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For every minute increased her doubt of Cynthy Ann's sympathy. "O Cynthy Ann! I'm so miserable!" "Yes, I told your ma this morning that you was looking mis'able, and that you had orter have sassafras to purify the blood, but your ma is so took up with steam-docterin' that she don't believe in nothin' but corn-sweats and such like." "Oh! but, Cynthy, it a'n't that. I'm miserable in my mind.

I say, hello the blacksmith-shop! Dr. Ketchup, why don't you git up? Hello! Corn-sweats and calamus! Hello! Whoop! Hurrah for Jackson and Dr. Ketchup! Hello! Thunderation! Stop thief! Fire! Fire! Fire! Murder! Murder! Help! Help! Hurrah! Treed the coon at last!" This last exclamation greeted the appearance of Dr. Ketchup's head at the window. "Are you drunk, Jonas Harrison?

Ketchup, who still dealt out corn-sweats and ginseng-tea, but who refused to sell his property. He excused himself by quoting the injunction, "Occupy till I come." But others sold their estates for trifles, and gave themselves up to proclaiming the millennium. Mrs. Abigail Anderson was a woman who did nothing by halves.

Your ma won't die, not even with his corn-sweats to waft her on to glory. You done your duty to-night like one of Fox's martyrs, and like George Washi'ton with his little cherry-tree and hatchet. And you'll git your reward, if not in the next world, you'll have it in this." Julia lay down awhile, and then sat up, looking out into the darkness.