old
speckled hen come off with eleven, yisterdy, as nice as ever you _did_
see.”
Then old Miss Collis riz up, and puttin’ her hands on her hips, and
stratened like, and ses, right quick:
“Laws a massy! my poor back! Drat the rumatics! It’s powerful bad; it’s
gwyne to rain, I know!—oh, me! me!”—and they both went out.
Then Barbry look’d at me so comikil and sed:
“Billy, I raly _shall_ die thinkin’ of you and old Troup!” and she
throw’d herself back and laffed and laffed; and she looked so putty and
so happy ses I to myself:
“Billy Warrick, you must marry that gal and no mistake, or brake a
trace!” and I swore to it.
Well, we then talk’d agreeable like, and sorter saft, and both of us war
so glad to see one another till old Miss Bass and Miss Collis come back;
and bimeby Miss Collises youngest son come for her, and I helped her at
the bars to get up behin’ her son, and ses she:
“Good-bye, Billy! Good luck to you! I know’d your daddy and mammy afore
you was born on yerth, and I was the fust one after your granny that had
you in the arms—me and Miss Bass _talk’d it over! you’ll git a smart,
peart, likely gal!_ So good-bye, Billy.”
Ses I, “Good-bye, Miss Collis,” and ses I, “Gooly, take good kear of
your mammy, my son!”
You see I thot I’d be perlite.
Well, when I went back, there sot old Miss Bass, and ses she:
“Billy, Miss Collis and me is a bin talkin’ over you and Barbry, and
seein’ you are a good karickter and smart, and well to do in the world,
and a poor orphin boy, I shan’t say _no_! Take her, Billy, and be good
to her, and God bless you, my son, for I’m all the mammy you’ve got,” so
she kiss’d me, and ses she, “now kiss Barbry. We’ve talk’d it over, and
leave us for a spell, for it’s hard to give up my child.”
So I kissed Barbry, and left.
The way I rode home was oncommon peart, and my old mare pranced and was
like the man in Skriptur, who “waxed fat and kick’d,” and I hurried home
to tell old Venus, and to put up three shotes and some turkies to fatten
for the innfare. Mr. Porter, it’s to be the third Wensday in next month,
and Barbry sends you a ticket, hopin’ you will put it in your
paper—that is, the weddin’.
So wishin’ you a heap of subskribers, I remane in good helth and
speerits at presence.
Your Friend,
Wm. Warrick.