{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_7251/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_7251","id":"gutenberg_7251","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7251","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Novels","Humor","Methodist Church (U.S.) -- Fiction","Temperance and religion -- Fiction","Women -- Suffrage -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Richard Prairie, Tiffany Vergon, Charles\nAldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSWEET CICELY\n\nOR JOSIAH ALLEN AS A POLITICIAN\n\nBy \u201cJosiah Allen's Wife\u201d: Marietta Holley\n\n_With Illustrations_\n\nEighth Edition\n\n\n[Illustration: SWEET CICELY.]\n\n\n\nTO\n\nTHE SAD-EYED MOTHERS,\n\nWHO, LIKE CICELY,\n\nARE LOOKING ACROSS THE CRADLE OF THEIR\n\nBOYS INTO THE GREAT WORLD OF\n\nTEMPTATION AND DANGER,\n\nThis Book is Dedicated.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nJosiah and me got to talkin' it over. He said it wuzn't right to think\nmore of one child than you did of another.\n\nAnd I says, \u201cThat is so, Josiah.\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cThen, why did you say yesterday, that you loved sweet\nCicely better than any of the rest of your thought-children? You said\nyou loved 'em all, and was kinder sorry for the hull on 'em, but you\nloved her the best: what made you say it?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cI said it, to tell the truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, what did you do it _for_?\u201d he kep' on, determined to get a\nreason.\n\n\u201cI did it,\u201d says I, a comin' out still plainer,--\u201cI did it to keep from\nlyin'.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, when you say it hain't right to feel so, what makes you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don't know, Josiah,\u201d says I, lookin' at him, and beyend him, way into\nthe depths of emotions and feelin's we can't understand nor help,--\n\n\u201cI don't know why, but I know I do.\u201d\n\nAnd he drawed on his boots, and went out to the barn.\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n\nSWEET CICELY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIt was somewhere about the middle of winter, along in the forenoon, that\nJosiah Allen was telegrafted to, unexpected. His niece Cicely and her\nlittle boy was goin' to pass through Jonesville the next day on her way\nto visit her aunt Mary (aunt on her mother's side), and she would stop\noff, and make us a short visit if convenient.\n\nWe wuz both tickled, highly tickled; and Josiah, before he had read the\ntelegraf ten minutes, was out killin' a hen. The plumpest one in the\nflock was the order I give; and I wus a beginnin' to make a fuss, and\ncook up for her.\n\nWe loved her jest about as well as we did Tirzah Ann. Sweet Cicely was\nwhat we used to call her when she was a girl. Sweet Cicely is a plant\nthat has a pretty white posy. And our niece Cicely was prettier and\npurer and sweeter than any posy that ever grew: so we thought then, and\nso we think still.\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH TELLING THE NEWS TO SAMANTHA.]\n\nHer mother was my companion's sister,--one of a pair of twins, Mary and\nMaria, that thought the world of each other, as twins will. Their mother\ndied when they wus both of 'em babies; and they wus adopted by a rich\naunt, who brought 'em up elegant, and likely too: that I will say for\nher, if she wus a 'Piscopal, and I a Methodist. I am both liberal and\ntruthful--very.\n\nMaria wus Cicely's ma, and she wus left a widow when she wus a young\nwoman; and Cicely wus her only child. And the two wus bound up in each\nother as I never see a mother and daughter in my life before or sense.\n\nThe third year after Josiah and me wus married, Maria wusn't well, and\nthe doctor ordered her out into the country for her health; and she and\nlittle Cicely spent the hull of that summer with us. Cicely wus about\nten; and how we did love that girl! Her mother couldn't bear to have her\nout of her sight; and I declare, we all of us wus jest about as bad.\nAnd from that time they used to spend most all of their summers in\nJonesville. The air agreed with 'em, and so did I: we never had a word\nof trouble. And we used to visit them quite a good deal in the winter\nseason: they lived in the city.\n\nWall, as Cicely got to be a young girl, I used often to set and look at\nher, and wonder if the Lord could have made a prettier, sweeter girl\nif he had tried to. She looked to me jest perfect, and so she did to\nJosiah.\n\nAnd she knew so much, too, and wus so womanly and quiet and deep. I\ns'pose it wus bein' always with her mother that made her seem older and\nmore thoughtful than girls usially are. It seemed as if her great dark\neyes wus full of wisdom beyend--fur beyend--her years, and sweetness\ntoo. Never wus there any sweeter eyes under the heavens than those of\nour niece Cicely.\n\nShe wus very fair and pale, you would think at first; but, when you\nwould come to look closer, you would see there was nothing sickly in\nher complexion, only it was very white and smooth,--a good deal like\nthe pure white leaves of the posy Sweet Cicely. She had a gentle, tender\nmouth, rose-pink; and her cheeks wuz, when she would get rousted up and\nexcited about any thing; and then it would all sort o' die out again\ninto that pure white. And over all her face, as sweet and womanly as it\nwas, there was a look of power, somehow, a look of strength, as if she\nwould venture much, dare much, for them she loved. She had the gift, not\nalways a happy one, of loving,--a strength of devotion that always has\nfor its companion-trait a gift of endurance, of martyrdom if necessary.\n\nShe would give all, dare all, endure all, for them she loved. You could\nsee that in her face before you had been with her long enough to see it\nin her life.\n\nHer hair wus a soft, pretty brown, about the color of her eyes. And\nshe wus a little body, slender, and sort o' plump too; and her arms and\nhands and neck wus soft and white as snow almost.\n\nYes, we loved Cicely: and no one could blame us, or wonder at us for\ncallin' her after the posy Sweet Cicely; for she wus prettier than any\nposy that ever blew, enough sight.\n\nWall, she had always said she couldn't live if her mother died.\n\nBut she did, poor little creeter! she did.\n\nMaria died when Cicely wus about eighteen. She had always been delicate,\nand couldn't live no longer: so she died. And Josiah and me went right\nafter the poor child, and brought her home with us.\n\n[Illustration: CICELY.]\n\nShe lived, Cicely did, because she wus young, and couldn't die. And\nJosiah and me wus dretful good to her; and many's the nights that I\nhave gone into her room when I'd hear her cryin' way along in the night;\nmany's the times I have gone in, and took her in my arms, and held her\nthere, and cried with her, and soothed her, and got her to sleep, and\nheld her in my arms like a baby till mornin'. Wall, she lived with us\nmost a year that time; and it wus about two years after, while she wus\nto some of her father's folks'es (they wus very rich), that she met the\nyoung man she married,--Paul Slide.\n\nHe wus a handsome young man, well-behaved, only he would drink a little\nonce in a while: he'd got into the habit at college, where his mate wus\nwild, and had his turns. But he wus very pretty in his manners, Paul\nwas,--polite, good-natured, generous-dispositioned,--and very rich.\n\nAnd as to his looks, there wuzn't no earthly fault to find with him,\nonly jest his chin. And I told Josiah, that how Cicely could marry a man\nwith such a chin wus a mystery to me.\n\nAnd Josiah said, \u201cWhat is the matter with his chin?\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cWhy, it jest sets right back from his mouth: he hain't got\nno chin at all hardly,\u201d says I. \u201cThe place where his chin ort to be is\nnothin' but a holler place all filled up with irresolution and weakness.\nAnd I believe Cicely will see trouble with that chin.\u201d\n\nAnd then--I well remember it, for it was the very first time\nafter marriage, and so, of course, the very first time in our two\nlives--Josiah called me a fool, a \u201cdumb fool,\u201d or jest the same as\ncalled me so. He says, \u201cI wouldn't be a dumb fool if I was in your\nplace.\u201d\n\nI felt worked up. But, like warriors on a battle-field, I grew stronger\nfor the fray; and the fray didn't scare me none.\n\n[Illustration: PAUL SLIDE.]\n\nBut I says, \u201cYou'll see if you live, Josiah Allen\u201d; and he did.\n\nBut, as I said, I didn't see how Cicely ever fell in love with a man\nwith such a chin. But, as I learned afterwards, she fell in love with\nhim under a fur collar. It wus on a slay-ride. And he wuz very handsome\nfrom his mouth up, very: his mouth wuz ruther weak. It wus a case of\nlove at first sight, which I believe in considerable; and she couldn't\nhelp lovin' him, women are so queer.\n\nI had always said that when Cicely did love, it would go hard with her.\nMany's the offers she'd had, but didn't care for 'em. But I knew, with\nher temperament and nater, that love, if it did come to her, would come\nto stay, and it would come hard and voyalent. And so it did.\n\nShe worshipped him, as I said at first, under a fur collar. And then,\nwhen a woman once gets to lovin' a man as she did, why, she can't help\nherself, chin or no chin. When a woman has once throwed herself in front\nof her idol, it hain't so much matter whether it is stuffed full of\ngold, or holler: it hain't so much matter _what_ they be, I think.\nCurius, hain't it?\n\nIt hain't the easiest thing in the world for such a woman as Cicely to\nlove, but it is a good deal easier for her than to unlove, as she found\nout afterwards. For twice before her marriage she saw him out of his\nhead with liquor; and it wus my advice to her, to give him up.\n\nAnd she tried to unlove him, tried to give him up.\n\nBut, good land! she might jest as well have took a piece of her own\nheart out, as to take out of it her love for him: it had become a part\nof her. And he told her she could save him, her influence could redeem\nhim, and it wus the only thing that could save him.\n\nAnd Cicely couldn't stand such talk, of course; and she believed\nhim--believed that she could love him so well, throw her influence so\naround him, as to hold him back from any evil course.\n\nIt is a beautiful hope, the very beautifulest and divinest piece of\nfolly a woman can commit. Beautiful enough in the sublime martyrdom of\nthe idee, to make angels smile; and vain enough, and foolish enough in\nits utter uselessness, to make sinners weep. It can't be done--not in 98\ncases out of a 100 at least.\n\nWhy, if a man hain't got love enough for a woman when he is tryin' to\nwin her affection,--when he is on probation, as you may say,--to stop\nand turn round in his downward course, how can she expect he will after\nhe has got her, and has let down his watch, so to speak?\n\nBut she loved him. And when I warned her with tears in my eyes, warned\nher that mebby it wus more than her own safety and happiness that wus\nimperilled, I could see by the look in her eyes, though she didn't\nsay much, that it wusn't no use for me to talk; for she wus one of\nthe constant natures that can't wobble round. And though I don't like\nwobblin', still I do honestly believe that the wobblers are happier than\nthem that can't wobble.\n\nI could see jest how it wuz, and I couldn't bear to have her blamed. And\nI would tell folks,--some of the relations on her mother's side,--when\nthey would say, \u201cWhat a fool she wus to have him!\u201d--I'd say to 'em,\n\u201cWall, when a woman sees the man she loves goin' down to ruination,\nand tries to unlove him, she'll find out jest how much harder it is to\nunlove him than to love him in the first place: they'll find out it is a\ntough job to tackle.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA AND THE \u201cBLAMERS.\u201d]\n\nI said this to blamers of Cicely (relatives, the best blamers you can\nfind anywhere). But, at the same time, it would have been my way, when\nhe had come a courtin' me so far gone with liquor that he could hardly\nstand up--why, I should have told him plain, that I wouldn't try to set\nmyself up as a rival to alcohol, and he might pay to that his attentions\nexclusively hereafter.\n\nBut she didn't. And he promised sacred to abstain, and could, and did,\nfor most a year; and she married him.\n\nBut, jest before the marriage, I got so rousted up a thinkin' about what\nI had heard of him at college,--and I studied on his picture, which she\nhad sent me, took sideways too, and I could see plain (why, he hadn't no\nchin at all, as you may say; and his lips was weak and waverin' as\never lips was, though sort o' amiable and fascinating),--and I got to\nforebodin' so about that chin, and my love for her wus a hunchin' me up\nso all the time, that I went to see her on a short tower, to beset her\non the subject. But, good land! I might have saved my breath, I might\nhave saved my tower.\n\nI cried, and she cried too. And I says to her before I thought,--\n\n\u201cHe'll be the ruin of you, Cicely.\u201d\n\nAnd she says, \u201cI would rather be beaten by his hand, than to be crowned\nby another. Why, I love him, aunt Samantha.\u201d\n\nYou see, that meant a awful sight to her. And as she looked at me so\nearnest and solemn, with tears in them pretty brown eyes, there wus in\nher look all that that word could possibly mean to any soul.\n\nBut I cried into my white linen handkerchief, and couldn't help it, and\ncouldn't help sayin', as I see that look,--\n\n\u201cCicely, I am afraid he will break your heart--kill you\u201d--\n\n\u201cWhy, I am not afraid to die when I am with him. I am afraid of\nnothing--of life, or death, or eternity.\u201d\n\nWell, I see my talk was no use. I see she'd have him, chin or no chin.\nIf I could have taken her up in my arms, and run away with her then and\nthere, how much misery I could have saved her from! But I couldn't: I\nhad the rheumatiz. And I had to give up, and go home disappointed, but\ncarryin' this thought home with me on my tower,--that I had done my duty\nby our sweet Cicely, and could do no more.\n\nAs I said, he promised firm to give up drinking. But, good land! what\ncould you expect from that chin? That chin couldn't stand temptation if\nit came in his way. At the same time, his love for Cicely was such, and\nhis good heart and his natural gentlemanly intuitions was such, that, if\nhe could have been kep' out of the way of temptation, he would have been\nall right.\n\nIf there hadn't been drinking-saloons right in front of that chin, if\nit could have walked along the road without runnin' right into 'em,\nit would have got along. That chin, and them waverin'-lookin', amiable\nlips, wouldn't have stirred a step out of their ways to get ruined and\ndisgraced: they wouldn't have took the trouble to.\n\nAnd for a year or so he and the chin kep' out of the way of\ntemptation, or ruther temptation kep' out of their way; and Cicely was\nhappy,--radiently happy, as only such a nature as hern can be. Her face\nlooked like a mornin' in June, it wus so bright, and glowing with joy\nand happy love.\n\nI visited her, stayed 3 days and 2 nights with her; and I almost forgot\nto forebode about the lower part of his face, I found 'em so happy and\nprosperous and likely.\n\nPaul wus very rich. He wus the only child: and his pa left 2 thirds of\nhis property to him, and the other third to his ma, which wus more than\nshe could ever use while she wus alive; and at her death it wus to go to\nPaul and his heirs.\n\nThey owned most all of the village they lived in. His pa had owned the\ntownship the village was built on, and had built most all the village\nhimself, and rented the buildings. He owned a big manufactory there, and\nthe buildings rented high.\n\nWall, it wus in the second year of their marriage that that old college\nchumb--(and I wish he had been chumbed by a pole, before he had ever\ngone there). He had lost his property, and come down in the world,\nand had to work for a livin'; moved into that village, and opened a\ndrinking-saloon and billiard-room.\n\nHe had been Paul's most intimate friend at college, and his evil\ngenius, so his mother said. But he was bright, witty, generous in a way,\nunprincipled, dissipated. And he wanted Paul's company, and he wanted\nPaul's money; and he had a chin himself, and knew how to manage them\nthat hadn't any.\n\nWall, Cicely and his mother tried to keep Paul from that bad influence.\nBut he said it would look shabby to not take any notice of a man because\nhe wus down in the world. He wouldn't have much to do with him, but it\nwouldn't do to not notice him at all. How curius, that out of good comes\nbad, and out of bad, good. That was a good-natured idee of Paul's if he\nhad had a chin that could have held up his principle; but he didn't.\n\nSo he gradually fell under the old influence again. He didn't mean to.\nHe hadn't no idee of doin' so when he begun. It was the chin.\n\nHe begun to drink hard, spent his nights in the saloon,\ngambled,--slipped right down the old, smooth track worn by millions of\njest such weak feet, towards ruin. And Cicely couldn't hold him back\nafter he had got to slippin': her arms wuzn't strong enough.\n\nShe went to the saloon-keeper, and cried, and begged of him not to sell\nher husband any more liquor. He was very polite to her, very courteous:\neverybody was to Cicely. But in a polite way he told her that Paul wus\nhis best customer, and he shouldn't offend him by refusing to sell him\nliquor. She knelt at his feet, I hearn,--her little, tender limbs on\nthat rough floor before that evil man,--and wept, and said,--\n\n\u201cFor the sake of her boy, wouldn't he have mercy on the boy's father.\u201d\n\nBut in a gentle way he gave her to understand that he shouldn't make no\nchange.\n\nAnd he told her, speakin' in a dretful courteous way, \u201cthat he had the\nlaw on his side: he had a license, and he should keep right on as he was\ndoing.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: CICELY IN THE SALOON.]\n\nAnd so what could Cicely do? And time went on, carryin' Paul further and\nfurther down the road that has but one ending. Lower and lower he sunk,\ncarryin' her heart, her happiness, her life, down with him.\n\nAnd they said one cold night Paul didn't come home at all, and Cicely\nand his mother wus half crazy; and they wus too proud, to the last, to\ntell the servants more than they could help: so, when it got to be most\nmornin', them two delicate women started out through the deep snow, to\ntry to find him, tremblin' at every little heap of snow that wus tumbled\nup in the path in front of 'em; tremblin' and sick at heart with the\nagony and dread that wus rackin' their souls, as they would look\nover the cold fields of snow stretching on each side of the road, and\nthinkin' how that face would look if it wus lying there staring with\nlifeless eyes up towards the cold moonlight,--the face they had kissed,\nthe face they had loved,--and thinkin', too, that the change that had\ncome to it--was comin' to it all the time--was more cruel and hopeless\nthan the change of death.\n\nSo they went on, clear to the saloon; and there they found him,--there\nhe lay, perfectly stupid, and dead with liquor.\n\nAnd they both, the broken-hearted mother and the broken-hearted\nwife, with the tears running down their white cheeks, besought the\nsaloon-keeper to let him alone from that night.\n\nThe mother says, \u201cPaul is so good, that if you did not tempt him, entice\nhim here, he would, out of pity to us, stop his evil ways.\u201d\n\nAnd the saloon-keeper was jest as polite as any man wus ever seen to\nbe,--took his hat off while he told 'em, so I hearn, \u201cthat he couldn't\ngo against his own interests: if Paul chose to spend his money there, he\nshould take it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you break our hearts?\u201d cried the mother.\n\n\u201cWill you ruin my husband, the father of my boy?\u201d sobbed out Cicely, her\nbig, sorrowful eyes lookin' right through his soul--if he _had_ a soul.\n\nAnd then the man, in a pleasant tone, reminded 'em,--\n\n\u201cThat it wuzn't him that wus a doin' this. It wus the law: if they\nwanted things changed, they must look further than him. He had a\nlicense. The great Government of the United States had sold him, for a\nfew dollars, the right to do just what he was doing. The law, and all\nthe respectability that the laws of our great and glorious Republic can\ngive, bore him out in all his acts. The law was responsible for all\nthe consequenses of his acts: the men were responsible who voted for\nlicense--it was not him.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you _can_ do what we ask if you will, out of pity to Paul, pity to\nus who love him so, and who are forced to stand by powerless, and see\nhim going to ruin--we who would die for him willingly if it would do any\ngood. You _can_ do this.\u201d\n\nHe was a little bit intoxicated, or he wouldn't have gid 'em the cruel\nsneer he did at the last,--though he sneeren polite,--a holdin' his hat\nin his hand.\n\n\u201cAs I said, my dear madam, it is not I, it is the law; and I see no\nother way for you ladies who feel so about it, only to vote, and change\nthe laws.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould to God I _could!_\u201d said the old white-haired mother, with her\nsolemn eyes lifted to the heavens, in which was her only hope.\n\n\u201cWould to God I could!\u201d repeated my sweet Cicely, with her eyes fastened\non the face of him who had promised to cherish her, and comfort her,\nand protect her, layin' there at her feet, a mark for jeers and sneers,\nunable to speak a word, or lift his hand, if his wife and mother had\nbeen killed before him.\n\nBut they couldn't do any thing. They would have lain their lives down\nfor him at any time, but that wouldn't do any good. The lowest, most\nignorant laborer in their employ had power in this matter, but they had\nnone. They had intellectual power enough, which, added to their\nutter helplessness, only made their burden more unendurable; for they\ncomprehended to the full the knowledge of what was past, and what must\ncome in the future unless help came quickly. They had the strength of\ndevotion, the strength of unselfish love.\n\nThey had the will, but they hadn't nothin' to tackle it onto him with,\nto draw him back. For their prayers, their midnight watches, their\ntears, did not avail, as I said: they went jest so far; they touched\nhim, but they lacked the tacklin'-power that was wanted to grip holt of\nhim, and draw him back. What they needed was the justice of the law to\ntackle the injustice; and they hadn't got it, and couldn't get holt of\nit: so they had to set with hands folded, or lifted to the heavens in\nwild appeal,--either way didn't help Paul any,--and see him a sinkin'\nand a sinkin', slippin' further and further down; and they had to let\nhim go.\n\nHe drunk harder and harder, neglected his business, got quarrelsome. And\none night, when the heavens was curtained with blackness, like a pall\nlet down to cover the accursed scene, he left Cicely with her pretty\nbaby asleep on her bosom, went down to the saloon, got into a quarrel\nwith that very friend of hisen, the saloon-keeper, over a game of\nbilliards,--they was both intoxicated,--and then and there Paul\ncommitted _murder_, and would have been hung for it if he hadn't died in\nState's prison the night before he got his sentence.\n\n[Illustration: PAUL SHOOTING HIS FRIEND.]\n\nAwful deed! Dreadful fate! But no worse, as I told Josiah when he wus a\ngroanin' over it; no worse, I told the children when they was a cryin'\nover it; no worse, I told my own heart when the tears wus a runnin' down\nmy face like rain-water,--no worse because Cicely happened to be our\nrelation, and we loved her as we did our own eyes.\n\nAnd our broad land is _full_ of jest such sufferin's, jest such crimes,\njest such disgrace, caused by the same cause;--as I told Josiah,\nsuffering, disgrace, and crime made legal and protected by the law.\n\nAnd Josiah squirmed as I said it; and I see him squirm, for he believed\nin it: he believed in licensing this shame and disgrace and woe; he\nbelieved in makin' it respectable, and wrappin' round it the mantilly of\nthe law, to keep it in a warm, healthy, flourishin' condition. Why, he\nhad helped do it himself; he had helped the United States lift up the\nmantilly; he had voted for it.\n\nHe squirmed, but turned it off by usin' his bandana hard, and sayin', in\na voice all choked down with grief,--\n\n\u201cOh, poor Cicely! poor girl!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says I, \u201c'poor girl!' and the law you uphold has made her; 'poor\ngirl'--has killed her; for she won't live through it, and you and the\nUnited States will see that she won't.\u201d\n\nHe squirmed hard; and my feelin's for him are such that I can't bear\nto see him squirm voyalently, as much as I blamed him and the United\nStates, and as mad as I was at both on 'em.\n\nSo I went to cryin' agin silently under my linen handkerchief, and he\ncried into his bandana. It wus a awful blow to both on us.\n\nWall, she lived, Cicely did, which was more than we any one of us\nthought she could do. I went right there, and stayed six weeks with her,\nhangin' right over her bed, night and day; and so did his mother,--she a\nbrokenhearted woman too. Her heart broke, too, by the United States; and\nso I told Josiah, that little villain that got killed was only one of\nhis agents. Yes, her heart was broke; but she bore up for Cicely's sake\nand the boy's. For it seemed as if she felt remorsful, and as if it was\nfor them that belonged to him who had ruined her life, to help her all\nthey could.\n\nWall, after about three weeks Cicely begun to live. And so I wrote to\nJosiah that I guessed she would keep on a livin' now, for the sake of\nthe boy.\n\nAnd so she did. And she got up from that bed a shadow,--a faint, pale\nshadow of the girl that used to brighten up our home for us. She was our\nsweet Cicely still. But she looked like that posy after the frost has\nwithered it, and with the cold moonlight layin' on it.\n\nGood and patient she wuz, and easy to get along with; for she seemed to\nhold earthly things with a dretful loose grip, easy to leggo of 'em. And\nit didn't seem as if she had any interest at all in life, or care for\nany thing that was a goin' on in the world, till the boy wus about four\nyears old; and then she begun to get all rousted up about him and\nhis future. \u201cShe _must_ live,\u201d she said: \u201cshe had got to live, to do\nsomething to help him in the future.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: CICELY AND THE BOY.]\n\n\u201cShe couldn't die,\u201d she told me, \u201cand leave him in a world that was so\nhard for boys, where temptations and danger stood all round her boy's\npathway. Not only hidden perils, concealed from sight, so he might\npossibly escape them, but open temptations, open dangers, made as\nalluring as private avarice could make them, and made as respectable as\ndignified legal enactments could make them,--all to draw her boy down\nthe pathway his poor father descended.\u201d For one of the curius things\nabout Cicely wuz, she didn't seem to blame Paul hardly a mite, nor not\nso very much the one that enticed him to drink. She went back further\nthan them: she laid the blame onto our laws; she laid the responsibility\nonto the ones that made 'em, directly and indirectly, the legislators\nand the voters.\n\nCurius that Cicely should feel so, when most everybody said that he\ncould have stopped drinking if he had wanted to. But then, I don't know\nas I could blame her for feelin' so when I thought of Paul's chin and\nlips. Why, anybody that had them on 'em, and was made up inside and\noutside accordin', as folks be that have them looks; why, unless they\nwas specially guarded by good influences, and fenced off from bad\nones,--why, they _could not_ exert any self-denial and control and\nfirmness.\n\nWhy, I jest followed that chin and that mouth right back through seven\ngenerations of the Slide family. Paul's father wus a good man, had a\ngood face; took it from his mother: but his father, Paul's grandfather,\ndied a drunkard. They have got a oil-portrait of him at Paul's old home:\nI stopped there on my way home from Cicely's one time. And for all the\nworld he looked most exactly like Paul,--the same sort of a irresolute,\nhandsome, weak, fascinating look to him. And all through them portraits\nI could trace that chin and them lips. They would disappear in some of\n'em, but crop out agin further back. And I asked the housekeeper, who\nhad always lived in the family, and wus proud of it, but honest; and she\nknew the story of the hull Slide race.\n\nAnd she said that every one of 'em that had that face had traits\naccordin'; and most every one of 'em got into trouble of some kind.\n\nOne or two of 'em, specially guarded, I s'pose, by good influences, got\nalong with no further trouble than the loss of the chin, and the feelin'\nthey must have had inside of 'em, that they wuz liable to crumple right\ndown any minute.\n\nAnd as they wus made with jest them looks, and jest them traits, born\nso, entirely unbeknown to them, I don't know as I can blame Cicely for\nfeelin' as she did. If temptation hadn't stood right in the road in\nfront of him, why, he'd have got along, and lived happy. That's Cicely's\nidee. And I don't know but she's in the right ont.\n\nBut as I said, when her child wus about four years old, Cicely took a\nturn, and begun to get all worked up and excited by turns a worryin'\nabout the boy. She'd talk about it a sight to me, and I hearn it from\nothers.\n\nShe rousted up out of her deathly weakness and heartbroken, stunted\ncalm,--for such it seemed to be for the first two or three years after\nher husband's death. She seemed to make an effort almost like that of a\ndead man throwin' off the icy stupor of death, and risin' up with numbed\nlimbs, and shakin' off the death-robes, and livin' agin. She rousted up\nwith jest such a effort, so it seemed, for the boy's sake.\n\nShe must live for the boy; she must work for the boy; she must try to\nthrow some safeguards around his future. What _could_ she do to help\nhim? That wus the question that was a hantin' her soul.\n\nIt wus jest like death for her to face the curius gaze of the world\nagain; for, like a wounded animal, she had wanted to crawl away, and\nhide her cruel woe and disgrace in some sheltered spot, away from the\nsharp-sot eyes of the babblin' world.\n\nBut she endured it. She came out of her quiet home, where her heart had\nbled in secret; she came out into society again; and she did every\nthing she could, in her gentle, quiet way. She joined temperance\nsocieties,--helped push 'em forward with her money and her influence.\nWith other white-souled wimmen, gentle and refined as she was, she went\ninto rough bar-rooms, and knelt on their floors, and prayed what her sad\nheart wus full of,--for pity and mercy for her boy, and other mothers'\nboys,--prayed with that fellowship of suffering that made her sweet\nvoice as pathetic as tears, and patheticker, so I have been told.\n\nBut one thing hurt her influence dretfully, and almost broke her own\nheart. Paul had left a very large property, but it wus all in the\nhands of an executor until the boy wus of age. He wus to give Cicely a\nliberal, a very liberal, sum every year, but wus to manage the property\njest as he thought best.\n\nHe wus a good business man, and one that meant to do middlin' near\nright, but wus close for a bargain, and sot, awful sot. And though he\nwus dretful polite, and made a stiddy practice right along of callin'\nwimmen \u201cangels,\u201d still he would not brook a woman's interference.\n\nWall, he could get such big rents for drinkin'-saloons, that four\nof Cicely's buildings wus rented for that purpose; and there wus one\nbilliard-room. And what made it worse for Cicely seemin'ly, it wus her\nown property, that she brought to Paul when she wus married, that wus\ninvested in these buildings. At that time they wus rented for dry-goods\nstores, and groceries. But the business of the manufactories had\nincreased greatly; and there wus three times the population now there\nwus when she went there to live, and more saloons wus needed; and these\nbuildings wus handy; and the executer had big prices offered to him,\nand he would rent 'em as he wanted to. And then, he wus something of a\nstatesman; and he felt, as many business men did, that they wus fairly\nsufferin' for more saloons to enrich the government.\n\nWhy, out of every hundred dollars that them poor laboring-men had earned\nso hardly, and paid into the saloons for that which, of course, wus\nruinous to themselves and families, and, of course, rendered them\nincapable of all labor for a great deal of the time,--why, out of that\nhundred dollars, as many as 2 cents would go to the government to enrich\nit.\n\nOf course, the government had to use them 2 cents right off towards\nbuyin' tight-jackets to confine the madmen the whiskey had made, and\npoorhouse-doors for the idiots it had breeded, to lean up aginst, and\nburyin' the paupers, and buyin' ropes to hang the murderers it had\ncreated.\n\nBut still, in some strange way, too deep, fur too deep, for a woman's\nmind to comprehend, it wus dretful profitable to the government.\n\nNow, if them poor laborin'-men had paid that 2 cents of theirn to the\ngovernment themselves, in the first place, in direct taxation, why, that\nwouldn't have been statesmanship. That is a deep study, and has a great\nmany curius performances, and it has to perform.\n\n[Illustration: UNCLE SAM ENRICHING THE GOVERNMENT.]\n\nCicely tried her very best to get the executor to change in this one\nmatter; but she couldn't move him the width of a horse-hair, and he a\nsmilin' all the time at her, and polite. He liked Cicely: nobody could\nhelp likin' the gentle, saintly-souled little woman. But he wus sot: he\nwus makin' money fast by it, and she had to give up.\n\nAnd rough men and women would sometimes twit her of it,--of her property\nbein' used to advance the liquor-traffic, and ruin men and wimmen; and\nshe a feelin' like death about it, and her hands tied up, and powerless.\nNo wonder that her face got whiter and whiter, and her eyes bigger and\nmournfuller-lookin'.\n\nWall, she kep' on, tryin' to do all she could: she joined the Woman's\nTemperance Union; she spent her money free as water, where she thought\nit would do any good, and brought up the boy jest as near right as she\ncould possibly bring him up; and she prayed, and wept right when she wus\na bringin' of him, a thinkin' that _her_ property wus a bein' used every\nday and every hour in ruinin' other mothers' boys. And the boy's face\nalmost breakin' her heart every time she looked at it; for, though he\nwus jest as pretty as a child could be, the pretty rosy lips had the\nsame good-tempered, irresolute curve to 'em that the boy inherited\nhonestly. And he had the same weak, waverin' chin. It was white and rosy\nnow, with a dimple right in the centre, sweet enough to kiss. But\nthe chin wus there, right under the rosy snow and the dimple; and I\nforeboded, too, and couldn't blame Cicely a mite for her forebodin', and\nher agony of sole.\n\nI noticed them lips and that chin the very minute Josiah brought him\ninto the settin'-room, and set him down; and my eyes looked dubersome at\nhim through my specks. Cicely see it, see that dubersome look, though\nI tried to turn it off by kissin' him jest as hearty as I could after\nI had took the little black-robed figure of his mother, and hugged her\nclose to my heart, and kissed her time and time agin.\n\nShe always dressed in the deepest of mournin', and always would. I knew\nthat.\n\nWall, we wus awful glad to see Cicely. I had had the old fireplace fixed\nin the front spare room, and a crib put in there for the boy; and I went\nright up to her room with her. And when we had got there, I took her\nright in my arms agin, as I used to, and told her how glad I wus, and\nhow thankful I wus, to have her and the boy with us.\n\nThe fire sparkled up on the old brass handirons as warm as my welcome.\nHer bed and the boy's bed looked white and cozy aginst the dark red\nof the carpet and the cream-colored paper. And after I had lowered the\npretty ruffled muslin curtains (with red ones under 'em), and pulled\na stand forward, and lit a lamp,--it wus sundown,--the room looked\ncheerful enough for anybody, and it seemed as if Cicely looked a little\nless white and brokenhearted. She wus glad to be with me, and said\nshe wuz. But right there--before supper; and we could smell the roast\nchicken and coffee, havin' left the stair-door open--right there, before\nwe had visited hardly any, or talked a mite about other wimmen, she\nbegun on what she wanted to do, and what she _must_ do, for the boy.\n\nI had told her how the boy had grown, and that sot her off. And from\nthat night, every minute of her time almost, when she could without\nbein' impolite and troublesome (Cicely wus a perfect lady, inside and\nout), she would talk to me about what she wanted to do for the boy, to\nhave the laws changed before he grew up; she didn't dare to let him go\nout into the world with the laws as they was now, with temptation on\nevery side of him.\n\n[Illustration: THE SPARE ROOM.]\n\n\u201cYou know, aunt Samantha,\u201d she says to me, \u201cthat I wanted to die when my\nhusband died; but I want to live now. Why, I _must_ live; I cannot\ndie, I dare not die until my boy is safer. I will work, I will die if\nnecessary, for him.\u201d\n\nIt wus the same old Cicely, I see, not carin' for herself, but carin'\nonly for them she loved. Lovin' little creeter, good little creeter, she\nalways wuz, and always would be. And so I told Josiah.\n\nWall, we had the boy set between us to the supper-table, Josiah and me\ndid, in Thomas Jefferson's little high-chair. I had new covered it on\npurpose for him with bright copperplate calico.\n\nAnd that night at supper, and after supper, I judged, and judged\ncalmly,--we made the estimate after we went to bed, Josiah and me\ndid,--that the boy asked 3 thousand and 85 questions about every thing\nunder the sun and moon, and things over 'em, and outside of 'em, and\ninside.\n\nWhy, I panted for breath, but wouldn't give in. I was determined to use\nCicely first-rate, and we loved the boy too. But, oh! it was a weary\nlove, and a short-winded love, and a hoarse one.\n\nWe went to bed tuckered completely out, but good-natured: our love for\n'em held us up. And when we made the estimate, it wuzn't in a cross\ntone, but amiable, and almost winnin'. Josiah thought they went up into\nthe trillions. But I am one that never likes to set such things too\nhigh; and I said calmly, 3,000 and 85. And finally he gin in that mebby\nit wuzn't no more than that.\n\nCicely told me she couldn't stay with us very long now; for her aunt\nMary wuz expectin' to go away to the Michigan pretty soon, to see a\ndaughter who wus out of health,--had been out of it for some time,--and\nshe wanted a visit from her neice Cicely before she went. But she\npromised to come back, and make a good visit on her way home.\n\nAnd so it was planned. The next day was Sunday, and Cicely wus too tired\nwith her journey to go to meetin'. But the boy went. He sot up, lookin'\nbeautiful, by the side of me on the back seat of the Democrat; his uncle\nJosiah sot in front; and Ury drove. Ury Henzy, he's our hired man, and\na tolerable good one, as hired men go. His name is Urias; but we always\ncall him Ury,--spelt U-r-y, Ury,--with the emphasis on the U.\n\nWall, that day Elder Minkly preached. It wus a powerful sermon, about\nthe creation of the world, and how man was made, and the fall of Adam,\nand about Noah and the ark, and how the wicked wus destroyed. It wus a\nmiddlin' powerful sermon; and the boy sot up between Josiah and me, and\nwe wus proud enough of him. He had on a little green velvet suit and a\ndeep linen collar; and he sot considerable still for him, with his eyes\non Elder Minkly's face, a thinkin', I guess, how he would put us through\nour catechism on the way home. And, oh! didn't he, didn't he do it? I\ns'pose things seem strange to children, and they can't help askin' about\n'em.\n\nBut 4,000 wus the estimate Josiah and me calculated on our pillows that\nnight wus the number of questions the boy asked on our way home, about\nthe creation, how the world wus made, and the ark--oh, how he harressed\nmy poor companion about the animals! \u201cDid they drive 2 of all the\nanimals in the world in that house, uncle Josiah?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: GOING TO MEETING.]\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says Josiah.\n\n\u201c2 elfants, and rinosterhorses, and snakes, and snakes, and bears, and\ntigers, and cows, and camels, and hens?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd flies, uncle Josiah?--did they drive in two flies? and mud-turkles?\nand bumble-bees? and muskeeters? Say, uncle Josiah, did they drive in\nmuskeeters?\u201d\n\n\u201cI s'pose so.\u201d\n\n\u201c_How_ could they drive in two muskeeters?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! less stop talkin' for a spell--shet up your little mouth,\u201d says\nJosiah in a winnin' tone, pattin' him on his head.\n\n\u201cI can shut up my mouth, uncle Josiah, but I can't shut up my thinker.\u201d\n\nJosiah sithed; and, right while he wus a sithin', the boy commenced agin\non a new tack.\n\n\u201cWhat for a lookin' place was paradise?\u201d And then follered 800 questions\nabout paradise. Josiah sweat, and offered to let the boy come back, and\nset with me. He had insisted, when we started from the meetin'-house, on\nhavin' the boy set on the front seat between him and Ury.\n\nBut I demurred about any change, and leaned back, and eat a sweet apple.\nI don't think it is wrong Sundays to eat a sweet apple. And the boy kep'\non.\n\n\u201cWhat did Adam fall off of? Did he fall out of the apple-tree?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no! he fell because he sinned.\u201d\n\nBut the boy went right on, in a tone of calm conviction,--\n\n\u201cNo big man would be apt to fall a walking right along. He fell out of\nthe apple-tree.\u201d\n\nAnd then he says, after a minute's still thought,--\n\n\u201cI believe, if I had been there, and had a string round Adam's leg, I\ncould kep' him from fallin' off;--and say, where was the Lord? Couldn't\nHe have kept him? say, couldn't He?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes: He can do any thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, then, why didn't He?\u201d\n\nJosiah groaned, low.\n\n\u201cIf Adam hadn't fell, I wouldn't have fell, would I?--nor you--nor\nUry--nor anybody?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo: I s'pose not.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, wouldn't it have paid to kept Adam up? Say, uncle Josiah, say!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! less talk about sunthin' else,\u201d says my poor Josiah. \u201cDon't you\nwant a sweet apple?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; and say! what kind of a apple was it that Adam eat? Was it a sweet\napple, or a greening, or a sick-no-further? And say, was it _right_\nfor all of us to fall down because Adam did? And how did _I_ sin just\nbecause a man eat an apple, and fell out of an apple-tree, when I never\nsaw the apple, or poked him offen the tree, or joggled him, or any\nthing--when I wasn't there? Say, how was it wrong, uncle Josiah? When I\nwasn't _there!_\u201d\n\nMy poor companion, I guess to sort o' pacify him, broke out kinder a\nsingin' in a tone full of fag, \u201c'In Adam's fall, we sinned all.'\u201d Josiah\nis sound.\n\n\u201cAnd be I a sinning now, uncle Josiah? and a falling? And is everybody a\nsinning and a falling jest because that one man eat one apple, and fell\nout of an apple-tree? Say, is it _right_, uncle Josiah, for you and\nme, and everybody that is on the earth, to keep a falling, and keep\na falling, and bein' blamed, and every thing, when we hadn't done any\nthing, and wasn't _there?_ And _say_, will folks always keep a falling?