The Advice By LURANA W. SHELDON
I'VE come here, Mr. Lawyer, tew ask your kind advice
Upon a leetle matter that I 'low ain't over nice; A man ain't got no bizness, or so I've allus sed, Tew peddle fam'ly secrets till he's plumb out on his head! But — waal — I may be loony! Tain’t s'prisin' ef I am! This thing has bin a-ranklin' till I can't keep cool or ca'm! It's kep' my eyes wide open every night fer nigh a year An’ that thar's jest ther reason why, at last, I'm skulkin' here.
"What mout be all ther trouble?" I'm comin' tew it now! This here's a tough old furrer an’ it's mighty hard tew plough! Tain’t likely, Mr. Lawyer, you'll feel ther same as me — But mebbe that is better, fer not feelin’, yew kin see! There's some as has ther vision tew look intew any knot
An’ see ther very fing'rin' that will pick it like er shot! I 'low 'twon't be no bother fer a lawyer chap like yew Tew see what's on my conshuns an’ tew tell me what tew dew! Yes! Yes! I know you're hurried!
I'm a-comin' tew it quick!
No, tain't about no critter —— this here bone I've got ter pick!
It's somethin' wuss, a durn sight, an' it makes me mad, by gum, Tew think I've got tew stand it-mebbe till ther kingdom come!
But come tew think it over I've a notion tew go back An’ face ther gol<iinged trouble an' jest take another hack At ther snarl that's got me addled —~ mebbe that's you're own advice — Not tew peddle fam'ly secrets when they ain't jest over nice!
