University of Virginia Library

LITTLE PATTI.

The moosic which Ime most use to is the inspirin
stranes of the hand orgin. I hire a artistic Italyun
to grind fur me, payin him his vittles & close, & I
spose it was them stranes which fust put a moosical
taste into me. Like all furriners he had seen better
dase, havin formerly been a Kount. But he
aint of much akount now, except to turn the orgin
and drink Beer, of which bevrige he can hold a
churnful, easy.

Miss Patty is small for her size, but as the man
sed abowt his wife, O Lord! She is well bilt &
her complexion is what might be called a Broonetty.
Her ize is a dark bay, the lashes bein long & silky.
When she smiles the awjince feels like axing her to
doo it sum moor, & to continner doin it 2 a indefnit
extent. Her waste is one of the most bootiful wastisis

ever seen. When Mister Strackhorse led her
out I thawt sum pretty skool gal, who had jest graduatid
frum pantalets & wire hoops, was a cumin out
to read her fust composishun in public. She cum
so bashful like, with her hed bowd down, & made
sich a effort to arrange her lips so thayd look pretty,
that I wanted to swaller her. She reminded me
of Susan Skinner, who'd never kiss the boys at
parin bees till the candles was blow'd out. Miss
Patty sung suthin or ruther in a furrin tung. I
don't know what the sentimunts was. Fur awt I
know she may hav bin denouncin my wax figgers &
sagashus wild beests of Pray, & I don't much keer
ef she did. When she opened her mowth a army
of martingales, bobolinks, kanarys, swallers, mockin
birds, etsettery, bust 4th & flew all over the
Haul.

Go it, little 1, sez I to myself, in a hily existed
frame of mind, & ef that kount or royal duke which
you'll be pretty apt to marry 1 of these dase don't
do the fair thing by ye, yu kin always hav a home
on A. Ward's farm, near Baldinsville, Injianny.

When she sung Cumin threw the Rye, & spoke of
that Swayne she deerly luvd herself individooully,
I didn't wish I was that air Swayne. No I gess
not. Oh certainly not. [This is Ironical. I don't
meen this. It's a way I hav of goakin.] Now
that Maria Picklehominy has got married [which I
hopes she likes it] & left the perfeshun, Adeliny
Patty is the championess of the opery ring. She
karries the Belt. Thar's no draw fite about it.
Other primy donnys may as well throw up the
spunge first as last. My eyes don't deceive my earsite
in this matter.

But Miss Patty orter sing in the Inglish tung.
As she kin do so as well as she kin in Italyun, why
under the Son dont she do it? What cents is thare
in singin wurds nobody dont understan when wurds
we do understan is jest as handy? Why peple will
versifferusly applawd furrin langwidge is a mistery.
It reminds me of a man I onct knew. He sed he
knockt the bottum out of his pork Barril, & the
pork fell out, but the Brine dident moove a inch.
It stade in the Barril. He sed this was a Mistery,

but it wasn't misterior than is this thing I'm speekin
of.

As fur Brignoly, Ferri and Junky, thay air
dowtless grate, but I think sich able boddied men
wood look better tillin the sile than dressin theirselves
up in black close & white kid gluvs & shoutin
in a furrin tung. Mister Junky is a noble
lookin old man & orter lead armies on to Battel instid
of shoutin in a furrin tung.

Adoo. In the langwidge of Lewis Napoleon
when receivin kumpany at his pallis on the Bullyvards,
“I saloot yu.”