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, if they hain't good.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH CLOSING THE CONVERSATION.]\n\n\u201c_How_ can they keep a falling? If Adam fell out of the apple-tree,\nwouldn't he have struck on the ground, and got up agin? And if anybody\nfalls, why, why, mustn't they come to the bottom sometime? If there is\nsomething to fall off of, mustn't there be something to hit against? And\n_say_\u201d--\n\nHere the boy's eyes looked dreamier than they had looked, and further\noff.\n\n\u201cWas I made out of dirt, uncle Josiah?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes: we are all made out of dust.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did God breathe our souls into us? Was it His own self, His own\nlife, that was breathed into us?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says Josiah, in a more fagged voice than he had used durin' the\nintervue, and more hopelesser.\n\n\u201cWall, if God is in us, how can He lose us again? Wouldn't it be a\nlosing His own self? And how could God lose Himself? And what did He\nfind us for, in the first place, if He wus going to lose us again?\u201d\n\nHere Josiah got right up in the Democrat, and lifted the boy, and sot\nhim over on the seat with me, and took the lines out of Ury's hands, and\ndrove the old mair at a rate that I told him wus shameful on Sunday, for\na perfessor.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cIT WUS ON A SLAY-RIDE \u201c]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nWall, Cicely and the boy staid till Tuesday night. Tuesday afternoon the\nchildren wus all to home on a invitation. (I had a chicken-pie, and done\nwell by 'em.)\n\nAnd nothin' to do but what Cicely and the boy must go home with 'em:\nthey jest think their eyes of Cicely. And I couldn't blame 'em for\nwantin' her, though I hated to give her up.\n\nShe laid out to stay a few days, and then come back to our house for a\nday or two, and then go on to her aunt Mary's. But, as it turned out,\nthe children urged her so, she stayed most two weeks.\n\nAnd the very next day but one after Cicely went to the children's--And\ndon't it beat all how, if visitors get to comin', they'll keep a comin'?\njest as it is if you begin to have trials, you'll have lots of 'em, or\nbroken dishes, or any thing.\n\nWall, it wus the very next mornin' but one after Cicely had gone, and\nmy voice had actually begun to sound natural agin (the boy had kep' me\nhoarse as a frog answerin' questions). I wus whitewashin' the kitchen,\nhavin' put it off while Cicely wus there; and there wus a man to work a\npatchin' up the wall in one of the chambers,--and right there and then,\nElburtus Smith Gansey come. And truly, we found him as clever a critter\nas ever walked the earth.\n\nIt wus jest before korkuss; and he wus kinder visatin' round amongst\nhis relations, and makin' himself agreable. He is my 5th cousin,--5th\nor 6th. I can't reely tell which, and I don't know as I care much; for\nI think, that, after you get by the 5th, it hain't much matter anyway. I\nsort o' pile 'em all in promiscous. Jest as it is after anybody gets to\nbe 70 years old, it hain't much matter how much older they be: they are\nwhat you may call old, anyway.\n\nBut I think, as I said prior and beforehand, that he wus a 5th. His\nmother wus a Butrick, and her mother wus a Smith. So he come to make us\na visit, and sort o' ellectioneer round. He wanted to get put in county\njudge; and so, the korkuss bein' held in Jonesville, I s'pose he thought\nhe'd come down, and endear himself to us, as they all do.\n\nI am one that likes company first-rate, and I always try to do well by\n'em; but I tell Josiah, that somehow city folks (Elburtus wus brought\nup in a city) are a sort of a bother. They require so much, and give\nyou the feelin', that, when you are a doin' your very best for 'em, they\nhain't satisfied. You see, some folks'es best hain't nigh so good as\nother folks'es 3d or 4th.\n\nBut this feller--why! I liked him from the first minute I sot my eyes on\nhim. I hadn't seen him before sence I wus a child, and so didn't feel so\nawful well acquainted with him; or, that is, I didn't, as it were, feel\nintimate. You know, when you don't see anybody from the time you are\nbabies till you are married, and have lost a good many teeth, and\nconsiderable hair, you can't feel over and above intimate with 'em at\nfirst sight.\n\nBut I liked him, he wus so unassuming and friendly, and took every\nthing so peaceable and pleasant. And he deserved better things than what\nhappened to him.\n\nYou see, I wus a cleanin' house when he come, cleanin' the kitchen at\nthat out-of-the-way time of year on account of Cicely's visit, and on\naccount of repairin' that had promised to be done by Josiah Allen, and\ndelayed from week to week, and month to month, as is the way with men.\nBut finally he had got it done, and I wus ready to the minute with my\nbrush and scourin'-cloth.\n\nI wus a whitewashin' when he come, and my pail of whitewash wus hung\nup over the kitchen-door; and I stood up on a table, a whitewashin' the\nceilin, when I heard a buggy drive up to the door, and stop. And I stood\nstill, and listened; and then I heard a awful katouse and rumpus, and\nthen I heard hollerin'; and then I heard Josiah's voice, and somebody\nelse's voice, a talkin' back and forth, sort o' quick and excited.\n\nNow, some wimmen would have been skairt, and acted skairt; but I didn't.\nI jest stood up on that table, cool and calm as a statue of Repose\nsculped out of marble, and most as white (I wus all covered with\nwhitewash), with my brush held easy and firm in my right hand, and my\nleft ear a listenin'.\n\nPretty soon the door opened right by the side of the table, and in come\nJosiah Allen and a strange man. He introduced him to me as Elburtus\nGansey, my 4th cousin; and I made a handsome curchy. I s'pose, bein' up\non the table, the curchy showed off to better advantage than it would if\nI had been on the floor: it looked well. But I felt that I ort to shake\nhands with him; and, as I went to step down into a chair to get down\n(entirely unbeknown to me), my brush hit against that pail, and down\ncome that pail of whitewash right onto his back. (If it had been his\nhead, it would have broke it.)\n\n[Illustration: EXCELLENT LIME.]\n\nI felt as if I should sink. But he took it the best that ever wus. He\nsaid, when Josiah and me wus a sweepin' him off, and a rubbin' him off\nwith wet towels, that \u201cit wusn't no matter at all.\u201d And he spoke up so\npolite and courteous, that \u201cit seemed to be first-rate whitewash: he\nnever see better, whiter lime in his life, than that seemed to be.\u201d\n And then he sort o' felt of it between his thumb and finger, and asked\nJosiah \u201cwhere did he get that lime, and if they had any more of it. He\ndidn't believe they could get such lime outside of Jonesville.\u201d He acted\nlike a perfect gentleman.\n\nAnd he told me, in that same polite, pleasant tone, how Josiah's old\nsheep had knocked him over 3 times while he wus a comin' into the house.\nHe said, with that calm, gentle smile, \u201cthat no sooner would he get up,\nthan he would stand off a little, and then rush at him with his head\ndown, and push him right over.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cIt is a perfect shame and a disgrace,\u201d says I. \u201cAnd I have\ntold you, Josiah Allen, that some stranger would get killed by that old\ncreeter; and I should think you would get rid of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I lay out to, the first chance I get,\u201d says he.\n\nElburtus said \u201cit would almost seem to be a pity, it was so strong and\nhealthy a sheep.\u201d He said he never met a sheep under any circumstances\nthat seemed to have a sounder, stronger constitution. He said of course\nthe sheep and he hadn't met under the pleasantest of circumstances, and\nit wusn't over and above pleasant to be knocked down by it three or four\ntimes; but he had found that he couldn't have every thing as he wanted\nit in this world, and the only way to enjoy ourselves wus to take things\nas they come.\n\nSays I, \u201cI s'pose that wus the way you took the sheep;\u201d and he said, \u201cIt\nwas.\u201d\n\nAnd then he went on to say in that amiable way of hisen, \u201cthat it\nprobably made it a little harder for him jest at that time, as he\nwus struck by lightnin' that mornin'.\u201d (There had been a awful\nthunder-storm.)\n\nSays Josiah, all excitement, \u201cDid it strike you sensible?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cYou mean senseless, Josiah Allen.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I said so, didn't I? Did it strike you senseless, Mr. Gansey?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said: it only stunted him. And then he went on a praisin' up\nour Jonesville lightnin'. He said it wus about the cleanest, quickest\nlightnin' he ever see. He said he believed we had the smartest lightnin'\nin our county that you could find in the nation.\n\nSo good he acted about every thing. It beat all. Why, he hadn't been in\nthe house half an hour when he offered to help me whitewash. I told him\nI wouldn't let him, for it would spile his clothes, and he hadn't ever\nbeen there a visitin' before, and I didn't want to put him to work.\nBut he hung on, and nothin' to do but what he had got to take hold and\nwhitewash. And I had to give up and let him; for I thought it wus better\nmanners to put a visiter to work, than it wus to dispute and quarrel\nwith 'em: and, of course, he wasn't used to it, and he filled one eye\nmost full of lime. It wus dretful painful, dretful.\n\nBut I swabbed it out with viniger, and it got easier about the middle of\nthe afternoon. It bein' work that he never done before, the whitewashin'\nlooked like fury; but I done it all over after him, and so I got along\nwith it, though it belated me. But his offerin' to do it showed his good\nwill, anyway.\n\nI shouldn't have done any more at all after Elburtus had come, only I\nhad got into the job, and had to finish it; for I always think it is\nbetter manners, when visitors come unexpected, and ketch you in some\nmean job, to go on and finish it as quick as you can, ruther than to set\ndown in the dirt, and let them, ditto, and the same.\n\nAnd Josiah was ketched jest as I wus, for he had a piece of winter wheat\nthat wus spilin' to be cut; and he had got the most of it down, and had\nto finish it: it wus lodged so he had to cut it by hand,--the machine\nwouldn't work on it. And jest as quick as Elburtus had got so he could\nsee out of that eye, nothin' to do but what he had got to go out and\nhelp Josiah cut that wheat. He hadn't touched a scythe for years and\nyears, and it wasn't ten minutes before his hands wus blistered on the\ninside. But he would keep at it till the blisters broke, and then he had\nto stop anyway.\n\nHe got along quite well after that: only the lot where Josiah wus to\nwork run along by old Bobbet'ses, and he had carried a jug of sweetened\nwater and viniger and ginger out into the lot, and Elburtus had talked\nso polite and cordial to him, a conversin' on politics, that he got\nattached to him, and treated him to the sweetened water.\n\n[Illustration: ELBURTUS ENDEARIN' HIMSELF TO MR. BOBBET.]\n\nAnd Elburtus, not wantin' to hurt his feelin's, drinked about 3 quarts.\nIt made him deathly sick, for it went aginst his stomach from the first:\nhe never loved it. And Miss Bobbet duz fix it dretful sickish,--sweetens\nit with sale mollasses for one thing.\n\nOh, how sick that feller wus when he come in to supper! had to lay right\ndown on the lounge.\n\nSays I, \u201cElburtus, what made you drink it, when it went aginst your\nstomach?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says he in a faint voice, and pale round his lips as any thing,\n\u201cI didn't want to hurt his feelin's by refusin'.\u201d\n\nSays I, out to one side, \u201cDid you ever, Josiah Allen, see such goodness\nin your life?\u201d\n\n\u201cI never see such dumb foolishness,\u201d says he. \u201cI'd love to have\nanybody ketch me a drinkin' three or four quarts of such stuff out of\npoliteness.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I coldly: \u201cyou hain't good enough.\u201d\n\nWall, that night his bed got a fire. It seemed as if every thing under\nthe sun wus a goin' to happen to that man while he wus here. You see,\nthe house wus all tore up a repairing and I had to put him up-stairs:\nand the bed had been moved out by carpenters, to plaster a spot behind\nthe bed; and, unbeknown to me, they had set it too near the stove-pipe.\nAnd the hot pipe run right up by the side of it, right by the\nbed-clothes. It took fire from the piller-case.\n\nWe smelt a dretful smudge, and Josiah run right up-stairs: it had only\njest ketched a fire, and Elburtus was sound asleep; and Josiah, the\nminute he see what wus the matter, he jest ketched up the water-pitcher,\nand throwed the water over him; and bein' skairt and tremblin', the\npitcher flew out of his hand, and went too, and hit Elburtus on the end\nof his nose, and took a piece of skin right off.\n\nHe waked up sudden; and there he wus, all drownded out, and a piece gone\noff of his nose.\n\nNow, most any other man would have acted mad. Josiah would have acted\nmad as a mad dog, and madder. But you ort to see how good Elburtus took\nit, jest as quick as he got his senses back. Josiah said he could almost\ntake his oath that he swore out as cross a oath as he ever heard swore\nthe first minute before he got his eyes opened, but I believe he wus\nmistaken. But anyway, the minute his senses come back, and he see where\nhe wuz, you ort to see how he behaved. Never, never did I hear of such\nmanners in all my born days! Josiah told me all about it.\n\nThere Elburtus stood, with his nose a bleedin', and his whiskers singed,\nand a drippin' like a mushrat. But, instead of jawin' or complainin',\nthe first thing he said wuz, \u201cWhat a splendid draft our stove must have,\nor else the stove-pipe wouldn't be so hot!\u201d (I had done some cookin'\nlate in the evenin', and left a fire in the stove.)\n\nAnd he said our stove-wood must be of the very best quality; and he\nasked Josiah where he got it, and if he had to pay any thing extra for\nthat kind. He said he'd give any thing if he could get holt of a cord of\nsuch wood as that!\n\nJosiah said he felt fairly stunted to see such manners; and he went\nto apologisin' about how awful bad it was for him to get his whiskers\nsinged so, and how it wus a pure axident his lettin' the pitcher slip\nout of his hand, and he wouldn't have done it for nothin' if he could\nhave helped it, and he wus afraid it had hurt him more than he thought\nfor.\n\nAnd such manners as that clever critter showed then! He said he was a\ncalculatin' to get his whiskers cut that very day, and it was all for\nthe best; he persumed they wus singed off in jest the shape he wanted\n'em: and as for his nose, he wus always ashamed of it; it wus always too\nlong, and he should be glad if there wus a piece gone off of it: Josiah\nhad done him a favor to help him get rid of a piece of it.\n\nWhy, when Josiah told it all over to me after he come down, I told him\n\u201cI believed sunthin' would happen to that man before long. I believed he\nwus too good for earth.\u201d\n\nJosiah can't bear to hear me praise up any mortal man only himself, and\nhe muttered sunthin' about \u201che bet he wouldn't be so tarnel good after\n'lection.\u201d\n\nBut I wouldn't hear 110 such talk; and says I,--\n\n\u201cIf there wus ever a saint on earth, it is Elburtus Smith Gansey;\u201d and\nsays I, \u201cIf you try to vote for anybody else, I'll know the reason why.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, wall! who said I wus a goin' to? I shall probable vote in the\nfamily; but he hain't no more saint than I be.\u201d\n\nI gin him a witherin' look; but, as it wus dark as pitch in the room,\nhe didn't act withered any. And I spoke out agin, and says I, in a low,\ndeep voice,--\n\n\u201cIf it wus one of the relations on your side, Josiah Allen, you would\nsay he acted dretful good.\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cThere is such a thing, Samantha, as bein' _too_ good--too\n_dumb_ good.\u201d\n\nI didn't multiply any more words with him, and we went to sleep.\n\nWall, that is jest the way that feller acted for the next five days.\nWhy, the neighbors all got to lovin' him so, why, they jest about\nworshipped him. And Josiah said that there wuzn't no use a talkin',\nElburtus would get the nomination unanimous; for everybody that had\nseen him appear (and he had been all over the town appearing to 'em, and\nendearin' himself to 'em, cleer out beyond Jonesville as far as Spoon\nSettlement and Loontown), why, they jest thought their eyes of him, he\nwus so thoughtful and urbane and helpful. Why, there hain't no tellin'\nhow much helpfuler he wuz than common folks, and urbaner.\n\nWhy, Josiah and me drove into Jonesville one day towards night; and\nElburtus had been there all day. Josiah had some cross-gut saws that he\nwanted to get filed, and had happened to mention it before Elburtus; and\nnothin' to do but he must go and carry 'em to the man in Jonesville that\nwus goin' to do it, and help him file 'em. Josiah told him we wus goin'\nover towards night with the team, and could carry 'em as well as not;\nand he hadn't better try to help, filin' saws wus such a sort of a\nraspin' undertakin'. But Elburtus said \u201che should probably go through\nmore raspin' jobs before he died, or got the nomination; and Josiah\ncould have 'em to bring home that night.\u201d So he sot out with 'em walkin'\na foot.\n\n[Illustration: ELBERTUS APPEARIN']\n\nWall, when we drove in, I see Elburtus a liftin' and a luggin', a\nloadin' a big barrell into a double wagon for a farmer; and I says,--\n\n\u201cWhat under the sun is Elburtus Gansey a doin'?\u201d\n\nAnd Josiah says, in a gay tone,--\n\n\u201cHe is a electionerin', Samantha: see him sweat,\u201d says he. \u201cSalt is\nheavy, and political life is wearin', when anybody goes into it deep,\nand tackles it in the way Elburtus tackles it.\u201d\n\nHe seemed to think it wus a joke; but I says,--\n\n\u201cHe is jest a killin' himself, Josiah Allen; and you would set here, and\nsee him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hain't a runnin',\u201d says he in a calm tone.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I: \u201cyou wouldn't run a step to help anybody. And see there,\u201d\n says I. \u201cHow good, how good that man is!\u201d\n\nElburtus had finished loadin' the salt, and now he wus a holdin' the\nhorses for the man to load some spring-beds. And the horses wus skairt\nby 'em, and wuz jest a liftin' Elburtus right up offen his feet. Why,\nthey pranced, and tore, and lifted him up, and switched him round, and\nthen they'd set him down with a crash, and whinner.\n\nBut that man smiled all the time, and took off his hat, and bowed to me:\nwe went by when he wus a swingin' right up in the air. I never see the\nbeat of his goodness. Why, we found out afterwards, that, besides filin'\nthem saws, he had loaded seven barrells of salt that day, besides other\nheavy truck. That night he wus perfectly beat out--but good.\n\nJosiah said that Philander Dagget'ses wive's brother wouldn't have no\nchance at all. He wanted the nomination awful, and Philander had been\na workin' for him all he could; and if Elburtus hadn't come down to\nJonesville, and showed off such a beautiful demeanor and actions, why,\nwe all thought that Philander's wive's brother would have got it. And I\ncouldn't help feelin' kind o' sorry for him, though highly tickled for\nElburtus. We both of us, Josiah and me, felt very pleased and extremely\ntickled to think that Elburtus wus so sure of it; for there wus a good\ndeal of money in the office, besides honor, sights of honor.\n\nWall, when the mornin' of town-meetin' came, that critter wus so awful\nclever that nothin' to do but what he must help Josiah do the chores.\n\nAnd amongst other chores Josiah had to do that mornin', wus to carry\nhome a plow that belonged to old Dagget. And old Dagget wanted Josiah,\nwhen he had got through with it, to carry it to his son Philander's: and\nPhilander had left word that he wanted it that mornin'; and he wanted it\ncarried down to his lower barn, that stood in a meadow a mile away from\nany house. Philander'ses land run in such a way that he had to build it\nthere to store his fodder.\n\nWall, time run along, and it got time to start for town-meetin', and\nElburtus couldn't be found. I hollered to him from the back stoop, and\nJosiah went out to the barn and hollered; but nothin' could be seen of\nhim. And Josiah got all ready, and waited, and waited; and I told him\nthat Elburtus had probable got in such a hurry to get there, that he\nhad started on a foot, and he had better drive on, and he would\novertake him. So finally he did; and he drove along clear to Jonesville,\nexpectin' to overtake him every minute, and didn't. And the hull day\npassed off, and no Elburtus. And nobody had seen him. And everybody\nthought it looked so curius in him, a disapearin' as he did, when they\nall knew that he had come down to our part of the county a purpose\nto get the nomination. Why, his disapearin' as he did looked so awful\nstrange, that they didn't know what to make of it.\n\n[Illustration: ELBURTUS HOLDING THE HORSES.]\n\nAnd the opposition side, Philander Daggets'es wive's brother's friends,\nstarted the story that he wus arrested for stealin' a sheep, and wus\ndragged off to jail that mornin'.\n\nOf course Josiah tried to dispute it; but, as he wus as much in the dark\nas any of 'em as to where he wuz, his disputin' of it didn't amount to\nany thing. And then, Josiah's feelin' so strange about Elburtus made his\neyes look kinder glassy and strange when they wus talkin' to him about\nit; and they got up the story, so I hearn, that Josiah helped him off\nwith the sheep, and wus feelin' like death to have him found out.\n\nAnd the friends of Philander Daggets'es wive's brother had it all their\nown way, and he wus elected almost unanimous. Wall, Josiah come home\nearly, he wus so worried about Elburtus. He thought mebby he had come\nback home after he had got away, and wus took sick sudden. And his first\nwords to me wuz,--\n\n\u201cWhere is Elburtus? Have you seen Elburtus?\u201d\n\nAnd then wus my time to be smit and horrow-struck. And the more we got\nto thinkin' about it, the more wonderful did it seem to us, that\nthat man had dissapeared right in broad daylight, jest as sudden and\nmysterious as if the ground had opened, and swallowed him down, or as if\nhe had spread a pair of wings, and flown up into the sky.\n\nNot that I really thought he had. I couldn't hardly associate the idee\nof heaven and endless repose with a short frock-coat and boots, and\na blue necktie and a stiff shirt-collar. But, oh! how strange and\nmysterious it did seem to be! We talked it over and over, and we could\nnot think of any thing that could happen to him. He knew enough to keep\nout of the creek; and there wasn't no woods nigh where he could get\nlost, and he wus too old to be stole. And so we thought and thought, and\nracked our 2 brains.\n\nAnd finally I says, \u201cWall! it hain't happened for several thousand\nyears, but I don't know what to think. We read of folks bein' translated\nup to heaven when they get too good for earth, and you know I have told\nyou several times that he wus too clever for earth. I have thought he\nwus not of the earth, earthy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I have thought,\u201d says he, sort o' snappish, \u201cthat he wus of\npolitics, politicky.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cJosiah Allen, I should be afraid, if I wus in your place, to\ntalk in that way in such a time as this,\u201d says I. \u201cI have felt, when I\nsee his actions when he wus knocked over by that sheep, and covered with\nlime, and sot fire to, I have felt as if we wus entertainin' a angel\nunawares.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says he, \u201cit _wuz unawares_, entirely _unawares_ to me.\u201d\n\nHis axent wus dry, dry as chaff, and as full of ironry as a oven-door or\nflat-iron.\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cmebby you will see the time, before the sun rises on\nyour bald head again, that you will be sorry for such talk.\u201d Says I, \u201cIf\nit wus one of the relation on your side, mebby you would talk different\nabout him.\u201d That touched him; and he snapped out,--\n\n\u201cWhat do you s'pose I care which side he wus on? And I should think it\nwus time to have a little sunthin' to eat: it must be three o'clock if\nit is a minute.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cCan you eat, Josiah Allen, in such a time as this?\u201d\n\n\u201cI could if I could _get_ any thing to eat,\u201d says he; \u201cbut there don't\nseem to be much prospect of it.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThe best thing you can do, Josiah Allen, is to foller his\ntracks. The ground is kinder soft and spongy, and you can do it,\u201d says\nI. \u201cWhere did he go to last from here?\u201d\n\n\u201cDown to Philander Daggets'es, to carry home his plow.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat angel man!\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cThat angel fool!\u201d says Josiah. \u201cWho asked him to go?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cWhen a man gets too good for earth, there is other ways to\ntranslate him besides chariots of fire. Who knows but what he has fell\ndown in a fit! And do you go this minute, Josiah Allen, and foller his\ntracks!\u201d\n\n\u201cI sha'n't foller nobody's tracks, Samantha Allen, till I have sunthin'\nto eat.\u201d\n\nI knew there wuzn't no use of reasonin' no further with him then; for\nwhen he said Samantha Allen in that axent, I knew he wus as sot as a\nhemlock post, and as hard to move as one. And so my common sense bein'\nso firm and solid, even in such a time as this, I reasoned it right out,\nhe wouldn't stir till he had sunthin' to eat, and so the sooner I got\nhis supper, the sooner he would go and foller Elburtus'es tracks. So I\ndidn't spend no more strength a arguin', but kep' it to hurry up; and\nmy reason is such, strong and vigorous and fur-seein', that I knew the\nbetter supper he had, the more animated would be his search. So I got a\nsplendid supper, but quick.\n\n[Illustration: HUNTING FOR ELBURTUS.]\n\nBut, oh! all the time I wus a gettin' it, this solemn and awful question\nwus a hantin' me,--What had become of Elburtus Smith Gansey? What had\nbecome of the relation on my side? Oh, the feelin's I felt! Oh, the\nemotions I carried round with me, from buttery to teakettle, and from\nteapot to table!\n\nBut finally, after eatin' longer than it seemed to me he ever eat before\n(such wus my feelin's), Josiah started off acrost the lot, towards\nDaggets'es barn. And I stood in the west door, with my hand over my\neyes, a watchin' him most every minute he wus gone. And when that man\ncome back, he come a laughin'. And I wus that madded, to have him look\nin that sort of a scorfin' way, that I wouldn't say a word to him; and\nhe come into the house a laughin', and sot down and crossed his legs a\nlaughin', and says he,--\n\n\u201cWhat do you s'pose has become of the relation on your side?\u201d And says\nhe, snickerin' agin,--\n\n\u201cYou wus in the right on it, Samantha,--he did asscend: he went up!\u201d And\nagin he snickered loud. And says I coldly, cold as ice almost,--\n\n\u201cIf I wuzn't a perfect luny, or idiot, I'd talk as if I knew sunthin'.\nYou know I said that, as one who allegores. If you have found Elburtus\nGansey, I'd say so, and done with it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he, \u201cyou _wuz_ in the right of it, and that is what tickles\nme. He got locked up in Dagget's barn. He asscended, jest as I told you.\nHe went up the ladder over the hay, to throw down fodder, and got locked\nup _axidental_.\u201d And, as he said \u201caxidental,\u201d he snickered worse than\never.\n\nAnd I says, \u201cIt is a mean, miserable, good for nothin', low-lived\ncaper! And Philander Dagget done it a purpose to keep Elburtus from the\ntown-meetin', so his wive's brother would get the election. And, if\nI wus Elburtus Gansey, I'd sue him, and serve a summons on him, and\nprosicute him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says Josiah, in the same hilarious axent, and the same scorfin'\nlook onto him, \u201cPhilander says he never felt so worked up about any\nthing in his life, as he did when he unlocked the barn-door to-night,\nand found Elburtus there. He said he felt as if he should sink, for\nhe wus so afraid that some evil-minded person might say he done it a\npurpose. And he said what made him feel the worst about it wuz to think\nthat he should have shut him up axidental when he wus a helpin' so\ngood.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThe mean, impudent creeter! As good as Elburtus wuz!\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says Josiah, \u201cyou know what I told you,--there is such a thing\nas bein' _too_ good.\u201d\n\nI wouldn't multiply no more words on the subject, I wus that wrought up\nand excited and mad; and I wouldn't give in a mite to Josiah Allen, and\nwouldn't want it repeated now so he could hear it, but I do s'pose that\nwus the great trouble with Elburtus,--he wus a leetle _too_ good.\n\nAnd, come to think it over, I don't s'pose Philander had laid any plot\nto keep him away from 'lection; but he is a great case for fun, and he\nhad laughed and tickled about Elburtus bein' so polite and helpful, and\nhad made a good deel of fun of him. And then, he thinks a awful sight of\nhis wive's brother, and wanted him to get the election.\n\nAnd I s'pose the idee come to him after Elburtus had got down to the\nbarn where he wus a fodderin' his sheep.\n\nYou see, if Elburtus had let well enough alone, and not been _too_ good,\nevery thing would have gone off right then, but he wouldn't. Nothin' to\ndo but he must help Philander get down his fodder. And I s'pose then\nthe idee come to him that he would shet him up, and keep him there till\nafter 'lection wus over. For I don't believe a word about its bein' a\naxident. And I don't believe Josiah duz, though he pretends he duz. But\nevery time he says that word \u201caxident,\u201d he will laugh out so sort o'\naggravatin'. That is what mads me to this day.\n\nBut, as Josiah says, who would have thought that Elburtus would have\noffered to carry that plow home, and throw down the fodder?\n\nBut, at any rate, Philander turned the key on him while he wus up\nover-head, and locked him in there for the day. A meaner, low-liveder,\nmiserabler caper, I never see nor heard of.\n\nBut the way Philander gets out of it (he is a natural liar, and has had\nconstant practice), he don't deny lockin' the door, but he says he wus\nto work on the outside of the barn, and he s'posed Elburtus had gone\nout, and gone home; and he locked the door, and went away.\n\nHe says (the mean, sneakin', hippocritical creeter!) that he feels like\ndeath about it, to think it happened so, and on that day too. And he\nsays what makes him feel the meanest is, to think it was his wive's\nbrother that wus up on the other side, and got the nomination. He says\nit leaves room for talk.\n\nAnd there it is. You can't sue a man for lockin' his own barn-door. And\nElburtus wouldn't want it brought into court, anyway; for folks would\nbe a wonderin' so what under the sun he wus a prowlin' round for up\noverhead in Philander Daggets'es barn.\n\nSo he wus obliged to let the subject drop, and Philander has it all his\nown way. And they say his wive's brother give him ten silver dollars\nfor his help. And that is pretty good pay for turnin' one lock, about 2\nseconts' work.\n\nWall, anyway, that wus the last thing that happened to Elburtus in\nJonesville; and whether he took it polite and easy, or not, I don't\nknow. For that night, when Philander went down to the barn to fodder,\njest before Josiah went there, and let him out (and acted perfectly\nsuprised and horrified at findin' him there, Philander did, so I have\nbeen told), Elburtus started a bee-line for the depo, and never come\nback here at all; and he left a good new handkerchief, and a shirt, and\n3 paper collars.\n\nAnd whether he has kep' on a sufferin', or not, I don't know. Mebby he\nhad his trials in one batch, as you may say, and is now havin' a spell\nof enjoyments. I am sure, I hope so; for a cleverer, good-natureder,\npolite-appearin'er creeter, _I_ never see, nor don't expect to see agin\nin my life; and so I tell Josiah.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nThe next evenin' follerin' after the exodus of Elburtus Gansey, Josiah\nand I, thinkin' that we needed a relaxation to relax our two minds, rode\ninto Jonesville. We went in the Democrat, at my request; for I wus in\nhopes Cicely would come home with us.\n\nAnd she did. We had a good ride. I sot in front with Josiah at his\nrequest; and what made it pleasanter wuz, the boy stood up in the\nDemocrat behind me a good deal of the way, with his arms round my neck,\na kissin' me.\n\nAnd when I waked up in the mornin', I wus glad to think they wus there.\nThough Cicely wuzn't well: I could see she wuzn't. I felt sad at the\nbreakfast-table to see how her fresh young beauty wus bein' blowed away\nby the sharp breath of sorrow's gale.\n\nBut she wus sweet and gentle as ever the posy wus we had named her\nafter. No Sweet Cicely blow wus ever sweeter and purer than she wuz.\nAfter I got my work all done up below,--she offerin' to help me, and a\nnot lettin' her lift her finger,--I went up into her room, where there\nwus a bright fire on the hearth, and every thing looked cozy and snug.\n\nThe boy, havin' wore himself out a harrowin' his uncle Josiah and Ury\nwith questions, had laid down on the crimson rug in front of the fire,\nand wus fast asleep, gettin' strength for new labors.\n\nAnd Cicely sot in a little low rockin'-chair by the side of him. She had\non a white flannel mornin'-dress, and a thin white zephyr worsted shawl\nround her; and her silky brown hair hung down her back, for she had been\na brushin' it out; and she looked sweet and pretty enough to kiss; and I\nkissed her right there, before I sot down, or any thing.\n\nAnd then, thinks'es I as I sot down, we will have a good, quiet visit,\nand talk some about other wimmen. (No runnin' 'em: I'd scorn it, and so\nwould she.)\n\nBut I thought I'd love to talk it over with her, about what good\nhousekeepers Tirzah Ann and Maggie wuz. And I wanted to hear what she\nthought about the babe, and if she could say in cander that she ever see\na little girl equal her in graces of mind and body.\n\nAnd I wanted to hear all about her aunt Mary and her aunt Melissa (on\nher father's side). I knew she had had letters from 'em. And I wanted\nto hear how she that was Jane Smith wuz, that lived neighbor to her\naunt Mary's oldest daughter, and how that oldest daughter wuz, who\nwus s'posed to be a runnin' down. And I wanted to hear about Susan Ann\nGrimshaw, who had married her aunt Melissy's youngest son. There wus\nlots of news that I felt fairly sufferin' for, and lots of news that I\nfelt like disseminatin' to her.\n\nBut, if you'll believe it, jest as I had begun to inquire, and take\ncomfort, she branched right off, a lady-like branch, and a courteous\none, but still a branch, and begun to talk about \u201cwhat should she\ndo--what could she do--for the boy.\u201d\n\nAnd she looked down on him as he lay there, with such a boundless love,\nand a awful dread in her eyes, that it was pitiful in the extreme to see\nher; and says she,--\n\n\u201cWhat will become of him in the future, aunt Samantha, with the laws as\nthey are now?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE BABY.]\n\nAnd with such a chin and mouth as he has got, says I to myself, lookin'\ndown on him; but I didn't say it out loud. I am too well bread.\n\n\u201cIt must be we can get the laws changed before he grows up. I dare not\ntrust him in a world that has such temptations, such snares set ready\nfor him. Why,\u201d says she--And she fairly trembled as she said it. She\nwould always throw her whole soul into any thing she undertook; and in\nthis she had throwed her hull heart, too, and her hull life--or so it\nseemed to me, to look at her pale face, and her big, glowin' eyes, full\nof sadness, full of resolve too.\n\n\u201cWhy, just think of it! How he will be coaxed into those\ndrinking-saloons! how, with his easy, generous, good-natured ways,--and\nI know he will have such ways, and be popular,--a bright, handsome young\nman, and with plenty of money. Just think of it! how, with those open\nsaloons on every side of him, when he can't walk down the street without\nthose gilded bars shining on every hand; and the friends he will make,\ngay, rich, thoughtless young men like himself--they will laugh at him\nif he refuses to do as they do; and with my boy's inherited tastes and\ntemperament, his easiness to be led by those he loves, what will hinder\nhim from going to ruin as his poor father did? What will keep him, aunt\nSamantha?\u201d\n\nAnd she busted out a cryin'.\n\nI says, \u201cHush, Cicely,\u201d layin' my hand on hern. It wus little and soft,\nand trembled like a leaf. Some folks would have called her nervous and\nexcitable; but I didn't, thinkin' what she had went through with the\nboy's father.\n\nSays I, \u201cThere is One who is able to save him. And, instead of gettin'\nyourself all worked up over what may never be, I think it would be\nbetter to ask Him to save the boy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do ask Him, every day, every hour,\u201d says she, sobbin' quieter like.\n\n\u201cWall, then, hush up, Cicely.\u201d\n\nAnd sometimes she would hush up, and sometimes she wouldn't.\n\nBut how she would talk about what she wanted to do for him! I heard her\ntalkin' to her uncle Josiah one day.\n\nYou see, she worried about the boy to that extent, and loved him so,\nthat she would have been willin' to have had her head took right off,\nif that would have helped him, if it would have insured him a safe and\nhappy future; but it wouldn't: and so she was willin' to do any other\nhard job if there wus any prospect of its helpin' the boy.\n\nShe wus willin' to vote on the temperance question.\n\nBut Josiah wus more sot than usial that mornin' aginst wimmen's votin';\nand he had begun himself on the subject to Cicely; had talked powerful\naginst it, but gentle: he loved Cicely as he did his eyes.\n\nHe had been to a lecture the night before, to Toad Holler, a little\nplace between Jonesville and Loontown. He and uncle Nate Burpy went up\nto hear a speech aginst wimmen's suffrage, in a Democrat.\n\nJosiah said it wus a powerful speech. He said uncle Nate said, \u201cThe\nfeller that delivered it ort to be President of the United States:\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cThat mind ort to be in the chair.\u201d\n\nAnd I said I persumed, from what I had heard of it, that his mind wuz\ntired, and ort to set down and rest.\n\nI spoke light, because Josiah Allen acted so high-headed about it. But I\ndo s'pose it wus a powerful effort, from what I hearn.\n\nHe talked dretful smart, they say, and used big words.\n\n[Illustration: A GREAT EFFORT.]\n\nThe young feller that gin the lecture, and his sister, oldest, and she\nset her eyes by him. She had took care of the old folks, supported 'em\nand lifted 'em round herself; took all the care of 'em in every way\ntill they died: and then this boy didn't seem to have much faculty for\ngettin' along; so she educated him, sewed for tailors' shops, and got\nmoney, and sent him to school and college, so he could talk big.\n\nAnd it was such a comfort to that sister, to sort o' rest off for\nan evenin' from makin' vests and pantaloons, cheap, to furnish him\nmoney!--it was so sort o' restful to her to set and hear him talk large\naginst wimmen's suffrage and the weakness and ineficiency of wimmen!\n\nHe said, the young chap did, and proved it right out, so they said,\n\u201cthat the franchise was too tuckerin' a job for wimmen to tackle, and\nthat wimmen hadn't the earnestness and persistency and deep forethought\nto make her valuable as a franchiser--or safe.\u201d\n\nYou see, he had his hull strength, the young chap did; for his sister\nhad clothed him, as well as boarded him, and educated him: so he could\ntalk powerful. He could use up quantities of wind, and not miss it,\nhavin' all his strength.\n\nHis speech made a deep impression on men and wimmen. His sister bein'\nso wore out, workin' so hard, wept for joy, it was so beautiful, and\naffected her so powerful. And she said \u201cshe never realized till that\nminute how weak and useless wimmen really was, and how strong and\npowerful men was.\u201d\n\nIt wus a great effort. And she got a extra good supper for him that\nnight, I heard, wantin' to repair the waste in his system, caused\nby eloquence. She wus supportin' him till he got a client: he wus a\nstudyin' law.\n\nWall, Josiah wus jest full of his arguments; and he talked 'em over to\nCicely that mornin'.\n\nBut she said, after hearin' 'em all, \u201cthat she wus willin' to vote\non the temperance question. She had thought it all over,\u201d she said.\n\u201cThought how the nation lay under the curse of African slavery until\nthat race of slaves were freed. And she believed, that when women who\nwere now in legal bondage, were free to act as their heart and reason\ndictated, that they, who suffered most from intemperance, would be the\nones to strike the blow that would free the land from the curse.\u201d\n\nCurius that she should feel so, but you couldn't get the idee out of her\nhead. She had pondered over it day and night, she said,--pondered over\nit, and prayed over it.\n\nAnd, come to think it over, I don't know as it wus so curius after all,\nwhen I thought how Paul had ruined himself, and broke her heart, and\nhow her money wus bein' used now to keep grog-shops open, four of her\nbuildin's rented to liquor-dealers, and she couldn't help herself.\n\nCicely owned lots of other landed property in the village where she\nlived; and so, of course, her property wus all taxed accordin' to its\nworth. And its bein' the biggest property there, of course it helped\nmore than any thing else did to keep the streets smooth and even before\nthe saloon-doors, so drunkards could get there easy; and to get new\nstreet-lamps in front of the saloons and billiard-rooms, so as to make a\nreal bright light to draw 'em in and ruin 'em.\n\nThere wus a few--the doctor, who knew how rum ruined men's bodies; and\nthe minister, he knew how it ruined men's souls--they two, and a few\nothers, worked awful hard to get the saloons shut up.\n\nBut the executor, who wanted the town to go license, so's he could make\nmoney, and thinkin' it would be for her interest in the end, hired votes\nwith her money. Her money used to hire liquor-votes! So she heard, and\nbelieved. The idee!\n\nSo her money, and his influence, and the influence of low appetites,\ncarried the day; and the liquor-traffic won. The men who rented her\nhouses, voted for license to a man. Her property used agin to spread the\nevil! She labored with these men with tears in her eyes. And they liked\nher. She was dretful good to 'em. (As I say, she held the things of this\nworld with a loose grip.)\n\nThey listened to her respectful, stood with their hats in their' hands,\nanswerin' her soft, and went soft out of her presence--and voted license\nto a man. You see, they wus all willin' to give her love and courtesy\nand kindness, but not the right to do as her heaven-learnt sense of\nright and wrong wanted her to. She had a fine mind, a pure heart: she\nhad been through the highest schools of the land, and that higher,\nheavenly school of sufferin', where God is the teacher, and had\ngraduated from 'em with her lofty purposes refined and made luminous\nwith some thin' like the light of Heaven.\n\nBut those men--many of 'em who did not know a letter of the alphabet,\nwhose naturally dull minds had become more stupified by habitual\nvice--those men, who wus her inferiors, and her servants in every thing\nelse, wus each one of 'em her king here, and she his slave: and they\ncompelled her to obey their lower wills.\n\nWall, Cicely didn't think it wus right. Curius she should think so, some\nfolks thought, but she did.\n\nBut all this that wore on her wus as nothin' to what she felt about the\nboy,--her fears for his future. \u201cWhat could she do--what _could_ she do\nfor the boy, to make it safer for him in the future?\u201d\n\nAnd I had jest this one answer, that I'd say over and over agin to\nher,--\n\n\u201cCicely, you can pray! That is all that wimmen can do. And try to\ninfluence him right now. God can take care of the boy.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I can't keep him with me always; and other influences will come,\nand beat mine down. And I have prayed, but God don't hear my prayer.\u201d\n\nAnd I'd say, calm and soothin', \u201cHow do you know, Cicely?\u201d\n\nAnd she says, \u201cWhy, how I prayed for help when my poor Paul went down to\nruin, through the open door of a grog-shop! If the women of the land had\nit in their power to do what their hearts dictate,--what the poorest,\nlowest _man_ has the right to do,--every saloon, every low grog-shop,\nwould be closed.\u201d\n\nShe said this to Josiah the mornin' after the lecture I speak of. He sot\nthere, seemin'ly perusin' the almanac; but he spoke up then, and says,--\n\n\u201cYou can't shet up human nater, Cicely: that will jump out any way. As\nthe poet says, 'Nater will caper.'\u201d\n\nBut Cicely went right on, with her eyes a shinin', and a red spot in her\nwhite cheeks that I didn't like to see.\n\n\u201cA thousand temptations that surround my boy now, could be removed, a\nthousand low influences changed into better, helpful ones. There are\ndrunkards who long, who pray, to have temptations removed out of their\nway,--those who are trying to reform, and who dare not pass the door of\na saloon, the very smell of the liquor crazing them with the desire for\ndrink. They want help, they pray to be saved; and we who are praying to\nhelp them are powerless. What if, in the future, my boy should be like\none of them,--weak, tempted, longing for help, and getting nothing but\nhelp towards vice and ruin? Haven't mothers a right to help those\nthey love in _every_ way,--by prayer, by influence, by legal right and\nmight?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be a dangerous experiment, Cicely,\u201d says Josiah, crossin' his\nright leg over his left, and turnin' the almanac to another month. \u201cIt\nseems to me sunthin' unwomanly, sunthin' aginst nater. It is turnin'\nthe laws of nater right round. It is perilous to the domestic nature of\nwimmen.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don't think so,\u201d says I. \u201cDon't you remember, Josiah Allen, how\nyou worried about them hens that we carried to the fair? They wus so\nhandsome, and such good layers, that I really wanted the influence of\nthem hens to spread abroad. I wanted otherfolks to know about 'em, so's\nto have some like 'em. But you worried awfully. You wus so afraid that\ncarryin' the hens into the turmoil of public life would have a tendency\nto keep 'em from wantin' to make nests and hatch chickens! But it\ndidn't. Good land! one of 'em made a nest right there, in the coop to\nthe fair, with the crowd a shoutin' round 'em, and laid two eggs. You\ncan't break up nature's laws; _they_ are laid too deep and strong for\nany hammer we can get holt of to touch 'em; all the nations and empires\nof the world can't move 'em round a notch.\n\n\u201cA true woman's deepest love and desire are for her home and her loved\nones, and planted right in by the side of these two loves of hern is a\ndeathless instinct and desire to protect and save them from danger.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA'S HENS.]\n\n\u201cGood land! I never heard a old hen called out of her spear, and\nunhenly, because she would fly out at a hawk, and cackle loud, and\ncluck, and try to lead her chickens off into safety. And while the\nrooster is a steppin' high, and struttin' round, and lookin' surprised\nand injured, it is the old hen that saves the chickens, nine times out\nof ten.\n\n\u201cIt is against the evil hawks,--men-hawks,--that are ready to settle\ndown, and tear the young and innocent out of the home nest, that\nwimmen are tryin' to defend their children from. And men may talk about\nwimmen's gettin' too excited and zealous; but they don't cluck and\ncackle half so loud as the old hen does, or flutter round half so\nearnest and fierce.\n\n\u201cAnd the chicken-hawk hain't to be compared for danger to the men-hawks\nCicely is tryin' to save her boy from. And I say it is domestic love\nin her to want to protect him, and tenderness, and nature, and grace,\nand--and--every thing.\u201d\n\nI wus wrought up, and felt deeply, and couldn't express half what I\nfelt, and didn't much care if I couldn't. I wus so rousted up, I felt\nfairly reckless about carin' whether Josiah or anybody understood me\nor not. I knew the Lord understood me, and I knew what I felt in my own\nmind, and I didn't much care for any thing else. Wimmen do have such\nspells. They get fairly wore out a tryin' to express what they feel in\ntheir souls to a gain-sayin' world, and have that world yell out at 'em,\n\u201cUnwomanly! unwomanly!\u201d I say, Cicely wuzn't unwomanly. I say, that,\nfrom the very depths of her lovin' little soul, she wus pure womanly,\naffectionate, earnest, tender-hearted, good; and, if anybody tells me\nshe wuzn't, I'll know the reason why.\n\nBut, while I wus a reveryin' this, my Josiah spoke out agin', and\nsays,--\n\n\u201cInfluence the world through your child, Cicely! influence him, and let\nhim influence the world. Let him make the world better and purer by your\ninfluencein' it through him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not use that influence _now, myself_? I have it here right in my\nheart, all that I could hope to teach to my boy, at the best. And why\nwait, and set my hopes of influencing the world through him, when a\nthousand things may happen to weaken that influence, and death and\nchange may destroy it? Why, my one great fear and dread is, that my\nboy will be led away by other, stronger influences than mine,--the\ntemptations that have overthrown so many other children of prayer--how\ndare I hope that my boy will withstand them? And death may claim him\nbefore he could bear my influence to the world. Why not use it now,\nmyself, to help him, and other mothers' boys? If it is, as you say, an\nexperiment, why not let mothers try it? It could not do any harm; and it\nwould ease our poor, anxious hearts some, to make the effort, even if\nit proved useless. No one can have a deeper interest in the children's\nwelfare than their mothers. Would they be apt to do any thing to harm\nthem?\u201d\n\nAnd then I spoke up, entirely unbeknown to myself, and says,--\n\n\u201cSelfishness has had its way for years and years in politics, and now\nwhy not let unselfishness have it for a change? For, Josiah Allen,\u201d says\nI firmly, \u201cyou know, and I know, that, if there is any unselfishness in\nthis selfish world, it is in the heart of a mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be apt to be dangerous,\u201d says Josiah, crossin' his left leg\nover his right one, and turnin' to a new month in the almanac. \u201cIt would\nmost likely be apt to be.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Why_?\u201d says Cicely. \u201cWhy is it dangerous? Why is it wrong for a women\nto try to help them she would die for? Yes,\u201d says she solemnly, \u201cI would\ndie for Paul any time if I knew it would smooth his pathway, make it\neasier for him to be a good man.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, you see, Cicely,\u201d says Josiah in a soft tone,--his love for her\nsoftenin' and smoothin' out his axent till it sounded almost foolish and\nmeachin',--\u201cyou see, it would be dangerous for wimmen to vote, because\nvotin' would be apt to lower wimmen in the opinion of us men and the\npublic generally. In fact, it would be apt to lower wimmen down to\nmingle in a lower class. And it would gaul me dretfully,\u201d says Josiah,\nturnin' to me, \u201cto have our sweet Cicely lower herself into a lower\ngrade of society: it would cut me like a knife.\u201d\n\nAnd then I spoke right up, for I can't stand too much foolishness at one\ntime from man or woman; and I says,--\n\n\u201cI'd love to have you speak up, Josiah Allen, and tell me how wimmen\nwould go to work to get any lower in the opinion of men; how they could\nget into any lower grade of society than they are minglin' with now.\nThey are ranked now by the laws of the United States, and the will of\nmen, with idiots, lunatics, and criminals. And how pretty it looks for\nyou men to try to scare us, and make us think there is a lower class we\ncould get into! _There hain't any lower class that we can get into_ than\nthe ones we are in now; and you know it, Josiah Allen. And you sha'n't\nscare Cicely by tryin' to make her think there is.\u201d\n\nHe quailed. He knew there wuzn't. He knew he had said it to scare us,\nCicely and me, and he felt considerable meachin' to think he had got\nfound out in it. But he went on in ruther of a meek tone,--\n\n\u201cIt would be apt to make talk, Cicely.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do I care for talk?\u201d says she. \u201cWhat do I care for honor, or\npraise, or blame? I only want to try to save my boy.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: CICELY AND HER PEERS.]\n\nAnd she kep' right on with her tender, earnest voice, and her eyes a\nshinin' like stars,--\n\n\u201cHave I not a right to help him? Is he not _my_ child? Did not God give\nme a _right_ to him, when I went down into the darkness with God alone,\nand a soul was given into my hands? Did I not suffer for him? Have I not\nbeen blessed in him? Why, his little hands held me back from the gates\nof death. By all the rights of heavenliest joy and deepest agony--is he\nnot _mine_? Have I not a _right_ to help him in his future?\n\n\u201cNow I hold him in my arms, my flesh, my blood, my life. I hold him on\nmy heart now: he is _mine_. I can shield him from danger: if he should\nfall into the flames, I could reach in after him, and die with him, or\nsave him. God and man give me that right now: I do not have to ask for\nit.\n\n\u201cBut in a few years he will go out from me, carrying my own life with\nhim, my heart will go with him, to joy or to death. He will go out into\ndangers a thousand-fold worse than death,--dangers made respectable and\nlegal,--and I can't help him.\n\n\u201c_I_ his mother, who would die for him any hour--I must stand with my\neyes open, but my hands bound, and see him rushing headlong into flames\ntenfold hotter than fire; see him on the brink of earthly and eternal\nruin, and can't reach out my hand to hold him back. My _boy!_ My _own!_\nIs it right? Is it just?\u201d\n\nAnd she got up, and walked the room back and forth, and says,--\n\n\u201cHow can I bear the thought of it? How can I live and endure it? And how\ncan I die, and leave the boy?\u201d\n\nAnd her eyes looked so big and bright, and that spot of red would look\nso bright on her white cheeks, that I would get skairt. And I'd try to\nsooth her down, and talk gentle to her. And I says,--\n\n\u201cAll things are possible with God, and you must wait and hope.\u201d\n\nBut she says, \u201cWhat will hope do for me when my boy is lost? I want to\nsave him now.\u201d\n\nIt did beat all, as I told Josiah, out to one side, to see such hefty\nprinciples and emotions in such a little body. Why, she didn't weigh\nmuch over 90, if she did any.\n\nAnd Josiah whispered back, \u201cAll women hain't like Cicely.\u201d\n\nAnd I says in the same low, deep tones, \u201cAll men hain't like George\nWashington! Now get me a pail of water.\u201d\n\nAnd he went out. But it did beat all, how that little thing, when she\nstood ready, seemin'ly, to tackle the nation--I've seen her jump up in a\nchair, afraid of a mice. The idee of anybody bein' afraid of a mice, and\nready to tackle the Constitution!\n\nAnd she'd blush up red as a rosy if a stranger would speak to her. But\nshe would fight the hull nation for her boy.\n\nAnd I'd try to sooth her (for that red spot on her cheeks skairt me, and\nI foreboded about her). I said to her after Josiah went out, a holdin'\nher little hot hands in mine,--for sometimes her hands would be hot and\nfeverish, and then, agin, like two snowflakes,--\n\n\u201cCicely, women's voting on intemperance would, as your uncle Josiah\nsays, be a experiment. I candidly think and believe that it would be\na good thing,--a blessin' to the youth of the land, a comfort to the\nfemales, and no harm to the males. But, after all, we don't know what it\nwould do\u201d--\n\n\u201cI _know_\u201d says she. And her eyes had such a far-off, prophetic look in\n'em, that I declare for't, if I didn't almost think she _did_ know. I\nsays to myself,--\n\n\u201cShe's so sweet and unselfish and good, that I believe she's more than\nhalf-ways into heaven now. The Holy Scriptures, that I believe in, says,\n'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.' And it don't\nsay where they shall see Him, or when. And it don't say that the light\nthat fell from on high upon the blessed mother of our Lord, shall never\nfall again on other heart-broken mothers, on other pure souls beloved of\nHim.\u201d\n\nAnd it is the honest truth, that it would not have surprised me much\nsometimes, as she wus settin' in the twilight with the boy in her arms,\nif I had seen a halo round her head; and so I told Josiah one night,\nafter she had been a settin' there a holdin' the boy, and a singin' low\nto him,--\n\n  \u201c'A charge to keep I have,--\n    A God to glorify;\n  A never-dying soul to save,\n    And fit it for the sky.'\u201d\n\nIt wuzn't _her_ soul she wus a thinkin' of, I knew. She didn't think of\nherself: she never did.\n\nAnd after she went to bed, I mentioned the halo. And Josiah asked what\nthat was. And I told him it was \u201cthe inner glory that shines out from a\npure soul, and crowns a holy life.\u201d\n\nAnd he said \u201che s'posed it was some sort of a headdress. Wimmen was so\nfull of new names, he thought it was some new kind of a crowfar.\u201d\n\nI knew what he meant. He didn't mean crowfar, he meant _crowfure_. That\nis French. But I wouldn't hurt his feelin's by correctin' him; for I\nthought \u201cfur\u201d or \u201cfure,\u201d it didn't make much of any difference.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cA CHARGE TO KEEP I HAVE.\u201d]\n\nWall, the very next day, when Josiah came from Jonesville,--he had been\nto mill,--he brought Cicely a letter from her aunt Mary. She wanted\nher to come on at once; for her daughter, who wus a runnin' down, wus\nsupposed to be a runnin' faster than she had run. And her aunt Mary\nwas goin' to start for the Michigan very soon,--as soon as she got well\nenough: she wasn't feelin' well when she wrote. And she wanted Cicely to\ncome at once.\n\nSo she went the next day, but promised that jest as quick as she got\nthrough visitin' her aunt and her other relations there, she would come\nback here.\n\nSo she went; and I missed her dretfully, and should have missed her more\nif it hadn't been for the state my companion returned in after he had\ncarried Cicely to the train.\n\nHe come home rampant with a new idee. All wrought up about goin' into\npolitics. He broached the subject to me before he onharnessed, hitchin'\nthe old mair for the purpose. He wanted to be United-States senator. He\nsaid he thought the nation needed him.\n\n\u201cNeeds you for what?\u201d says I coldly, cold as a ice suckle.\n\n\u201cWhy, it needs somebody it can lean on, and it needs somebody that can\nlean. I am a popular man,\u201d says he. \u201cAnd if I can help the nation, I\nwill be glad to do it; and if the nation can help me, I am willin'. The\nchange from Jonesville to Washington will be agreeable and relaxin', and\nI lay out to try it.\u201d\n\nSays I, in sarkastick tones, \u201cIt is a pity you hain't got your free pass\nto go on:--you remember that incident, don't you, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat of it?\u201d he snapped out. \u201cWhat if I do?\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I thought then, that, when you got high-headed and haughty on any\nsubject agin, mebby you would remember that pass, and be more modest and\nunassuming.\u201d\n\nHe riz right up, and hollered at me,--\n\n\u201cThrow that pass in my face, will you, at this time of year?\u201d\n\nAnd he started for the barn, almost on the run.\n\nBut I didn't care. I wus bound to break up this idee of hisen at once.\nIf I hadn't been, I shouldn't have mentioned the free pass to him. For\nit is a subject so gaulin' to him, that I never allude to it only in\ncases of extreme danger and peril, or uncommon high-headedness.\n\nNow I have mentioned it, I don't know but it will be expected of me to\ntell about this pass of hisen. But, if I do, it mustn't go no further;\nfor Josiah would be mad, mad as a hen, if he knew I told about it.\n\nI will relate the history in another epistol.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nThis free pass of Josiah Allen's wus indeed a strange incident, and it\nmade sights and sights of talk.\n\nBut of course there wus considerable lyin' about it, as you know the way\nis. Why, it does beat all how stories will grow.\n\nWhy, when I hear a story nowadays, I always allow a full half for\nshrinkage, and sometimes three-quarters; and a good many times that\nhain't enough. Such awful lyin' times! It duz beat all.\n\nBut about this strange thing that took place and happened, I will\nproceed and relate the plain and unvarnished history of it. And what I\nset down in this epistol, you can depend upon. It is the plain truth,\nentirely unvarnished: not a mite of varnish will there be on it.\n\nA little over two years ago Josiah Allen, my companion, had a\nopportunity to buy a wood-lot cheap. It wus about a mild and a half from\nhere, and one side of the lot run along by the side of the railroad. A\nIrishman had owned it previous and prior to this time, and had built a\nlittle shanty on it, and a pig-pen. But times got hard, the pig died,\nand owing to that, and other financikal difficulties, the Irishman had\nto sell the place, \u201cten acres more or less, runnin' up to a stake, and\nback again,\u201d as the law directs.\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH'S WOOD-LOT.]\n\nWall, he beset my companion Josiah to buy it; and as he had plenty of\nmoney in the Jonesville bank to pay for it, and the wood on our wood-lot\nwus gettin' pretty well thinned out, I didn't make no objection to the\nenterprize, but, on the other hand, I encouraged him in it. And so he\nmade the bargain with him, the deed wus made out, the Irishman paid. And\nJosiah put a lot of wood-choppers in there to work; and they cut, and\ndrawed the wood to Jonesville, and made money. Made more than enough the\nfirst six months to pay for the expenditure and outlay of money for the\nlot.\n\nHe did well. And he calculated to do still better; for he said the place\nbein' so near Jonesville, he laid out, after he had got the wood off,\nand sold it, and kep' what he wanted, he calculated and laid out to sell\nthe place for twice what he give for it. Josiah Allen hain't nobody's\nfool in a bargain, a good deal of the time he hain't. He knows how to\nmake good calculations a good deal of the time. He thought somebody\nwould want the place to build on.\n\nWall, I asked him one day what he laid out to do with the shanty and\nthe pig-pen that wus on it. The pig-pen wus right by the side of the\nrailroad-track.\n\nAnd he said he laid out to tear 'em down, and draw the lumber home: he\nsaid the boards would come handy to use about the premises.\n\nWall, I told him I thought that would be a good plan, or words to that\neffect. I can't remember the exact words I used, not expectin' that I\nwould ever have to remember back, and lay 'em to heart. Which I should\nnot had it not been for the strange and singular things that occurred\nand took place afterwards.\n\nThen I asked my companion, if I remember rightly, \u201cWhen he laid out\nto draw the boards home?\u201d For I mistrusted there would be some planks\namongst 'em, and I wanted a couple to lay down from the back-door to the\npump. The old ones wus gettin' all cracked up and broke in spots.\n\nAnd he said he should draw 'em up the first day he could spare the team.\nWall, this wus along in the first week in April that we had this talk:\nwarm and pleasant the weather wus, exceedingly so, for the time of year.\nAnd I proposed to him that we should have the children come home on the\n8th of April, which wus Thomas J.'s birthday, and have as nice a dinner\nas we could get, and buy a handsome present for him. And Josiah was very\nagreeable to the idee (for when did a man ever look scornfully on the\nidee of a good dinner?).\n\nAnd so the next day I went to work, and cooked up every thing I could\nthink of that would be good. I made cakes of all kinds, and tarts, and\njellys. And I wus goin' to have spring lamb and a chicken-pie (a layer\nof chicken, and a layer of oysters. I can make a chicken-pie that will\nmelt in your mouth, though I am fur from bein' the one that ort to say\nit); and I wus goin' to have a baked fowl, and vegetables of all kinds,\nand every thing else I could think of that wus good. And I baked a large\nplum-cake a purpose for Whitfield, with \u201cOur Son\u201d on it in big red sugar\nletters, and the dates of his birth and the present date on each side of\nit.\n\nI do well by the children, Josiah says I do; and they see it now, the\nchildren do; they see it plainer every day, they say they do. They say,\nthat since they have gone out into the world more, and seen more of the\ncoldness and selfishness of the world, they appreciate more and more the\nfaithful affection of her whose name wus once Smith.\n\nYes, they like me better and better every year, they say they do.\nAnd they treat me pretty, dretful pretty. I don't want to be treated\nprettier by anybody than the children treat me.\n\nAnd their affectionate devotion pays me, it pays me richly, for all the\ncare and anxiety they caused me. There hain't no paymaster like Love: he\npays the best wages, and the most satisfyin', of anybody I ever see. But\nI am a eppisodin', and to resoom and continue on.\n\nWall! the dinner passed off perfectly delightful and agreeable. The\nchildren and Josiah eat as if--Wall, suffice it to say, the way they eat\nwus a great compliment to the cook, and I took it so.\n\nThomas J. wus highly delighted with his presents. I got him a nice white\nwillow rockin'-chair, with red ribbons run all round the back, and bows\nof the same on top, and a red cushion,--a soft feather cushion that I\nmade myself for it, covered with crimson rep (wool goods, very nice).\nWhy, the cushion cost me above 60 cents, besides my work and the\nfeathers.\n\nJosiah proposed to get him a acordeun, but I talked him out of that; and\nthen he wanted to get him a bright blue necktie. But I perswaided him\nto give him a handsome china coffee cup and saucer, with \u201cTo My Son\u201d\n painted on it; and I urged him to give him that, with ten new silver\ndollars in it. Says I, \u201cHe is all the son you have got, and a good son.\u201d\n And Josiah consented after a parlay. Why, the chair I give him cost\nabout as much as that; and it wuzn't none too good, not at all.\n\nWall, he had a lovely day. And what made it pleasanter, we had a\nprospect of havin' another jest as good. For in about 2 months' time it\nwould be Tirzah's Ann's birthday; and we both told her, Josiah and me,\nboth did, that she must get ready for jest another such a time. For we\nlaid out to treat 'em both alike (which is both Christian and common\nsense). And we told 'em they must all be ready to come home that day,\nProvidence and the weather permittin'.\n\nWall, it wus so awful pleasant when the children got ready to go home,\nthat Josiah proposed that he and me should go along to Jonesville with\n'em, and carry little Samantha Joe. And I wus very agreeable to the\nidee, bein' a little tired, and thinkin' such a ride would be both\nrestful and refreshin'.\n\nAnd, oh! how beautiful every thing looked as we rode along! The sun wus\ngoin' down in glory; and Jonesville layin' to the west of us, we seemed\nto be a ridin' along right into that glory--right towards them golden\npalaces, and towers of splendor, that riz up from the sea of gold. And\nbehind them shinin' towers wus shadowy mountain ranges of softest color,\nthat melted up into the tender blue of the April sky. And right in the\neast a full moon wuz sailin', lookin' down tenderly on Josiah and me and\nthe babe--and Jonesville and the world. And the comet sot there up in\nthe sky like a silent and shinin' mystery.\n\nThe babe's eyes looked big and dreamy and thoughtful. She has got the\nbeautifulest eyes, little Samantha Joe has. You can look down deep into\n'em, and see yourself in 'em; but, beyond yourself, what is it you can\nsee? I can't tell, nor nobody. The ellusive, wonderful beauty that lays\nin the innocent baby eyes of little Samantha Joe. The sweet, fur-off\nlook, as if she wus a lookin' right through this world into a fairer and\nmore peaceful one.\n\n[Illustration: GOD'S COMMA.]\n\nAnd how smart they be, who can answer their questioning,--questionin'\nabout every thing. Nobody can't--Josiah can't, nor I, nor nobody. Pretty\nsoon she looked up at the comet; and says she, \u201cNama,\u201d--she can't say\ngrandma,--\u201cNama, is that God's comma?\u201d\n\nNow, jest see how deep that wuz, and beautiful, very. The heavens wuz\nfull of the writin' of God, writin' we can't read yet, and translate\ninto our coarser language; and she, with her deep, beautiful eyes,\na readin' it jest as plain as print, and puttin' in all the marks of\npunctuation. Readin' the marvellous poem of glory, with its tremblin'\npause of flame.\n\nJosiah says, it is because she couldn't say comet; but I know better.\nSays I, \u201cJosiah Allen, hain't it the same shape as a comma?\u201d\n\nAnd he had to gin it up that it was. And in a minute or two she says\nagin,--\n\n\u201cNama, what is the comma up there for?\u201d\n\nNow hear that, how deep that wuz. Who could answer that question? I\ncouldn't, nor Josiah couldn't. Nor the wisest philosopher that\never walked the earth, not one of 'em. From them that kept their\nnight-watches on the newly built pyramids, to the astronimers of to-day\nwho are spending their lives in the study of the heavens. If every one\nof them learned men of the world, livin' and dead, if they all stood in\nrows in our door-yard in front of little Samantha Joe, they would have\nto bow their haughty heads before her, and put their finger on their\nlips. Them lips could say very large words in every language under the\nsun; but they couldn't answer my baby's question, not one of 'em.\n\nBut I am eppisodin' fearfully, fearfully; and to resoom.\n\nWe left the children and the babe safe in their respective housen', and\nhappy; and we went on placidly to Jonesville, got our usual groceries,\nand stopped to the post-office. Josiah went into the office, and come\nout with his \u201cWorld,\u201d and one letter, a big letter with a blue envelope.\nI thought it had a sort of a queer look, but I didn't say nothin'. And\nit bein' sort o' darkish, he didn't try to open it till we got home.\nOnly I says,--\n\n\u201cWho do you s'pose your letter is from, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cI don't know: the postmaster had a awful time a tryin' to\nmake out who it was to. I should think, by his tell, it wus the dumbdest\nwritin' that ever wus seen. I should think, by his tell, it went ahead\nof yourn.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cthere is no need of your swearin'.\u201d Says I, \u201cIf I wus\na grandfather, Josiah Allen, I would choose my words with a little more\ndecency, not to say morality.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, wall! your writin' is enough to make a man sweat, and you know\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hadn't disputed it,\u201d says I with dignity. And havin' laid the blame\nof the bad writin' of the letter he had got, off onto his companion, as\nthe way of male pardners is, he felt easy and comfortable in his mind,\nand talked agreeable all the way home, and affectionate, some.\n\nWall, we got home; and I lit a light, and fixed the fire so it burnt\nbright and clear. And I drawed up a stand in front of the fire, with\na bright crimson spread on it, for the lamp; and I put Josiah's\nrockin'-chair and mine, one on each side of it; and put Josiah's\nslippers in front of the hearth to warm. And then I took my\nknittin'-work, and went to knittin'; and by that time Josiah had got his\nbarn-chores all done, and come in.\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH READING THE LETTER.]\n\nAnd the very first thing he did after he come in, and drawed off his\nboots, and wondered \u201cwhy under the gracious heavens it was, that the\nbootjack never could be found where he had left it\u201d (which was right in\nthe middle of the settin'-room floor). But he found it hangin' up in\nits usual place in the closet, only a coat had got hung up over it so he\ncouldn't see it for half a minute.\n\nAnd after he had his warm slippers on, and got sot down in his\neasy-chair opposite to his beloved companion, he grew calmer again, and\nmore placider, and drawed out that letter from his pocket.\n\nAnd I sot there a knittin', and a watchin' my companion's face at the\nsame time; and I see that as he read the letter, he looked smut, and\nsort o' wonder-struck: and says I,--\n\n\u201cWho is your letter from, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\nAnd he says, lookin' up on top of it,--\n\n\u201cIt is from the headquarters of the Railroad Company;\u201d and says he,\nlookin' close at it agin, \u201cAs near as I can make out, it is a free pass\nfor me to ride on the railroad.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cWhy, that can't be, Josiah Allen. Why should they give you a\nfree pass?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don't know,\u201d says he. \u201cBut I know it is one. The more I look at it,\u201d\n says he, growin' excited over it,--\u201cthe more I look at it, the plainer I\ncan see it. It is a free pass.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cI don't believe it, Josiah Allen.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, look at it for yourself, Samantha Allen\u201d (when he is dretful\nexcited, he always calls me Samantha Allen), \u201cand see what it is, if it\nhain't that;\u201d and he throwed it into my lap.\n\n[Illustration: COPY OF THE LETTER: FREE PASS.]\n\nI looked at it close and severe, but not one word could I make out, only\nI thought I could partly make out the word \u201cremove,\u201d and along down\nthe sheet the word \u201cplace,\u201d and there wus one word that did look like\n\u201cfree.\u201d And Josiah jumped at them words; and says he,--\n\n\u201cIt means, you know, the pass reads like this, for me to remove myself\nfrom place to place, free. Don't you see through it?\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I, holdin' the paper up to the light. \u201cNo, I don't see\nthrough it, far from it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he, highly excited and tickled, \u201cI'll try it to-morrow,\nanyway. I'll see whether I am in the right, or not.\u201d\n\nAnd he went on dreamily, \u201cLemme see--I have got to move that lumber in\nthe mornin' up from my wood-lot. But it won't take me more'n a couple of\nhours, or so, and in the afternoon I'll take a start.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cWhat under the sun, Josiah Allen, should the Railroad Company\ngive you a free pass for?\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he, \u201cI have my thoughts.\u201d\n\nHe spoke in a dretful sort of a mysterious way, but proud; and I says,--\n\n\u201cWhat do you think is the reason, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cIt hain't always best to tell what you think. I hain't\nobleeged to,\u201d says he.\n\nAnd I says, \u201cNo. As the poet saith, nobody hain't obleeged to use common\nsense unless they have got it;\u201d and I says, in a meanin' tone, \u201cNo, I\ncan't obleege you to tell me.\u201d\n\nWall, sure enough, the next day, jest as quick as he got that lumber\ndrawed up to the house, Josiah Allen dressed up, and sot off for\nJonesville, and come home at night as tickled a man as I ever see, if\nnot tickleder.\n\nAnd he says, \u201cNow what do you think, Samantha Allen? Now what do you\nthink about my ridin' on that pass?\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cHave you rode on it, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cYes, mom, I have. I have rode to Loontown and back; and I\nmight have gone ten times as fur, and not a word been said.\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cWhat did the conductor say?\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cHe didn't say nothin'. When he asked me for my fare, I\ntold him I had a free pass, and I showed it to him. And he took it, and\nlooked at it close, and took out his specks, and looked and looked at it\nfor a number of minutes; and then he handed it back to me, and I put it\ninto my pocket; and that wus all there was of it.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: LOOKING DUBERSOME.]\n\nSays I, \u201cHow did the conductor look when he was a readin' it?\u201d\n\nAnd he owned up that he looked dubersome. But, says he, \u201cI rode on it,\nand I told you that I could.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, sithin', \u201cthere is a great mystery about it.\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cThere hain't no mystery to me.\u201d\n\nAnd then I beset him agin to tell me what he thought the reason wus they\ngive it to him.\n\nAnd he said \u201che thought it was because he was so smart.\u201d Says he, \u201cI am\na dumb smart feller, Samantha, though I never could make you see it as\nplain as I wanted to.\u201d And then says he, a goin' on prouder and prouder\nevery minute,--\n\n\u201cI am pretty-lookin'. I am what you might call a orniment to any car\non the track. I kinder set a car off, and make 'em look respectable and\ndressy. And I'm what you might call a influential man, and I s'pose the\nrailroad-men want to keep the right side of me. And they have took the\nright way to do it. I shall speak well of 'em as long as I can ride\nfree. And, oh! what solid comfort I shall take, Samantha, a ridin' on\nthat pass! I calculate to see the world now. And there is nothin' under\nthe sun to hender you from goin' with me. As long as you are the wife of\nsuch a influential and popular man as I be, it don't look well for you\nto go a mopein' along afoot, or with the old mare. We will ride in the\nfuture on my free pass.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I. \u201cI sha'n't ride off on a mystery. I prefer a mare.\u201d\n\nSays he, for he wus that proud and excited that you couldn't stop him\nnohow,--\n\n\u201cIt will be a dretful savin' of money, but that hain't what I think of\nthe most. It is the honor they are a heapin' onto me. To think that they\nthink so much of me, set such a store by me, and look up to me so, that\nthey send me a free pass without my makin' a move to ask for it. Why, it\nshows plain, Samantha, that I am one of the first men of the age.\u201d\n\nAnd so he would go on from hour to hour, and from day to day; and I wus\nthat dumbfoundered and wonderin' about it, that I couldn't for my life\ntell what to think of it. It worried me.\n\nBut from that day Josiah Allen rode on that pass, every chance he got.\nWhy, he went to the Ohio on it, on a visit to his first wive's sister;\nand he went to Michigan on it, and to the South, and everywhere he could\nthink of. Why, he fairly hunted up relations on it, and I told him so.\n\nAnd after he got 'em hunted up, he'd take them onto that pass, and ride\nround with 'em on it.\n\nAnd he told every one of 'em, he told everybody, that he thought as much\nagin of the honor as he did of the money. It showed that he wus thought\nso much of, not only in Jonesville, but the world at large.\n\nWhy, he took such solid comfort in it, that it did honestly seem as\nif he grew fat, he wus so puffed up by it, and proud. And some of the\nneighbors that he boasted so before, wus eat up with envy, and seemed\nmad to think he had come to such honor, and they hadn't. But the\nmadder they acted, the tickleder he seemed, and more prouder, and\nhigh-headeder.\n\nBut I could not feel so. I felt that there wus sunthin' strange and\ncurius about it. And it wus very, very seldom that Josiah could get me\nto ride on it. Though I did take a few short journeys on it, to please\nhim. But I felt sort o' uneasy while I was a ridin' on it, same as you\nfeel when you are goin' up-hill with a heavy load and a little horse.\nYou kinder stand on your feet, and lean forward, as if your bein'\noncomfortable, and standin' up, helped the horse some.\n\nI had a good deal of that restless feelin', and oneasy. And as I told\nJosiah time and time again, \u201cthat for stiddy ridin' I preferred a mare\nto a mystery.\u201d\n\nWall, it run along for a year; and Josiah said he s'posed he'd have to\nwrite on, and get the pass renewed. As near as he could make out, it\nrun out about the 4th day of April. So he wrote down to the head one in\nNew-York village; and the answer came back by return mail, and wrote in\nplain writin' so we could read it.\n\nIt seemed there wus a mistake. It wuzn't a free pass, it wus a order for\nJosiah Allen to remove a pig-pen from his place on the railroad-track\nwithin three days.\n\nThere it wuz, a order to remove a nuisence; and Josiah Allen had been a\nridin' on it for a year, with pride in his mean, and haughtiness in his\ndemeanor.\n\nWall, I never see a man more mortified and cut up than Josiah Allen\nwuz. If he hadn't boasted so over its bein' gin to him on account of his\nbein' so smart and popular and etcetery, he wouldn't have felt so cut\nup. But as it was, it bowed down his bald head into the dust (allegory).\n\nBut he didn't stay bowed down for any length of time: truly, men are\nconstituted in such a way that mortification don't show on 'em for any\nlength of time.\n\nBut it made sights and sights of talk in Jonesville. The Jonesvillians\nmade sights and sights of fun of him, poked fun at him, and snickered. I\nmyself didn't say much: it hain't my way. I merely says this: says I,--\n\n\u201cYou thought you wus so awful popular, Josiah Allen, mebby you won't go\nround with so haughty a mean onto you right away.\u201d\n\n\u201cThrow my mean in my face if you want to,\u201d says he. \u201cBut I guess,\u201d says\nhe, \u201cit will learn 'em another time to take a little more pains with\ntheir duck's tracks, dumb 'em!\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cStop instantly.\u201d And he knew what I meant, and stopped.\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH AND HIS RELATIONS ON THE PASS.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nJosiah is as kind-hearted a man as was ever made. And he loves me with\na devotion, that though hidden sometimes, like volcanic fires, and other\nmarried men's affections for their wives, yet it bursts out occasionally\nin spurts and jets of unexpected tenderness.\n\nNow, the very next mornin' after Cicely left for her aunt Mary's, he\ngave me a flaming proof of that hidden fire that burns but don't consume\nhim.\n\nA agent come to our dwelling, and with the bland and amiable air of\ntheir sect, asked me,--\n\n\u201cIf I would buy a encyclopedia?\u201d\n\nI was favorable to the idee, and showed it by my looks and words; but\nJosiah wus awful set against it. And the more favorable I talked about\nit, the more horrow-struck and skairt Josiah Allen looked. And finally\nhe got behind the agent, and winked at me, and made motions for me to\nfoller him into the buttery. He wunk several times before I paid much\nattention to 'em; but finally, the winks grew so violent, and the\nmotions so imperious, yet clever, that I got up, and follered him into\nthe buttery. He shet the door, and stood with his back against it; and\nsays to me, with his voice fairly tremblin' with his emotions,--\n\n\u201cIt will throw you, Samantha! you don't want to buy it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat will throw me? and when?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says he, \u201cyou can't never ride it! How should I feel to see you\non one of 'em! It skairs me most to death to see a boy ride 'em; and at\nyour age, and with your rheumatiz, you'd get throwed, and get your neck\nbroke, the first day.\u201d Says he, \u201cIf you have got to have something\nmore stylish, and new-fangled than the old mair, I'd ruther buy you a\nphilosopher. They are easier-going than a encyclopedia, anyway.\u201d\n\n\u201cA philosopher?\u201d says I dreamily.\n\n\u201cYes, such a one as Tom Gowdey has got.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cYou mean a velocipede!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and I'll get you one ruther than have you a ridin' round the\ncountry on a encyclopedia.\u201d\n\nHis tender thoughtfulness touched my heart, and I explained to him all\nabout 'em. He thought it was some kind of a bycicle. And he brightened\nup, and didn't make no objections to my gettin' one.\n\nWall, that very afternoon he went to Jonesville, and come home, as I\nsaid, all rousted up about bein' a senator. I s'pose Elburtus'es bein'\nthere, and talkin' so much on politics, had kinder sot him to thinkin'\non it. Anyway, he come home from Jonesville perfectly rampant with the\nidee of bein' United-States senator. \u201cHe said he had been approached on\nthe subject.\u201d\n\nHe said it in that sort of a haughty, high-headed way, such as men will\nsometimes assume when they think they have had some high honors heaped\nonto 'em.\n\nSays I, \u201cWho has approached you, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH BEING APPROACHED.]\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d he said, \u201cit might be a foreign minister, and it might be uncle\nNate Gowdey.\u201d He thought it wouldn't be best to tell who it was. \u201cBut,\u201d\n says he, \u201cI am bound to be senator. Josiah Allen, M.C., will probable be\nwrote on my letters before another fall. I am bound to run.\u201d\n\nSays I coldly, \u201cYou know you can't run. You are as lame as you can be.\nYou have got the rheumatiz the worst kind.\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cI mean runnin' with political legs--and I do want to be a\nsenator, Samantha. I want to, like a dog, I want the money there is in\nit, and I want the honor. You know they have elected me path-master,\nbut I hain't a goin' to accept it. I tell you, when anybody gets into\npolitical life, ambition rousts up in 'em: path-master don't satisfy\nme. I want to be senator: I want to, like a dog. And I don't lay out to\ntackle the job as Elburtus did, and act too good.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d says I sternly. \u201cThere hain't no danger of your bein' too good.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo: I have laid my plans, and laid 'em careful. The relation on your\nside was too willin', and too clever. And witnessin' his campaign has\nlearnt me some deep lessons. I watched the rocks he hit aginst; and I\nhave laid my plans, and laid 'em careful. I am going to act offish.\nI feel that offishness is my strong holt--and endearin' myself to the\nmasses. Educatin' public sentiment up to lovin' me, and urgin' me not to\nbe so offish, and to obleege 'em by takin' a office--them is my 2 strong\nholts. If I can only hang back, and act onwillin', and get the masses\nfierce to elect me--why, I'm made. And then, I've got a plan in my\nhead.\u201d\n\nI groaned, in spite of myself.\n\n\u201cI have got a plan in my head, that, if every other plan fails, will\nelect me in spite of the old Harry.\u201d\n\nOh! how that oath grated against my nerve! And how I hung back from this\nidee! I am one that looks ahead. And I says in firm tones,--\n\n\u201cYou never would get the nomination, Josiah Allen! And if you did, you\nnever would be elected.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes, I should!\u201d says he. But he continued dreamily, \u201cThere would\nhave to be considerable wire-pullin'.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere would the wires be?\u201d says I sternly. \u201cAnd who would pull 'em?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, most anywhere!\u201d says he, lookin' dreamily up onto the kitchen\nceilin', as if wires wus liable to be let down anywhere through the\nplasterin'.\n\nSays I, \u201cShould you have to go to pullin' wires?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I should,\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cyou may as well make up your mind in the first ont,\nthat I hain't goin' to give my consent to have you go into any thing\ndangerous. I hain't goin' to have you break your neck, at your age.\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cI don't know but my age is as good a age to break my neck in\nas any other. I never sot any particular age to break my neck in.\u201d\n\n\u201cMake fun all you are a mind to of a anxious Samantha,\u201d says I, \u201cbut\nI will never give my consent to have you plunge into such dangerous\nenterprizes. And talkin' about pullin' wires sounds dangerous: it sounds\nlike a circus, somehow; and how would _you_, with your back, look and\nfeel performin' like a circus?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you don't understand, Samantha! the wires hain't pulled in that\nway. You don't pull 'em with your hands, you pull 'em with your minds.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, wall!\u201d says I, brightenin' up. \u201cYou are all right in that case: you\nwon't pull hard enough to hurt you any.\u201d\n\nI knew the size and strength of his mind, jest as well as if I had took\nit out of his head, and weighed it on the steelyards. It was _not_ over\nand above large. I knew it; and he knew that I knew it, because I have\nhad to sometimes, in the cause of Right, remind him of it. But he knows\nthat my love for him towers up like a dromedary, and moves off through\nlife as stately as she duz--the dromedary. Josiah was my choice out of a\nworld full of men. I love Josiah Allen. But to resoom and continue on.\n\nJosiah says, \u201cWhich side had I better go on, Samantha?\u201d Says he, kinder\nputtin' his head on one side, and lookin' shrewdly up at the stove-pipe,\n\u201cWould you run as a Stalwart, or a Half-breed?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cI guess you would run more like a lame hen than a Stalwart or\na Half-breed; or,\u201d says I, \u201cit would depend on what breeds they wuz. If\nthey wus half snails, and half Times in the primers, maybe you could get\nahead of 'em.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think, Samantha Allen, in such a time as this, you would act\nlike a rational bein'. I'll be hanged if I know what side to go on to\nget elected!\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cJosiah Allen, hain't you got any principle? Don't you _know_\nwhat side you are on?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, yes, I s'pose I know as near as men in gineral. I'm a Democrat in\ntimes of peace. But it is human nater, to want to be on the side that\nbeats.\u201d\n\nI sithed, and murmured instinctively, \u201cGeorge Washington!\u201d\n\n\u201cGeorge Granny!\u201d says he.\n\nI sithed agin, and kep' sithin'.\n\nSays I, \u201cIt is bad enough, Josiah Allen, to have you talk about runnin'\nfor senator, and pullin' wires, and etcetery. But, oh, oh! my agony to\nthink my partner is destitute of principle.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have got as much as most political men, and you'll find it out so,\nSamantha.\u201d\n\nMy groans touched his heart--that man loves me.\n\n\u201cI am goin' to work as they all do. But wimmen hain't no heads for\nbusiness, and I always said so. They don't look out for the profits of\nthings, as men do.\u201d\n\nI didn't say nothin' only my sithes, but they spoke volumes to any one\nwho understood their language. But anon, or mebby before,--I hadn't kep'\nany particular account of time, but I think it wus about anon,--when\nanother thought struck me so, right in my breast, that it most knocked\nme over. It hanted me all the rest of that day: and all that night I lay\nawake and worried, and I'd sithe, and sposen the case; and then I'd turn\nover, and sposen the case, and sithe.\n\nSposen he would be elected--I didn't really think he would, but\nI couldn't for my life help sposen. Sposen he would have to go to\nWashington. I knew strange things took place in politics. Strange men\nrun, and run fur: some on 'em run clear to Washington. Mebby he would.\nOh! how I groaned at the idee!\n\nI thought of the awfulness of that place as I had heard it described\nupon to me; and then I thought of the weakness of men, and their\nliability to be led astray. I thought of the powerful blasts of\ntemptation that blowed through them broad streets, and the small size of\nmy pardner, and the light weight of his bones and principles.\n\nAnd I felt, if things wuz as they had been depictered to me, he\nwould (in a moral sense) be lifted right up, and blowed away--bones,\nprinciples, and all. And I trembled.\n\nAt last the idee knocked so firm aginst the door of my heart, that I had\nto let it in. That I _must_, I _must_ go to Washington, as a forerunner\nof Josiah. I must go ahead of him, and look round, and see if my Josiah\ncould pass through with no smell of fire on his overcoat--if there wuz\nany possibility of it. If there wuz, why, I should stand still, and let\nthings take their course. But if my worst apprehensions wuz realized,\nif I see that it was a place where my pardner would lose all the modest\nworth and winnin' qualities that first endeared him to me--why, I would\ncome home, and throw all my powerful influence and weight into the\nscales, and turn 'em round.\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH BEING BLOWN AWAY.]\n\nOf course, I felt that I should have to make some pretext about goin':\nfor though I wus as innocent as a babe of wantin' to do so, I felt that\nhe would think he wus bein' domineered over by me. Men are so sort o'\nhigh-headed and haughty about some things! But I felt I could make a\npretext of George Washington. That dear old martyr! I felt truly I would\nlove to weep upon his tomb.\n\nAnd so I told Josiah the next mornin', for I thought I would tackle the\nsubject at once. And he says,--\n\n\u201cWhat do you want to weep on his tomb for, Samantha, at this late day?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThe day of love and gratitude never fades into night, Josiah\nAllen: the sun of gratitude never goes down; it shines on that tomb\nto-day jest as bright as it did in 1800.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, wall! go and weep on it if you want to. But I'll bet half a cent\nthat you'll cry onto the ice-house, as I've heard of other wimmen's\ndoin'. Wimmen don't see into things as men do.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou needn't worry, Josiah Allen. I shall cry at the right time, and in\nthe right place. And I think I had better start soon on my tower.\u201d\n\nI always was one to tackle hard jobs immejutly and to once, so's to get\n'em offen' my mind.\n\n\u201cWall, I'd like to know,\u201d says he, in an injured tone, \u201cwhat you\ncalculate to do with me while you are gone?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says I, \u201cI'll have the girl Ury is engaged to, come here and do\nthe chores, and work for herself; they are goin' to be married before\nlong: and I'll give her some rolls, and let her spin some yarn for\nherself. She'll be glad to come.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow long do you s'pose you'll be gone? She hain't no cook. I'd as lives\neat rolls, as to eat her fried cakes.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour pardner will fry up 2 pans full before she goes, Josiah; and I\ndon't s'pose I'll be gone over four days.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, well! then I guess I can stand it. But you had better make some\nmince-pies ahead, and other kinds of pies, and some fruit-cake, and\ncookies, and tarts, and things: it is always best to be on the safe\nside, in vittles.\u201d\n\nSo it wus agreed on,--that I should fill two cubbard shelves full of\nprovisions, to help him endure my absence.\n\nI wus some in hopes that he might give up the idee of bein'\nUnited-States senator, and I might have rest from my tower; for I\ndreaded, oh, how I dreaded, the job! But as day by day passed, he grew\nmore and more rampant with the idee. He talked about it all the time\ndaytimes; and in the night I could hear him murmur to himself,--\n\n\u201cHon. Josiah Allen!\u201d\n\nAnd once I see it in his account-book, \u201cOld Peedick debtor to two\nsap-buckets to Hon. Josiah Allen.\u201d\n\nAnd he talked sights, and sights, about what he wus goin' to do when\nhe got to Washington, D.C.--what great things he wus goin' to do. And I\nwould get wore out, and say to him,--\n\n\u201cWall! you will have to get there first.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! you needn't worry. I can get there easy enough. I s'pose I shall\nhave to work hard jest as they all do. But as I told you before,\nif every thing else fails, I have got a grand plan to fall back\non--sunthin' new and uneek. Josiah Allen is nobody's fool, and the\nnation will find it out so.\u201d\n\nThen, oh, how I urged him to tell his plan to his lovin' pardner! but he\n_wouldn't tell_.\n\nBut hours and hours would he spend, a tellin' me what great things he\nwus goin' to do when he got to Washington.\n\nSays he, \u201cThere is one thing about it. When I get to be United-States\nsenator, uncle Nate Gowdey shall be promoted to some high and\nresponsible place.\u201d\n\n\u201cWithout thinkin' whether he is fit for it or not?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cYes, mom, without thinkin' a thing about it. I am bound to help the\nones that help me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou wouldn't have him examined,\u201d says I,--\u201cwouldn't have him asked no\nquestions?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes! I'd have him pass a examination jest as the New-York aldermen\ndo, or the civil-service men. I'd say to him, 'Be you uncle Nate\nGowdey?'\n\n\u201c'Yes.'\n\n\u201c'How long have you been uncle Nate Gowdey?'\n\n\u201cAnd he'd answer; and I'd say,--\n\n\u201c'How long do you calculate to be uncle Nate?'\n\n\u201cAnd he'll tell; and then I'll say,--\n\n\u201c'Enough: I see you have all the qualifications for office. You are\nadmitted.' That is what I would do.\u201d\n\nI groaned. But he kep' on complacently, \u201cI am goin' to help the ones\nthat elect me, sink or swim; and I calculate to make money out of the\nproject,--money and honor. And I shall do a big work there,--there\nhain't no doubt of it.\n\n\u201cNow, there is political economy. I shall go in strong for that. I shall\nsay right to Congress, the first speech I make to it, I shall say, that\nthere is too much money spent now to hire votes with; and I shall prove\nit right out, that we can get votes cheaper if we senators all join in\ntogether, and put our feet right down that we won't pay only jest so\nmuch for a vote. But as long as one man is willin' to pay high, why,\neverybody else has got to foller suit. And there hain't no economy in\nit, not a mite.\n\n\u201cThen, there is the canal question. I'll make a thorough end of that.\nThere is one reform that will be pushed right through.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow will you do it?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cI will have the hull canal cleaned out from one end to the other.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was readin' only yesterday,\u201d says I, \u201cabout the corruption of the\ncanal question. But I didn't s'pose it meant that.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is because you hain't a man. You hain't got the mind to grasp\nthese big questions. The corruption of the canal means that the bottom\nof the canal is all covered with dead cats and things; and it ort to be\nseen to, by men that is capable of seein' to such things. It ort to be\ncleaned out. And I am the man that has got the mind for it,\u201d says he\nproudly.\n\n\u201cThen, there is the Star Route. Nothin' but foolishness from beginnin'\nto end. They might have known they couldn't make any road through the\nstars. Why, the very Bible is agin it. The ground is good enough for me,\nand for any other solid man. It is some visionary chap that begun it in\nthe first place. Nothin' but dumb foolishness; and so uncle Nate Gowdey\nsaid it was. We got to talkin' about it yesterday, and he said it was a\npity wimmin couldn't vote on it. He said that would be jest about what\nthey would be likely to vote for.\n\n\u201cHe is a smart old feller, uncle Nate is, for a man of his age. He\ntalked awful smart about wimmin's votin'. He said any man was a fool to\nthink that a woman would ever have the requisit grasp of intellect,\nand the knowledge of public affairs, that would render her a competent\nvoter.\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH's STAR ROUTE.]\n\n\u201cI tell you, you have got to _understand_ things in order to tackle\npoliticks. Politicks takes deep study.\n\n\u201cNow, there is the tariff question, and the revenue. I shall most\nprobable favor 'em, and push 'em right through.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cOh, wall! a woman most probable couldn't understand it. But I shall\npush 'em forward all I can, and lift 'em up.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere to?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cOh, keep a askin', and a naggin'! That is what wears out us public\nmen,--wimmin's questionin'. It hain't so much the public duties we\nhave to perform that ages us, and wears us out before our time,--it is\nwoman's weak curiosity on public topics, that her mind is too feeble to\ngrasp holt of. It is wearin',\u201d says he haughtily.\n\nSays I, \u201cSpecially when they don't know what to answer.\u201d Says I, \u201cJosiah\nAllen, you don't know this minute what tariff means, or revenue.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I know what starvation means, and I know what vittles means, and\nI know I am as hungry as a bear.\u201d\n\nInstinctively I hung on the teakettle. And as Josiah see me pare the\npotatoes, and grind the coffee, and pound the steak, he grew very\npleasant again in his demeanor; and says he,--\n\n\u201cThere will be some abuses reformed when I get to Washington, D.C.;\nand you and the nation will see that there will. Now, there is the\ncivil-service law: Uncle Nate and I wus a talkin' about it yesterday. It\nis jest what we need. Why, as uncle Nate said, hired men hain't civil at\nall, nor hired girls either. You hire 'em to serve you, and to serve you\ncivil; and they are jest as dumb uppish and impudent as they can be. And\nhotel-clerks--now, they don't know what civil-service means.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, uncle Nate said when he went to the Ohio, last fall, he stayed\nover night to Cleveland, and the hotel-clerk sassed him, jest because he\nwanted to blow out his light: he wanted uncle Nate to turn it off.\n\n\u201cAnd uncle Nate jest spoke right up, smart as a whip, and said,\n'Old-fashioned ways was good enough for him: blows wus made before\nturners, and he should blow it out.' And the hotel-clerk sassed him, and\nswore, and threatened to make him leave.\n\n\u201cAnd ruther than have a fuss, uncle Nate said he turned it out. But it\nrankled, uncle Nate says it did, it rankled deep. And he says he wants\nto vote for that special. He says he'd love to make that clerk eat\nhumble-pie.\n\n\u201cUncle Nate is a sound man: his head is level.\n\n\u201cAnd good, sound platforms, that is another reform, uncle Nate said we\nneeded the worst kind, and he hoped I would insist on it when I got to\nbe senator. He said there was too much talk about 'em in the papers, and\ntoo little done about 'em. Why, Elam Gowdey, uncle Nate's youngest boy,\nbroke down the platform to his barn, and went right down through it,\nwith a load of hay. And nothin' but that hay saved his neck from bein'\nbroke. It spilte one of his horses.\n\n\u201cUncle Nate had been urgin' him to fix the platform, or build a new one;\nbut he was slack. But, as uncle Nate says, if such things are run by\nlaw, they will _have_ to be done.\n\n\u201cAnd then, there is another thing uncle Nate and I was talkin'\nabout,\u201d says he, lookin' very amiable at me as I rolled out my cream\nbiscuit--almost spooney.\n\n[Illustration: UNCIVIL SERVICE.]\n\n\u201cI shall jest run every poor Irishman and Chinaman out of the country\nthat I can.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has the Irishmen done, Josiah Allen?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cOh! they are poor. There hain't no use in our associatin' with the\npoor.\u201d\n\nSays I dreamily, \u201cDid I not read once, of One who renounced the throne\nof the universe to dwell amongst the poor?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, wall! most probable they wuzn't Irish.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what has the Chinaman done?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cWhy, they are heathens, Samantha. What does the United States want with\nheathens anyway? What the country _needs_ is Methodists.\u201d\n\n\u201cSomewhere did I not once hear these words,\u201d says I musin'ly, as I\nset the coffee-cups on the table,--\u201c'You shall have the heathen for an\ninheritance'--and 'preach the gospel to the heathen'--and 'we who were\nsometime heathens, but have received light'? Did not the echo of some\nsuch words once reach my mind?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, wall! if you are goin' to quote readin', why can't you quote from\n'The World'? you can't combine Bible and politics worth a cent. And the\nChinaman works too cheap--are too industrious, and reasonable in their\ncharges, they hain't extravagant--and they are too dumb peacible, dumb\n'em!\u201d\n\n\u201cJosiah Allen!\u201d says I firmly, \u201cis that all the fault you find with\n'em?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it hain't. They don't want to vote! They don't care a cent about\nbein' path-master or President. And I say, that after givin' a man a\nfair trial and a long one, if he won't try to buy or sell a vote, it is\na sure sign that he can't asimulate with Americans, and be one with 'em;\nthat he can't never be mingled in with 'em peacible. And I'll bet that\nI'll start the Catholics out--and the Jews. What under the sun is the\nuse of havin' anybody here in America only jest Methodists? That is the\nonly right way. And if I have my way, I'll get rid of 'em,--Chinamen,\nIrishmen, Catholics,--the hull caboodle of 'em. I'll jest light 'em out\nof the country. We can do it too. That big statute in New-York Harbor\nof Liberty Enlightenin' the World, will jest lift her torch up high, and\nlight 'em out of the country:--that is what we had her for.\u201d\n\nI sithed low, and says, \u201cI never knew that wus what she wus there for.\nI s'posed it wus a gift from a land that helped us to liberty and\nprosperity when we needed 'em as bad as the Irishmen and Chinamen do\nto-day; and I s'posed that torch that wus lit for us by others' help, we\nshould be willin' and glad to have it shine on the dark cross-roads of\nothers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, it hain't meant for no such purpose: it is to light up _our_ land\nand _our_ waters. That's what _she's_ there for.\u201d\n\nI sithed agin, a sort of a cold sithe, and says,--\n\n\u201cI don't think it looks very well for us New-Englanders a sittin' round\nPlymouth Rock, to be a condemnin' anybody for their religeous beliefs.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, there hain't no need of whittlin' out a stick, and worshipin' it,\nas the Chinamen do.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow are you goin' to help 'em to worship the true God if you send 'em\nout of the country? Is it for the sake of humanity you drive 'em out?\nor be you, like the Isrealites of old, a worshipin' the golden calf of\nselfishness, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\n\u201cI hain't never worshiped _no calf_, Samantha Allen. That would be the\nlast thing _I_ would worship, and you know it.\u201d\n\n(Josiah wus very lame on his left leg where he had been kicked by a\nyearlin'. The spot wus black and blue, but healin'.)\n\n\u201cYou have blanketed that calf with thick patriotic excuses; but I fear,\nJosiah Allen, that the calf is there.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d says I dreamily, \u201chow the tread of them calves has moved down\nthrough the centuries! If every calf should amble right out, marked with\nits own name and the name of its owner, what a sight, what a sight it\nwould be! On one calf, right after its owner's name, would be branded,\n'Worldly Honor and Fame.'\u201d\n\nJosiah squirmed, for I see him, but tried to turn the squirm in' into a\nsickly smile; and he murmured in a meachin' voice, and with a sheepish\nsmile,--\n\n\u201c'Hon. Josiah Allen. Fame.' That wouldn't look so bad on a likely\nyearlin' or two-year old.\u201d\n\nBut I kep' right on. \u201cOn another would be marked, 'Wealth.' Very yeller\nthose calves would be, and a long, long drove of 'em.\n\n\u201cOn another would be, 'Earthly Love.' Middlin' good-lookin' calves,\nthese, and sights of 'em. But the mantillys that covered 'em would be\nall wet and wore with tears.\n\n\u201c'Culture,' 'Intellect,' 'Refinement.' These calves would march right\nalong by the side of 'Pride,' 'Vanity,' 'Old Creeds,' 'Bigotry,'\n'Selfishness.' The last-named would be too numerous to count with the\nnaked eye, and go pushin' aginst each other, rushin' right through\nmeetin'-housen, tearin' and actin'. Why,\u201d says I, \u201cthe ground trembles\nunder the tread of them calves. I can hear 'em whinner,\u201d says I, fillin'\nup the coffee-pot.\n\n\u201cCalves don't whinner!\u201d says Josiah.\n\nSays I, \u201cI speak parabolickly;\u201d and says I, in a very blind way,\n\u201cParables are used to fit the truth to weak comprehensions.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall!\u201d says he, kinder cross, \u201cyour potatoes are a burnin' down.\u201d\n\nI turned the water off, and mashed 'em up, with plenty of cream and\nbutter; and them, applied to his stomach internally, seemed to sooth\nhim,--them, and the nice tender steak, and light biscuit, and lemon\npuddin' and coffee, rich and yellow and fragrant.\n\n[Illustration: THE GOLDEN CALVES OF CHRISTIANS.]\n\nHe never said a word more about politics till after dinner. But on\nrisin' up from the table he told me he had got to go to Jonesville to\nget the old mare shod. And I see sadly, as he stood to the lookin'-glass\ncombin' out his few hairs, how every by-path his mind sot out on led up\ngradually to Washington, D.C. For as he stood there, and spoke of the\nmare's feet, he says,--\n\n\u201cThe mare is good enough for Jonesville, Samantha. But when we get\nto Washington, we want sunthin' gayer, more stylish, to ride on.\nI calculate,\u201d says he, pullin' up his collar, and pullin' down his\nvest,--\u201cI lay out to dress gay, and act gay. I calculate to make a show\nfor once in my life, and put on style. One thing I am bound on,--I shall\ndrive tantrum.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d says I sternly.\n\n\u201cWhy, I shall buy another mare, most probable some gay-colored one, and\nhitch it before the old white mare, and drive tantrum. You know, it\nis all the style. Mebby,\u201d says he dreamily, \u201cI shall ride the drag.\nI s'pose that is fashionable. But I'll be hanged if I should think\nit would be easy ridin' unless you had the teeth down. Dog-carts are\nstylish, I hear; but our dog is so dumb lazy, you couldn't get him to go\nout of a walk. But tantrum I _will_ drive.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH DRIVING TANTRUM.]\n\nI groaned, and says, \u201cYes, I hain't no doubt that anybody that sees you\nat Washington, will see tantrums, strange tantrums. But you hain't there\nyet.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, but I most probable shall be ere long.\u201d\n\nHe had actually begun to talk in high-flown, blank verse sort of a way.\n\u201cEre long!\u201d that wus somethin' new for Josiah Allen.\n\nAlas! every thought of his heart wus tuned to that one political key.\nI mentioned to him that \u201cthe bobbin to my sewin'-machine was broke, and\nasked him to get a new one of the agent at Jonesville.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says he benignantly, \u201cI will tend to your machine; and speakin'\nof machines, that makes me think of another thing uncle Nate and I wus\ntalkin' about.\u201d\n\n\u201cMachine politics, I sha'n't favor 'em. What under the sun do they want\nmachines to make politics with, when there is plenty of men willin', and\nmore than willin', to make 'em? And it is as expensive agin. Machines\ncost so much. I tell you, they cost tarnation high.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can understand you without swearin', Josiah Allen.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hain't a swearin': 'tarnation' hain't swearin', nor never wuz. I\nshall use that word most likely in Washington, D.C.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I coldly, \u201cthere will have to be some tea and sugar got.\u201d\n\nHe did not demur. But, oh! how I see that immovible setness of his mind!\n\n\u201cYes, I will get some. But won't it be handy, Samantha, to have free\ntrade? I shall go for that strong. Why, I can tell you, it will come\nhandy along in the winter when the hens don't lay, and we don't make\nbutter to turn off--it will come dretful handy to jest hitch up the\nmare, and go to the store, and come home with a lot of groceries of all\nkinds, and some fresh meat mebby. And mebby some neckties of different\ncolors.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho would pay for 'em?\u201d says I in a stern tone; for I didn't somehow\nlike the idee.\n\n\u201cWhy, the Government, of course.\u201d\n\nI shook my head 2 or 3 times back and forth. I couldn't seem to get the\nright sense of it. \u201cI can't understand it, Josiah. We heard a good deal\nabout free trade, but I can't believe that is it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, it is, jest that. Free trade is one of the prerequisits of\na senator. Why, what would a man want to be a senator for, if they\ncouldn't make by it?\u201d\n\n\u201cDon't you love your country, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I do: but I don't love her so well as I do myself; it hain't\nnateral I should.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely I read long ago,--was it in the English Reader?\u201d says I\ndreamily, \u201cor where was it? But surely I have heard of such things as\npatriotism and honor, love of country, and love of the right.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I calculate I love my country jest as well as the next man; and,\u201d\n says he firmly, \u201cI calculate I can make jest as much out of her, give me\na chance. Why, I calculate to do jest as they all do. What is the use of\nstartin' up, and bein' one by yourself?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThat is what Pilate thought, Josiah Allen.\u201d Says I, \u201cThe\nmajority hain't always right.\u201d Says I firmly, \u201cThey hardly ever are.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, that is a regular woman's idee,\u201d says he, goin' into the bedroom\nfor a clean shirt. And as he opened the bureau-draw, he says,--\n\n\u201cAnother thing I shall go for, is abolishin' lots of the bureaus. Why,\nwhat is the use of any man havin' more than one bureau? It is nothin'\nbut nonsense clutterin' up the house with so many bureaus.\n\n\u201cWhen wimmen get to votin',\u201d says he sarcastickly, \u201cI'll bet their first\nmove will be to get 'em back agin. I'll bet there hain't a women in the\nland, but what would love to have 20 bureaus that they could run to.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, you think wimmen _will_ vote, do you, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d says he firmly, \u201cthat it will be a wretched day for the\nnation if she does. Wimmen is good in their places,\u201d says he, as he come\nto me to button up his shirtsleeves, and tie his cravat.\n\n\u201cThey are good in their places. But they can't have, it hain't in 'em to\nhave, the calm grasp of mind, the deep outlook into the future, that men\nhave. They can't weigh things in the firm, careful balences of right and\nwrong, and have that deep, masterly knowledge of national affairs that\nwe men have. They hain't got the hard horse sense that anybody has got\nto have in order to make money out of the nation. They would have some\nsentimental subjects up of right or wrong to spend their energies and\ntheir hearts on. Look at Cicely, now. She means well. But what would she\ndo? What would she make out of votin'? Not a cent. And she never would\nthink of passin' laws for her own personal comfort, either. Now, there\nis the subsidy bill. I'll see that through if I sweat for it.\n\n\u201cWhy, it would be worth more than a dollar-bill to me lots of times to\nmake folks subside. Preachers, now, when they get to goin' beyond the\n20ethly. No preacher has any right to go to wanderin' round up beyond\nthem figures in dog-days. And if they could be made to subside when they\nhad gone fur enough, why, it would be a perfect boon to Jonesville and\nthe nation.\n\n\u201cAnd sewin'-machine agents--and--and wimmen, when they get all excited a\nscoldin', or talkin' about bonnets, and things. Why! if a man could jest\nlift up his hand, and say 'Subside!' and then see 'em subside--why, I\nhad ruther see it than a circus any day.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: A WOMAN'S PLACE.]\n\nI looked at him keenly, and says I,--\n\n\u201cI wish such a bill had even now passed; that is, if wimmen could\nreceive any benefit from it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, you'll see it after I get to Washington, D.C., most probable. I\ncalculate to jest straighten out things there, and get public affairs in\na good runnin' order. The nation _needs_ me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, wore out, \u201cit can _have you_, as fur as I am concerned.\u201d\n\nAnd I wus so completely fagged out, that I turned the subject completely\nround (as I s'posed) by askin' him if he laid out to sell our apples\nthis year where he did last. The man's wife had wrote to me ahead, and\nwanted to know, for they had bought a new dryin'-machine, and wanted to\nmake sure of apples ahead.\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says Josiah, drawin' on his overshoes, \u201cI shall probable have to\nuse the apples this fall to buy votes with.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo buy votes?\u201d says I, in accents of horrow.\n\n\u201cYes. I wouldn't tell it out of the family. But you are all in the\nfamily, you know, and so I'll tell you. I sha'n't have to buy near\nso many votes on account of my plan; but I shall have to buy some, of\ncourse. You know, they all do; and I sha'n't stand no chance at all if I\ndon't.\u201d\n\nMy groans was fearful that I groaned at this; but truly, worse was to\ncome. He looked kinder pitiful at me (he loves me). But yet his love did\nnot soften the firm resolve that wus spread thick over his linement as\nhe went on,--\n\n\u201cI lay out to get lots of votes with my green apples,\u201d says he dreamily.\n\u201cIt seems as if I ought to get a vote for a bushel of apples; but there\nis so much iniquity and cheatin' a goin' on now in politics, that I may\nhave to give a bushel and a half, or two bushels: and then, I shall make\nup a lot of the smaller ones into hard cider, and use 'em to--to advance\nthe interests of myself and the nation in that way.\n\n\u201cThere is hull loads of folks uncle Nate says he can bring to vote for\nme, by the judicious use of--wall, it hain't likely you will approve of\nit; but I say, stimulants are necessary in medicine, and any doctor will\ntell you so--hard cider and beer and whiskey, and so 4th.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: OUR LAW-MAKERS.]\n\nI riz right up, and grasped holt of his arm, and says in stern, avengin'\ntones,--\n\n\u201cJosiah Allen, will you go right against God's commands, and put the cup\nto your neighbor's lips, for your own gain? Do you expect, if you do,\nthat you can escape Heaven's avengin' wrath?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey hain't my neighbors: I never neighbored with 'em.\u201d\n\nSays I sternly, \u201cIf you commit this sin, you will be held accountable;\nand it seems to me as if you can never be forgiven.\u201d\n\n\u201cDumb it all, Samantha, if everybody else does so, where will I get my\nvotes?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo without 'em, Josiah Allen; go down to poverty, or the tomb, but\nnever commit this sin. 'Cursed is he that putteth the cup to his\nneighbor's lips.'\u201d\n\n\u201cThey hain't my neighbors, and it probable hain't no cup that they will\ndrink out of: they will drink out of gobblers\u201d (sometimes when Josiah\ngets excited, he calls goblets, gobblers). But I wus too wrought up and\nby the side of myself to notice it.\n\nSays I, \u201cTo think a human bein', to say nothin' of a perfessor, would go\nto work deliberate to get a man into a state that is jest as likely\nas not to end in a murder, or any crime, for gain to himself.\u201d Says I,\n\u201cThink of the different crimes you commit by that one act, Josiah Allen.\nYou make a man a fool, and in that way put yourself down on a level with\ndisease, deformity, and hereditary sin. You steal his reason away. You\nare a thief of the deepest dye; for you steal then, from the man you\nhave stole from--steal the first rights of his manhood, his honor,\nhis patriotism, his duty to God and man. You are a thief of the\nGovernment--thief of God, and right.\n\n\u201cThen, _you_ make this man liable to commit any crime: so, if he\nmurders, _you_ are a murderer; if he commits suicide, _your_ guilty soul\nshall cower in the presence of Him who said, 'No self-murderer shall\ninherit eternal life.' It is your own doom you shall read in them\ndreadful words.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood landy, Samantha! do you want to scare me to death?\u201d and Josiah\nquailed and shook, and shook and quailed.\n\n\u201cI am only tellin' you the truth, Josiah Allen; and I should think it\n_would_ scare anybody to death.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I don't do it, I shall appear like a fool: I shall be one by\nmyself.\u201d\n\nOh, how Josiah duz want to be fashionable!\n\n\u201cNo, you won't, Josiah Allen--no, you won't. If you try to do right, try\nto do God's will, you have His armies to surround you with a unseen wall\nof Strength.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, I hain't seen you look so sort o' skairful and riz up, for years,\nSamantha.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hain't felt so. To think of the brink you wuz a standin' on, and jest\na fallin' off of.\u201d\n\nJosiah looked quite bad. And he put his hand on his side, and says, \u201cMy\nheart beats as if it wuz a tryin' to get out and walk round the room. I\ndo believe I have got population of the heart.\u201d\n\nSays I, in a sarcasticker tone than I had used,--\n\n\u201cThat is a disease that is very common amongst men, very common, though\nthey hain't over and above willin' to own up to it. Too much population\nof the heart has ailed many a man before now, and woman too,\u201d says I in\nreasonable axents. \u201cBut you mean palpitation.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I said so, didn't I? And it is jest your skairful talk that has\ndone it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, if I thought I could convince men as I have you, I would foller\nthe business stiddy, of skairin' folks, and think I wuz doin' my duty.\u201d\n Says I, my emotions a roustin' up agin,--\n\n\u201cI should call it a good deal more honorable in you to get drunk\nyourself; and I should think more of you, if I see you a reelin' round\nyourself, than to see you make other folks reel. I should think it was\nyour own reel, and you had more right to it than to anybody else's.\n\n\u201cOh! to think I should have lived to see the hour, to have my companion\nin danger of goin' aginst the Scripter--ready to steal, or be stole, or\nknock down, or any thing, to buy votes, or sell 'em!\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, dumb it all, do you want me to appear as awkward as a fool? I\nhave told you more than a dozen times I have _got_ to do as the rest do,\nif I want to make any show at all in politics.\u201d\n\nI said no more: but I riz right up, and walked out of the room, with my\nhead right up in the air, and the strings of my head-dress a floatin'\nout behind me; and I'll bet there wus indignation in the float of them\nstrings, and heart-ache, and agony, and--and every thing.\n\nI thought I had convinced him, and hadn't. I felt as if I must sink. You\nknow, that is all a woman can do--to sink. She can't do any thing\nelse in a helpful way when her beloved companion hangs over political\nabysses. She can't reach out her lovin' hand, and help stiddy him; she\ncan't do nothin' only jest sink. And what made it more curious, these\ndespairin' thoughts come to me as I stood by the sink, washin' my\ndinner-dishes. But anon (I know it wus jest anon, for the water wus\nbilein' hot when I turned it out of the kettle, and it scalded my hands,\nonbeknown to me, as I washed out my sass-plates) this thought gripped\nholt of me, right in front of the sink,--\n\n\u201cJosiah Allen's wife, you must _not_ sink. You _must_ keep up. If you\nhave no power to help your pardner to patriotism and honor, you can, if\nyour worst fears are realized, try to keep him to home. For if his acts\nand words are like these in Jonesville, what will they be in Washington,\nD.C., if that place is all it has been depictered to you? Hold up,\nSamantha! Be firm, Josiah Allen's wife! John Rogers! The nine! One at\nthe breast!\u201d\n\nSo at last, by these almost convulsive efforts at calmness, I grew more\ncalmer and composeder. Josiah had hitched up and gone.\n\nAnd he come home clever, and all excited with a new thing.\n\nThey are buildin' a new court-house at Jonesville. It is most done,\nand it seemed they got into a dispute that day about the cupelow. They\nwanted to have the figger of Liberty sculped out on it; and they had got\nthe man there all ready, and he had begun to sculp her as a woman,--the\ngoddess of Liberty, he called her. But at the last minute a dispute\nhad rosen: some of the leadin' minds of Jonesville, uncle Nate Gowdey\namongst 'em, insisted on it that Liberty wuzn't a woman, he wuz a man.\nAnd they wanted him depictered as a man, with whiskers and pantaloons\nand a standin' collar, and boots and spurs--Josiah Allen wus the one\nthat wanted the spurs.\n\nHe said the dispute waxed furious; and he says to 'em,--\n\n\u201cLeave it to Samantha: she'll know all about it.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was agreed on that they'd leave it to me. And he drove the\nold mare home, almost beyond her strength, he wus so anxious to have it\nsettled.\n\nI wus jest makin' some cream biscuit for supper as he come in, and asked\nme about it; and a minute is a minute in makin' warm biscuit. You want\nto make 'em quick, and bake 'em quick. My mind wus fairly held onto\nthat dough--and needed on it; but instinctively I told him he wus in the\nright ont. Liberty here in the United States wuz a man, and, in order\nto be consistent, ort to be depictered with whiskers and overcoat and a\nstandin' collar.\n\n\u201cAnd spurs!\u201d says Josiah.\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d I told him, \u201cI wouldn't be particular about the spurs.\u201d I said,\n\u201cInstead of the spurs on his boots, he might be depictered as settin'\nhis boot-heel onto the respectful petition of fifty thousand wimmen, who\nhad ventured to ask him for a little mite of what he wus s'posed to have\nquantities of--Freedom.\n\n\u201cOr,\u201d says I, \u201che might be depictered as settin' on a judgment-seat, and\nwavin' off into prison an intelligent Christian woman, who had spent her\nwhole noble, useful life in studyin' the laws of our nation, for darin'\nto think she had as much right under our Constitution, as a low, totally\nignorant coot who would most likely think the franchise wus some sort of\na meat-stew.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThat will give Liberty jest as imperious and showy a look as\nspurs would, and be fur more historick and symbolical.\u201d\n\nWall, he said he would mention it to 'em; and says he, with a contented\nlook,--\n\n\u201cI told uncle Nate I knew I wus right. I knew Liberty wus a man.\u201d\n\nWall, I didn't say no more: and I got him as good a supper as the house\nafforded, and kep' still as death on politics; fur I could not help\nhavin' some hopes that he might get sick of the idee of public life. And\nI kep' him down close all that evenin' to religion and the weather.\n\n[Illustration: JONESVILLE COURTHOUSE.]\n\nBut, alas! my hopes wus doomed to fade away. And, as days passed by, I\nsee the thought of bein' a senator wus ever before him. The cares and\nburdens of political life seemed to be a loomin' up in front of him,\nand in a quiet way he seemed to be fittin' himself for the duties of his\nposition.\n\nHe come in one day with Solomon Cypher'ses shovel, and I asked him \u201cwhat\nit wuz?\u201d\n\nAnd he said \u201cit wus the spoils of office.\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cIt is no such thing: it is Solomon Cypher'ses shovel.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he, \u201cI found it out by the fence. Solomon has gone over to\nthe other party. I am a Democrat, and this is party spoils. I am goin'\nto keep this as one of the spoils of office.\u201d\n\nSays I firmly, \u201cYou won't keep it!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says he, \u201cif I am goin' to enter political life, I must begin\nto practise sometime. I must begin to do as they all do. And it is a\ncrackin' good shovel too,\u201d says he pensively.\n\nSays I, \u201cYou are goin' to carry that shovel right straight home, Josiah\nAllen!\u201d\n\nAnd I made him.\n\nThe _idee_.\n\nBut I see in this and in many kindred things, that he wuz a dwellin' on\nthis thought of political life--its honors and emollients. And often,\nand in dark hints, he would speak of his _Plan_. If every other means\nfailed, if he couldn't spare the money to buy enough votes, how his\n_plan_ wus goin' to be the makin' of him.\n\nAnd I overheard him tellin' the babe once, as he wus rockin' her to\nsleep in the kitchen, \u201chow her grandpa had got up somethin' that no\nother babe's grandpa had ever thought of, and how she would probable see\nhim in the White House ere long.\u201d\n\nI wus makin' nut-cakes in the buttery; and I shuddered so at these\nwords, that I got in most as much agin lemon as I wanted in 'em. I wus\na droppin' it into a spoon, and it run over, I wus that shook at the\nthought of his plan.\n\nI had known his plans in the past, and had hefted 'em. And I truly\nfelt that his plans wus liable any time to be the death of him, and the\nruination.\n\nBut he wouldn't tell!\n\nBut kep' his mind immovibly sot, as I could see. And the very day of the\nshovel episode, along towards night he rousted out of a brown study,--a\nsort of a dark-brown study,--and says he,--\n\n\u201cYes, I shall make out enough votes if we have a judicious committee.\u201d\n\n\u201cA lyin' one, do you mean?\u201d says I coldly. But not surprized. For truly,\nmy mind had been so strained and racked that I don't know as it would\nhave surprized me if Josiah Allen had riz up, and knocked me down.