_Mary._ "Pretty well; indeed, I darsna fly into them passions; the doctor says it'll be present death if I do. Mine is the white passions as drives the blood hinwards and causes bad palpulation at the heart. Mr. Walker, the doctor, come in one day just as I'd knocked John back'ards at the door for coming in with dirty shoes just when I'd been two hours on my hands and knees cleaning the floor; but, you know, Miss A., a hot temper is naterally grounded in me. My mother had a hawful temper; I've seen her empty a shovel full of hot ashes on my father's head. Now, I won't say but what I've thrown a ash or two at John, but they've been could 'uns; and one day my mother snatched up a gown as I had been buying for myself, and put it on the fire, and her said, 'There now, and next time I'll put you on the fire too, if you buy finery without my jurydiction.' Eh! how I cried when I see'd them beautiful pink and yallow stripes kindling; but her was a good mother at the root for all her was so strict; and when I sees girls nowadays fithered and flounced up, and pomped out so as when they comes swelling along one's obliged to get out o' the road, I often thinks to myself, it's a pity there's not some mothers in Bewley like mine. John often says to me, 'Thou'rt the very model of thy mother, Mary, temper and all.' 'Yes, John,' says I, 'and didn't her warn thee that I'd a foul temper; and didn't thee say, like a big fool, "I wull have her, temper and all." Thou conceitedst thou couldst master me, but thou hast larnt different.' 'I have that,' said John. He often fetches texes out of Scripture about women doing their juties, to clench me with, and he knows it taks me a long time to pick out a tex to clench him with. There was no natteral schools whin I was yong." The next year: _Mary._ "I hope you're better of the lombagger, Miss A. John had it wunst, and he was cured with some stuff he got gracious from Doctor Woods; it was uncommon strong, for he could feel it playing back'ards and forrards about his heart afore it went down. John's mother is dead at last, but she lay a long while; you know sick folks canna go hoff unless they're kept nice and clean; I'll be bound her'd have died a deal sooner if I'd had the tending of heir, because I should always have been fettling and washing of her. For all her'd been so wicked, her died like a good 'un, and said her was going to Glory; but I'm partly of your opinyan, Miss A., that according as folks live, so they'll die." So much for Mary Powell. Now for Anne Williams: _Miss A._ "I think you seem as cheerful as ever."