In one of the western counties of Massachusetts, is situated the village of Droneville--the Rip Van Winkle of the state--the very focus of stupidity. Droneville people are a century behind the rest of the world. One would imagine that old Time had pitched them out of his car in 1700, while he has been driving on the rest of the world like Jehu. Without the least scruple, they use those rank provincialisms, which would make the most legitimate Yankee tongue of other parts, feel “considerably streaked.” Droneville people are opposed to all your modern refinements in education. “We are satisfied with the language of our fathers, without bringing it to the test of any of your grammar rules.” As a necessary consequence, the king’s English is murdered by them without the least mercy. Double comparatives and superlatives dance through their conversation in an intricate maze of the sublimest obscurity. To Droneville people I was indebted for my pure, classical dialect, which was so extremely pleasing that I never addressed a polite speech to a young lady, without making her giggle in spite of her most vigorous efforts. “Hisen” and “hern,” “yourn” and “theirn,” and such phrases, might be expected as a matter of course; but Droneville people are no common Yankees; they have words and expressions which are perfectly unique. “Chirk” is a favorite of theirs. If you enquire respecting some invalid who is convalescing, the answer is, “he is more chirk.” A young Miss of Droneville, (for whom, by the way, I always had a sneaking partiality,) once replied to a question as to her mother’s health--an old bedridden dame of eighty, “Why, she is not very _chirk_, but more _chirker_ than she has been; all our folks appear more _chirker_ than they really feel, in order to _chirk_ her up.” “Comper” is another of their expressions. Any fracas or tumult, like the Calethump of Christmas eve memory, would be styled by them a “comper.” Their language is certainly original: “Mrs. Doublechin, what is the matter with your good man?” “I don’t hardly know, ‘Squire, he seems to be _kinder fevery and kinder aguery_.”