“I never _did_ hear the beat of them Tyler gripes! I have hearn talk of all sorter gripes, and dry gripes, and always thought that the gripes was in the stomic, before now, but bless your soul, Miss Bass, this here gripes is in the hed! I told my old man that no good would come of ’lectin’ Tyler, but poor old creeter, he’s sorter hard-headed, and got childish, and would do it. O! me? well, we’re all got to come to it and leve this world! Bless the Lord! I hope I’m ready!” “That’s a fact,” ses old Miss Bass, “you’re right, Miss Collis; old men gits uncommon stubborn; a hard, mighty hard time, I had with my old man. But he’s ded and gone! I hope he’s happy!” And they both groaned and shet their eyes, and pucked up their mouths. Ses she, “He got mity rumitys and troubled me powerful, and the old creetur tuck astonishin’ of dokter’s stuff, and aleckcampane and rose of sublimit—but he went at last! The Lord’s will be done!—_Skat!_ you stinkin’ hussy, and come out of that kibbard!” ses she to the cat; “I _do_ think cats is abominable, and that tom cat of Barbry’s is the ’scheviousest cat I ever _did_ see!” Ses Miss Collis, “Cats _is_ a pest, but a body can’t do well without ’em; the mice would take the house bodily,” ses she. “Miss Bass, they tell me that Dicey Loomis is a-gwying to be married—her peple was in town last week, and bort a power of things and artyfishals, and lofe sugar, and ribbuns, and cheese, and sich like!” “Why,” ses Miss Bass, “you don’t tell me so! Did I ever hear the beat o’ that! Miss Collis, are it a fact?” “Yes,” ses Miss Collis, “it’s the nat’ral truth, for brother Bounds tell’d it to me at last class meetin’.” Ses Miss Bass, hollerin’ to Barbry in t’other room: “Barbry, do you hear that Dicey Loomis is gwying to git married? Well! well! it beats me! bless the Lord! I wonder who she’s gwying to get married to, Miss Collis?” Ses Miss Collis, “Now, child, yure too hard for me! but they do say it’s to that Taler from Town. Well, he’s a putty man, and had on such a nice dress—’cept he’s most too much nock-nead, _sich_ eyes and _sich_ whiskers, and now _don’t_ he play the fiddle?” Ses Miss Bass, “Well, Dicey is a middlin’ peart gal, but for my part I don’t see what the taler seed in _her_.” “Nor I nuther,” ses Miss Collis, “but she’s gwine to do well. I couldn’t a sed no if he’d a axed for our Polly.” Then in comes Barbry, and we how-dy’d and both turned sorter red in the face, and I trimbl’d tolerable and felt agurry. Well, arter we talk’d a spell, all of us, Miss Bass got up and ses she: “Miss Collis I want to show you a nice passel of chickens; our old speckled hen come off with eleven, yisterdy, as nice as ever you _did_ see.” Then old Miss Collis riz up, and puttin’ her hands on her hips, and stratened like, and ses, right quick: “Laws a massy! my poor back! Drat the rumatics! It’s powerful bad; it’s gwyne to rain, I know!—oh, me! me!”—and they both went out. Then Barbry look’d at me so comikil and sed: