to that degree that without seeing it I could not have believed it was in
any gentleman to have such a power of bursting out with fire-irons
walking-sticks water-jugs coals potatoes off his table the very hat off
his head, and at the same time so furious in foreign languages that they
would stand with their handles half-turned fixed like the Sleeping
Ugly--for I cannot say Beauty.

Ever to see the postman come near the house now gave me such I fear that
it was a reprieve when he went by, but in about another ten days or a
fortnight he says again, "Here's one for Mrs. Edson.--Is she pretty
well?" "She is pretty well postman, but not well enough to rise so early
as she used" which was so far gospel-truth.

I carried the letter in to the Major at his breakfast and I says
tottering "Major I have not the courage to take it up to her."

"It's an ill-looking villain of a letter," says the Major.

"I have not the courage Major" I says again in a tremble "to take it up
to her."

After seeming lost in consideration for some moments the Major says,
raising his head as if something new and useful had occurred to his mind
"Mrs. Lirriper, I shall never forgive myself that I, Jemmy Jackman,
didn't go straight up-stairs that morning when my boot-sponge was in my
hand--and force it down his throat--and choke him dead with it."

"Major" I says a little hasty "you didn't do it which is a blessing, for
it would have done no good and I think your sponge was better employed on
your own honourable boots."