Another "Saw" run by the "Widder Flinn."

The editor of the “ Sussex Register” recently undertook to quiz us, respecting a correspondent of ours—one Mrs. KITTY FLINN. It will be seen by the subjoined letter to him from that distinguished beauty—a perfect “ gem of the say”—that he has been “ sold!” He introduces his letter in the following terms :––

We are certainly “ sold”—most conclusively “ in for it.” Three or four weeks ago, we published a notice of the New York “ Spirit of the Times,” and spoke incidentally of the “ single blessedness” of its accomplished editor, Wm. T. Porter, Esq., familiarly known, the world over, as “ York’s Tall Son.” We stated that the “ tall ‘un” was wedded to the “ Spirit,” and we argued that, inasmuch as he had resisted (as we then understood) the blandishments of the “ Wider Flinn,” he would never be wedded to anything else. Indeed, we did use the word “ indignant,” in discussing this very delicate affair ; and herein we now find that we have “ run against a snag.” The “ widder” herself is down upon us “ like a thousand of brick”—but, alack-a-day ! if she only knew what a mild, sweet-tempered “ boy” she is berating in the subjoined epistle, her heart would relent, and she would just be tipping him an invitation to call at her “ nate shop” in Yorkville, when he happens to come that way, and fathom the mysteries of that self-same orbicular “ decanter,” whereof the favored “ mister porter,” it seems, is permitted to quaff till all is blue. But we must not forget the amiable “ widder’s” letter. Here it is :

LETTER FROM THE “ WIDDER FLINN.”
To Edetur of the Sussex register, New Jersey.

York will New York April 1845

Mister Editur
Sur

me nabor clarance donehagen red me in yer paper that mister porter had wealded the blarney to me an i had the indignashun to reffuse—now what the divil ist thats your after attindin to me owne affair yere little divillin thief of the world—mister porter sais to me missis flinn sais he is it any of the life of man yer have—walk in to the back room sed i mister porter sais i an its meself that will accommodait yer after the long walk yeve had yer welcome to the primises an divil a chalk will there be if ye stay the night—wid that he sits himsilf down by me little table and sais he wider yer have judgement so you have an if theres any thing better in the house then the life of man trot it out but i leave it intirely to yer self missis flinn for yer a women after me own way of thinkin—wid that i fetcht out me big bellied decanter filled wid gin and sais mister porter fill you up one yerself wider—arra sais i but its divilin ye r—no sais he not a divil a rap—then sais i its purlite ye r so you r and saying this is the middle of a lint and there was fish yisterday for dinner heres in to you mister porter—more power to you missis flinn sais he an he let it down his throte illigant so he did—an now you little shrivelled divil do you call that indignashun—an me sittin there till too in the marning wid out saying anything about the shillin give to me boy peter to se the gintleman home—blaneshagens curse be wid you for a medlin wee bit of a droghe spalpean an if ye rite another word about him or meself ile call upon ye at yer own ofice.

KITTY FLINN wider.


Notes:

Source: New York Spirit of the Times 15.10 (3 May 1845): 105. (University of Virginia Alderman Library).

Erin Bartels prepared this typescript.

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