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——.”