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I have been thinking of writing to you a kind of bill of particulars, in regard to my quarters - the general arrangement of things - how I live (by rating of course)& [?such?] - but I have not the time now - "Black Kettle" just come in to have a pow wow - I've called Butler to get him something to eat - He's good at stowing away bread & meat. Into the Ink and out the paper - My pen becomes a kind of hurried scraper - down of thoughts that quickly fix - themselves into a "heap of mix" - As the Indian part of that pie or Stew made of "possum"- dog, RattleSnake and a few Skunk thrown in to fill the pot. Adding Strength and flavor to the lot. Thus with hurried rhyme and duller prose - On it goes like a Short pug nose.