will carry double this hitch; and she sings 'I wish I
was a butterfly.' Heavens and airth! the fust time I
heard one of these hugeaceous critters come out with that
queer idee, I thought I should a dropt right off of the
otter man on the floor, and rolled over and over a-laughin',
it tickled me so, it makes me larf now only to think of
it. Well, the wings don't come, such big butterflies have
to grub it in spite of Old Nick, and after wishin' and
wishin' ever so long in vain, one of the young galls sits
down and sings in rael right down airnest, 'I _won't_ be
a nun.' Poor critter! there is some sense in that, but
I guess she will be bleeged to be, for all that.

"Now eatin' is done, talkin' is done, and singin' is
done; so here is chamber candles, and off to bed, that
is if you are a-stayin' there. If you ain't, 'Mr. Weather
Mutton's carriage is ready, Sir,' and Mr. Weather Mutton
and Mrs. Weather Mutton and the entire stranger get in,
and when you do, you are in for it, I can tell you. You
are in for a seven mile heat at least of cross country
roads, axletree deep, rain pour-in' straight up and down
like Niagara, high hedges, deep ditches full of water,
dark as Egypt; ain't room to pass nothin' if you meet
it, and don't feel jist altogether easy about them cussed
alligators and navigators, critters that work on rail-roads
all day, and on houses and travellers by night.

"If you come with Mr. Weather Mutton, you seed the carriage
in course. It's an old one, a family one, and as heavy
as an ox cart. The hosses are old, family hosses,