LETTER VI.

Pineville, February 2nd, 1843. Dear Sir,

Ever sense I writ my last letter to you, things is gone on jest as strate as a shingle, and the only thing what troubles me is, I’m afraid it’s all too good to last. It’s always ben the way with me ever sense I can remember, whenever I’m the happyest sum blamed thing seems to turn up jest to upset all my calculations, and now, though the day is sot for the weddin’, and the Stallinses is gittin’ everything reddy as fast as they can, I wouldn’t be s’prised much if some ’bominable thing was to happen, some yeath-quake or something, jest to bust it all up agin, though I should hate it monstrous.

Old Miss Stallins red that piece in the Miscellany ’bout the mistake in Parson Miller’s figers, and I do b’lieve she’s as glad about it as if she was shore she would live a whole thousand years more herself. She ses she hain’t got no objections to the weddin’ now, for me and Mary’ll have plenty of time to make a fortin for our children and rais ’em up as they ought to be. She ses she always wondered how Mr. Miller could cipher the thing out so strait, to the very day, without a single mistake, but now he’s made sich a terrible blunder of a whole thousand years, she ses she knows he ain’t no smarter nor other people, if he was raised at the north.

It’s really surprisin’, how ’mazin’ pop’lar it does make a body to be engaged to be married to a butiful young lady. Sense the thing’s leaked out, everybody’s my pertickeler frend, and I can’t meet nobody wherever I go, but what wants to congratilate me on my good fortin, ’cept Cousin Pete and two or three other fellers, who look sort o’ like they wanted to laugh and couldn’t. Almost every night Mary and me is invited to a party. T’other night we went to one to old Squire Rogerses, whar I got my dander up a little the worst I’ve had it for some time. I don’t b’lieve you have ever hearn of jest sich a fool trick as they played on me. Ther was a good many thar, and as the Squire don’t ’low dancing they all played games and tricks, and sich foolishness to pass away the time, which to my notion’s a ’bominable site worse than dancin’.

Cousin Pete was thar splurgin’ about in the biggest, and with his dandy-cut trowsers and big whiskers, and tried to take the shine off everybody else, jest as he always does. Well, bimeby he ses:

“S’pose we play Brother Bob—let’s play Brother Bob.”

“Yes, let’s play that,” ses all of ’em; “won’t you be Brother Bob, Majer?”

“Who’s Brother Bob?” ses I; for I didn’t know nothing ’bout it, and that’s the way I cum to be so ’bominably tuck in.

“I’ll tell you,” ses he; “you and somebody else must set down in the chairs and be blindfolded, and the rest must all walk round and round you, and keep tappin’ you on the head with sumthing ’til you gess who bob’d you.”

“But how bob me?” ses I.

“Why,” ses he, “when any one taps you, you must say, ‘Brother, I’m bob’d!’ and then they’ll ax, ‘Who bob’d you?’ and if you gess the rite one, then they must take your place and be bob’d ’til they gess who bob’d ’em. If you’ll be blindfolded I will,” ses he, “jest for fun.”

“Well,” ses I, “anything for fun.”

And Cousin Pete sot out two chairs into the middle of the room, and we sot down, and they tied a hankercher round my eyes tite as the mischief, so I couldn’t see to gess no more’n if I had no eyes at all.

I hadn’t sot no time fore, cawhalux! some one tuck me rite side o’ the hed with a dratted big book. The fire flew out o’ my eyes in big live coals, and I like to keeled over out of the chair. I felt my blood risin’ like a mill-tail, but they all laughed mightily at the fun, and after a while, ses I:

“Brother, I’m bob’d.”

“Who bob’d you?” ses they.

I guessed the biggest-fisted feller in the room, but it wasn’t him.

The next minit, spang went the book agin Cousin Pete’s head.

“Whew!” ses he, “brother, I’m bob’d.”

“Who bob’d you?” ses they.

But Cousin Pete didn’t gess rite nother, and the fust thing I knowed, whang they tuck me agin. I was dredful anxious to gess rite, but it was no use, I missed it every time, and so did Cousin Pete, and the harder they hit the harder they laughed. One time they hit me a great deal softlier than the rest.

“Brother, I’m bob’d!” ses I.

“Who bob’d you?” ses they.

“Miss Mary Stallins,” ses I.

“No, I never,” ses she; and they all roared out worse than ever.

I begin to git monstrous tired of sich fun, which seemed so much like the frogs in the spellin’ book—for it was fun to them but it was deth to me—and I don’t know what I would done if Mary hadn’t come up and ontied the hankercher.

“Let’s play something else,” ses she, and her face was as red as fire, and she looked sort o’ mad out of her eyes.

I seed ther was something wrong in a minit.

Well, they all went on playin’ “pawns,” and “’pon honour,” and “Here we go round the gooseberry bush,” and “Oh, sister Feby, how merry we be,” and sich nonsense ’til they played all they knowed, and while they was playin’ Mary told me all how cousin Pete bob’d me himself.

