If you think its best for me to run again for governor another year I wish you'd call our friends together up there and have me nominated, for there's nothing like starting in season in these matters.

Your loving neffu,

JACK DOWNING.

LETTER XXX.

In which Mr Downing dreams some poetry.

From the Portland Courier, April, 1831.

[Legislative proceedings extra. — On the evening before the adjournment of the Legislature, while the members of the House were waiting for some bill to be engrossed, Mr Shapleigh of Berwick presented an order, that a Committee be appointed to consider the expediency of assessing an annual tax upon a certain class of gentlemen commonly called Old Bachelors, to be appropriated for the use and support of a certain class of ladies usually known by the name of Old Maids, with leave to report by Bill or otherwise. Mr McCrate of Nobleborough hoped the mover would offer his reasons for the passage of the order. Mr Delesdernier said he understood the order reflected upon his friend from Nobleborough; he therefore moved it be laid on the table, which motion was decided in the negative.

Mr Baxter then remarked that he hoped gentlemen would reflect before they went too far, and not commit an impropriety by way of amusement. He moved that the order be indefinitely postponed, which motion prevailed. While we were puzzling ourselves to know what report we should make of these Legislative proceedings our friend Jack Downing very opportunely, as he often does, came in to our aid as follows.]

Portland, Saturday, April 2, 1831.

DEAR COUSIN NABBY,-I dont hardly know whether to send this letter to you, or uncle Joshua. You know I always send all the politics and Legislaters to uncle; but this ere one 's most all poetry, and they say that stuff belongs to the ladies. So I believe on the whole I shall send it to you. Dont you be skeer'd now because I've

made some poetry, for I dont think it 'll hurt me; I don feel crazy nor nothing. But I'll jest tell you how happened. Last night I was in the Legislater and the sot out to make a law to tax old bacheldors. They trie pretty hard to make it, and I thought one spell they get it. I felt kind of bad about it because I knew i would bear so hard upon cousin Obediah. Well, I wen home and went to bed, and I dont know what the matte was, but I had a kind of a queer night of it; and whe I got up in the morning there was a soft sort of sickis stuff kept running off of my tongue, jest like a stream of chalk. Pray tell me what you think of it: here it is I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And, as fast as I dream'd, it was coined into numbers, My thoughts ran along in such beautiful metre, I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter. It seem'd that a law had been recently made, That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid. And in order to make them all willing to marry, The tax was as large as a man could well carry. The Bachelors grumbled, and said 't were no use,

'T was cruel injustice and horrid abuse,

And declar'd that to save their own heart's blood from spilling,
Of such a vile tax they would ne'er pay a shilling.
But the Rulers determined their scheme to pursue,

A crier was sent thro' the town to and fro,
To rattle his bell, and his trumpet to blow,

And to bawl out at all he might meet in the way,
"Ho! forty old bachelors sold here to day,"
And presently all the old maids in the town,
Each one in her very best bonnet and gown,
From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red and pale,
Of every description, all flocked to the sale.
The auctioneer then in his labors began,
And called out aloud, as he held up a man,
"How much for a bachelor? who w