\n\n\u201cWall, in politics, you _have_ to add a few orts sometimes.\u201d\n\nI sithed, not a wonderin' sithe, but a despairin' one; and he went on,--\n\n\u201cI know where I shall get a hull lot of votes, anyway.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cWhy, out to that nigger settlement jest the other side of Jonesville.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know they'll vote for you?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cI'd like to see 'em vote aginst me!\u201d says he, in a skairful way.\n\n\u201cWould you use intimidation, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, uncle Nate Gowdey and I, and a few others who love quiet, and\nlove to see folks do as they ort to, lay out to take some shot-guns and\n_make_ them niggers vote right; make 'em vote for me; shoot 'em right\ndown if they don't. We have got the campaign all planned out.\u201d\n\n\u201cJosiah Allen,\u201d says I, \u201cif you have no fear of Heaven, have you no fear\nof the Government? Do you want to be hung, and see your widow a breakin'\nher heart over your gallowses?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I shouldn't get hung. The Government wouldn't do nothin'. The\nGovernment feels jest as I do,--that it would be wrong to stir up old\nbitternesses, and race differences. The bloody shirt has been washed,\nand ironed out; and it wouldn't be right to dirty it up agin. The\ncolored race is now at peace; and if they will only do right, do jest as\nthe white men wants 'em to, Government won't never interfere with 'em.\u201d\n\nI groaned, and couldn't help it; and he says,--\n\n\u201cWhy, hang it all, Samantha, if I make any show at all in public life, I\nhave got to begin to practise sometime.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cbring me in a pail of water.\u201d But as he went out after\nit, I murmured sternly to myself,--\n\n\u201cOh! wus there ever a forerunner more needed run?\u201d and my soul answered,\n\u201cNever! never!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: MAKING THEM DO RIGHT.]\n\nSo with sithes that could hardly be sithed, so big and hefty wuz they, I\ncommenced to make preparations for embarkin' on my tower. And no martyr\nthat ever sot down on a hot gridiron wus animated by a more warm and\nmartyrous feelin' of self-sacrifice. Yes, I truly felt, that if there\nwus dangers to be faced, and daggers run through pardners, I felt I\nwould ruther they would pierce my own spare-ribs than Josiah's. (I say\nspare-ribs for oritory--my ribs are not spare, fur from it.)\n\nI didn't really believe, if he run, he would run clear to Washington.\nAnd yet, when my mind roamed on some public men, and how fur they run, I\nwould groan, and hurry up my preparations.\n\nI knew my tower must be but a short one, for sugarin'-time wus\napproachin' with rapid strides, and Samantha must be at the hellum. But\nI also knew, that with a determined mind, and a willin' heart,\ngreat things could be accomplished speedily; so I commenced makin'\npreparations, and layin' on plans.\n\nAs become a woman of my cast-iron principles, I fixed up mostly on\nthe inside of my head instead of the outside. I studied the map of the\nUnited States. I done several sums on the slate, to harden my mind, and\nhelp me grasp great facts, and meet difficulties bravely. I read Gass'es\n\u201cJournal,\u201d--how he rode up our great rivers on a perioger, and shot\nbears. Expectin', as I did, to see trouble, I read over agin that\nbook that has been my stay in so many hard-fit battle-fields of\nprinciple,--Fox'es \u201cBook of Martyrs.\u201d\n\nI studied G. Washington's picture on the parlor-wall, to get kinder\nstirred up in my mind about him, so's to realize to the full my\nprivileges as I wept onto his tomb, and stood in the capital he had\nfoundered.\n\nThomas J. come one day while I wus musin' on George; and he says,--\n\n\u201cWhat are you lookin' so close at that dear old humbug for?\u201d\n\nSays I firmly, and keepin' the same posture, \u201cI am studyin' the face of\nthe revered and noble G. Washington. I am going shortly to weep on his\ntomb and the capital he foundered. I am studyin' his face, and Gass'es\n'Journal,' and other works,\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cIf you are going to the capital, you had better study Dante.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cDanty who?\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cJust plain Dante.\u201d Says he, \u201cYou had better study his\ninscription on the door of the infern\u201d--\n\nSays I, \u201cCease instantly. You are on the very pint of swearin';\u201d and I\ndon't know now what he meant, and don't much care. Thomas J. is full of\nqueer remarks, anyway. But deep. He had a sick spell a few weeks ago;\nand I went to see him the first thing in the mornin', after I heard of\nit. He had overworked, the doctor said, and his heart wuz a little weak.\nHe looked real white; and I took holt of his hand, and says I,--\n\n\u201cThomas J., I am worried about you: your pulse don't beat hardly any.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says he. And he laughed with his eyes and his lips too. \u201cI am glad\nI am not a newspaper this morning, mother.\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cWhy?\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cIf I were a morning paper, mother, I shouldn't be a\nsuccess, my circulation is so weak.\u201d\n\nA jokin' right there, when he couldn't lift his head. But he got over\nit: he always did have them sort of sick spells, from a little child.\n\nBut a manlier, good-hearteder, level-headeder boy never lived than\nThomas Jefferson Allen. He is _just right_, and always wuz. And though I\nwouldn't have it get out for the world, I can't help seein' it, that he\ngoes fur ahead of Tirzah Ann in intellect, and nobleness of nater; and\nthough I love 'em both devotedly, I _do_, and I can't help it, like him\njest a little mite the best. But _this_ I wouldn't have get out for a\nthousand dollars. I tell it in strict confidence, and s'pose it will\nbe kep' as such. Mebby I hadn't ort to tell it at all. Mebby it hain't\nquite orthodox in me to feel so. But it is truthful, anyway. And\nsometimes I get to kinder wobblin' round inside of my mind, and a\nwonderin' which is the best,--to be orthodox, or truthful,--and I sort\no' settle down to thinkin' I will tell the truth anyway.\n\nJosiah, I think, likes Tirzah Ann the best.\n\nBut I studied deep, and mused. Mused on our 4 fathers, and our 4\nmothers, and on Liberty, and Independence, and Truth, and the Eagle. And\nthinkin' I might jest as well be to work while I was a musin', I had a\ndress made for the occasion. It wus bran new, and the color wus Bismark\nBrown.\n\nJosiah wanted me to have Ashes of Moses color.\n\nBut I said no. With my mind in the heroic state it was then, I couldn't\ncurb it down onto Ashes of Moses, or roses, or any thing else peacible.\nI felt that this color, remindin' me of two grand heroes,--Bismark, John\nBrown,--suited me to a T. There wus two wimmen who stood ready to make\nit,--Jane Bently and Martha Snyder. I chose Martha because Martha wus\nthe name of the wife of Washington.\n\nIt wus made with a bask.\n\nWhen the news got out that I wus goin' to Washington on a tower, the\nneighbors all wanted to send errents by me.\n\nBetsey Bobbet wanted me to go to the Patent Office, and get her two\nPatent-office books, for scrap-books for poetry.\n\nUncle Jarvis Bently wanted me to go to the Agricultural Bureau, and get\nhim a paper of lettis seed. And Solomon Cypher wanted me to get him a\nnew kind of string-beans, if I could, and some cowcumber seeds.\n\nUncle Nate Gowdey, who talked of paintin' his house over, wanted me to\nask the President what kind of paint he used on the White House, and if\nhe put in any sperits of turpentime. And Ardelia Rumsey, who wuz goin'\nto be married soon, wanted me, if I see any new kinds of bed-quilt\npatterns to the White House, or to the senators' housen, to get the\npatterns for her. She said she wus sick of sunflowers, and blazin'\nstars, and such. She thought mebby they'd have suthin' new, spread-eagle\nstyle, or suthin' of that kind. She said \u201cher feller was goin' to be\nconnected with the Government, and she thought it would be appropriate.\u201d\n\nAnd I asked her \u201chow?\u201d And she said, \u201che was goin' to get a patent on a\nnew kind of a jack-knife.\u201d\n\nI told her \u201cif she wanted a Government quilt, and wanted it appropriate,\nshe ort to have it a crazy-quilt.\u201d\n\nAnd she said she had jest finished a crazy-quilt, with seven thousand\npieces of silk in it, and each piece trimmed with seven hundred stitches\nof feather stitchin': she counted 'em. And then I remembered seein' it.\nThere wus some talk then about wimmen's rights, and a petition wus got\nup in Jonesville for wimmen to sign; and I remember well that Ardelia\ncouldn't sign it for lack of time. She wanted to, but she hadn't got the\nquilt more'n half done then. It took the biggest heft of two years to\ndo it. And so, of course, less important things had to be put aside till\nshe got it finished.\n\nAnd I remember, too, that Ardelia's mother wanted to sign it; but she\ncouldn't, owin' to a bed-spread she wus a makin'. She wuz a quiltin' in\nNoah's ark, and all the animals, at that time, on a Turkey-red quilt.\nI remember she wuz a quiltin' the camel that day, and couldn't be\ndisturbed. So we didn't get the names. It took the old lady three years\nto quilt that quilt. And when it wuz done, it wuz a sight to behold.\nThough, as I said then, and say now, I wouldn't give much to sleep\nunder so many animals. But folks went from fur and near to see it, and\nI enjoyed lookin' at it that day. And I see jest how it wuz. I see that\nshe couldn't sign. It wuzn't to be expected that a woman could stop to\ntend to Justice or Freedom, or any thing else of that kind, right in the\nmidst of a camel.\n\nZebulin Coon wanted me to carry a new hen-coop of hisen to get it\npatented. And I thought to myself, I wonder if they'll ask me to carry a\ncow.\n\nAnd sure enough, Josiah wanted me to dicker, if I could, for a calf\nfrom Mount Vernon,--swop one of our yearlin's for it if I couldn't do no\nbetter.\n\nBut I told him right out and out, that I couldn't go into a calf-trade\nwith my mind wrought up as I knew it would be.\n\nWall, it wuzn't more'n 2 or 3 days after I begun my preparations, that\nDorlesky Burpy, a vegetable widow, come to see me; and the errents\nshe sent by me wuz fur more hefty and momentous than all the rest put\ntogether, calves, hen-coop, and all.\n\n[Illustration: THE MOTHER'S BED-QUILT.]\n\nAnd when she told 'em over to me, and I meditated on her reasons for\nsendin' 'em, and her need of havin' 'em done, I felt that I would do\nthe errents for her if a breath was left in my body. I felt that I\nwould bear them 2 errents of hern on my tower side by side with my own\nprivate, hefty mission for Josiah.\n\nShe come for a all day's visit; and though she is a vegetable widow, and\nvery humbly, I wuz middlin' glad to see her. But thinks'es I to myself\nas I carried away her things into the bedroom, \u201cShe'll want to send some\nerrent by me;\u201d and I wondered what it wouldn't be.\n\nAnd so it didn't surprise me any when she asked me the first thing when\nI got back \u201cif I would lobby a little for her in Washington.\u201d\n\nAnd I looked agreeable to the idee; for I s'posed it wuz some new kind\nof tattin', mebby, or fancy work. And I told her \u201cI shouldn't have much\ntime, but I would try to buy her some if I could.\u201d\n\nAnd she said \u201cshe wanted me to lobby, myself.\u201d\n\nAnd then I thought mebby it wus some new kind of waltz; and I told her\n\u201cI was too old to lobby, I hadn't lobbied a step since I was married.\u201d\n\nAnd then she said \u201cshe wanted me to canvass some of the senators.\u201d\n\nAnd I hung back, and asked her in a cautius tone \u201chow many she wanted\ncanvassed, and how much canvass it would take?\u201d\n\nI knew I had a good many things to buy for my tower; and, though I\nwanted to obleege Dorlesky, I didn't feel like runnin' into any great\nexpense for canvass.\n\nAnd then she broke off from that subject, and said \u201cshe wanted her\nrights, and wanted the Whiskey Ring broke up.\u201d\n\nAnd then she says, going back to the old subject agin, \u201cI hear that\nJosiah Allen has political hopes: can I canvass him?\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cYes, you can for all me.\u201d But I mentioned cautiously, for I\nbelieve in bein' straightforward, and not holdin' out no false hopes,--I\nsaid \u201cshe must furnish her own canvass, for I hadn't a mite in the\nhouse.\u201d\n\nBut Josiah didn't get home till after her folks come after her. So he\nwuzn't canvassed.\n\nBut she talked a sight about her children, and how bad she felt to be\nparted from 'em, and how much she used to think of her husband, and how\nher hull life wus ruined, and how the Whiskey Ring had done it,--that,\nand wimmen's helpless condition under the law. And she cried, and wept,\nand cried about her children, and her sufferin's she had suffered; and\nI did. I cried onto my apron, and couldn't help it. A new apron too. And\nright while I wus cryin' onto that gingham apron, she made me promise to\ncarry them two errents of hern to the President, and to get 'em done for\nher if I possibly could.\n\n\u201cShe wanted the Whiskey Ring destroyed, and she wanted her rights; and\nshe wanted 'em both in less than 2 weeks.\u201d\n\nI wiped my eyes off, and told her I didn't believe she could get 'em\ndone in that length of time, but I would tell the President about it,\nand \u201cI thought more'n as likely as not he would want to do right by\nher.\u201d And says I, \u201cIf he sets out to, he can haul them babys of yourn\nout of that Ring pretty sudden.\u201d\n\nAnd then, to kinder get her mind off of her sufferin's, I asked her\nhow her sister Susan wus a gettin' along. I hadn't heard from her for\nyears--she married Philemon Clapsaddle; and Dorlesky spoke out as bitter\nas a bitter walnut--a green one. And says she,--\n\n\u201cShe is in the poorhouse.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, Dorlesky Burpy!\u201d says I. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean what I say. My sister, Susan Clapsaddle, is in the poorhouse.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, where is their property all gone?\u201d says I. \u201cThey was well\noff--Susan had five thousand dollars of her own when she married him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know it,\u201d says she. \u201cAnd I can tell you, Josiah Allen's wife, where\ntheir property is gone. It has gone down Philemon Clapsaddle's throat.\nLook down that man's throat, and you will see 150 acres of land, a good\nhouse and barns, 20 sheep, and 40 head of cattle.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy-ee!\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cYes, you will see 'em all down that man's throat.\u201d And says she,\nin still more bitter axents, \u201cYou will see four mules, and a span of\nhorses, two buggies, a double sleigh, and three buffalo-robes. He\nhas drinked 'em all up--and 2 horse-rakes, a cultivator, and a\nthrashin'-machine.\n\n\u201cWhy! Why-ee!\u201d says I agin. \u201cAnd where are the children?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe boys have inherited their father's evil habits, and drink as bad as\nhe duz; and the oldest girl has gone to the bad.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, dear! oh, dear me!\u201d says I. And we both sot silent for a spell.\nAnd then, thinkin' I must say sunthin', and wantin' to strike a safe\nsubject, and a good-lookin' one, I says,--\n\n\u201cWhere is your aunt Eunice'es girl? that pretty girl I see to your house\nonce.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat girl is in the lunatick asylum.\u201d\n\n\u201cDorlesky Burpy!\u201d says I. \u201cBe you a tellin' the truth?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I be, the livin' truth. She went to New York to buy millinary\ngoods for her mother's store. It wus quite cool when she left home, and\nshe hadn't took off her winter clothes: and it come on brilin' hot in\nthe city; and in goin' about from store to store, the heat and the hard\nwork overcome her, and she fell down in the street in a sort of a\nfaintin'-fit, and was called drunk, and dragged off to a police court by\na man who wus a animal in human shape. And he misused her in such a way,\nthat she never got over the horror of what befell her--when she come to,\nto find herself at the mercy of a brute in a man's shape. She went into\na melancholy madness, and wus sent to the asylum. Of course they\ncouldn't have wimmen in such places to take care of wimmen,\u201d says she\nbitterly.\n\nI sithed a long and mournful sithe, and sot silent agin for quite a\nspell. But thinkin' I _must_ be sociable, I says,--\n\n\u201cYour aunt Eunice is well, I s'pose?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is a moulderin' in jail,\u201d says she.\n\n\u201cIn jail? Eunice Keeler in jail?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, in jail.\u201d And Dorlesky's tone wus now like wormwood, wormwood and\ngall.\n\n\u201cYou know, she owns a big property in tenement-houses, and other\nbuildings, where she lives. Of course her taxes wus awful high; and she\ndidn't expect to have any voice in tellin' how that money, a part of her\nown property, that she earned herself in a store, should be used.\n\n[Illustration: MAN LIFTING UP EUNICE.]\n\n\u201cBut she had jest been taxed high for new sidewalks in front of some of\nher buildin's.\n\n\u201cAnd then another man come into power in that ward, and he natrully\nwanted to make some money out of her; and he had a spite aginst her,\ntoo, so he ordered her to build new sidewalks. And she wouldn't tear up\na good sidewalk to please him or anybody else, so she was put to jail\nfor refusin' to comply with the law.\u201d\n\nThinks'es I to myself, I don't believe the law would have been so hard\non her if she hadn't been so humbly. The Burpys are a humbly lot. But I\ndidn't think it out loud. And I didn't uphold the law for feelin' so, if\nit did. No: I says in pityin' tones,--for I wus truly sorry for Eunice\nKeeler,--\n\n\u201cHow did it end?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt hain't ended,\u201d says she. \u201cIt only took place a month ago; and she\nhas got her grit up, and won't pay: and no knowin' how it will end. She\nlays there a moulderin'.\u201d\n\nI myself don't believe Eunice wus \u201cmouldy;\u201d but that is Dorlesky's way\nof talkin',--very flowery.\n\n[Illustration: EUNICE IN JAIL.]\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cdo you think the weather is goin' to moderate?\u201d\n\nI truly felt that I dassent speak to her about any human bein' under the\nsun, not knowin' what turn she would give to the conversation, bein' so\nembittered. But I felt the weather wus safe, and cotton stockin's, and\nfactory-cloth; and I kep' her down onto them subjects for more'n two\nhours.\n\nBut, good land! I can't blame her for bein' embittered aginst men and\nthe laws they have made; for, if ever a woman has been tormented, she\nhas.\n\nIt honestly seems to me as if I never see a human creeter so afflicted\nas Dorlesky Burpy has been, all her life.\n\nWhy, her sufferin's date back before she wus born; and that is goin'\npretty fur back. You see, her father and mother had had some difficulty:\nand he wus took down with billious colic voyolent four weeks before\nDorlesky wus born; and some think it wus the hardness between 'em, and\nsome think it wus the gripin' of the colic at the time he made his will;\nanyway, he willed Dorlesky away, boy or girl, whichever it wuz, to his\nbrother up on the Canada line.\n\nSo, when Dorlesky wus born (and born a girl, entirely onbeknown to her),\nshe wus took right away from her mother, and gin to this brother. Her\nmother couldn't help herself: he had the law on his side. But it jest\nkilled her. She drooped right away and died, before the baby wus a year\nold. She was a affectionate, tenderhearted woman; and her husband wus\nkinder overbearin', and stern always.\n\nBut it wus this last move of hisen that killed her; for I tell you, it\nis pretty tough on a mother to have her baby, a part of her own life,\ntook right out of her arms, and gin to a stranger.\n\nFor this uncle of hern wus a entire stranger to Dorlesky when the will\nwus made. And almost like a stranger to her father, for he hadn't seen\nhim sence he wus a boy; but he knew he hadn't any children, and s'posed\nhe wus rich and respectable. But the truth wuz, he had been a runnin'\ndown every way,--had lost his property and his character, wus dissipated\nand mean (onbeknown, it wus s'posed, to Dorlesky's father). But the will\nwas made, and the law stood. Men are ashamed now, to think the law wus\never in voge; but it wuz, and is now in some of the States. The law wus\nin voge, and the poor young mother couldn't help herself. It has always\nbeen the boast of our American law, that it takes care of wimmen. It\ntook care of her. It held her in its strong, protectin' grasp, and held\nher so tight, that the only way she could slip out of it wus to drop\ninto the grave, which she did in a few months. Then it leggo.\n\nBut it kep' holt of Dorlesky: it bound her tight to her uncle, while he\nrun through with what little property she had; while he sunk lower and\nlower, until at last he needed the very necessaries of life; and then\nhe bound her out to work, to a woman who kep' a drinkin'-den, and the\nlowest, most degraded hant of vice.\n\nTwice Dorlesky run away, bein' virtuous but humbly; but them strong,\nprotectin' arms of the law that had held her mother so tight, jest\nreached out, and dragged her back agin. Upheld by them, her uncle could\ncompel her to give her service wherever he wanted her to work; and he\nwus owin' this woman, and she wanted Dorlesky's work, so she had to\nsubmit.\n\nBut the 3d time, she made a effort so voyalent that she got away. A good\nwoman, who, bein' nothin' but a woman, couldn't do any thing towards\nonclinchin' them powerful arms that wuz protectin' her, helped her to\nslip through 'em. And Dorlesky come to Jonesville to live with a sister\nof that good woman; changed her name, so's it wouldn't be so easy to\nfind her; grew up to be a nice, industrious girl. And when the woman she\nwas took by, died, she left Dorlesky quite a handsome property.\n\nAnd finally she married Lank Rumsey, and did considerable well, it\nwas s'posed. Her property, put with what little he had, made 'em a\ncomfortable home; and they had two pretty little children,--a boy and\na girl. But when the little girl was a baby, he took to drinkin',\nneglected his business, got mixed up with a whisky-ring, whipped\nDorlesky--not so very hard. He went accordin' to law; and the law of\nthe United States don't approve of a man whippin' his wife enough to\nendanger her life--it says it don't. He made every move of hisen lawful,\nand felt that Dorlesky hadn't ort to complain and feel hurt. But a good\nwhippin' will make anybody feel hurt, law or no law. And then he parted\nwith her, and got her property and her two little children. Why, it\nseemed as if every thing under the sun and moon, that _could_ happen to\na woman, had happened to Dorlesky, painful things, and gaulin'.\n\nJest before Lank parted with her, she fell on a broken sidewalk: some\nthink he tripped her up, but it never was proved. But, anyway, Dorlesky\nfell, and broke her hip bone; and her husband sued the corporation, and\ngot ten thousand dollars for it. Of course, the law give the money to\nhim, and she never got a cent of it. But she wouldn't never have made\nany fuss over that, knowin' that the law of the United States was such.\nBut what made it gaulin' to her wuz, that, while she was layin' there\nachin' in splints, he took that very money and used it to court up\nanother woman with. Gin her presents, jewellry, bunnets, head-dresses,\nartificial flowers, and etcetery, out of Dorlesky's own hip-money.\n\n[Illustration: DORLESKY'S TRIALS.]\n\nAnd I don't know as any thing could be much more gaulin' to a woman than\nthat wuz,--while she lay there, groanin' in splints, to have her husband\ntake the money for her own broken bones, and dress up another woman like\na doll with it.\n\nBut the law gin it to him; and he was only availin' himself of the\nglorious liberty of our free republic, and doin' as he was a mind to.\n\nAnd it was s'posed that that very hip-money was what made the match.\nFor, before she wus fairly out of splints, he got a divorce from her.\nAnd by the help of that money, and the Whisky Ring, he got her two\nlittle children away from her.\n\nAnd I wonder if there is a mother in the land, that can blame Dorlesky\nfor gettin' mad, and wantin' her rights, and wantin' the Whisky Ring\nbroke up, when they think it over,--how she has been fooled round with\nby men, willed away, and whipped and parted with and stole from. Why,\nthey can't blame her for feelin' fairly savage about 'em--and she duz.\nFor as she says to me once when we wus a talkin' it over, how every\nthing had happened to her that could happen to a woman, and how curious\nit wuz,--\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says she, with a axent like boneset and vinegar,--\u201cand what few\nthings there are that hain't happened to me, has happened to my folks.\u201d\n\nAnd, sure enough, I couldn't dispute her. Trouble and wrongs and\nsufferin's seemed to be epidemic in the race of Burpy wimmen. Why, one\nof her aunts on her father's side, Patty Burpy, married for her first\nhusband Eliphalet Perkins. He was a minister, rode on a circuit. And he\ntook Patty on it too; and she rode round with him on it, a good deal of\nthe time. But she never loved to: she wus a woman who loved to be still,\nand be kinder settled down at home.\n\nBut she loved Eliphalet so well, she would do any thing to please him:\nso she rode round with him on that circuit, till she was perfectly\nfagged out.\n\nHe was a dretful good man to her; but he wus kinder poor, and they had\nhard times to get along. But what property they had wuzn't taxed, so\nthat helped some; and Patty would make one doller go a good ways.\n\nNo, their property wasn't taxed till Eliphalet died. Then the supervisor\ntaxed it the very minute the breath left his body; run his horse, so it\nwas said, so's to be sure to get it onto the tax-list, and comply with\nthe law.\n\nYou see, Eliphalet's salary stopped when his breath did. And I s'pose\nmebby the law thought, seem' she was a havin' trouble, she might jest as\nwell have a little more; so it taxed all the property it never had taxed\na cent for before.\n\nBut she had this to console her anyway,--that the law didn't forget her\nin her widowhood. No: the law is quite thoughtful of wimmen, by spells.\nIt says, the law duz, that it protects wimmen. And I s'pose in some\nmysterious way, too deep for wimmen to understand, it was protectin' her\nnow.\n\nWall, she suffered along, and finally married agin. I wondered why she\ndid. But she was such a quiet, home-lovin' woman, that it was s'posed\nshe wanted to settle down, and be kinder still and sot. But of all the\nbad luck she had! She married on short acquaintance, and he proved to be\na perfect wanderer. Why, he couldn't keep still. It was s'posed to be a\nmark.\n\nHe moved Patty thirteen times in two years; and at last he took her into\na cart,--a sort of a covered wagon,--and travelled right through the\nEastern States with her. He wanted to see the country, and loved to\nlive in the wagon: it was his make. And, of course, the law give him the\ncontrol of her body; and she had to go where he moved it, or else part\nwith him. And I s'pose the law thought it was guardin' and nourishin'\nher when it was a joltin' her over them praries and mountains and\nabysses. But it jest kep' her shook up the hull of the time.\n\nIt wus the regular Burpy luck.\n\n[Illustration: PATTY AND HUSBAND TRAVELLING IN THE FAR WEST.]\n\nAnd then, another one of her aunts, Drusilla Burpy, she married a\nindustrius, hard-workin' man,--one that never drinked a drop, and was\nsound on the doctrines, and give good measure to his customers: he was\na grocer-man. And a master hand for wantin' to foller the laws of his\ncountry, as tight as laws could be follered. And so, knowin' that the\nlaw approved of \u201cmoderate correction\u201d for wimmen, and that \u201ca man might\nwhip his wife, but not enough to endanger her life,\u201d he bein' such a\nmaster hand for wantin' to do every thing faithful, and do his very best\nfor his customers, it was s'posed that he wanted to do his best for the\nlaw; and so, when he got to whippin' Drusilla, he would whip her _too_\nsevere--he would be _too_ faithful to it.\n\nYou see, the way ont was, what made him whip her at all wuz, she was\ncross to him. They had nine little children. She always thought that two\nor three children would be about all one woman could bring up well \u201cby\nhand,\u201d when that one hand wuz so awful full of work, as will be told\nmore ensuin'ly. But he felt that big families wuz a protection to the\nGovernment; and \u201che wanted fourteen boys,\u201d he said, so they could all\nfoller their father's footsteps, and be noble, law-making, law-abiding\ncitizens, jest as he was.\n\nBut she had to do every mite of the housework, and milk cows, and make\nbutter and cheese, and cook and wash and scour, and take all the care\nof the children, day and night, in sickness and in health, and spin and\nweave the cloth for their clothes (as wimmen did in them days), and then\nmake 'em, and keep 'em clean. And when there wuz so many of 'em, and\nonly about a year's difference in their ages, some of 'em--why, I s'pose\nshe sometimes thought more of her own achin' back than she did of the\ngood of the Government; and she would get kinder discouraged sometimes,\nand be cross to him.\n\nAnd knowin' his own motives was so high and loyal, he felt that he ought\nto whip her. So he did.\n\nAnd what shows that Drusilla wuzn't so bad as he s'posed she wuz, what\nshows that she did have her good streaks, and a deep reverence for the\nlaw, is, that she stood his whippin's first-rate, and never whipped him.\n\nNow, she wuz fur bigger than he wuz, weighed 80 pounds the most, and\nmight have whipped him if the law had been such.\n\n[Illustration: BEATING HIS WIFE.]\n\nBut they was both law-abidin', and wanted to keep every preamble; so she\nstood it to be whipped, and never once whipped him in all the seventeen\nyears they lived together.\n\nShe died when her twelfth child was born: there wus jest 13 months\ndifference in the age of that and the one next older. And they said she\noften spoke out in her last sickness, and said,--\n\n\u201cThank fortune, I have always kept the law.\u201d\n\nAnd they said the same thought wus a great comfort to him in his last\nmoments.\n\nHe died about a year after she did, leaving his 2nd wife with twins and\na good property.\n\nThen, there was Abagail Burpy. She married a sort of a high-headed\nman, though one that paid his debts, and was truthful, and considerable\ngood-lookin', and played well on the fiddle. Why, it seemed as if he had\nalmost every qualification for makin' a woman happy, only he had jest\nthis one little excentricity,--that man would lock up Abagail Burpy's\nclothes every time he got mad at her.\n\nOf course the law give her clothes to him; and knowin' it was one of the\nlaws of the United States, she wouldn't have complained only when she\nhad company. But it was mortifyin', and nobody could dispute it, to have\ncompany come, and nothin' to put on.\n\nSeveral times she had to withdraw into the wood-house, and stay most\nof the day, shiverin', and under the cellar-stairs, and round in\nclothes-presses.\n\nBut he boasted in prayer-meetin's, and on boxes before grocery-stores,\nthat he wus a law-abidin' citizen; and he wuz. Eben Flanders wouldn't\nlie for anybody.\n\nBut I'll bet that Abagail Flanders beat our old Revolutionary 4 mothers\nin thinkin' out new laws, when she lay round under stairs, and behind\nbarrells, in her nightdress.\n\nYou see, when a man hides his wive's corset and petticoat, it is\ngovernin' without the \u201cconsent of the governed.\u201d And if you don't\nbelieve it, you ort to have peeked round them barrells, and seen\nAbagail's eyes. Why, they had hull reams of by-laws in 'em, and\npreambles, and \u201cdeclarations of independence.\u201d So I have been told.\n\nWhy, it beat every thing I ever heard on, the lawful sufferin's of them\nwimmen. For there wuzn't nothin' illegal about one single trouble of\ntheirn. They suffered accordin' to law, every one of 'em. But it wus\ntuff for 'em--very tuff.\n\nAnd their all bein' so dretful humbly wuz and is another drawback to\n'em; though that, too, is perfectly lawful, as everybody knows.\n\nAnd Dorlesky looks as bad agin as she would otherways, on account of her\nteeth.\n\nIt wus after Lank had begun to kinder get after this other woman, and\nwus indifferent to his wive's looks, that Dorlesky had a new set of\nteeth on her upper jaw. And they sort o' sot out, and made her look so\nbad that it fairly made her ache to look at herself in the glass. And\nthey hurt her gooms too. And she carried 'em back to the dentist, and\nwanted him to make her another set.\n\nBut the dentist acted mean, and wouldn't take 'em back, and sued Lank\nfor the pay. And they had a lawsuit. And the law bein' such that a\nwoman can't testify in court in any matter that is of mutual interest\nto husband and wife--and Lank wantin' to act mean, too, testified that\n\u201cthey wus good sound teeth.\u201d\n\nAnd there Dorlesky sot right in front of 'em with her gooms achin', and\nher face all pokin' out, and lookin' like furyation, and couldn't say a\nword. But she had to give in to the law.\n\nAnd ruther than go toothless, she wears 'em to this day. And I do\nbelieve it is the raspin' of them teeth aginst her gooms, and her\ndiscouraged and mad feelin's every time she looks in a glass, that helps\nto embitter her towards men, and the laws men have made, so's a woman\ncan't have the control over her own teeth and her own bones.\n\nWall, Dorlesky went home about 4 P.M., I a promisin' at the last minute\nas sacred as I could, without usin' a book, to do her errents for her.\n\nI urged her to stay to supper, but she couldn't; for she said the man\nwhere she worked was usin' his horses, and couldn't come after her agin.\nAnd she said that--\n\n\u201cMercy on her! how could anybody eat any more supper after such a dinner\nas I had got?\u201d\n\nAnd it wuzn't nothin' extra, I didn't think. No better than my common\nrun of dinners.\n\nWall, she hadn't been gone over an hour (she a hollerin' from the wagon,\na chargin' on me solemn, about the errents,--the man she works for is\ndeef, deef as a post,--and I a noddin' to her firm, honorable nods, that\nI would do 'em), and I wus a slickin' up the settin'-room, and Martha,\nwho had jest come in, wus measurin' off my skirt-breadths, when Josiah\nAllen drove up, and Cicely and the boy with him.\n\nAnd there I had been a layin' out to write to her that very night to\ntell her I wus goin' away, and to be sure and come jest as quick as I\ngot back!\n\nWall, I never see the time I wuzn't glad to see Cicely, and I felt that\nshe could visit to Tirzah Ann's and Thomas J.'s while I wus gone. She\nlooked dretful pale and sad, I thought; but she seemed glad to see\nme, and glad to get back. And the boy asked Josiah and Ury and me 47\nquestions between the wagon and the front doorstep, for I counted 'em.\nHe wus well.\n\nI broached the subject of my tower to Cicely when she and I wus all\nalone in her room. And, if you'll believe it, she all rousted up with\nthe idee of wantin' to go too.\n\nShe says, \u201cYou know, aunt Samantha, just how I have prayed and labored\nfor my boy's future; how I have made all the efforts that it is possible\nfor a woman to make; how I have thrown my heart and life into the\nwork,--but I have done no good. That letter,\u201d says she, takin' one out\nof her pocket, and throwin' it into my lap,--\u201cthat letter tells me just\nwhat I knew so well before,--just how weak a woman is; that they have no\npower, only the power to suffer.\u201d\n\nIt wus from that old executor, refusin' to comply with some request she\nhad made about her own property,--a request of right and truth.\n\nOh, how glad I would have been to had him execkuted that very minute!\nWhy, I'd done it myself if wimmen could execkit--but they can't.\n\nSays she, \u201cI'll go with you to Washington,--I and the boy. Perhaps I can\ndo something for him there.\u201d But when she mentioned the boy, I demurred\nin my own mind, and kep' a demurrin'. Thinks'es I, how can I stand it,\nas tired as I expect to be, to have him a askin' questions all the hull\ntime? She see I was a demurrin'; and her pretty face grew sadder than it\nhad, and overcasteder.\n\nAnd as I see that, I gin in at once, and says with a cheerful face, but\na forebodin' mind,--\n\n\u201cWall, Cicely, we three will embark together on our tower.\u201d\n\nWall, after supper Cicely and I sot down under the front stoop,--it\nwas a warm evenin',--and we talked some about other wimmen. Not runnin'\ntalk, or gossipin' talk, but jest plain talk, about her aunt Mary, and\nher aunt Melissa, and her aunt Mary's daughter, who wus a runnin' down,\nrunnin' faster than ever, so I judged from what she said. And how Susan\nAnn Grimshaw that was, had a young babe. She said her aunt Mary was\nbetter now, so she had started for the Michigan; but she had had a\ndretful sick spell while she was there.\n\nWhile she wuz a tellin' me this, Cicely sot on one of the steps of the\nstoop: I sot up under it in my rockin'-chair. And she looked dretful\ngood to me. She had on a white dress. She most always wears white in the\nhouse, when we hain't got company; and always wears black when she is\ndressed up, and when she goes out.\n\nThis dress was made of white mull. The yoke wus made all of thin\nembroidery, and her white neck and shoulders shone through it like snow.\nHer sleeves was all trimmed with lace, and fell back from her pretty\nwhite arms. Her hands wus clasped over her knees; and her hair, which\nthe boy had got loose a playin' with her, wus fallin' round her face\nand neck. And her great, earnest eyes wus lookin' into the West, and the\nlight from the sunset fallin' through the mornin'-glorys wus a fallin'\nover her, till I declare, I never see any thing look so pretty in my\nhull life. And there was some thin' more, fur more than prettiness in\nher face, in her big eyes.\n\nIt wuzn't unhappiness, and it wuzn't happiness, and I don't know as I\ncan tell what it wuz. It seemed as if she wuz a lookin' fur, fur\naway, further than Jonesville, further than the lake that lay beyend\nJonesville, and which was pure gold now,--a sea of glass mingled with\nfire,--further than the cloudy masses in the western heavens, which\nlooked like a city of shinin' mansions, fur off; but her eyes was\nlookin' away off, beyend them.\n\nAnd I kep' still, and didn't feel like talkin' about other wimmen.\n\nFinally she spoke out. \u201cAunt Samantha, what do you suppose I thought\nwhen dear aunt Mary was so ill when I was there?\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cI don't know, dear: what did you?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I thought, that, though I loved her so dearly, I almost wished\nshe would die while I was there.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, Cicely!\u201d says I. \u201cWhy-ee! what did you wish that for? and thinkin'\nso much of your aunt as you do.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: LOOKING BEYEND THE SUNSET.]\n\n\u201cWell, you know how mother and aunt Mary loved each other, how near they\nwere to each other. Why, mother could always tell when aunt Mary was\nill or in trouble, and she was just the same in regard to mother. And I\ncan't think that when death has freed the soul from the flesh, that they\nwill have less spiritual knowledge of each other than when they were\nhere; and I felt, that with such a love as theirs, death would only make\ntheir souls nearer: and you know what the Bible says,--that 'God shall\nmake of his angels ministering spirits;' and I _know_ He would send\nno other angel but my mother, to dear aunt Mary's bedside, to take her\nspirit home. And I thought, that, if I were there, my mother would be\nthere right in the room with me; and I didn't know but I might _feel_\nher presence if I could not see her. And I _do_ want my mother so\nsometimes, aunt Samantha,\u201d says she with the tears comin' into them\nsoft brown eyes. \u201cIt seems as if she would tell me what to do for the\nboy--she always knew what was right and best to do.\u201d\n\nSays I to myself, \u201cFor the land's sake, what won't Cicely think on\nnext?\u201d But I didn't say a word, mind you, not a single word would I say\nto hurt that child's feelin's--not for a silver dollar, I wouldn't.\n\nI only says, in calm accents,--\n\n\u201cDon't for mercy's sake, child, talk of seein' your mother now.\u201d\n\nShe looked far off into the shinin' western heavens with that deep,\nsearchin', but soft gaze,--seemin' to look clear through them cloudy\nmansions of rose and pearl,--and says she,--\n\n\u201cIf I were good enough, I think I could.\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cCicely, you are goin' to take cold, with nothin' round your\nshoulders.\u201d Says I, \u201cThe weather is very ketchin', and it looks to me as\nif we wus goin' to have quite a spell of it.\u201d\n\nAnd the boy overheard me, and asked me 75 questions about ketchin' the\nweather.\n\n\u201cIf the weather set a trap? If it ketched with bait, or with a hook, and\nwhat it ketched? and how? and who?\u201d\n\nOh my stars! what a time I did have!\n\nThe next mornin' after this Cicely wuzn't well enough to get up. I\ncarried up her breakfast with my own hands,--a good one, though I am fur\nfrom bein' the one that ort to say it.\n\nAnd after breakfast, along in the forenoon, Martha, who was makin'\nmy dress, felt troubled in mind as to whether she had better cut the\npolenay kitrin' ways of the cloth, or not: and Miss Gowdey had jest had\none made in the height of the fashion, to Jonesville; and so to ease\nMartha's mind (she is one that gets deprested easy, when weighty\nsubjects are pressin' her down), I said I would run over cross-lots, and\ncarry home a drawin' of tea I had borrowed, and look at the polenay, and\nbring back tidin's from it. And I wus goin' there acrost the orchard,\nwhen I see the boy a layin' on his back under a apple-tree, lookin' up\ninto the sky; and says I,--\n\n\u201cWhat be you doin' here, Paul?\u201d\n\nHe never got up, nor moved a mite. That is one of the peculiarities of\nthe boy, you can't surprise him: nothin' seems to startle him.\n\nHe lay still, and spoke out for all the world as if I had been there\nwith him all day.\n\n\u201cI am lookin' to see if I can see it. I thought I got a glimpse of it a\nminute ago, but it wus only a white cloud.\u201d\n\n\u201cLookin' for what?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cThe gate of that City that comes down out of the heavens. You know,\nuncle Josiah read about it this morning, out of that big book he prays\nout of after breakfast. He said the gate was one pearl.\n\n\u201cAnd I asked mamma what a pearl was, and she said it was just like that\nring she wears that papa gave her. And I asked her where the City was,\nand she said it was up in the heavens. And I asked her if I should ever\nsee it; and she said, if I was good, it would swing down out of the sky,\nsometime, and that shining gate would open, and I should walk through it\ninto the City.\n\n[Illustration: LOOKING FOR THE CITY.]\n\n\u201cAnd I went right to being good, that minute; and I have been good for\nas many as three hours, I should think. And _say_, how long have you got\nto be good before you can go through? And _say_, can you see it before\nyou go through? And SAY\u201d--\n\nBut I had got most out of hearin' then.\n\n\u201cAnd _say_\u201d--\n\nI heard his last \u201csay\u201d just as I got out of hearin' of him.