"I wish you would read some of your verses to my sister." "Couldn' do it," said the poet; "at least, I don't believe I could.

My voice wouldn' hold up.

Laid awake all las' night tryin' to make some varses about her.

But sakes, stranger, I couldn' git two lines strung together.

You mout as well try to put sunshine inter a gallon-jug, you know, as to write about that lovely creetur.