might have passed for a doctor of divinity, and, barring an occasional spree, was an honest fellow, with a rich vein of Irish humor.
Once having returned from a fortnight's frolic, sick, sober, and penitent, he was groaning rheumatically over his spade, when, desiring to improve the occasion for his benefit, I opened up a lecture on temperance and thrift.
Probably not wishing to discuss delicate questions, John silenced me by this assurance: You misconsthrue the whole matter intirely, Misther William.
It is gout I have.
I am sufferin‘ for another man's sins, you see. It all comes of me father drinking claret at a guinea a bottle!
After I left Texas my father wrote me: Old John has greatly lamented your absence.
Mr. Will is still the subject of the greatest laudation with him. He has finished his ditch, greatly to his own delight and to my praise as a judicious farmer, and to the disgrace of other farmers who have neglected such means of improvement, though so long stoppin‘ in