This was the most audacious take in I ever hearn of. Do you think the cus didn’t set rite down beside me, and never blindfolded himself at all, and hit me every lick himself, and now and then hittin’ his knee with the book, to make me b’lieve he was bob’d too. My bed was a singin’ with the licks when she told me how he done me, and I do b’lieve if it hadn’t been for her I’d gin Cousin Pete sich a lickin’ rite thar in that room as he never had afore in his born days. Blazes! but I was mad at fust. But Mary begged me not to raise no fus about it, now it was all over, and she would fix him for his smartness. I hadn’t no sort of a ide how she was gwine to do it, but I know’d she was enuff for Cousin Pete any time, so I jest let her go ahed. Well, she tuck the ’bominable fool off to one side and whispered to him like she was gwine to let him into a grate secret. She told him ’bout a new play what she learned down to Macon when she was at the college, called “Interduction to the King and Queen,” what she sed was a grate deal funnyer than “Brother Bob,” and ’swaded him to help to git ’em all to play.

After she and him made it all up, Cousin Pete put out three chairs close together in a roe for a throne, and Mary she put a sheet over ’em to make ’em look a little grand. Bill Byers was to be King and Mary was to be Queen.

“Now you must all come in t’other room,” ses Cousin Pete, “only them what belongs to the court, and then you must come in and be interduced, one at a time.”

“I ain’t gwine,” ses Tom Stallins, “for ther’s some trick in it.”

“No ther ain’t,” ses Cousin Pete, “I’ll give you my word ther ain’t no trick, only a little fun.”

“Well,” ses I, “I’s had fun enough for one nite.”

Mary looked at me and kind o’ winked, and, ses she:

“You’re one of the court you know, Majer, but jest go out till the court is sumonsed before the throne.”

Well, we all went out, and bimeby Bill Byers called out the names of all the lords and ladys what belonged to the court, and we all went in and tuck chairs on both sides of the throne.

Cousin Pete was to be the first one interduced, and Samuwell Rogers was to be the feller what interduced the company. Well, bimeby the dore opened, and in come Cousin Pete, bowin’ and scrapin’ and twistin’ and rigglein’ and puttin’ on more ares nor a French dancin’ master—he beat Crotchett all to smash. The King sot on one side of the throne and the Queen on t’other, leavin’ room in the middle for some one else. Sam was so full of laugh at Cousin Pete’s anticks that he couldn’t hardly speak.

“Doctor Peter Jones,” ses he, “I interduce you to ther Majestys the King and Queen.”

Cousin Pete scraped about a while and then drapt on one knee, rite afore ’em.

“Rise, gallant knight,” ses Bill Byers, “rise, we dub you knight of the royal bath.”

Cousin Pete got up and bowed and scraped a few more times, and went to set down between ’em, but they ris up jest as he went to set down, and the fust thing he knowd, kerslosh he went, rite into a big tub full of cold water, with nothing but his hed and heels stickin’ out.

He tried to kiss Mary as he was takin’ his seat, and if you could jest seed him as he went into that tub with his arms reached out to her, and his mouth sot for a kiss, I do b’lieve you’d laughed more’n you ever did afore in your life. The fellers was all so spicious that some trick was gwine to be played, that they left the dore open, and when the thing tuck place they all run in shoutin’ and laughin’ like they would bust ther sides.

Pete got out as quick as he could, and I never seed a feller so wilted down in all my life. He got as mad as a hornet, and sed it was a drotted mean trick to serve ennybody so, specially in cold wether. And he went rite off home by himself to dry.

Mary made the niggers take out the middle chair and put the tub of water thar when we was all in t’other room. Pete didn’t spicion the trick was gwine to turn out that way—he thought the queen was gwine to sentence every feller what didn’t kiss her as he sot down, to do something that would make fun for the rest, and he was jest gwine to open the game. I felt perfectly satisfied after that, and I don’t think Cousin Pete will be quite so fond of funny tricks the next time.

But I like to forgot to tell you, my weddin’ is to take place—pervidin’ ther ain’t no more yeath-quakes nor unaccountabel things to prevent—on the 22 of this month, which you know is a famous day what ought to be celebrated by every genewine patriot in the world. I shall look for you to come, and I hope you will be sure to be thar, for I know you wouldn’t grudge the ride jest so see Miss Mary Jones what is to be. We’s gwine to have a considerable getherin’, jest to please the old folks, and old Miss Stallins see she’s gwine to give us a real Georgia weddin’ of the old time fashion. No more from

Your frend, ’til deth, Jos. Jones.

P.S.—I went over t’other nite to see ’em all, and they was as busy as bees in a tar-barrel sowin’ and makin’ up finery. Mary was sowin’ something mighty fine and white with ruffles and jigamarees all round it.

“What kind of a thing is that?” ses I.

The gals looked at one another and laughed like they would die, and my poor little Mary (bless her soul) kep getherin’ it up in a heap and blushin’ dredful.

“Tell him, sis,” ses Miss Carline, but Mary looked rite down and didn’t say nothin’.

“I’ll tell him,” ses Miss Kesiah—“It’s a——.”

“No, you shan’t now—stop, stop,” ses Mary, and she put her pretty little hand rite on Miss Kesiah’s mouth, and looked like she’d cry for a little. I felt so sorry for her, I told ’em I didn’t want to know, and they put the things away, and bimeby I went home, but I kep thinkin’ all the way what upon yeath it could be. I s’pose I’ll find out some day.