She's down in Maine now, and can churn and milk eight cows, and do chores, and make squash pie.

Oh! them squash pies of my old lady's require to be eat to be believed in; and, for her sake, I always take to elderly female parties in distress.
Here's the forage.

Come in, Jane Anne, beloved of my soul, and dump 'em down and go." Jane Anne did.
"Now, Mrs.Denover, you sit right up and fall to.

Here's oysters, and here's mutton chops, raging hot, and baked potatoes--delicious to look at.

And here's a glass of port wine, and you've got to drink it without a whimper.