LETTER VIII.
In which Mrs Downing urges her son to come home.
Downingville, Feb. 6, 1830.
My Dear Son, — Its a good while since I writ a letter,
and I almost forget how; but you stay down there
to Portland so long, I kind of want to say something to
you. I have been churning this morning, and my hand
shakes so I cant hardly hold my pen still. And then I
am afraid the news I've got to tell, will be such a blow
to you, it makes me feel sort of narvous. Last Sunday
the schoolmaster and Jemima Parsons had their names
stuck up together in the meeting-house porch. — Now I
hope you wont take on, my dear Jack; for if I was you,
I should be glad to get rid of her so. I guess she's
rather slack, if the truth was known: for I went in there
one day, and she'd jest done washing the floor; and I
declare, it looked as grey as if she'd got the water out
of a mud puddle. And then she went to making pies
without washing her hands, or shifting her apron. They
made me stop to supper, but I never touched Jemime's
pies. There's Dolly Spaulding, I'm sure she's likelier
looking than Jemime Parsons, if 'twant for that habit
she's got of looking two ways at once. If she's making
a soup, one eye is always in the pot, if t'other does look
up chimney. She's as good a cook as ever was born,
and neat as wax-work. Sally Kean was to our house
spinning linen t'other day, because I burnt my hand
so bad trying out lard I couldn't hold the thread, and
she said Dolly had more sheets and pillow-cases than
you could count for one while, and she is always making
blankets and coverlids. She has sold footings enough
to buy her half a dozen silver spoons and a case of
knives. When I was young, such a gal would had a
husband long ago. The men didn't use to ask if a gal
looked one way, or two ways with her eyes, but whether
she was neat and smart; only if she had thin lips and
peaked nose, they were sometimes a little shy of her.
O Jack, I'm afraid these legislaters will be the ruination
of you! 'Twill make you jest like your uncle
Joshua. You know he had rather stand and dispute
about politiks any time, than work on his farm, and
talking will never build a stone wall or pay our taxes.
I dont care so much about the shushon as your poor
cousin Nabby does about the cotton cloth. But your
father has got the rumatise dreadfully this winter; and
its rather hard for him to have to cut all the wood and
make the fires this cold winter. I cant see what good
twil do for you to stay in Portland any longer, and I
think you had better come home and see a little to the
work on the farm.
Your loving mother,
MARY DOWNING.
