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“He called me a termagrunt, and said I was n't any
better than I should be,” said Mrs. Partington, as she
threw her shawl into the water-bucket, and her bonnet
on the floor, on her return from her landlord's, where
she had vainly sought an extension of time for payment
of the rent; “there never was such an aspiration cast
upon one of our family before; there is no such thing in
our whole craniology; and, if there is any statuary or
law for slander, I 'll see if he can prove it. The termagrunt
I don't mind so much; but to be called no better
than I should be — the mean, penny-catching curmudgin!
But no, it 's wrong to call him names; it makes me most
as bad as he is; I 'll borrow the money and pay him, I
will, and show him that I don't bear mallets;” and she
brightened up in the thought of this mode of revenge,
bustling about and putting the house to rights in the
best humor in the world. Her conduct was a sermon
and seven tracts on the sublime principle of forgiveness
of wrong.

What kin is that which all Yankees love to recognize,
and which always has sweet associations connected with
it? Why, pump-kin, to be sure.

p677-274

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