\n\nHe acted kinder disappointed at dinner-time, and said \u201che wus tired of\nwatchin', and tired out of bein' good;\u201d and he wus considerable cross\nall that afternoon. But he got clever agin before bedtime. And he come\nand leaned up aginst my lap at sundown, and asked me, I guess, about 200\nquestions about the City.\n\nAnd his eyes looked big and dreamy and soft, and his cheeks looked rosy,\nand his mouth awful good and sweet. And his curls wus kinder moist, and\nhung down over his white forehead. I _did_ love him, and couldn't help\nit, chin or no chin.\n\nHe had been still for quite a spell, a thinkin'; and at last he broke\nout,--\n\n\u201cSay, auntie, shall I see my father there in the City?\u201d\n\nAnd I didn't know what to tell him; for you know what it says,--\n\n\u201c_Without_ are murderers.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: ASKING ABOUT THE CITY.]\n\nBut then, agin, I thought, what will become of the respectable church\nmembers who sell the fire that flames up in a man's soul, and ruins his\nlife? What will become of them who lend their votes and their influence\nto make it right? They vote on Saturdays, to make the sale of this\npoison legal, and on Sundays go to church with their respectable\nfamilies. And they expect to go right to heaven, of course; for they\nhave improved all the means of grace. Hired costly pews, and give big\ncharities--in money obtained by sellin' robberies, murders, broken\nhearts, ruined lives.\n\nBut the boy wanted an answer; and his eyes looked questioning but soft.\n\n\u201cSay, auntie, do you think we'll find him there, mamma and I? You know,\nthat is what mamma cries so for,--she wants him so bad. And do you think\nhe will stand just inside the gate, waiting for us? _Say!_\u201d\n\nBut agin I thought of what it said,--\n\n\u201cNo drunkard shall inherit eternal life.\u201d\n\nAnd agin I didn't know what to say, and I hurried him off to bed.\n\nBut, after he had gone, I spoke out entirely unbeknown to myself, and\nsays,--\n\n\u201cI can't see through it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can't see through what?\u201d says Josiah, who wus jest a comin' in.\n\n\u201cI can't see through it, why drunkards and murderers are punished, and\nthem that make 'em drink and murder go free. I can't see through it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I don't see how you can see through any thing here--dark as\npitch.\u201d Here he fell over a stool, which made him madder.\n\n\u201cFolks make fools of themselves, a follerin' up that subject.\u201d Here he\nstubbed his foot aginst the rockin'-chair, and most fell, and snapped\nout enough to take my head off,--\n\n\u201cThe dumb fools will get so before long, that a man can't drink milk\nporridge without their prayin' over him.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cBe calm! stand right still in the middle of the floor, Josiah\nAllen, and I'll light a lamp,\u201d which I did; and he sot down cleverer,\nthough he says,--\n\n\u201cYou want to take away all the rights of a man. Liquor is good for\nsickness, and you know it. You go onto extremes, you go too fur.\u201d\n\nSays I calmly, \u201cDo you s'pose, at this late hour, I am goin' to stop\nbein' mejum? No! mejum have I lived, and mejum will I die. I believe\nliquor is good for medicine: if I should say I didn't, I should be a\nlyin', which I am fur from wantin' to do at my age. I think it kep'\nmother Allen alive for years, jest as I believe arsenic broke up Bildad\nSmith's chills. And I s'pose folks have jest as good a right to use it\nfor the benefit of their health, as to use any other pizen, or fire, or\nany thing.\n\n\u201cAnd it should be used jest like pizen and fire and etcetery. You don't\nwant to eat pizen for a treat, or pass it round amongst your friends.\nYou don't want to play with fire for fun, or burn yourself up with it.\nYou don't want to use it to confligrate yourself or anybody else.\n\n\u201cSo with liquor. You don't want to drink liquor to kill yourself with,\nor to kill other folks. You don't want to inebriate with it. If I had my\nway, Josiah Allen,\u201d says I firmly, \u201cthe hull liquor-trade should be\nin the hands of doctors, who wouldn't sell a drop without knowin'\n_positive_ that it wus _needed_ for sickness, or the aged and infirm.\nGood, honest doctors who couldn't be bought nor sold.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere would you find 'em?\u201d says Josiah in a gruff tone (I mistrust his\ntoe pained him).\n\nSays I thoughtfully, \u201cSurely there is one good, reliable man left in\nevery town--that could be found.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don't know about it,\u201d says he, sort o' musin'ly. \u201cI am gettin' pretty\nold to begin it, but I don't know but I might get to be a doctor now.\u201d\n\nSays he, brightenin' up, \u201cIt can't take much study to deal out a dose of\nsalts now and then, or count anybody's pult.\u201d\n\nBut says I firmly, \u201cGive up that idee at once, Josiah Allen. I have\ncome out alive, out of all your other plans and progects, and I hain't a\ngoin' to be killed now at my age, by you as a doctor.\u201d\n\nMy tone wus so powerful, and even skairful, that he gin up the idee, and\nwound up the clock, and went to bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nCicely wus some better the next day. And two days before we sot sail for\nWashington, Philury Mesick, the girl Ury was payin' attention to, and\nwho was goin' to keep my house durin' my absence on my tower, come with\na small, a very small trunk, ornimented with brass nails.\n\nPoor little thing! I wus always sorry for her, she is so little, and so\nfreckled, and so awful willin' to do jest as anybody wants her to. She\nis a girl that Miss Solomon Gowdey kinder took. And I think, if there\nis any condition that is hard, it is to be \u201ckinder took.\u201d Why, if I was\ntook at all, I should want to be \u201c_took_.\u201d\n\nBut Miss Gowdey took Philury jest enough not to pay her any regular\nwages, and didn't take her enough so Philury could collect any pay from\nher when she left. She left, because there wus a hardness between 'em,\non account of a grindstun. Philury said Miss Gowdey's little boy broke\nthe grindstun, and the boy laid it to Philury. Anyway, the grindstun wus\nbroke, and it made a hardness. And when Philury left Miss Gowdey's, all\nher worldly wealth wuz held in that poor, pitiful lookin' trunk. Why,\nthe trunk looked like Philury, and Philury looked like the trunk. It\nlooked small, and meek, and well disposed; and the brass nails looked\nsome like frecks, only larger.\n\nWall, I felt sorry for her: and I s'posed, that, married or single, she\nwould have to wear stockin's; so I told her, that, besides her wages,\nshe might have all the lamb's-wool yarn she wanted to spin while I was\ngone, after doin' the house-work.\n\nShe wus tickled enough as I told her.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says she, \u201cI can spin enough to last me for years and years.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cso much the better. I have mistrusted,\u201d says I, \u201cthat\nMiss Gowdey wouldn't do much for you on account of that hardness about\nthe grindstun; and knowin' that you hain't got no mother, I have laid\nout to do middlin' well by you and Ury when you get married.\u201d\n\nAnd she blushed, and said \u201cshe expected to marry Ury sometime--years and\nyears hence.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cyou can spin the yarn anyway.\u201d\n\nPhilury is a real handy little thing about the house. And so willin' and\nclever, that I guess, if I had asked her to jump into the oven, and bake\nherself, she would have done it. And so I told Josiah.\n\n[Illustration: PHILURY.]\n\nAnd he said \u201che thought a little more bakin' wouldn't hurt her.\u201d Says\nhe, \u201cShe is pretty soft.\u201d\n\nAnd says I, \u201cSoft or not, she's good. And that is more than I can say\nfor some folks, who _think_ they know a little more.\u201d\n\nI will stand up for my sect.\n\nWall, in three days' time we sot sail for Washington, D.C., I a feelin'\nwell about Josiah. For Philury and Ury wus clever, and would do well by\nhim. And the cubbard wus full and overflowin' with every thing good to\neat. And I felt that I had indeed, in that cubbard, left him a consoler.\n\nJosiah took us to the train about an hour and a half too early. But\nI wus glad we wus on time, because it would have worked Josiah up\ndretfully if we hadn't been. For he had spent the most of the latter\npart of the night in gettin' up and walkin' out to the clock to see if\nit wus approachin' train time: the train left at a quarter to ten.\n\nI wus glad on his account, and also on my own; for at the last minute,\nas you may say, who should come a runnin' down to the depot but Sam\nShelmadine, a wantin' to send a errent by me to Washington.\n\nHe kinder wunk me out to one side of the waitin'-room, and asked me \u201cif\nI would try to get him a license to steal horses.\u201d\n\nIt kinder runs in the blood of the Shelmadines to love to steal, and he\nowned up that it did. But he wuzn't goin' into it for that, he said: he\nwanted the profit of it.\n\nBut I told him \u201cI wouldn't do any such thing;\u201d and I looked at him in\nsuch a witherin' way, that I should most probable have withered him,\nonly he is blind with one eye, and I was on the blind side.\n\nBut he argued with me, and said it was no worse than to give licenses\nfor other kinds of meanness.\n\nHe said they give licenses now to steal--steal folks'es senses away, and\nthen they would steal every thing else, and murder, and tear round into\nevery kind of wickedness. But he didn't ask that. He wanted things done\nfair and square: he jest wanted to steal horses. He was goin' West, and\nhe thought he could do a good business, and lay up something. If he had\na license, he shouldn't be afraid of bein' shot up, or shot.\n\nBut I refused the job with scorn; and jest as I wus refusin', the cars\nsnorted, and I wus glad they did. They seemed to express in that wild\nsnort something of the indignation I felt.\n\nThe _idee_.\n\nWhen Cicely and the boy and I got to Washington, the shades of twilight\nwas a shadin the earth gently; and we got a man to take us to Condelick\nSmith'ses.\n\nThe man was in a hack, as Cicely called it (and he had a hackin' cough,\ntoo, which made it seem more singular). We told him to take us right to\nMiss Condelick Smith'ses. Condelick is my own cousin on my own side, and\ntravelin' on the road for groceries.\n\nShe keeps a nice, quiet boardin'-house. Only a few boarders, \u201cwith the\ncomforts of a home, and congenial society,\u201d as she wrote to me when she\nheard I wus a comin' to Washington. She said we had _got_ to go to\nher house; so we went, with the distinct knowledge in our minds and\npocket-books, of payin' for our 3 boards.\n\nShe was very tickled to see us, and embraced us almost warmly. She had\nbeen over a hot fire a cookin'. She is humbly, but likely, I have been\ntold and believe.\n\nShe has got a wen on her cheek, but that don't hurt her any. Wens hain't\nnothin' that detract from a person's moral worth.\n\nThere is only one child in the family,--Condelick, Jr., aged 13. A\ngood, fat boy, with white hair and blue eyes, and a great capacity for\nblushin', but seemed to be good dispositioned.\n\nIt wus late supper time; and we had only time to go up into our rooms,\nand bathe our weary faces and hands, when we had to go down to supper.\n\nMiss Condelick Smith called it dinner: she misspoke herself. Havin' so\nmuch on her hands, it is no wonder that she should make a slip once in a\nwhile. I should, myself, if my mind wuzn't like iron for strength. There\nwus only three or four to the table besides us: it wuz later than their\nusial supper time. There wus a young couple there who had jest been\nmarried, and come there to live.\n\nEver sense we left home we had seen sights and sights of brides and\ngroomses. It seemed to be a good time of year for 'em; and Cicely and I\nwould pass the time by guessin', from their demeaners, how long they had\nbeen married. You know they act very soft the first day or two, and then\nharden gradually, as time passes, till sometimes they get very hard.\n\nWall, as I looked at this young pair, I whispered to Cicely,--\n\n\u201c2 days.\u201d\n\nThey acted well. Though I see with pain that the bride was tryin' to\nfoller after the groom blindly, and I see she was a layin' up trouble\nfor herself. Amongst other good things, they had a baked chicken for\nsupper; and when the young husband wus asked what part of the fowl he\nwould take, he said,--\n\n\u201cIt was immaterial!\u201d\n\nAnd then, when they asked the bride, she blushed sweetly, and said,--\n\n\u201cShe would take a piece of the immaterial too.\u201d\n\nAnd she bein' next to me, I said to her in a low tone, but firm and\nmotherly,--\n\n\u201cYou are a beginner in married life; and I say to you, as one who has\nhad stiddy practice for 20 years, begin right. Let your affections be\nfirm as adamant, cling closely to Duty's apron-strings, but do not too\nblindly copy after your groom. Try to stand up on your own feet, and be\na helpmate to him, not a dead weight for him to carry. Do branch right\nout, and tell what part of the fowl, or of life, you want, if it hain't\nnothin' but the gizzard or neck; and then try to get it. If you don't\nhave any self-reliance, if you don't try to help yourself any, it is\nhighly probable to me, that you won't get any thing more out of the\nfowl, or of life, than a piece of 'the immaterial.'\u201d\n\nShe blushed, and said she would. And so Duty bein' appeased, and\nattended to, I calmly pursued my own meal.\n\nThe next morning Cicely was so beat out that she couldn't get up at\nall. She wuzn't sick, only jest tired out. And so the boy and I sot out\nalone.\n\nI told Cicely I would do my errents the first thing, so as to leave my\nmind and my conscience clear for the rest of my stay.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA ADVISING THE BRIDE.]\n\nAnd I knew there wuz a good many who would feel hurt, deeply hurt, if I\ndidn't notice 'em right off the first thing. The President, and lots of\n'em, I knew would take it right to heart, and feel dretfully worked up\nand slighted, if I didn't call on 'em.\n\nAnd then, I had to carry Dorlesky's errent to the President anyway. And\nI thought I would tend to it right away, so I sot out in good season.\n\nWhen you are a noticin' anybody, and makin' 'em perfectly happy, you\nfeel well yourself. I was in good spirits, and quite a number of 'em.\nThe boy wus feelin' well too. He had a little black velvet suit and a\ndeep lace collar, and his gold curls was a hangin' down under his little\nblack velvet cap. They made him look more babyish; but I believe Cicely\nkept 'em so to make him look young, she felt so dubersome about his\nfuture. But he looked sweet enough to kiss right there in the street.\n\nI, too, looked well, very. I had on that new dress, Bismark brown, the\ncolor remindin' me of 2 noble patriots. And made by a Martha. I thought\nof that proudly, as I looked at George's benign face on the top of\nthe monument, and wondered what he'd say if he see it, and hefted my\nemotions I had when causin' it to be made for my tower. I realized as\nI meandered along, that patriotism wus enwrappin' me from head to foot;\nfor my polynay was long, and my head was completely full of Gass'es\n\u201cJournal,\u201d and Starks'es \u201cLife of Washington,\u201d and a few martyrs.\n\nI wus carryin' Dorlesky's errents.\n\nOn the outside of my head I had a good honorable shirred silk bunnet,\nthe color of my dress, a good solid brown (that same color, B. B.). And\nmy usial long green veil, with a lute-string ribbon run in, hung down on\none side of my bunnet in its wonted way.\n\nIt hung gracefully, and yet it seemed to me there wus both dignity and\nprinciple in its hang. It give me a sort of a dressy look, but none too\ndressy.\n\nAnd so we wended our way down the broad, beautiful streets towards the\nWhite House.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA AND PAUL ON THE WAY TO THE WHITE HOUSE.]\n\nHandsomer streets I never see. I had thought Jonesville streets wus\nmiddlin' handsome and roomy. Why, two double wagons can go by each other\nwith perfect safety, right in front of the grocery stores, where there\nis lots of boxes too; and wimmen can be a walkin' there too at the same\ntime, hefty ones.\n\nBut, good land! Loads of hay could pass each other here, and droves of\ndromedaries, and camels, and not touch each other, and then there\nwould be lots of room for men and wimmen, and for wagons to rumble, and\nperioguers to float up and down,--if perioguers could sail on dry land.\n\nRoomier, handsomer, well shadeder streets I never want to see, nor don't\nexpect to. Why, Jonesville streets are like tape compared with 'em; and\nLoontown and Toad Holler, they are like thread, No. 50 (allegory).\n\nBub Smith wus well acquainted with the President's hired man, so he let\nus in without parlay.\n\nI don't believe in talkin big as a general thing. But thinks'es I, Here\nI be, a holdin' up the dignity of Jonesville: and here I be, on a deep,\nheart-searchin' errent to the Nation. So I said, in words and axents\na good deal like them I have read of in \u201cChildren of the Abbey,\u201d and\n\u201cCharlotte Temple,\u201d--\n\n\u201cIs the President of the United States within?\u201d\n\nHe said he was, but said sunthin' about his not receiving calls in the\nmornings.\n\nBut I says in a very polite way,--for I like to put folks at their ease,\npresidents or peddlers or any thing,--\n\n\u201cIt hain't no matter at all if he hain't dressed up--of course he wuzn't\nexpectin' company. Josiah don't dress up mornin's.\u201d\n\nAnd then he says something about \u201che didn't know but he was engaged.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThat hain't no news to me, nor the Nation. We have been a\nhearin' that for three years, right along. And if he is engaged, it\nhain't no good reason why he shouldn't speak to other wimmen,--good,\nhonorable married ones too.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d says he finally, \u201cI will take up your card.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, you won't!\u201d says I firmly. \u201cI am a Methodist! I guess I can start\noff on a short tower, without takin' a pack of cards with me. And if\nI had 'em right here in my pocket, or a set of dominoes, I shouldn't\nexpect to take up the time of the President of the United States a\nplayin' games at this time of the day.\u201d Says I in deep tones, \u201cI am a\ncarrien' errents to the President that the world knows not of.\u201d\n\nHe blushed up red; he was ashamed; and he said \u201che would see if I could\nbe admitted.\u201d\n\nAnd he led the way along, and I follered, and the boy. Bub Smith had\nleft us at the door.\n\nThe hired man seemed to think I would want to look round some; and he\nwalked sort o' slow, out of courtesy. But, good land! how little that\nhired man knew my feelin's, as he led me on, I a thinkin' to myself,--\n\n\u201cHere I am, a steppin' where G. Washington strode.\u201d Oh the grandeur\nof my feelin's! The nobility of 'em! and the quantity! Why, it was a\nperfect sight.\n\nBut right into these exalted sentiments the hired man intruded with his\nfrivolous remarks,--worse than frivolous.\n\nHe says agin something about \u201cnot knowin' whether the President would be\nready to receive me.\u201d\n\nAnd I stepped down sudden from that lofty piller I had trod on in my\nmind, and says I,--\n\n\u201cI tell you agin, I don't care whether he is dressed up or not. I come\non principle, and I shall look at him through that eye, and no other.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he, turnin' sort o' red agin (he was ashamed), \u201chave you\nnoticed the beauty of the didos?\u201d\n\nBut I kep' my head right up in the air nobly, and never turned to the\nright or the left; and says I,--\n\n\u201cI don't see no beauty in cuttin' up didos, nor never did. I have heard\nthat they did such things here in Washington, D.C., but I do not choose\nto have my attention drawed to 'em.\u201d\n\nBut I pondered a minute, and the word \u201cmeetin'-house\u201d struck a fearful\nblow aginst my conscience;' and I says in milder axents,--\n\n\u201cIf I looked upon a dido at all, it would be, not with a human woman's\neye, but the eye of a Methodist. My duty draws me:--point out the dido,\nand I will look at it through that one eye.\u201d\n\nAnd he says, \u201cI was a talkin' about the walls of this room.\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cWhy couldn't you say so in the first place? The idee of\nskairin' folks! or tryin' to,\u201d I added; for I hain't easily skairt.\n\nThe walls wus perfectly beautiful, and so wus the ceilin' and floors.\nThere wuzn't a house in Jonesville that could compare with it, though\nwe had painted our meetin-house over at a cost of upwards of 28 dollars.\nBut it didn't come up to this--not half. President Arthur has got good\ntaste; and I thought to myself, and I says to the hired man, as I looked\nround and see the soft richness and quiet beauty and grandeur of the\nsurroundings,--\n\n\u201cI had just as lives have him pick me out a calico dress as to pick it\nout myself. And that is sayin' a great deal,\u201d says I. \u201cI am always very\nputickuler in calico: richness and beauty is what I look out for, and\nwear.\u201d\n\nJest as I wus sayin' this, the hired man opened a door into a lofty,\nbeautiful room; and says he,--\n\n\u201cStep in here, madam, into the antick room, and I'll see if the\nPresident can see you;\u201d and he started off sudden, bein' called. And I\njest turned round and looked after him, for I wanted to enquire into\nit. I had heard of their cuttin' up anticks at Washington,--I had come\nprepared for it; but I didn't know as they was bold enough to come right\nout, and have rooms devoted to that purpose. And I looked all round the\nroom before I ventured in. But it looked neat as a pin, and not a soul\nin there; and thinks'es I, \u201cIt hain't probable their day for cuttin' up\nanticks. I guess I'll venture.\u201d So I went in.\n\nBut I sot pretty near the edge of the chair, ready to jump at the first\nthing I didn't like. And I kep' a close holt of the boy. I felt that I\nwas right in the midst of dangers. I had feared and foreboded,--oh,\nhow I had feared and foreboded about the dangers and deep perils of\nWashington, D.C.! And here I wuz, the very first thing, invited right in\nbroad daylight, with no excuse or any thing, right into a antick room.\n\nOh, how thankful, how thankful I wuz, that Josiah Allen wuzn't there!\n\nI knew, as he felt a good deal of the time, an antick room was what he\nwould choose out of all others. And I felt stronger than ever the deep\nresolve that Josiah Allen should not run. He must not be exposed to such\ndangers, with his mind as it wuz, and his heft. I felt that he would\nsuckumb.\n\nAnd I wondered that President Arthur, who I had always heard was a\nperfect gentleman, should come to have a room called like that, but\ns'posed it was there when he went. I don't believe he'd countenance any\nthing of the kind.\n\nI was jest a thinkin' this when the hired man come back, and said,--\n\n\u201cThe President would receive me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I calmly, \u201cI am ready to be received.\u201d\n\nSo I follered him; and he led the way into a beautiful room,\nkinder round, and red colored, with lots of elegant pictures and\nlookin'-glasses and books.\n\nThe President sot before a table covered with books and papers: and,\ngood land! he no need to have been afraid and hung back; he was dressed\nup slick--slick enough for meetin', or a parin'-bee, or any thing. He\nhad on a sort of a gray suit, and a rose-bud in his button-hole.\n\nHe was a good-lookin' man, though he had a middlin' tired look in his\nkinder brown eyes as he looked up.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA MEETING THE PRESIDENT.]\n\nI had calculated to act noble on that occasion, as I appeared before him\nwho stood in the large, lofty shoes of the revered G. W., and sot in the\nchair of the (nearly) angel Garfield. I had thought that likely as\nnot, entirely unbeknown to me, I should soar right off into a eloquent\noration. For I honored him as a President. I felt like neighborin' with\nhim on account of his name--Allen! (That name I took at the alter of\nJonesville, and pure love.)\n\nBut how little can we calculate on future contingencies, or what we\nshall do when we get there! As I stood before him, I only said what I\nhad said before on a similar occasion, these simple words, that yet mean\nso much, so much,--\n\n\u201cAllen, I have come!\u201d\n\nHe, too, was overcome by his feelin's: I see he wuz. His face looked\nfairly solemn; but, as he is a perfect gentleman, he controlled himself,\nand said quietly these words, that, too, have a deep import,--\n\n\u201cI see you have.\u201d\n\nHe then shook hands with me, and I with him. I, too, am a perfect lady.\nAnd then he drawed up a chair for me with his own hands (hands that grip\nholt of the same hellum that G. W. had gripped holt of. O soul! be calm\nwhen I think ont), and asked me to set down; and consequently I sot.\n\nI leaned my umberell in a easy, careless position against a adjacent\nchair, adjusted my green veil in long, graceful folds,--I hain't vain,\nbut I like to look well,--and then I at once told him of my errents. I\ntold him--\n\n\u201cI had brought three errents to him from Jonesville,--one for myself,\nand two for Dorlesky Burpy.\u201d\n\nHe bowed, but didn't say nothin': he looked tired. Josiah always looks\ntired in the mornin' when he has got his milkin' and barn-chores done,\nso it didn't surprise me. And havin' calculated to tackle him on my own\nerrent first, consequently I tackled him.\n\nI told him how deep my love and devotion to my pardner wuz.\n\nAnd he said, \u201che had heard of it.\u201d\n\nAnd I says, \u201cI s'pose so. I s'pose such things will spread, bein' a sort\nof a rarity. I'd heard that it had got out, way beyend Loontown, and all\nround.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said, \u201cit was spoke of a good deal.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cthe cast-iron love and devotion I feel for that man\ndon't show off the brightest in hours of joy and peace. It towers up\nstrongest in dangers and troubles.\u201d And then I went on to tell him how\nJosiah wanted to come there as senator, and what a dangerous place I had\nalways heard Washington wuz, and how I had felt it was impossible for\nme to lay down on my goose-feather pillow at home, in peace and safety,\nwhile my pardner was a grapplin' with dangers of which I did not know\nthe exact size and heft. And so I had made up my mind to come ahead of\nhim, as a forerunner on a tower, to see jest what the dangers wuz, and\nsee if I dast trust my companion there. \u201cAnd now,\u201d says I, \u201cI want you\nto tell me candid,\u201d says I. \u201cYour settin' in George Washington's high\nchair makes me look up to you. It is a sightly place; you can see\nfur: your name bein' Allen makes me feel sort o' confidential and good\ntowards you, and I want you to talk real honest and candid with me.\u201d\n Says I solemnly, \u201cI ask you, Allen, not as a politician, but as a human\nbein', would you dast to let Josiah come?\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cThe danger to the man and the nation depends a good deal on\nwhat sort of a man it is that comes.\u201d Then was a tryin' time for me. I\nwould not lie, neither would I brook one word against my companion, even\nfrom myself. So I says,--\n\n\u201cHe is a man that has traits and qualities, and sights of 'em.\u201d\n\nBut thinkin' that I must do so, if I got true information of dangers,\nI went on, and told of Josiah's political aims, which I considered\ndangerous to himself and the nation. And I told him of The Plan, and my\ndark forebodin's about it.\n\nThe President didn't act surprised a mite. And finally he told me, what\nI had always mistrusted, but never knew, that Josiah had wrote to him\nall his political views and aspirations, and offered his help to the\nGovernment. And says he, \u201cI think I know all about the man.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d says I, \u201cyou see he is a good deal like other men.\u201d\n\nAnd he said, sort o' dreamily, \u201cthat he was.\u201d\n\nAnd then agin silence rained. He was a thinkin', I knew, on all the deep\ndangers that hedged in Josiah Allen and America if he come. And a musin'\non all the probable dangers of the Plan. And a thinkin' it over how\nto do jest right in the matter,--right by Josiah, right by the nation,\nright by me.\n\nFinally the suspense of the moment wore onto me too deep to bear, and I\nsays in almost harrowin' tones of anxiety and suspense,--\n\n\u201cWould it be safe for my pardner to come to Washington? Would it be safe\nfor Josiah, safe for the nation?\u201d Says I, in deeper, mournfuler tones,--\n\n\u201cWould you--would you dast to let him come?\u201d\n\nHe said, sort o' dreamily, \u201cthat those views and aspirations of Josiah's\nwasn't really needed at Washington, they had plenty of them there;\nand\u201d--\n\nBut I says, \u201cI _must_ have a plainer answer to ease my mind and heart.\nDo tell me plain,--would you dast?\u201d\n\nHe looked full at me. He has got good, honest-looking eyes, and a\nsensible, candid look onto him. He liked me,--I knew he did from his\nlooks,--a calm, Methodist-Episcopal likin',--nothin' light.\n\nAnd I see in them eyes that he didn't like Josiah's political idees. I\nsee that he was afraid, as afraid as death of that plan; and I see that\nhe considered Washington a dangerous, dangerous place for grangers and\nJosiah Allens to be a roamin' round in. I could see that he dreaded\nthe sufferin's for me and for the nation if the Hon. Josiah Allen was\nelected.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cWOULD YOU DAST?\u201d]\n\nBut still, he seemed to hate to speak; and wise, cautious conservatism,\nand gentlemanly dignity, was wrote down on his linement. Even the\nred rosebud in his button-hole looked dretful good-natured, but\nclose-mouthed.\n\nI don't know as he would have spoke at all agin, if I hadn't uttered\nonce more them soul-harrowin' words, \u201c_Would you dast?_\u201d\n\nPity and good feelin' then seemed to overpower for a moment the\nstatesman and courteous diplomat.\n\nAnd he said in gentle, gracious tones, \u201cIf I tell you just what I think,\nI would not like to say it officially, but would say it in confidence,\nas from an Allen to an Allen.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cIt sha'n't go no further.\u201d\n\nAnd so I would warn everybody that it must _not_ be told.\n\nThen says he, \u201cI will tell you. I wouldn't dast.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThat settles it. If human efforts can avail, Josiah Allen will\nnot be United-States senator.\u201d And says I, \u201cYou have only confirmed my\nfears. I knew, feelin' as he felt, that it wuzn't safe for Josiah or the\nnation to have him come.\u201d\n\nAgin he reminded me that it was told to me in confidence, and agin I\nwant to say that it _must_ be kep'.\n\nI thanked him for his kindness. He is a perfect gentleman; and he told\nme jest out of courtesy and politeness, and I know it. And I can be\nvery polite too. And I am naturally one of the kindest-hearted of\nJonesvillians.\n\nSo I says to him, \u201cI won't forget your kindness to me; and I want to say\nright here, that Josiah and me both think well on you--first-rate.\u201d\n\nSays he with a sort of a tired look, as if he wus a lookin' back over a\nhard road, \u201cI have honestly tried to do the best I could.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cI believe it.\u201d And wantin' to encourage him still more, says\nI,--\n\n\u201cJosiah believes it, and Dorlesky Burpy, and lots of other\nJonesvillians.\u201d Says I, \u201cTo set down in a chair that an angel has jest\nvacated, a high chair under the full glare of critical inspection, is\na tegus place. I don't s'pose Garfield was really an angel, but his\nsufferin's and martyrdom placed him almost in that light before the\nworld.\n\n\u201cAnd you have filled that chair, and filled it well. With dignity and\ncourtesy and prudence. And we have been proud of you, Josiah and me both\nhave.\u201d\n\nHe brightened up: he had been afraid, I could see, that we wuzn't suited\nwith him. And it took a load offen him. His linement looked clearer than\nit had, and brighter.\n\n\u201cAnd now,\u201d says I, sithin' a little, \u201cI have got to do Dorlesky's\nerrents.\u201d\n\nHe, too, sithed. His linement fell. I pitied him, and would gladly have\nrefrained from troubling him more. But duty hunched me; and when she\nhunches, I have to move forward.\n\nSays I in measured tones, each tone measurin' jest about the same,--half\nduty, and half pity for him,--\n\n\u201cDorlesky Burpy sent these errents to you. She wanted intemperance done\naway with--the Whiskey Ring broke right up. She wanted you to drink\nnothin' stronger than root-beer when you had company to dinner, she\nofferin' to send you a receipt for it from Jonesville; and she wanted\nher rights, and she wanted 'em all this week without fail.\u201d\n\nHe sithed hard. And never did I see a linement fall further than his\nlinement fell. I pitied him. I see it wus a hard stent for him, to do it\nin the time she had sot.\n\nAnd I says, \u201cI think myself that Dorlesky is a little onreasonable. I\nmyself am willin' to wait till next week. But she has suffered dretfully\nfrom intemperance, dretfully from the Rings, and dretfully from want of\nRights. And her sufferin's have made her more voyalent in her demands,\nand impatienter.\u201d\n\nAnd then I fairly groaned as I did the rest of the errent. But my\npromise weighed on me, and Duty poked me in the side. I wus determined\nto do the errent jest as I would wish a errent done for me, from\nborryin' a drawin' of tea to tacklin' the nation, and tryin' to get a\nlittle mess of truth and justice out of it.\n\n\u201cDorlesky told me to tell you that if you didn't do these things, she\nwould have you removed from the Presidential chair, and you should\nnever, never, be President agin.\u201d\n\nHe trembled, he trembled like a popple-leaf. And I felt as if I should\nsink: it seemed to me jest as if Dorlesky wus askin' too much of him,\nand was threatenin' too hard.\n\nAnd bein' one that loves truth, I told him that Dorlesky was middlin'\ndisagreeable, and very humbly, but she needed her rights jest as much as\nif she was a dolly. And then I went on and told him all how she and her\nrelations had suffered from want of rights, and how dretfully she had\nsuffered from the Ring, till I declare, a talkin about them little\nchildren of hern, and her agony, I got about as fierce actin' as\nDorlesky herself; and entirely unbeknown to myself, I talked powerful on\nintemperance and Rings--and sound.\n\nWhen I got down agin onto my feet, I see he had a sort of a worried,\nanxious look; and he says,--\n\n\u201cThe laws of the United States are such, that I can't interfere.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d says I, \u201cwhy don't you _make_ the United States do right?\u201d\n\nAnd he said somethin' about the might of the majority and the powerful\nrings.\n\nAnd that sot me off agin. And I talked very powerful, kinder allegored,\nabout allowin' a ring to be put round the United States, and let a lot\nof whiskey-dealers lead her round, a pitiful sight for men and angels.\nSays I, \u201cHow does it look before the Nations, to see Columbia led round\nhalf tipsy by a Ring?\u201d\n\nHe seemed to think it looked bad, I knew by his looks.\n\nSays I, \u201cIntemperance is bad for Dorlesky, and bad for the Nation.\u201d\n\nHe murmured somethin' about the \u201crevenue that the liquor-trade brought\nto the Government.\u201d\n\nBut I says, \u201cEvery penny they give, is money right out of the people's\npockets; and every dollar that the people pay into the liquor-traffic,\nthat they may give a few cents of it into the Treasury, is costin'\nthe people three times that dollar, in the loss that intemperance\nentails,--loss of labor, by the inability of drunken men to do any thing\nbut wobble and stagger round; loss of wealth, by all the enormous losses\nof property and of taxation, of almshouses and madhouses, jails, police\nforces, paupers' coffins, and the digging of the thousands and thousands\nof graves that are filled yearly by them that reel into 'em.\u201d Says I,\n\u201cWouldn't it be better for the people to pay that dollar in the first\nplace into the Treasury, than to let it filter through the dram-seller's\nhands, and 2 or 3 cents of it fall into the National purse at last,\nputrid, and heavy with all these losses and curses and crimes and shames\nand despairs and agonies?\u201d\n\nHe seemed to think it would: I see by the looks of his linement, he did.\nEvery honorable man feels so in his heart; and yet they let the liquor\nring control 'em, and lead 'em round.\n\nSays I, \u201cAll the intellectual and moral power of the United States are\njest rolled up and thrust into that Whiskey Ring, and are being drove\nby the whiskey-dealers jest where they want to drive 'em.\u201d Says I, \u201cIt\ncontrols New-York village, and nobody pretends to deny it; and all the\npiety and philanthropy and culture and philosiphy of that village has\nto be jest drawed along in that Ring. And,\u201d says I, in low but startlin'\ntones of principle,--\n\n\u201cWhere, where, is it a drawin' 'em to? Where is it a drawin' the hull\nnation to? Is it' a drawin' 'em down into a slavery ten times more\nabject and soul-destroyin' than African slavery ever was? Tell me,\u201d says\nI firmly, \u201ctell me.\u201d\n\nHis mean looked impressed, but he did not try to frame a reply. I think\nhe could not find a frame. There is no frame to that reply. It is a\nconundrum as boundless as truth and God's justice, and as solemnly deep\nin its sure consequences of evil as eternity, and as sure to come as\nthat is.\n\nAgin I says, \u201cWhere is that Ring a drawin' the United States? Where is\nit a drawin' Dorlesky?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! Dorlesky!\u201d says he, a comin' up out of his deep reveryin', but\npolite,--a politer demeanerd, gentlemanly appeariner man I don't want to\nsee. \u201cAh, yes! I would be glad, Josiah Allen's wife, to do her errent. I\nthink Dorlesky is justified in asking to have the Ring destroyed. But I\nam not the one to go to--I am not the one to do her errent.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cWho is the man, or men?\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cJames G. Blaine.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cIs that so? I will go right to James G. Blaineses.\u201d\n\nSo I spoke to the boy. He had been all engaged lookin' out of the\nwinders, but he was willin' to go.\n\nAnd the President took the boy upon his knee, wantin' to do something\nagreeable, I s'pose, seein' he couldn't do the errent. And he says, jest\nto make himself pleasant to the boy,--\n\n\u201cWell, my little man, are you a Republican, or Democrat?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a Epispocal.\u201d\n\nAnd seein' the boy seemed to be headed onto theoligy instead of\npolitics, and wantin' to kinder show him off, I says,--\n\n\u201cTell the gentleman who made you.\u201d\n\nHe spoke right up prompt, as if hurryin' to get through theoligy, so's\nto tackle sunthin' else. He answered as exhaustively as an exhauster\ncould at a meetin',--\n\n\u201cI was made out of dust, and breathed into. I am made out of God and\ndirt.\u201d\n\nOh, how deep, how deep that child is! I never had heard him say that\nbefore. But how true it wuz! The divine and the human, linked so close\ntogether from birth till death. No philosipher that ever philosiphized\ncould go deeper or higher.\n\nI see the President looked impressed. But the boy branched off quick,\nfor he seemed fairly burstin' with questions.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cI AM A EPISPOCAL.\u201d]\n\n\u201c_Say,_ what is this house called the White House for? Is it because it\nis to help white folks, and not help the black ones, and Injins?\u201d\n\nI declare, I almost thought the boy had heard sunthin' about the\nelections in the South, and the Congressional vote for cuttin' down\nthe money for the Indian schools. Legislative action to perpetuate the\nignorance and brutality of a race.\n\nThe President said dreamily, \u201cNo, it wasn't for that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, is it called white like the gate of the City is? Mamma said that\nwas white,--a pearl, you know,--because every thing was pure and white\ninside the City. Is it because the laws that are made here are all white\nand good? And _say_\u201d--\n\nHere his eyes looked dark and big with excitement.\n\n\u201cWhat is George Washington up on top of that big white piller for?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was a great man.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow much did he weigh? How many yards did it take for his vest--forty?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe did great and noble deeds--he fought and bled.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf fighting makes folks great, why did mamma punish me when I fought\nwith Jim Gowdey? He stole my jack-knife, and knocked me down, and set\ndown on me, and took my chewing-gum away from me, and chewed it himself.\nAnd I rose against him, and we fought and bled: my nose bled, and so\ndid his. But I got it away from him, and chewed it myself. But mamma\npunished me, and said; God wouldn't love me if I quarrelled so, and if\nwe couldn't agree, we must get somebody to settle our trouble for us.\nWhy didn't she stand me up on a big white pillow out in the door-yard,\nand be proud of me, and not shut me up in a dark closet?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe fought for Liberty.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid he get it?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe fought that the United States might be free.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it free?\u201d\n\nThe President waved off that question, and the boy kep' on.\n\n\u201cIs it true what you have been talkin' about,--is there a great big ring\nput all round it, and is it bein' drawed along into a mean place?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: WAR DECLARED.]\n\nAnd then the boy's eyes grew black with excitement; and he kep' right on\nwithout waitin' for breath, or for a answer,--\n\n\u201cHe had heard it talked about, was it right to let anybody do wrong for\nmoney? Did the United States do it? Did it make mean things right? If\nit did, he wanted to get one of Tom Gowdy's white rats. He wouldn't sell\nit, and he wanted it. His mother wouldn't let him steal it; but if the\nUnited States could _make_ it right for him to do wrong, he had got ten\ncents of his own, and he'd buy the right to get that white rat. And if\nTom wanted to cry about it, let him. If the United States sold him the\nright to do it, he guessed he could do it, no matter how much whimperin'\nthere was, and no matter who said it was wrong. _He wanted the rat_.\u201d\n\nBut I see the President's eyes, which had looked kinder rested when he\ntook him up, grew bigger and bigger with surprise and anxiety. I guess\nhe thought he had got his day's work in front of him. And I told the boy\nwe must go. And then I says to the President,--\n\n\u201cThat I knew he was quite a traveller, and of course he wouldn't want\nto die without seein' Jonesville;\u201d and says I, \u201cBe sure to come to our\nhouse to supper when you come.\u201d Says I, \u201cI can't reccomend the huntin'\nso much; there haint nothin' more excitin' to shoot than red squirrels\nand chipmunks: but there is quite good fishin' in the creek back of our\nhouse; they ketched 4 horned Asa's there last week, and lots of chubs.\u201d\n\nHe smiled real agreable, and said, \u201cwhen he visited Jonesville, he\nwouldn't fail to take tea with me.