earie

— I could not sit down and write twenty pages describing the appalling, heart-breaking grief of Araminta Susan St. Clair, for the eternal absence of her Fitz-James Eustace Simmons, who has departed this morning not to return till evening; nor twenty tearful stanzas on the death of / “My darling little dearie, / With curling little earie, / With little eye so cheery, / And with limbs ne’er a-weary, / A trotting after me!” / [‘]vich vas a tog!’ as [Joseph] Jefferson said in Rip Van Winkle. No! such things are far beyond my talent. I wil leave novel-writing to women and ministers of the gospel.