LETTER III.
In which Cousin Nabby advises Mr Downing to come home.
Downingville, Jan. 30, 1830.
Dear Cousin Jack. — If you were only here, I would
break the handle of our old birch broom over your back
for serving me such a caper. Here I have been waiting
three weeks for that cotton cloth you got for the footings;
and you know the meeting-house windows were
to have been broke a fortnight ago, if I had got it. And
then I had to tell Sam, I was waiting for some cotton
cloth. He tried to keep in with all his might, but he
burst out a laughing so, I'm a good mind to turn him off.
But if I do, you and he will be both in the same pickle.
You had better let them legislaters alone; and if you
can't sell your ax handles, take 'em and come home
and mind your business. There is Jemima Parsons
romping about with the school-master, fair weather and
foul. Last Wednesday she went a sleigh-riding with him,
and to-night she's going to the singing-school, and he is
going to carry her. Last night she came over to our
house, and wanted me to go to uncle Zeke's to borry
their swifts, she said, when she knew we had some, and
had borried them a dozen times. I said nothing, but
went with her. When we got there, who should we find
but the school-master. — I know Jemime knew it, and
went there purpose to have him go home with her. She
never askt for the swifts. Coming home, the master
askt her if she had seen your last letter. She said yes,
and began to laugh and talk about you, just as tho' I
was no relation. She said she guessed them legislaters
would try to make a governor out of
you next, if you
staid there much longer. One of them steers you sold
to Jacob Small that week you went to Portland, died
t'other day; and he says if we have no governor this
year, he wont pay you a cent for 'em. So you have
lost your steers and Jemima Parsons, jest by your dallying
about there among them legislaters. I say you had
better come home, and see to your own business. I spose
father and brother Eph. would like to have you stay
there all winter and tell 'em about the governors and
legislaters, but ant wants her tea, and I want my cotton
cloth, so I wish you'd make haste home and bring
'em.
Your loving Cousin,
NABBY.
To Mr Jack Downing.
