agoin to give me day and date for every graft, being a
terrible long-winded man in his stories,) so says I, I
know that, minister, but how do you preserve them? Why
I was a goin to tell you, said he, when you stopped me.
That are outward row I grafted myself with the choicest
kind I could find, and I succeeded. They are beautiful,
but so etarnal sour, no human soul can eat them. Well,
the boys think the old minister's graftin has all succeeded
about as well as that row, and they sarch no farther.
They snicker at my graftin, and I laugh in my sleeve, I
guess, at their penetration.

Now, Marm Pugwash is like the Minister's apples, very
temptin fruit to look at, but desperate sour. If Pugwash
had a watery mouth when be married, I guess its pretty
puckery by this time. However, if she goes to act ugly,
I'll give her a dose of 'soft sawder,' that will take
the frown out of her frontispiece, and make her dial-plate
as smooth as a lick of copal varnish. Its a pity she's
such a kickin devil, too, for she has good points--good
eye--good foot--neat pastern--fine chest--a clean set
of limbs, and carries a good ---. But here we are, now
you'll see what' soft sawder' will do. When we entered
the house, the traveller's room was all in darkness, and
on opening the opposite door into the sitting room, we
found the female part of the family extinguishing the
fire for the night. Mrs. Pugwash had a broom in her hand,
and was in the act (the last act of female housewifery)
of sweeping the hearth. The strong flickering light of
the fire, as it fell upon her tall fine figure and