Year: 1877

DYERSBURG, august ON, 1000.


MY OWN DEAR PLEAs-Every time think |
of you my heart hops up and down like


a chuPn dasher Sensations of an unutter- |
able joy caper over it like young goats |
over a stable roof, and thrill through it |
like Spanish needles through tow-linen |
trowsers. AS a gosling swimmeth with |
delight in a mud-puddle, so swim in sea |
of glory. Visions of ecstatic rapture, |
thicker than the hair of blacking brush |
and brighter than the hues on humming- |
birds pinions, visit me in my slumbers,
and borne on their invisible wings, your
image stands before me, and l reach out to
grasp it like an old pointer swapping at a
bluebottle fly. When first beheld your
sanity perfections 1 was bewildered, and
my brain whirled around like bumble-bee
under glass tumbler; my eyes stood open


like cellar doors in the country towns, and


l lifted up my ears to catch the silvery


accents of your voice. My tongue refused


to wag, and in silent admiration l drank
in the sweet infection of love as thirsty
man swalloweth tumbler of hot whisky
punch. Since the light of your face fell
upon my life l sometimes feel as if l could
lift myself by my shoe straps to the top of
church steeple. Day and night you are
in my thoughts. When Aurora" blush


ing like bride, rises from her saffron
couch-when the ay-bird pipes his tuneful
lay in the apple tree by the spring house
when the chanticleer's shrill clarion heralds
the coming morn-when the awakened pig
ariseth from his bed and goeth forth for
his morning reEreshments-wheu the drow.
sy beetle wheels his droning flight at sulky
noontide, and when the lowing COWS come
home at milking time, l think Of thee.
And, like a piece of gumelastic my heart
seems to stretch clear across my bosom.
Your hair is like the name of sorrel horse
painted with gold, and the brass slide to
your immaculate hectic fills me with un-
bounded awe. Your forehead is smoother
than an old coat and whittier than seventeen
hundred linen. Your eyes are glorious to
behold; in their liquid depths SEQ legions
of little cupids battling and fighting like
cohorts of ants in an old army cracker.
When their fire hit me full in the womanly
breast it perforated my entire anatomy like
a load of bird shot would go through a rot
ten apple. Your nose is from chunk of
parian marble, and your mouth FUCKERS
with sweetness. Nectar fingers on your
lips like honey on a bears paw, and
myriads of unhedged kisses are there ready
to fly out and light somewhere, like blue
birds out of their parent nest. Your
laugh rings on my ears like the wind-harp's
strains or the bleat of stray lamb on the
bleak hillside. The dimples on your
cheeks are like bowers in beds of roses, OF
like hOllows in cakes of homemade sugar
am dying to fly to your presence and to
pour out the burning eloquence of my love
as a thrifty wife pours out the hot coffee
Away from you, am as melancholy as &
sick rat. Sometimes can hear the June
bug of dependency buz2ing in my ears
and feel the cold lizards of despair crawling
down my back. UncOuth fears, like
thousand mice, are nibbling at my spirits
and my soul is pierced through with doubt
as an old cheese is bored by shippers. NJ,
love is stronger for you than the smell o
old butter, sweitzer kase or the kick Of


mule it is purer than the breath of


young crow, and more unselfish than XII


tens first caterwaul. As the song-bir
hungers for the light of day, the caution
mouse for fresh bacon in a trap, as a lea
pup bankers after new milk, so l long fo
thee. You are fairer than a speckle
pullet, sweeter than a Yankee doughnu
fried in sorghum molassess, brighter tina
the topknot plumage on the head of


Muscovia duck. You are candy kisse
rasins, pound-cake and sweetened toddy
altogether. If these few remarks will ell
able you to see the inside of my affection
shall be as happy as a wood-peckC
in cherry-tree or a stage horse in


green pasture. If you cannot reciprocal
my thrilling passion l will feel very ba'
and | will pine away like a poisoned be-
bug and fall away from the fourishing viz
of life an untimely branch. And in cor
ing years, when the shadows grow lor
from tho hills a .ae phlosophic frC
sings his er-.....e -! i'm, you, happy
another's love, can come and drop te


and toss clod upon the last resting.pla


of EcILA.