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cSo do; and, if you get lost, you jest enquire at the Corners of\nold Grout Nickleson, and he will set you right.\u201d\n\nHe smiled agin, and said \u201che wouldn't fail to enquire if he got lost.\u201d\n\nAnd then I shook hands with him, thinkin' it would be expected of me\n(his hands are white, and not much bigger than Tirzah Ann's). And then I\nremoved the boy by voyalence, for he was a askin' questions agin, faster\nthan ever; and he poured out over his shoulder a partin' dribble of\nquestions, that lasted till we got outside. And then he tackled me, and\nhe asked me somewhere in the neighborhood of a 1,000 questions on the\nway back to Miss Smiths'es.\n\nHe begun agin on George Washington jest as quick as he ketched sight of\nhis monument agin.\n\n\u201cIf George Washington is up on the top of that monument for tellin' the\ntruth, why didn't all the big men try to tell the truth so's to be stood\nup on pillows outdoors, and not be a layin' down in the grass? And did\nthe little hatchet help him do right? If it did, why didn't all the big\nmen wear them in their belts to do right with, and tell the truth with?\nAnd _say_\u201d--\n\nOh, dear me suz! He asked me over 40 questions to a lamp-post, for I\ncounted 'em; and there wuz 18 posts.\n\nGood land! I'd ruther wash than try to answer him; but he looked so\nsweet and good-natured and confidin', his eyes danced so, and he was so\nawful pretty, that I felt in the midst of my deep fag, that I could kiss\nhim right there in the street if it wuzn't for the looks of it: he is a\nbeautiful child, and very deep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nWall, after dinner I sot sail for James G. Blains'es, a walkin' afoot,\nand carryin' Dorlesky's errent. I was determined to do that errent\nbefore I slept. I am very obleegin', and am called so.\n\nWhen I got to Mr. Blaines'es, I was considerably tired; for though\nDorlesky's errent might not be heavy as weighed by the steelyards, yet\nit was _very_ hefty and wearin' on the moral feelin's. And my firm,\nunalterable determination to carry it straight, and tend to it, to the\nvery utmost of my ability, strained on me.\n\nI was fagged.\n\nBut I don't believe Mr. Blaine see the fag. I shook hands with him, and\nthere was calmness in that shake. I passed the compliments of the\nday (how do you do, etc.), and there was peace and dignity in them\ncompliments.\n\nHe was most probable, glad I had come. But he didn't seem quite so\nover-rejoiced as he probable would if he hadn't been so busy. _I_ can't\nbe so highly tickled when company comes, when I am washin' and cleanin'\nhouse.\n\nHe had piles and piles of papers on the table before him. And there was\na gentleman a settin' at the end of the room a readin'.\n\nI like James G. Blaines'es looks middlin' well. Although, like myself,\nhe don't set up for a professional beauty. It seems as if some of the\nstrength of the mountain pines round his old home is a holdin' up his\nbackbone, and some of the bracin' air of the pine woods of Maine has\nblowed into James'es intellect, and braced it.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA MEETING JAMES G. BLAINE.]\n\nI think enough of James, but not too much. My likin' is jest about\nstrong enough from a literary person to a literary person.\n\nWe are both literary, very. He is considerable taller than I am; and on\nthat account, and a good many others, I felt like lookin' up to him.\n\nWall, when I have got a hard job in front of me, I don't know any better\nway than to tackle it to once. So consequently I tackled it.\n\nI told James, that Dorlesky Burpy had sent two errents by me, and I had\nbrought 'em from Jonesville on my tower.\n\nAnd then I told him jest how she had suffered from the Whisky Ring,\nand how she had suffered from not havin' her rights; and I told him all\nabout her relations sufferin', and that Dorlesky wanted the Ring broke,\nand her rights gin to her, within seven days at the longest.\n\nHe rubbed his brow thoughtfully, and says,--\n\n\u201cIt will be difficult to accomplish so much in so short a time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know it,\u201d says I. \u201cI told Dorlesky it would. But she feels jest so,\nand I promised to do her errent; and I am a doin' it.\u201d\n\nAgin he rubbed his brow in deep thought, and agin he says,--\n\n\u201cI don't think Dorlesky is unreasonable in her demands, only in the\nlength of time she has set.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThat is jest what I told Dorlesky. I didn't believe you could\ndo her errents this week. But you can see for yourself that she is\nright, only in the time she has sot.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cHe see she wuz.\u201d And says he, \u201cI wish the 3 could be\nreconciled.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat 3?\u201d says I.\n\nSays he, \u201cThe liquor traffic, liberty, and Dorlesky.\u201d\n\nAnd then come the very hardest part of my errent. But I had to do it, I\nhad to.\n\nSays I, in the deep, solemn tones befitting the threat, for I wuzn't\nthe woman to cheat Dorlesky when she was out of sight, and use the\nwrong tones at the wrong times--no, I used my deepest and most skairful\none--says I, \u201cDorlesky told me to tell you that if you didn't do her\nerrent, you should not be the next President of the United States.\u201d\n\nHe turned pale. He looked agitated, fearful agitated.\n\nI s'pose it was not only my words and tone that skairt him, but my\nmean. I put on my noblest mean; and I s'pose I have got a very noble,\nhigh-headed mean at times. I got it, I think, in the first place, by\noverlookin' Josiah's faults. I always said a wife ort to overlook her\nhusband's faults; and I have to overlook so many, that it has made me\nabout as high-headed, sometimes, as a warlike gander, but more sort o'\nmeller-lookin', and sublime, kinder.\n\nHe stood white as a piece of a piller-case, and seemin'ly plunged down\ninto the deepest thought. But finally he riz part way out of it, and\nsays he,--\n\n\u201cI want to be on the side of Truth and Justice. I want to, awfully. And\nwhile I do not want to be President of the United States, yet at the\nsame time I do want to be--if you'll understand that paradox,\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says I sadly. \u201cI understand that paradox. I have seen it myself,\nright in my own family.\u201d And I sithed. And agin silence rained; and I\nsot quietly in the rain, thinkin' mebby good would come of it.\n\nFinally he riz out of his revery; and says he, with a brighter look on\nhis linement,--\n\n\u201cI am not the one to go to. I am not the one to do Dorlesky's errent.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is the one?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cSenator Logan,\u201d says he.\n\nSays I, \u201cI'll send Bub Smith to Senator Logan'ses the minute I get\nback; for much as I want to obleege a neighbor, I can't traipse all over\nWashington, walkin' afoot, and carryin' Dorlesky's errent. But Bub\nis trusty: I'll send him.\u201d And I riz up to go. He riz up too. He is a\ngentleman; and, as I said, I like his looks. He has got that grand sort\nof a noble look, I have seen in other literary people, or has been seen\nin 'em; but modesty forbids my sayin' a word further.\n\nBut jest at this minute Mr. Blaines'es hired man come in, and told him\nthat he was wanted below; and he took up his hat and gloves.\n\nBut jest as he was startin' out, he says, turnin' to the other gentleman\nin the room,--\n\n\u201cThis gentleman is a senator. Mebby he can do Dorlesky's errent for\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cI would be glad to get it done, without goin' any\nfurther. It would tickle Dorlesky most to death, and lots and lots of\nother wimmen.\u201d\n\nMr. Blaine spoke to the gentleman; and he come forward, and Mr. Blaine\nintroduced us. But I didn't ketch his name; because, jest as Mr. Blaine\nspoke it, my umberell fell, and the gentleman sprung forward to pick it\nup; and then he shook hands with me: and Mr. Blaine said good-bye to me,\nand started off.\n\nI felt willin' and glad to have this senator do Dorlesky's errents, but\nI didn't like his looks from the very first minute I sot my eyes on him.\n\nMy land! talk about Dorlesky Burpy bein' disagreable--he wus as\ndisagreable as she is, any day. He was kinder tall, and looked out of\nhis eyes, and wore a vest: I don't know as I can describe him any more\nclose than that. He was some bald-headed, and he kinder smiled once in\na while: I persume he will be known by this description. It is plain,\nanyway, almost lucid.\n\n[Illustration: MR. BLAINE INTRODUCING THE SENATOR.]\n\nBut his baldness didn't look to me like Josiah Allen's baldness; and he\ndidn't have a mite of that smart, straight-forward way of Blaine, or the\nperfect courtesy and kindness of Allen Arthur. No. I sort o' despised\nhim from the first minute.\n\nWall, he was dretful polite: good land! politeness is no name for his\nmean. Truly, as Josiah Allen says, I don't like to see anybody too good.\n\nHe drawed a chair up, for me and for himself, and asked me,--\n\n\u201cIf he should have the inexpressible honor and the delightful joy of\naiding me in any way: if so, command him to do it,\u201d or words to that\neffect. I can't put down his smiles, and genteel looks, and don't want\nto if I could.\n\nBut tacklin' hard jobs as I always tackle 'em, I sot right down calmly\nin front of him, with my umberell acrost my lap, and told him over all\nof Dorlesky's errents. And how I had brought 'em from Jonesville on my\ntower. I told over all of her sufferin's, from the Ring, and from not\nhavin' her rights; and all her sister Susan Clapsaddle's sufferin's;\nand all her aunt Eunice's and Patty's, and Drusilla's and Abagail's,\nsufferin's. I did her errent up honorable and square, as I would love\nto have a errent done for me. I told him all the particulers; and as I\nfinished, I said firmly,--\n\n\u201cNow, can you do Dorlesky's errents? and will you?\u201d\n\nHe leaned forward with that deceitful and sort of disagreable smile of\nhisen, and took up one corner of my mantilly. It wus cut tab fashion;\nand he took up the tab, and says he, in a low, insinuatin' voice, and\nlookin' close at the edge of the tab,--\n\n\u201cAm I mistaken, or is this pipein'? or can it be Kensington tattin'?\u201d\n\nI jest drawed the tab back coldly, and never dained a reply.\n\nAgain he says, in a tone of amiable anxiety,--\n\n\u201cHave I not heard a rumor that bangs were going out of style? I see you\ndo not wear your lovely hair bang-like, or a pompidorus! Ah! wimmen\nare lovely creatures, lovely beings, every one of them.\u201d And he sithed.\n\u201c_You_ are very beautiful.\u201d And he sithed agin, a sort of a deceitful,\nlove-sick sithe.\n\nI sot demute as the Sfinx, and a chippin'-bird a tappin' his wing\nagainst her stunny breast would move it jest as much as he moved me\nby his talk or his sithes. But he kep' on, puttin' on a kind of a sad,\ninjured look, as if my coldness wus ondoin' of him,--\n\n\u201cMy dear madam, it is my misfortune that the topics I introduce, however\ncarefully selected by me, do not seem to be congenial to you. Have you\na leaning toward natural history, madam? Have you ever studied into the\ntraits and habits of our American wad?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d says I. For truly, a woman's curiosity, however paralized by\njust indignation, can stand only jest so much strain. \u201cThe what?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe wad. The animal from which is obtained the valuable fur that\ntailors make so much use of.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cDo you mean waddin' 8 cents a sheet?\u201d\n\n\u201c8 cents a pelt--yes, the skins are plentiful and cheap, owing to the\nhardy habits of the animal.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cCease instantly. I will hear no more.\u201d\n\nTruly, I had heard much of the flattery and the little talk that\nstatesmen will use to wimmen, and I had heard much of their lies, etc.;\nbut truly, I felt that the 1/2 had not been told. And then I thought out\nloud, and says,--\n\n\u201cI have hearn how laws of right and justice are sot one side in\nWashington, D.C., as bein' too triflin' to attend to, while the\nlegislators pondered over, and passed laws regardin', hens' eggs and\nbirds' nests. But this is goin' too fur--too fur. But,\u201d says I firmly,\n\u201cI shall do Dorlesky's errents, and do 'em to the best of my ability;\nand you can't draw off my attention from her sufferin's and her\nsuffragin's by talkin' about wads.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would love to obleege Dorlesky,\u201d says he, \u201cbecause she belongs to\nsuch a lovely sex. Wimmen are the loveliest, most angelic creatures that\never walked the earth: they are perfect, flawless, like snow and roses.\u201d\n\nSays I firmly, \u201cThat hain't no such thing. They are disagreable creeters\na good deal of the time. They hain't no better than men. But they ought\nto have their rights all the same. Now, Dorlesky is disagreable, and\nkinder fierce actin', and jest as humbly as they make wimmen; but that\nhain't no sign she ort to be imposed upon. Josiah says, 'She hadn't ort\nto have a right, not a single right, because she is so humbly.' But I\ndon't feel so.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is Josiah?\u201d says he.\n\nSays I, \u201cMy husband.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! your husband! yes, wimmen should have husbands instead of\nrights. They do not need rights, they need freedom from all cares and\nsufferings. Sweet, lovely beings, let them have husbands to lift them\nabove all earthly cares and trials! Oh! angels of our homes,\u201d says he,\nliftin' his eyes to the heavens, and kinder shettin' 'em, some as if he\nwas goin' into a trance, \u201cfly around, ye angels, in your native haunts!\nmingle not with rings, and vile laws; flee away, flee above them.\u201d\n\nAnd he kinder moved his hand back and forth, in a floatin' fashion, up\nin the air, as if it was a woman a flyin' up there, smooth and serene.\nIt would have impressed some folks dretful, but it didn't me. I says\nreasonably,--\n\n\u201cDorlesky would have been glad to flew above 'em. But the ring and the\nvile laws laid holt of her, unbeknown to her, and dragged her down.\nAnd there she is, all dragged and bruised and brokenhearted by it. She\ndidn't meddle with the political ring, but the ring meddled with her.\nHow can she fly when the weight of this infamous traffic is a holdin'\nher down?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cFLY AROUND, YE ANGELS.\u201d]\n\n\u201cAhem!\u201d says he. \u201cAhem, as it were--as I was saying, my dear madam,\nthese angelic angels of our homes are too ethereal, too dainty, to\nmingle with the rude crowds. We political men would fain keep them\nas they are now: we are willing to stand the rude buffetings\nof--of--voting, in order to guard these sweet, delicate creatures from\nany hardships. Sweet, tender beings, we would fain guard you--ah, yes!\nah, yes!\u201d\n\n[Illustration: WOMAN'S RIGHTS.]\n\nSays I, \u201cCease instantly, or my sickness will increase; for such talk\nis like thoroughwort or lobelia to my moral stomach.\u201d Says I, \u201cYou know,\nand I know, that these angelic, tender bein's, half clothed, fill our\nstreets on icy midnights, huntin' up drunken husbands and fathers and\nsons. They are driven to death and to moral ruin by the miserable want\nliquor-drinkin' entails. They are starved, they are frozen, they are\nbeaten, they are made childless and hopeless, by drunken husbands\nkilling their own flesh and blood. They go down into the cold waves, and\nare drowned by drunken captains; they are cast from railways into death,\nby drunken engineers; they go up on the scaffold, and die of crimes\ncommitted by the direct aid of this agent of hell.\n\n[Illustration: SOMEBODY BLUNDERED.]\n\n\u201cWimmen had ruther be a flyin' round than to do all this, but they\ncan't. If men really believe all they say about wimmen, and I think some\nof 'em do, in a dreamy way--if wimmen are angels, give 'em the rights of\nangels. Who ever heard of a angel foldin' up her wings, and goin' to a\npoorhouse or jail through the fault of somebody else? Who ever heard\nof a angel bein' dragged off to a police court by a lot of men, for\nfightin' to defend her children and herself from a drunken husband that\nhad broke her wings, and blacked her eyes, himself, got the angel into\nthe fight, and then she got throwed into the streets and the prison by\nit? Who ever heard of a angel havin' to take in washin' to support a\ndrunken son or father or husband? Who ever heard of a angel goin' out as\nwet nurse to get money to pay taxes on her home to a Government that in\ntheory idolizes her, and practically despises her, and uses that same\nmoney in ways abomenable to that angel?\n\n\u201cIf you want to be consistent--if you are bound to make angels of\nwimmen, you ort to furnish a free, safe place for 'em to soar in. You\nort to keep the angels from bein' meddled with, and bruised, and killed,\netc.\u201d\n\n\u201cAhem,\u201d says he. \u201cAs it were, ahem.\u201d\n\nBut I kep' right on, for I begun to feel noble and by the side of\nmyself.\n\n\u201cThis talk about wimmen bein' outside and above all participation in the\nlaws of her country, is jest as pretty as I ever heard any thing, and\njest as simple. Why, you might jest as well throw a lot of snowflakes\ninto the street, and say, 'Some of 'em are female flakes, and mustn't\nbe trampled on.' The great march of life tramples on 'em all alike: they\nfall from one common sky, and are trodden down into one common ground.\n\n\u201cMen and wimmen are made with divine impulses and desires, and human\nneeds and weaknesses, needin' the same heavenly light, and the same\nhuman aids and helps. The law should meet out to them the same rewards\nand punishments.\n\n\u201cDorlesky says you call wimmens angels, and you don't give 'em the\nrights of the lowest beasts that crawls upon the earth. And Dorlesky\ntold me to tell you that she didn't ask the rights of a angel: she would\nbe perfectly contented and proud if you would give her the rights of a\ndog--the assured political rights of a yeller dog. She said 'yeller;'\nand I am bound on doin' her errent jest as she wanted me to, word for\nword.\n\n\u201cA dog, Dorlesky says, don't have to be hung if it breaks the laws it\nis not allowed any hand in making. A dog don't have to pay taxes on its\nbone to a Government that withholds every right of citizenship from it.\n\n\u201cA dog hain't called undogly if it is industrious, and hunts quietly\nround for its bone to the best of its ability, and wants to get its\nshare of the crumbs that fall from that table that bills are laid on.\n\n\u201cA dog hain't preached to about its duty to keep home sweet and sacred,\nand then see that home turned into a place of torment under laws that\nthese very preachers have made legal and respectable.\n\n\u201cA dog don't have to see its property taxed to advance laws that it\nbelieves ruinous, and that breaks its own heart and the hearts of other\ndear dogs.\n\n\u201cA dog don't have to listen to soul-sickening speeches from them that\ndeny it freedom and justice--about its bein' a damosk rose, and a\nseraphine, when it knows it hain't: it knows, if it knows any thing,\nthat it is a dog.\n\n\u201cYou see, Dorlesky has been kinder embittered by her trials that\npolitics, corrupt legislation, has brought right onto her. She didn't\nwant nothin' to do with 'em; but they come right onto her unexpected and\nunbeknown, and she feels jest so. She feels she must do every thing she\ncan to alter matters. She wants to help make the laws that have such\na overpowerin' influence over her, herself. She believes from her soul\nthat they can't be much worse than they be now, and may be a little\nbetter.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! if Dorlesky wishes to influence political affairs, let her\ninfluence her children,--her boys,--and they will carry her benign and\nnoble influence forward into the centuries.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the law has took her boy, her little boy and girl, away from her.\nThrough the influence of the Whisky Ring, of which her husband was a\nshinin' member, he got possession of her boy. And so, the law has made\nit perfectly impossible for her to mould it indirectly through him. What\nDorlesky does, she must do herself.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! A sad thing for Dorlesky. I trust that you have no grievance of the\nkind, I trust that your estimable husband is--as it were, estimable.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Josiah Allen is a good man. As good as men _can_ be. You know, men\nor wimmen either can't be only jest about so good anyway. But he is my\nchoice, and he don't drink a drop.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon me, madam; but if you are happy, as you say, in your marriage\nrelations, and your husband is a temperate, good man, why do you feel so\nupon this subject?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, good land! if you understand the nature of a woman, you would know\nthat my love for him, my happiness, the content and safety I feel about\nhim, and our boy, makes me realize the sufferin's of Dorlesky in havin'\nher husband and boy lost to her, makes me realize the depth of a wive's,\nof a mother's, agony, when she sees the one she loves goin' down, goin'\ndown so low that she can't reach him; makes me feel how she must yearn\nto help him in some safe, sure way.\n\n\u201cHigh trees cast long shadows. The happier and more blessed a woman's\nlife is, the more does she feel for them who are less blessed than she.\nHighest love goes lowest, if need be. Witness the love that left Heaven,\nand descended onto the earth, and into it, that He might lift up the\nlowly.\n\n\u201cThe pityin' words of Him who went about pleasin' not himself, hants me,\nand inspires me. I am sorry for Dorlesky, sorry for the hull wimmen\nrace of the nation--and for the men too. Lots of 'em are good\ncreeters--better than wimmen, some on 'em. They want to do jest about\nright, but don't exactly see the way to do it. In the old slavery times,\nsome of the masters was more to be pitied than the slaves. They could\nsee the injustice, feel the wrong, they was doin'; but old chains of\ncustom bound 'em, social customs and idees had hardened into habits of\nthought.\n\n\u201cThey realized the size and heft of the evil, but didn't know how to\ngrapple with it, and throw it.\n\n\u201cSo now, many men see the great evils of this time, want to help it, but\ndon't know the best way to lay holt of it.\n\n\u201cLife is a curious conundrum anyway, and hard to guess. But we can try\nto get the right answer to it as fur as we can. Dorlesky feels that one\nof the answers to the conundrum is in gettin' her rights. She feels jest\nso.\n\n\u201cI myself have got all the rights I need, or want, as fur as my own\nhappiness is concerned. My home is my castle (a story and a half wooden\none, but dear).\n\n\u201cMy towers elevate me, the companionship of my friends give social\nhappiness, our children are prosperous and happy. We have property\nenough, and more than enough, for all the comforts of life. And, above\nall other things, my Josiah is my love and my theme.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! yes!\u201d says he. \u201cLove is a woman's empire, and in that she should\nfind her full content--her entire happiness and thought. A womanly woman\nwill not look outside of that lovely and safe and beautious empire.\u201d\n\nSays I firmly, \u201cIf she hain't a idiot, she can't help it. Love is the\nmost beautiful thing on earth, the most holy, the most satisfyin'. But\nwhich would you like best--I do not ask you as a politician, but as a\nhuman bein'--which would you like best, the love of a strong, earnest,\ntender nature--for in man or woman, 'the strongest are the tenderest,\nthe loving are the daring'--which would you like best, the love and\nrespect of such a nature, full of wit, of tenderness, of infinite\nvariety, or the love of a fool?\n\n\u201cA fool's love is wearin': it is insipid at the best, and it turns to\nviniger. Why! sweetened water _must_ turn to viniger: it is its nater.\nAnd, if a woman is bright and true-hearted, she can't help seem' through\na injustice. She may be happy in her own home. Domestic affection,\nsocial enjoyments, the delights of a cultured home and society, and the\ncompanionship of the man she loves, and who loves her, will, if she is\na true woman, satisfy fully her own personal needs and desires; and she\nwould far rather, for her own selfish happiness, rest quietly in that\nlove--that most blessed home.\n\n\u201cBut the bright, quick intellect that delights you, can't help seeing\nthrough an injustice, can't help seeing through shams of all kinds--sham\nsentiment, sham compliments, sham justice.\n\n\u201cThe tender, lovin' nature that blesses your life, can't help feelin'\npity for those less blessed than herself. She looks down through the\nlove-guarded lattice of her home,--from which your care would fain bar\nout all sights of woe and squalor,--she looks down, and sees the weary\ntoilers below, the hopeless, the wretched; she sees the steep hills they\nhave to climb, carry in' their crosses; she sees 'em go down into the\nmire, dragged there by the love that should lift 'em up.\n\n\u201cShe would not be the woman you love, if she could restrain her hand\nfrom liftin' up the fallen, wipin' tears from weepin' eyes, speakin'\nbrave words for them who can't speak for themselves.\n\n\u201cThe very strength of her affection that would hold you up, if you were\nin trouble or disgrace, yearns to help all sorrowin' hearts.\n\n\u201cDown in your heart, you can't help admirin' her for this: we can't help\nrespectin' the one who advocates the right, the true, even if they are\nour conquerors.\n\n\u201cWimmen hain't angels: now, to be candid, you know they hain't. They\nhain't better than men. Men are considerable likely; and it seems\ncurious to me, that they should act so in this one thing. For men ort\nto be more honest and open than wimmen. They hain't had to cajole and\nwheedle, and spile their natures, through little trickeries and deceits,\nand indirect ways, that wimmen has.\n\n\u201cWhy, cramp a tree-limb, and see if it will grow as straight and\nvigorous as it would in full freedom and sunshine.\n\n\u201cMen ort to be nobler than wimmen, sincerer, braver. And they ort to be\nashamed of this one trick of theirn; for they know they hain't honest in\nit, they hain't generous.\n\n\u201cGive wimmen 2 or 3 generations of moral freedom, and see if men will\nlaugh at 'em for their little deceits and affectations.\n\n\u201cNo: men will be gentler, and wimmen nobler; and they will both come\nnearer bein' angels, though most probable they won't be angels: they\nwon't be any too good then, I hain't a mite afraid of it.\u201d\n\nHe kinder sithed; and that sithe sort o' brought me down onto my feet\nagin (as it were), and a sense of my duty: and I spoke out agin,--\n\n\u201cCan you, and will you, do Dorlesky's errents?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE WEARY TOILERS OF LIFE.]\n\nWall, he said, \u201cas far as giving Dorlesky her rights was concerned, he\nfelt that natural human instinct was against the change.\u201d He said, \u201cin\nsavage races, who knew nothing of civilization, male force and strength\nalways ruled.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cHistory can't be disputed; and history tells of savage races\nwhere the wimmen always rule, though I don't think they ort to,\u201d says I:\n\u201cability and goodness ort to rule.\u201d\n\n\u201cNature is against it,\u201d says he.\n\nSays I firmly, \u201cFemale bees, and lots of other insects, and animals,\nalways have a female for queen and ruler. They rule blindly and\nentirely, right on through the centuries. But we are more enlightened,\nand should _not_ encourage it. In my opinion, a male bee has jest as\ngood a right to be monarch as his female companion has. That is,\u201d says I\nreasonably, \u201cif he knows as much, and is as good a calculator as she is.\nI love justice, I almost worship it.\u201d\n\nAgin he sithed; and says he, \u201cModern history don't seem to encourage the\nskeme.\u201d\n\nBut his axent was weak, weak as a cat. He knew better.\n\nSays I, \u201cWe won't argue long on that point, for I could overwhelm you if\nI approved of overwhelmin'. But I merely ask you to cast your right\neye over into England, and then beyond it into France. Men have ruled\nexclusively in France for the last 40 or 50 years, and a woman in\nEngland: which realm has been the most peaceful and prosperous?\u201d\n\nHe sithed twice. And he bowed his head upon his breast, in a sad, almost\nmeachin' way. I nearly pitied him, disagreable as he wuz. When all of a\nsudden he brightened up; and says he,--\n\n\u201cYou seem to place a great deal of dependence on the Bible. The Bible is\naginst the idee. The Bible teaches man's supremacy, man's absolute power\nand might and authority.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, how you talk!\u201d says I. \u201cWhy, in the very first chapter, the Bible\ntells how man was jest turned right round by a woman. It teaches how she\nnot only turned man right round to do as she wanted him to, but turned\nthe hull world over.\n\n\u201cThat hain't nothin' I approve of: I don't speak of it because I like\nthe idee. That wuzn't done in a open, honorable manner, as I believe\nthings should be done. No: Eve ruled by indirect influence,--the 'gently\ninfluencing men' way, that politicians are so fond of. And she jest\nbrought ruin and destruction onto the hull world by it. A few years\nlater, after men and wimmen grew wiser, when we hear of wimmen ruling\nIsrael openly and honestly, like Miriam, Deborah, and other likely old\n4 mothers, why, things went on better. They didn't act meachin', and\ntempt, and act indirect, I'll bet, or I wouldn't be afraid to bet, if I\napproved of bettin'.\u201d\n\nHe sithed powerful, and sot round oneasy in his chair. And says he, \u201cI\nthought wimmen was taught by the Bible to serve, and love their homes.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo they be. And every true woman loves to serve. Home is my supreme\nhappiness and delight, and my best happiness is found in servin' them I\nlove. But I must tell the truth, in the house or outdoors.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he faintly, \u201cthe Old Testament may teach that wimmen has\nsome strenth and power; but in the New Testament, you will find that in\nevery great undertakin' and plan, men have been chosen by God to carry\nit through.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy-ee!\u201d says I. \u201cHow you talk!\u201d says I. \u201cHave you ever read the\nBible?\u201d\n\nHe said \u201cHe had, his grandmother owned one. And he had seen it in early\nyouth.\u201d\n\nAnd then he went on, sort o' apologizin', \u201cHe had always meant to read\nit through. But he had entered political life at an early age, and he\nbelieved he had never read any more of it, only portions of Gulliver's\nTravels. He believed,\u201d he said, \u201che had read as far as Lilliputions.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cThat hain't in the Bible,--you mean Gallatians.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d he said, \u201cthat might be it. It was some man, he knew, and he had\nalways heard and believed that man was the only worker God had chosen.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says I, \u201cthe one great theme of the New Testament,--the\nredemption of the world through the birth of the Christ,--no man had\nany thing to do with that whatever. Our divine Lord was born of God and\nwoman.\n\n\u201cHeavenly plan of redemption for fallen humanity. God Himself called\nwomen into that work,--the divine work of helpin' a world.\n\n\u201cGod called her. Mary had no dream of publicity, no desire for a world's\nwork of sufferin' and renunciation. The soft airs of Gallilee wrapped\nher about in its sweet content, as she dreamed her quiet dreams\nin maiden peace, dreamed, perhaps, of domestic love and quiet and\nhappiness.\n\n\u201cFrom that sweetest silence, the restful peace of happy, innocent\ngirlhood, God called her to her divine work of helpin' to redeem a world\nfrom sin.\n\n\u201cAnd did not this woman's love, and willin' obedience, and sufferin',\nand the shame of the world, set her apart, babtize her for this work of\nliftin' up the fallen, helpin' the weak?\n\n\u201cIs it not a part of woman's life that she gave at the birth and the\ncrucifixion?--her faith, her hope, her sufferin', her glow of divine\npity and joyful martyrdom. These, mingled with the divine, the pure\nheavenly, have they not for 1800 years been blessin' the world? The God\nin Christ would awe us too much: we would shield our faces from the too\nblindin' glare of the pure God-like. But the tender Christ, who wept\nover a sinful city, and the grave of His friend, who stopped dyin' upon\nthe cross, to comfort his mother's heart, provide for her future--it is\nthis element in our Lord's nature that makes us dare to approach Him,\ndare to kneel at His feet.\n\n\u201cAnd since woman wus so blessed as to be counted worthy to be co-worker\nwith God in the beginnin' of a world's redemption; since He called her\nfrom the quiet obscurity of womanly rest and peace, into the blessed\nmartyrdom of renunciation and toil and sufferin', all to help a world\nthat cared nothing for her, that cried out shame upon her,--will He\nnot help her to carry on the work that she helped commence? Will He not\napprove of her continuin' in it? Will He not protect her in it?\n\n\u201cYes: she cannot be harmed, since His care is over her; and the cause\nshe loves, the cause of helpin' men and wimmen, is God's cause too,\nand God will take care of His own. Herods full of greed, and frightened\nselfishness, may try to break her heart, by efforts to kill the child\nshe loves; but she will hold it so close to her bosom, that he can't\ndestroy it. And the light of the divine will go before her, showin'\nthe way she must go, over the desert, maybe; but she shall bear it into\nsafety.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou spoke of Herod,\u201d says he dreamily. \u201cThe name sounds familiar to me:\nwas not Mr. Herod once in the United-States Congress?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I. \u201cHe died some years ago. But he has relatives there now,\nI think, judging from recent laws. You ask who Herod was; and, as it all\nseems to be a new story to you, I will tell you. That when the Saviour\nof the world was born in Bethlehem, and a woman was tryin' to save\nHis life, a man by the name of Herod was tryin' his best, out of\nselfishness, and love of gain, to murder him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! that was not right in Herod.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I. \u201cIt hain't been called so. And what wuzn't right in him,\nhain't right in his relations, who are tryin' to do the same thing\nto-day. But,\u201d says I reasonably, \u201cbecause Herod was so mean, it hain't\nno sign that all men was mean. Joseph, now, was likely as he could be.\u201d\n\n\u201cJoseph,\u201d says he pensively. \u201cDo you allude to our senator from\nConnecticut,--Joseph R. Hawley?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d says I. \u201cHe is likely, as likely can be, and is always on\nthe right side of questions--middlin' handsome too. But I am talkin'\nBible--I am talkin' about Joseph, jest plain Joseph, and nothin' else.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! I see I am not fully familiar with that work. Being so engrossed\nin politics, and political literature, I don't get any time to devote to\nless important publications.\u201d\n\nSays I candidly, \u201cI knew you hadn't read it, I knew it the minute you\nmentioned the Book of Lilliputions. But, as I was a sayin', Joseph was\na likely man. He did the very best he could with what he had to do with.\nHe had the strength to lead the way, to overcome obsticles, to keep\ndangers from Mary, to protect her tenderer form with the mantilly of his\ngenerous devotion.\n\n[Illustration: BEARING THE BABY PEACE.]\n\n\u201c_But she carried the child on her bosom_. Pondering high things in her\nheart that Joseph had never dreamed of. That is what is wanted now, and\nin the future. The man and the woman walking side by side. He, a little\nahead mebby, to keep off dangers by his greater strength and courage.\nShe, a carryin' the infant Christ of love, bearin' the baby Peace in her\nbosom, carrying it into safety from them that seek to murder it.\n\n\u201cAnd, as I said before, if God called woman into this work, He will\nenable her to carry it through. He will protect her from her own\nweaknesses, and from the misapprehensions and hard judgments and\ninjustices of a gain-saying world.\n\n\u201cYes, the star of hope is rising in the sky, brighter and brighter;\nand the wise men are even now coming from afar over the desert, seeking\ndiligently where this redeemer is to be found.\u201d He sot demute. He did\nnot frame a reply: he had no frame, and I knew it. Silence rained for\nsome time; and finally I spoke out solemnly through the rain,--\n\n\u201cWill you do Dorlesky's errents? Will you give her her rights? And will\nyou break the Whisky Ring?\u201d\n\nHe said he would love to do Dorlesky's errents. He said I had convinced\nhim that it would be just and right to do 'em, but the Constitution of\nthe United States stood up firm against 'em. As the laws of the United\nState wuz, he could not make any move towards doin' either of the\nerrents.\n\nSays I, \u201cCan't the laws be changed?\u201d\n\n\u201cBe changed? Change the laws of the United States? Tamper with the\nglorious Constitution that our 4 fathers left us--an immortal, sacred\nlegacy?\u201d\n\nHe jumped right up on his feet, in his surprise, and kinder shook, as\nif he was skairt most to death, and tremblin' with borrow. He did it\nto skair me, I knew; and I wuz most skaird, I confess, he acted so\nhorrowfied. But I knew I meant well towards the Constitution, and our\nold 4 fathers; and my principles stiddied me, and held me middlin' firm\nand serene. And when he asked me agin in tones full of awe and horrow,--\n\n\u201cCan it be that I heard my ear aright? or did you speak of changing the\nunalterable laws of the United States--tampering with the Constitution?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cYes, that is what I said.\u201d\n\nOh, how his body kinder shook, and how sort o' wild he looked out of his\neyes at me!\n\nSays I, \u201cHain't they never been changed?\u201d\n\nHe dropped that skairful look in a minute, and put on a firm, judicial\none. He gin up; he could not skair me to death: and says he,--\n\n\u201cOh, yes! they have been changed in cases of necessity.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cFor instance, durin' the late war, it was changed to make\nNorthern men cheap blood-hounds and hunters.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cIt seemed to be a case of necessity and econimy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know it,\u201d says I. \u201cMen was cheaper than any other breed of\nblood-hounds the planters had employed to hunt men and wimmen with, and\nmore faithful.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cIt was doubtless a case of clear econimy.\u201d\n\nAnd says I, \u201cThe laws have been changed to benifit whisky-dealers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, yes,\u201d he said. \u201cIt had been changed to enable whisky-dealers\nto utelize the surplufus liquor they import.\u201d Says he, gettin' kinder\nanimated, for he was on a congenial theme,--\n\n\u201cNobody, the best calculators in drunkards, can't exactly calculate on\nhow much whisky will be drunk in a year; and so, ruther than have the\nwhisky-dealers suffer loss, the laws had to be changed.\n\n[Illustration: A CASE OF NECESSITY.]\n\n\u201cAnd then,\u201d says he, growin' still more candid in his excitement, \u201cwe\nare makin' a powerful effort to change the laws now, so as to take the\ntax off of whisky, so it can be sold cheaper, and be obtained in greater\nquantities by the masses. Any such great laws for the benifit of the\nnation, of course, would justify a change in the Constitution and the\nlaws; but for any frivolous cause, any trivial cause, madam, we male\ncustodians of the sacred Constitution would stand as walls of iron\nbefore it, guarding it from any shadow of change. Faithful we will be,\nfaithful unto death.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cAs it has been changed, it can be again. And you jest said\nI had convinced you that Dorlesky's errents wus errents of truth and\njustice, and you would love to do 'em.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, yes, yes--I would love to--as it were--But really, my dear madam,\nmuch as I would like to oblige you, I have not the time to devote to it.\nWe senators and Congressmen are so driven, and hard-worked, that really\nwe have no time to devote to the cause of Right and Justice. I don't\nthink you realize the constant pressure of hard work, that is ageing us,\nand wearing us out, before our day.\n\n\u201cAs I said, we have to watch the liquor-interest constantly, to see that\nthe liquor-dealers suffer no loss--we _have_ to do that. And then, we\nhave to look sharp if we cut down the money for the Indian schools.\u201d\n\nSays I, in a sarcastick tone, \u201cI s'pose you worked hard for that.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says he, in a sort of a proud tone. \u201cWe did, but we men don't\nbegrudge labor if we can advance measures of economy. You see, it\nwas taking sights of money just to Christianize and civilize\nInjuns--savages. Why, the idea was worse than useless, it wus perfectly\nruinous to the Indian agents. For if, through those schools, the Indians\nhad got to be self-supporting and intelligent and Christians, why, the\nagents couldn't buy their wives and daughters for a yard of calico,\nor get them drunk, and buy a horse for a glass bead, and a farm for a\npocket lookin'-glass. Well, thank fortune, we carried that important\nmeasure through; we voted strong; we cut down the money anyway. And\nthere is one revenue that is still accruing to the Government--or, as it\nwere, the servants of Government, the agents. You see,\u201d says he, \u201cdon't\nyou, just how important the subjects are, that are wearing down the\nCongressional and senatorial mind?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says I sadly, \u201cI see a good deal more than I want to.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you see how hard-worked we are. With all the care of the North\non our minds, we have to clean out all the creeks in the South, so the\nplanters can have smooth sailing. But we think,\u201d says he dreamily, \u201cwe\nthink we have saved money enough out of the Indian schools, to clean out\nmost of their creeks, and perhaps have a little left for a few New-York\naldermen, to reward them for their arduous duties in drinking and voting\nfor their constituents.\n\n\u201cThen, there is the Mormons: we have to make soothing laws to sooth\nthem.\n\n\u201cThen, there are the Chinese. When we send them back into heathendom,\nwe ought to send in the ship with them, some appropriate biblical texts,\nand some mottoes emblematical of our national eagle protecting and\nclawing the different nations.\n\n\u201cAnd when we send the Irish paupers back into poverty and ignorance, we\nought to send in the same ship, some resolutions condemning England for\nher treatment of Ireland.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cMost probable the Goddess of Liberty Enlightenin' the World,\nin New-York Harbor, will hold her torch up high, to light such ships on\ntheir way.\u201d\n\nAnd he said, \u201cYes, he thought so.\u201d Says he, \u201cThere is very important\nlaws up before the House, now, about hens' eggs--counting them.\u201d And\nsays he, \u201cTaking it with all those I have spoke of and other kindred\nlaws, and the constant strain on our minds in trying to pass laws to\nincrease our own salaries, you can see just how cramped we are for\ntime. And though we would love to pass some laws of Truth and\nRighteousness,--we fairly ache to,--yet, not having the requisite time,\nwe are obliged to lay 'em on the table, or under it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cI guess I might jest a well be a goin'.\u201d\n\nI bid him a cool good-bye, and started for the door. I was discouraged;\nbut he says as I went out,--\n\n\u201cMebby William Wallace will do the errent for you.\u201d\n\nSays I coldly,--\n\n\u201cWilliam Wallace is dead, and you know it.\u201d And says I with a real lot\nof dignity, \u201cYou needn't try to impose on me, or Dorlesky's errent, by\ntryin' to send me round amongst them old Scottish chiefs. I respect\nthem old chiefs, and always did; and I don't relish any light talk about\n'em.\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cThis is another William Wallace; and very probable he can do\nthe errent.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cI will send the errent to him by Bub Smith; for I am\nwore out.\u201d\n\nAs I wended, my way out of Mr. Blains'es, I met the hired man, Bub\nSmith's friend; and he asked me,--\n\n\u201cIf I didn't want to visit the Capitol?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cWhere the laws of the United States are made?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says he.\n\nAnd I told him \u201cthat I was very weary, but I would fain behold it.\u201d\n\nAnd he said he was going right by there on business, and he would be\nglad to show it to me. So we walked along in that direction.\n\nIt seems that Bub Smith saved the life of his little sister--jumped off\ninto the water when she was most drowned, and dragged her out. And from\nthat time the two families have thought the world of each other. That is\nwhat made him so awful good to me.\n\nWall, I found the Capitol was a sight to behold! Why, it beat any\nbuildin' in Jonesville, or Loontown, or Spoon Settlement in beauty and\nsize and grandeur. There hain't one that can come nigh it. Why, take all\nthe meetin'-housen of these various places, and put 'em all together,\nand put several other meetin'-housen on top of 'em, and they wouldn't\nbegin to show off with it.\n\nAnd, oh! my land! to stand in the hall below, and look up--and up--and\nup--and see all the colors of the rainbow, and see what kinder curious\nand strange pictures there wuz way up there in the sky above me (as it\nwere). Why, it seemed curiouser than any Northern lights I ever see in\nmy life, and they stream up dretful curious sometimes.\n\nAnd as I walked through the various lofty and magnificent halls, and\nrealized the size and majestic proportions of the buildin', I wondered\nto myself that a small law, a little, unjust law, could ever be passed\nin such a magnificent place.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA VIEWING THE CAPITOL.]\n\nSays I to myself, \u201cIt can't be the fault of the place, anyway. They have\ngot a chance for their souls to soar if they want to.\u201d Thinks'es I, here\nis room and to spare, to pass by laws big as elephants and camels. And\nI wondered to myself that they should ever try to pass laws and\nresolutions as small as muskeeters and nats. Thinks'es I, I wonder\nthem little laws don't get to strollin' round and get lost in them\nmagnificent corriders. But I consoled myself a thinkin' that it wouldn't\nbe no great loss if they did.\n\nBut right here, as I was a thinkin' on these deep and lofty subjects,\nthe hired man spoke up; and says he,--\n\n\u201cYou look fatigued, mom.\u201d (Soarin' even to yourself, is tuckerin'.) \u201cYou\nlook very fatigued: won't you take something?\u201d\n\nI looked at him with a curious, silent sort of a look; for I didn't know\nwhat he meant.\n\nAgin he looked close at me, and sort o' pityin'; and says he, \u201cYou look\ntired out, mom. Won't you take something?\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cWhat?\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cLet me treat you to something: what will you take, mom?\u201d\n\nWall, I thought he was actin' dretful liberal; but I knew they had\nstrange ways there in Washington, anyway. And I didn't know but it was\ntheir way to make some presents to every woman who come there: and I\ndidn't want to be odd, and act awkward, and out of style; so I says,--\n\n\u201cI don't want to take any thing, and I don't see any reason why you\nshould insist on it. But, if I have got to take something I had jest as\nlives have a few yards of factory-cloth as any thing.\u201d\n\nI thought, if he was determined to treat me, to show his good feelin's\ntowards me, I would get somethin' useful, and that would do me some\ngood, else what would be the use of bein' treated? And I thought, if I\nhad got to take a present from a strange man, I would make a shirt for\nJosiah out of it: I thought that would make it all right, so fur as\ngoodness went.\n\nBut says he, \u201cI mean beer, or wine, or liquor of some kind.\u201d\n\nI jest riz right up in my shoes and my dignity, and glared at him.\n\nSays he, \u201cThere is a saloon right here handy in the buildin'.\u201d\n\nSays I, in awful axents, \u201cIt is very appropriate to have it right here\nhandy.\u201d Says I, \u201cLiquor does more towards makin' the laws of the United\nStates, from caucus to convention, than any thing else does; and it is\nhighly proper to have some liquor here handy, so they can soak the laws\nin it right off, before they lay 'em onto the tables, or under 'em, or\npass 'em onto the people. It is highly appropriate,\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says he. \u201cIt is very handy for the senators. And let me get you a\nglass.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, you won't,\u201d says I firmly, \u201cno, you won't. The nation suffers\nenough from that room now, without havin' Josiah Allen's wife let in.\u201d\n\nSays he (his friendship for Bub Smith makin' him anxious and sot on\nhelpin' me), \u201cIf you have any feeling of delicacy in going in there, let\nme make some wine here. I will get a glass of water, and make you some\npure grape wine, or French brandy, or corn or rye whiskey. I have all\nthe drugs right here.\u201d And he took out a little box out of his pocket.\n\u201cMy father is a importer of rare old wines, and I know just how it is\ndone. I have 'em all here,--capiscum, coculus Indicus, alum, coperas,\nstrychnine. I will make some of the choicest and purest imported liquors\nwe have in the country, in five minutes, if you say so.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA REFUSING TO BE TREATED.]\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I firmly. \u201cWhen I want to follow up Cleopatra's fashion, and\ncommit suicide, I am goin' to hire a rattlesnake, and take my poison as\nshe did, on the outside.\u201d\n\n\u201cCleopatra?\u201d says he inquiringly. \u201cIs she a Washington lady?\u201d\n\nAnd I says guardedly, \u201cShe has lots of relations here, I believe.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d he said, \u201che thought her name sounded familiar. Then, I can't do\nany thing for you?\u201d he says.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says I calmly: \u201cyou can open the front door, and let me out.\u201d\n\nWhich he did, and I was glad enough to get out into the pure air.\n\nWhen I got back to the house, I found they had been to supper. Sally had\nhad company that afternoon,--her husband's brother. He had jest left.\n\nHe lived only a few miles away, and had come in on the cars. Sally said\nhe wanted to stay and see me the worst kind: he wanted to throw out some\ndeep arguments aginst wimmen's suffrage. Says she, \u201cHe talks powerful\nabout it: he would have convinced you, without a doubt.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cwhy didn't he stay?\u201d\n\nShe said he had to hurry home on account of business. He had come in\nto the village, to get some money. There was goin' to be a lot of men,\nwimmen, and children sold in his neighborhood the next mornin', and he\nthought he should buy a girl, if he could find a likely one.\n\n\u201cSold?\u201d says I, in curious axents.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says Sally. \u201cThey sell the inmates of the poor-house, every year,\nto the highest bidder,--sell their labor by the year. They have 'em get\nup on a auction block, and hire a auctioneer, and sell 'em at so much a\nhead, to the crowd. Why, some of 'em bring as high as twenty dollars a\nyear, besides board.\n\n[Illustration: BUYING TIME.]\n\n\u201cSometimes, he said, there was quite a run on old wimmen, and another\nyear on young ones. He didn't know but he might buy a old woman. He said\nthere was an old woman that he thought there was a good deal of work in,\nyet. She had belonged to one of the first families in the State, and\nhad come down to poverty late in life, through the death of some of\nher relations, and the villany of others. So he thought she had more\nstrength in her than if she had always been worked. He thought, if she\ndidn't fetch too big a price, he should buy her instead of a young one.\nThey was so balky, he said, young ones was, and would need more to eat,\nbein' growin'. And she could do rough, heavy work, just as well as a\nyounger one, and probably wouldn't complain so much; and he thought she\nwould last a year, anyway. It was his way, he said, to put 'em right\nthrough, and, when one wore out, get another one.\u201d\n\nI sithed; and says I, \u201cI feel to lament that I wuzn't here so's he could\nhave converted me.\u201d Says I, \u201cA race of bein's, that make such laws as\nthese, hadn't ort to be disturbed by wimmen meddlin' with 'em.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes: that is what he said,\u201d says Sally, in a innocent way.\n\nI didn't say no more. Good land! Sally hain't to blame. But with a noble\nscorn filling my eye, and floating out the strings of my head-dress, I\nmoved off to bed.\n\nWall, the next mornin' I sent Dorlesky's errents by Bub Smith to William\nWallace, for I felt a good deal fagged out. Bub did 'em well, and I know\nit.\n\nBut William Wallace sent him to Gen. Logan.\n\nAnd Gen. Logan said Grover Cleveland was the one to go to: he wuz a\nsot man, and would do as he agreed. And Mr. Cleveland sent him to Mr.\nEdmunds.\n\nAnd Mr. Edmunds told him to go to Samuel G. Tilden, or Roswell P.\nFlower.\n\nAnd Mr. Flower sent him to William Walter Phelps.\n\nAnd Mr. Phelps said that Benjamin P. Butler or Mr. Bayard was the one to\ndo the errent.\n\nAnd Mr. Bayard sent him to somebody else, and somebody else sent him to\nanother one. And so it went on; and Bub Smith traipsed round, a carryin'\nthem errents, from one man to another, till he was most dead.\n\nWhy, he carried them errents round all day, walkin' afoot.\n\nBub said most every one of 'em said the errents wuz just and right, but\nthey couldn't do 'em, and wouldn't tell their reasons.\n\nOne or two, Bub said, opposed it, because they said right out plain,\n\u201cthat they wanted to drink. They wanted to drink every thing they could,\nand everywhere they could,--hard cider and beer, and brandy and whisky,\nand every thing.\u201d\n\nAnd they didn't want wimmen to vote, because they liked to have the\npower in their own hands: they loved to control things, and kinder boss\nround--loved to dearly.\n\nThese was open-hearted men who spoke as they felt. But they was\nexceptions. Most every one of 'em said they couldn't do it, and wouldn't\ntell their reasons.\n\nTill way along towards night, a senator he had been sent to, bein'\na little in liquor at the time, and bein' talkative; he owned up the\nreasons why the senators wouldn't do the errents.\n\nHe said they all knew in their own hearts, both of the errents was right\nand just, to their own souls and their own country. He said--for the\nliquor had made him _very_ open-hearted and talkative--that they knew\nthe course they was pursuin' in regard to intemperance was a crime\nagainst God and their own consciences. But they didn't dare to tackle\nunpopular subjects.\n\nHe said they knew they was elected by liquor, a good many of them,\nand they knew, if they voted against whisky, it would deprive 'em of\nthousands and thousands of voters, dillegent voters, who would vote for\n'em from morn in' till night, and so they dassent tackle the ring. And\nif wimmen was allowed to vote, they knew it was jest the same thing as\nbreaking the ring right in two, and destroying intemperance. So, though\nthey knew that both the errents was jest as right as right could be,\nthey dassent tackle 'em, for fear they wouldn't run no chance at all of\nbein' President of the United States.\n\n\u201cGood land!\u201d says I. \u201cWhat a idee! to think that doin' right would\nmake a man unpopular. But,\u201d says I, \u201cI am glad to know they have got a\nreason, if it is a poor one. I didn't know but they sent you round jest\nto be mean.\u201d\n\nWall, the next mornin' I told Bub to carry the errents right into the\nSenate. Says I, \u201cYou have took 'em one by one, alone, now you jest carry\n'em before the hull batch on 'em together.\u201d I told him to tackle the\nhull crew on 'em. So he jest walked right into the Senate, a carryin'\nDorlesky's errents.\n\nAnd he come back skairt. He said, jest as he was a carryin' Dorlesky's\nerrents in, a long petition come from thousands and thousands of wimmen\non this very subject. A plea for justice and mercy, sent in respectful,\nto the lawmakers of the land.\n\nAnd he said the men jeered at it, and throwed it round the room, and\ncalled it all to nort, and made the meanest speeches about it you ever\nheard, talked nasty, and finally threw it under the table, and acted\nso haughty and overbearin' towards it, that Bub said he was afraid to\ntackle 'em. He said \u201che knew they would throw Dorlesky's errents under\nthe table, and he was afraid they would throw him under too.\u201d He was\nafraid--(he owned it up to me)--he was afraid they would knock him down.\nSo he backed out with Dorlesky's errents, and never give it to 'em at\nall.\n\nAnd I told him he did right. \u201cFor,\u201d says I, \u201cif they wouldn't listen to\nthe deepest, most earnest, and most prayerful words that could come from\nthe hearts of thousands and tens of thousands of the best mothers and\nwives and daughters in America, the most intelligent and upright and\npure-minded women in the land, loaded down with their hopes, wet with\ntheir tears--if they turned their hearts', prayers and deepest desires\ninto ridicule, throwed 'em round under their feet, they wouldn't pay\nno attention to Dorlesky's errents, they wouldn't notice one little\nvegitable widow, humbly at that, and sort o' disagreeable.\u201d And says I,\n\u201cI don't want Dorlesky's errents throwed round under foot, and she made\nfun of: she has went through enough trials and tribulations, besides\nthese gentlemen--or,\u201d says I, \u201cI beg pardon of Webster's Dictionary: I\nmeant men.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor,\u201d as I said to Webster's Dictionary in confidence, in a quiet\nthought we had about it afterwards, \u201cthey might be gentlemen in every\nother place on earth; but in this one move of theirn,\u201d as I observed\nconfidentially to the Dictionary, \u201cthey was jest _men_--the male animal\nof the human species.\u201d\n\nAnd I was ashamed enough as I looked Noah Webster's steel engraving in\nthe face, to think I had misspoke myself, and called 'em gentlemen.\n\n[Illustration: HOW WOMAN'S PRAYERS ARE ANSWERED.]\n\nWall, from that minute I gin up doin' Dorlesky's errents. And I felt\nlike death about it. But this thought held me up,--that I had done my\nbest. But I didn't feel like doin' another thing all the rest of that\nday, only jest feel disapinted and grieved over my bad luck with the\nerrents. I always think it is best, if you can possibly arrainge it in\nthat way, to give up one day, or half a day, to feelin' bad over any\nperticuler disapintment, or to worry about any thing, and do all your\nworryin' up in that time, and then give it up for good, and go to\nfeelin' happy agin. It is also best, if you have had a hull lot of\nthings to get mad about, to set apart half a day, when you can spare the\ntime, and do up all your resentin' in that time. It is easier, and takes\nless time than to keep resentin' 'em as they take place; and you can\nfeel clever quicker than in the common way.\n\nWall, I felt dretful bad for Dorlesky and the hull wimmen race of the\nland, and for the men too. And I kep' up my bad feelin's till pretty\nnigh dusk. But as I see the sun go down, and the sky grow dark, I\nsays,--\n\n\u201cYou are goin' down now, but you are a comin' up agin. As sure as the\nLord lives, the sun will shine agin; and He who holds you in His hand,\nholds the destinies of the nations. He will watch over you, and me and\nJosiah, and Dorlesky. He will help us, and take care of us.\u201d\n\nSo I begun to feel real well agin--a little after dusk.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nThe next morning Cicely wuzn't able to leave her room,--no sick\nseemin'ly, but fagged out. She was a delicate little creeter always, and\nseemed to grow delicater every day.\n\nSo Miss Smith went with me, and she and I sallied out alone: her name\nbein' Sally, too, made it seem more singuler and coincidin'.\n\nShe asked me if I didn't want to go to the Patent Office.\n\nAnd I told her, \u201cYes,\u201d And I told her of Betsy Bobbet's errent, and that\nJosiah had charged me expresly to go there, and get him a patent pail.\nHe needed a new milk-pail, and thought I could get it cheaper right on\nthe spot.\n\nAnd she said that Josiah couldn't buy his pail there. But she told me\nwhat sights and sights of things there wus to be seen there; and I found\nout when I got there, that she hadn't told me the 1/2 or the 1/4 of the\nsights I see.\n\nWhy, I could pass a month there in perfect destraction and happiness,\nthe sights are so numerous, and exceedingly destractin' and curious.\n\nBut I told Sally Smith plainly, that I wasn't half so much interested in\napple-parers and snow-plows, and the first sewin'-machine and the last\none, and steam-engines and hair-pins and pianos and thimbles, and the\nacres and acres of glass cases containing every thing that wus ever\nheard of, and every thing that never wus heard of by anybody, and\netcetery, etcetery, and so 4th, and so 4th. And you might string them\nwords out over choirs and choirs of paper, and not get half an idee of\nwhat is to be seen there.\n\nBut I told her I didn't feel half so interested in them things as I did\nin the copyright. I told Sally plain \u201cthat I wanted to see the place\nwhere the copyrights on books was made. And I wanted to see the man who\nmade 'em.\u201d\n\nAnd she asked me \u201cWhy? What made me so anxious?\u201d\n\nAnd I told her \u201cthe law was so curious, that I believed it would be the\ncuriousest place, and he would be the curiousest lookin' creeter, that\nwuz ever seen.\u201d Says I, \u201cI'll bet it will be better than a circus to see\nhim.\u201d\n\nBut it wuzn't. He looked jest like any man. And he had a sort of a\nsmart look onto him. Sally said \u201cit was one of the clerks,\u201d but I don't\nbelieve a word of it. I believe it was the man himself, who made the\nlaw; for, as in all other emergincies of life, I follered Duty, and\nasked him \u201cto change the law instantly.\u201d\n\nAnd he as good as promised me he would.\n\nI talked deep to him about it, but short. I told him Josiah had bought\na mair, and he expected to own it till he or the mair died. He didn't\nexpect to give up his right to it, and let the mair canter off free at a\nstated time.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA AND SALLY IN THE PATENT OFFICE.]\n\nAnd he asked me \u201cWho Josiah was?\u201d and I told him.\n\nAnd I told him that \u201cJosiah's farm run along one side of a pond; and if\none of his sheep got over on the other side, it was sheep jest the same,\nand it was hisen jest the same: he didn't lose the right to it, because\nit happened to cross the pond.\u201d\n\nSays he, \u201cThere would be better laws regarding copyright, if it wuzn't\nfor selfishness on both sides of the pond.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cselfishness don't pay in the long-run.\u201d And then,\nthinkin' mebby if I made myself agreable and entertainin', he\nwould change the law quicker, I made a effort, and related a little\ninterestin' incident that I had seen take place jest before my former\ndeparture from Jonesville, on a tower.\n\n\u201cNo, selfishness don't pay. I have seen it tried, and I know. Now,\nBildad Henzy married a wife on a speculation. She was a one-legged\nwoman. He was attached at the time to a woman with the usual number\nof feet; but he was so close a calculator, that he thought it would be\nmoney in his pocket to marry this one, for he wouldn't have to buy but\none shoe and stockin'. But she had to jump round on that one foot,\nand step heavy; so she wore out more shoes than she would if she was\ntwo-footed.\u201d Says I, \u201cSelfishness don't pay in private life or in\npolitics.\u201d\n\nAnd he said \u201cHe thought jest so,\u201d and he jest about the same as promised\nme he would change the law.\n\nI hope he will. It makes me feel so strange every time I think out, as\nstrange as strange can be.\n\nWhy, I told Sally after we went out, and I spoke about \u201cthe man lookin'\nhuman, and jest like anybody else;\u201d and she said \u201cit was a clerk;\u201d and I\nsaid \u201cI knew better, I knew it was the man himself.\u201d\n\nAnd says I agin, \u201cIt beats all, how anybody in human shape can make such\na law as that copyright law.\u201d\n\nAnd she said \u201cthat was so.\u201d But I knew by her mean, that she didn't\nunderstand a thing about it; and I knew it would make me so sort o'\nlight-headed and vacant if I went to explain it to her, that I never\nsaid a word, and fell in at once with her proposal that we should go\nand see the Treasury, and the Corcoran Art Gallery, and the Smithsonian\nInstitute, one at a time.\n\nAnd I found the Treasury wuz a sight to behold. Such sights and sights\nof money they are makin' there, and a countin'. Why, I s'pose they make\nmore money there in a week, than Josiah and I spend in a year.\n\nI s'pose most probable they made it a little faster, and more of it, on\naccount of my bein' there. But they have sights and sights of it. They\nare dretful well off.\n\nI asked Sally, and I spoke out kinder loud too,--I hain't one of the\nunderhanded kind,--I asked her, \u201cIf she s'posed they'd let us take hold\nand make a little money for ourselves, they seemed to be so runnin' over\nwith it, there.\u201d\n\nAnd she said, \u201cNo, private citizens couldn't do that.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cWho can?\u201d\n\nShe kinder whispered back in a skairt way, sunthin' about \u201cspeculators\nand legislators and rings, and etcetery.\u201d\n\nBut I answered right out loud,--I hain't one to go whisperin'\nround,--and says I,--\n\n\u201cI'll bet if Uncle Sam himself was here, and knew the feelin's I had\nfor him, he'd hand out a few dollars of his own accord for me to get\nsunthin' to remember him by. Howsumever, I don't need nor want any\nof his money. I hain't beholden to him nor any man. I have got over\nfourteen dollars by me, at this present time, egg-money.\u201d\n\nBut it was a sight to behold, to see 'em make it.\n\nAnd then, as we stood out on the sidewalk agin, the Smithsonian\nInstitute passed through my mind; and then the Corcoran Art Gallery\npassed through it, and several other big, noble buildin's. But I let 'em\npass; and I says to Sally,--\n\n\u201cLet us go at once and see the man that makes the public schools.\u201d Says\nI, \u201cThere is a man that I honor, and almost love.\u201d\n\nAnd she said she didn't know who it wuz.\n\nBut I think it was the lamb that she had in a bakin', that drew her back\ntowards home. She owned up that her hired girl didn't baste it enough.\n\nAnd she seemed oneasy.\n\nBut I stood firm, and says, \u201cI shall see that man, lamb or no lamb.\u201d\n\nAnd then Sally give in. And she found him easy enough. She knew all the\ntime, it was the sheep that hampered her.\n\nAnd, oh! I s'pose it was a sight to be remembered, to see my talk\nto that man. I s'pose, if it had been printed, it would have made a\nbeautiful track--and lengthy.\n\nWhy, he looked fairly exhausted and cross before I got half through, I\ntalked so smart (eloquence is tuckerin').\n\nI told him how our public schools was the hope of the nation. How they\nneutralized to a certain extent the other schools the nation allowed to\nthe public,--the grog-shops, and other licensed places of ruin. I told\nhim how pretty it looked to me to see Civilization a marchin' along from\nthe Atlantic towards the Pacific, with a spellin'-book in one hand, and\nin the other the rosy, which she was a plantin' in place of the briars\nand brambles.\n\nAnd I told him how highly I approved of compulsory education.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says I, \u201cif anybody is a drowndin', you don't ask their consent\nto be drawed out of the water, you jest jump in, and yank 'em out. And\nwhen you see poor little ones, a sinkin' down in the deep waters of\nignorance and brutality, why, jest let Uncle Sam reach right down, and\ndraw 'em out.\u201d Says I, \u201cI'll bet that is why he is pictered as havin'\nsuch long arms for, and long legs too,--so he can wade in if the water\nis deep, and they are too fur from the shore for his arms to reach.\u201d\n\nAnd says I, \u201cIn the case of the little Indian, and other colored\nchildren, he'll need the legs of a stork, the water is so deep round\n'em. But he'll reach 'em, Uncle Sam will. He'll lift 'em right up in his\nlong arms, and set 'em safe on the pleasant shore. You'll see that he\nwill. Uncle Sam is a man of a thousand.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cHow much it wus like him, to pass that law for children to be\nlearnt jest what whisky is, and what it will do. Why,\u201d says I, \u201cin that\nvery law Christianity has took a longer stride than she could take by\nmillions of sermons, all divided off into tenthlies and twentiethlies.\u201d\n\nWhy, I s'pose I talked perfectly beautiful to that man: I s'pose so.\n\nAnd if he hadn't had a sudden engagement to go out, I should have talked\nlonger. But I see his engagement wus a wearin' on him. His eyes looked\nfairly wild. I only give a bald idee of what I said. I have only give\nthe heads of my discussion to him, jest the bald heads.\n\nWall, after we left there, I told Sally I felt as if I must go and see\nthe Peace Commission. I felt as if I must make some arrangements with\n'em to not have any more wars. As I told Sally, \u201cWe might jest as well\ncall ourselves Injuns and savages at once, if we had to keep up this\nmost savage and brutal trait of theirn.\u201d Says I firmly, \u201cI _must_,\nbefore I go back to Jonesville, tend to it.\u201d Says I, \u201cI didn't come here\nfor fashion, or dry-goods; though I s'pose lots of both of 'em are to\nbe got here.\u201d Says I, \u201cI may tend to one or two fashionable parties, or\nlevys as I s'pose they call 'em here. I may go to 'em ruther than hurt\nthe feelin's of the upper 10. I want to do right: I don't want to hurt\nthe feelin's of them 10. They have hearts, and they are sensitive.\nI don't think I have ever took to them 10, as much as I have to some\nothers; but I wish 'em well.\n\n\u201cAnd I s'pose you see as grand and curious people to their parties here,\nas you can see together in any other place on the globe.\n\n\u201cI s'pose it is a sight to behold, to see 'em together. To see them, as\nthe poet says, 'To the manner born,' and them that wasn't born in\nthe same manor, but tryin' to act as if they was. Wealth and display,\nnatural courtesy and refinement, walkin' side by side with pretentius\nvulgarity, and mebby poverty bringin' up the rear. Genius and folly,\nhonesty and affectation, gentleness and sweetness, and brazen impudence,\nand hatred and malice, and envy and uncharitableness. All languages and\npeoples under the sun, and differing more than stars ever did, one from\nanother.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA AT THE PRESIDENT'S RECEPTION.]\n\n\u201cAnd what makes it more curious and mysterius is, the way they dress,\nsome on 'em. Why, they say--it has come right straight to me by them\nthat know--that the ladies wear what they call full dress; and the\nstrange and mysterius part of it is, that the fuller the dress is, the\nless they have on 'em.\n\n\u201cThis is a deep subject, and queer; and I don't s'pose you will take my\nword for it, and I don't want you to. But I have been _told_ so.\n\n\u201cWhy, I s'pose them upper 10 have their hands full, their 20 hands\ncompletely full. I fairly pity 'em--the hull 10 of 'em. They want me,\nand they need me, I s'pose, and I must tend to some of 'em.\n\n\u201cAnd then,\u201d says I, \u201cI did calculate to pay some attention to\nstore-clothes. I did want to get me a new calico dress,--London brown\nwith a set flower on it. But I can do without that dress, and the upper\n10 can do without me, better than the Nation can do without Peace.\u201d\n\nI felt as if I must tend to it: I fairly hankered to do away with war,\nimmejiately and to once. But I knew right was right, and I felt\nthat Sally ort to be let to tend to her lamb; so Sally and I sallied\nhomewards.\n\nBut the hired girl had tended to it well. It wus good--very good.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nWall, the next mornin' Cicely wus better, and we sot sail for Mount\nVernon. It was about ten o'clock A.M. when I, accompanied by Cicely and\nthe boy, sot sail from Washington, D.C., to perform about the ostensible\nreason of my tower,--to weep on the tomb of the noble G. Washington.\n\nMy intentions had been and wuz, to weep for him on my tower. I had come\nprepared. 2 linen handkerchiefs and a large cotton one reposed in the\npocket of my polenay, and I had on my new waterproof. I never do things\nby the 1/2s.\n\nIt was a beautiful seen, as we floated down the still river, to look\nback and see the Capitol risin' white and fair like a dream, the\nglitterin' snow of the monument, and the green heights, all bathed in\nthe glory of that perfect May mornin'. It wuz a fair seen.\n\nHappy groups of people sot on the peaceful decks,--stately gentlemen,\nhandsome ladies, and pretty children. And in one corner, off kinder by\nthemselves, sot that band of dusky singers, whose songs have delighted\nthe world. Modest, good-lookin' dark girls, manly, honest-lookin' dark\nboys.\n\nOnly a few short years ago this black people was drove about like dumb\ncattle,--bought and sold, hunted by blood-hounds; the wimmen hunted to\ninfamy and ruin, the men to torture and to death. The wimmen denied the\nfirst right of womanhood, to keep themselves pure. The men denied the\nfirst right of manhood, to protect the ones they loved. Deprived legally\nof purity and honor, and all the rights of commonest humanity--worn with\nunpaid toil, beaten, whipped, tortured, dispised and rejected of men.\n\n[Illustration: GOING TO MOUNT VERNON.]\n\nNow, a few short years have passed over this dark race, and these\nchildren of slaves that I looked upon have been guests of the proudest\nand noblest in this and in foreign lands. Hands that hold the destinies\nof mighty empires have clasped theirs in frankest friendship, and\ncrowned heads have bowed low before 'em to hide the tears their sweet\nvoices have called forth. What feelin's I felt as I looked on 'em! and\nmy soul burned inside of me, almost to the extent of settin' my polenay\non fire, a thinkin' of all this.\n\nAnd pretty soon, right when I was a reveryin'--right there, when we wuz\na floatin' clown the still waters, their voices riz up in one of their\ninspired songs. They sung about their \u201cHard Trials,\u201d and how the \u201cSweet\nChariot swung low,\u201d and how they had \u201cBeen Redeemed.\u201d\n\nAnd I declare for't, as I listened to 'em, there wuzn't a dry eye in my\nhead; and I wet every one of them 3 handkerchiefs that I had calculated\nto mourn for G. Washington on, wet as sop. But I didn't care. I knew\nthat George had rather not be mourned for on dry handkerchiefs, than\nthat I should stent myself in emotions in such a time as this. He loved\nLiberty himself, and fit for it. And anyway, I didn't sense what I was\na doin', not a mite. I took out them handkerchiefs entirely unbeknown to\nme, and put 'em back unbeknown.\n\nThe words of them songs hain't got hardly any sense, as we earthly\nbein's count sense; there are scores of great singers, whose trained\nvoices are a hundred-fold more melodious: but these simple strains move\nus, thrill us; they jest get right inside of our hearts and souls, and\ntake full possession of us.\n\nIt seems as if nothin' human of so little importance could so move us.\nIs it God's voice that speaks to us through them? Is it His Spirit that\nlifts us up, sways us to and fro, that blows upon us, as we listen to\ntheir voices? The Spirit that come down to cheer them broken hearts,\nlift them up in their captivity, does it now sway and melt the hearts\nof their captors? We read of One who watches over His sorrowing, wronged\npeople, givin' them \u201csongs in the night.\u201d\n\nAnon, or nearly at that time, a silver bell struck out a sweet sort of\na mournful note; and we jest stood right in towards the shore, and\ndisembarked from the bark.\n\nWe clomb the long hill, and stood on top, with powerful emotions (but\nlittle or no breath); stood before the iron bars that guarded the tomb\nof George Washington, and Martha his wife.\n\nI looked at the marble coffin that tried to hold George, and felt\nhow vain it wuz to think that any tomb could hold him. That peaceful,\ntree-covered hill couldn't hold his tomb. Why, it wuz lifted up in every\nland that loved freedom. The hull liberty-lovin' earth wuz his tomb and\nhis monument.\n\nAnd that great river flowin' on and on at his feet--as long as that\nriver rolls, George Washington shall float on it, he and his faithful\nMartha. It shall bear him to the sea and the ocian, and abroad to every\nland.\n\nOh! what feelin's I felt as I stood there a reveryin', my body still,\nbut my mind proudly soarin'! To think, he wuz our Washington, and that\ntime couldn't kill him. For he shall walk through the long centuries to\ncome. He shall bear to the high chamber of prince and ruler, memories\nthat shall blossom into deeds, awaken souls, rouse powers that shall\nnever die, that shall scatter blessings over lands afar, strike the\nfetters from slave and serf.\n\nThe hands they folded over his peaceful breast so many years ago, are\nnot lying there in that marble coffin: the calm blue eyes closed so many\nyears ago, are still lookin' into souls. Those hands lift the low walls\nof the poor boy's chamber, as he reads of victory over tyranny, of\nconquerin' discouragement and defeat.\n\n[Illustration: BEFORE THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.]\n\nThe low walls fade away; the dusky rafters part to admit the infinite,\ninfinite longin's to do and dare, infinite resolves to emulate those\ndeeds of valor and heroism. How the calm blue eyes look down into the\nboy's impassioned soul, how the shadowy hands beckon him upward, up the\nrocky heights of noble endeavor, noble deeds! How the inspiration of\nthis life, these deeds of might and valor, nerve the young heart for\nfuture strivings for freedom and justice and truth!\n\nIs it not a blessed thing to thus live on forever in true, eager hearts,\nto nerve the hero's arm, to inspire deeds of courage and daring? The\nweary body may rest; but to do this, is surely not to die; no, it is\nto live, to be immortal, to thus become the beating heart, the living,\nstruggling, daring soul of the future.\n\nAnd right while I was thinkin' these thoughts, and lookin' off over the\nstill landscape, the peaceful waters, this band of dark singers stood\nwith reverent faces and uncovered heads, and begun singin' one of their\nsweetest melodies,--\n\n\u201cHe rose, he rose, he rose from the dead.\u201d\n\nOh! as them inspired, hantin' notes rose through the soft, listenin'\nair, and hanted me, walked right round inside my heart and soul, and\ninspired me--why! how many emotions I did have,--more'n 85 a minute\nright along!\n\nAs I thought of how many times since the asscension of our Lord, tombs\nhave opened, and the dead come forth alive; how Faith and Justice will\ntriumph in the end; how you can't bury 'em deep enough, or roll a stun\nbig enough and hard enough before the door, but what, in some calm\nmornin', the earliest watcher shall see a tall, fair angel standin'\nwhere the dead has lain, bearin' the message of the risen Lord, \u201cHe rose\nfrom the dead.\u201d\n\nI thought how George W. and our other old 4 fathers thought in the long,\ntoilsome, weary hours before the dawnin', that fair Freedom was dead;\nbut she rose, she rose.\n\nI thought how the dusky race whose sweet songs was a floatin' round the\ngrave of him who loved freedom, and gave his life for it; I thought\nhow, durin' the dreary time when they was captives in a strange land,\nchained, scourged, and tortured, how they thought, through this long,\nlong night of years, that Justice was dead, and Mercy and Pity and\nRighteousness.\n\nBut there come a glorious mornin' when fathers and mothers clasped their\nchildren in their arms, their own once more, in arms that was their own,\nto labor and protect, and they sung together of Freedom and Right, how\nthough they wuz buried deep, and the night wuz long, and the watchers\nby the tomb weary, weary unto death, yet they rose, they rose from the\ndead.\n\nAnd then I thought of the tombs that darken our land to-day, where the\nmurdered, the legally murdered, lay buried. I thought of the graves more\nhopeless fur than them that entomb the dead,--the graves where lay the\nlivin' dead. Dead souls bound to still breathin' bodies, dead hopes,\nambitions, dead dreams of usefulness and respectability, happiness, dead\npurity, faith, honor, dead, all dead, all bound to the still breathin'\nbody, by the festerin', putrid death-robes of helplessness and despair.\n\nThere they lie chained to their dark tombs by links slight at first,\nbut twisted by the hard old fingers of blind habit, to chains of iron,\nchains linked about, and eatin' into, not only the quiverin' flesh, but\nthe frenzied brains, the hope less hearts, the ruined souls.\n\nHeavy, hopeless-lookin' vaults they are indeed, whose air is putrid with\nthe sickenin' miasma of moral loathsomness and deseese; whose walls are\npainted with hideous pictures of murder, rapine, lust, starvation, woe,\nand despair, earthly and eternal ruin. Shapes of the dreadful past, the\nhopeless future, that these livin' dead stare upon with broodin' frenzy\nby night and by day.\n\nOh the tombs, the countless, countless tombs, where lie these breathin'\ncorpses! How mothers weep over them! how wives kneel, and beat their\nhearts out on the rocky barriers that separate them from their hearts'\nlove, their hearts' desire! How little starvin', naked children cower in\ntheir ghostly shadows through dark midnights! How fathers weep for their\nchildren, dead to them, dead to honor, to shame, to humanity! How the\ncries of the mourners ascend to the sweet heavens!\n\nAnd less peaceful than the graves of the departed, these tombs\nthemselves are full of the hopeless cries of the entombed, praying for\nhelp, praying for some strong hand to reach down and lift them out of\ntheir reeking, polluted, living death.\n\nThe whole of our fair land is covered with jest such graves: its turf is\ntread down by the footprints of the mourners who go about the streets.\nThey pray, they weep: the night is long, is long. But the morning will\ndawn at last.\n\nAnd the women,--daughters, wives, mothers,--who kneel with clasped\nhands beside the tombs, heaviest-eyed, deepest mourners, because most\nhelpless. Lift up your heavy eyes: the sun is even now rising, that\nshall gild the sky at last. The mornin' light is even now dawnin' in the\neast. It shall fall first upon your uplifted brows, your prayerful eyes.\nMost blessed of God, because you loved most, sorrowed most. To you shall\nit be given to behold first the tall, fair angel of Resurection and\nRedemption, standin' at the grave's mouth. Into your hands shall be put\nthe key to unlock the heavy doors, where your loved has lain.\n\nThe dead shall rise. Temperance and Justice and Liberty shall rise.\nThey shall go forth to bless our fair land. And purified and enobled,\nit shall be the best beloved, the fairest land of God beneath the sun.\nRefuge of the oppressed and tempted, inspiration of the hopeless, light\nof the world.\n\nAnd free mothers shall clasp their free children to their hearts; and\nfathers and mothers and children shall join in one heavenly strain, song\nof freedom and of truth. And the nations shall listen to hear how \u201cthey\nrose, they rose, they rose from the dead.\u201d\n\nAs the tones of the sweet hymn died on the soft air, and the blessed\nvision passed with it; when I come down onto my feet,--for truly, I had\nbeen lifted up, and by the side of myself,--Cicely was standin' with her\nbrown eyes lookin' over the waters, holdin' the hand of the boy; and I\nsee every thing that the song did or could mean, in the depths of her\ndeep, prophetic eyes. Sad eyes, too, they was, and discouraged; for the\nmorning wus fur away--and--and the boy wus pullin' at her hand, eager to\nget away from where he wus.\n\nThe boy led us; and we follered him up the gradual hill to the old\nhomestead of Washington, Mount Vernon.\n\nLookin' down from the broad, high porch, you can look directly down\nthrough the trees into the river. The water calm and sort o' golden,\nthrough the green of the trees, and every thing looked peaceful and\nserene.\n\nThere are lots of interestin' things to be seen here,--the tombs of the\nrest of the Washington family; the key of the Bastile, covered with the\nblood and misery of a foreign land; the tree that carries us back in\nmemory to his grave, where he rests quietly, who disturbed the sleep of\nempires and kingdoms; the furniture of Washington and his family,--the\nchairs they sot in, the tables they sot at, and the rooms where\nthey sot; the harpiscord, that Nelly Custis and Mrs. G. Washington\nharpiscorded on.\n\nBut she whose name wus once Smith longed to see somethin' else fur more.\nWhat wus it?\n\nIt wus not the great drawin'-rooms, the guest-chambers, the halls, the\ngrounds, the live-stock, nor the pictures, nor the flowers.\n\nNo: it wus the old garret of the mansion, the low old garret, where she\nsot, our Lady Washington, in her widowed dignity, with no other fire\nonly the light of deathless love that lights palace or hovel,--sot there\nin the window, because she could look out from it upon the tomb of her\nmighty dead.\n\nSot lookin' out upon the river that wus sweepin' along under sun and\nmoon, bearing on every wave and ripple the glory and beauty of his name.\n\nBearing it away from her mebby, she would sometimes sadly think, as she\nthought of happy days gone by; for though souls may soar, hearts will\ncling. And sometimes storms would vex the river's unquiet breast; and\nmebby the waves would whisper to her lovin' heart, \u201cNever more, never\nmore.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD HOME OF WASHINGTON.]\n\nAs she sot there looking out, waiting for that other river, whose waves\ncrept nearer and nearer to her feet,--that other river, on which her\nsoul should sail away to meet her glorious dead; that river which\nwhispers \u201cForever, forever;\u201d that river which is never unquiet, and\nwhose waves are murmuring of nothing less beautiful than of meeting, of\nlove, and of lasting repose.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nWhen we got back from Mount Vernon, and entered our boardin'-house,\nCicely went right up to her room. But I, feelin' kinder beat out\n(eloquent emotions are very tuckerin' on a tower), thought I would set\ndown a few minutes in the parlor to rest, before I mounted up the stairs\nto my room.\n\nBut truly, as it turned out, I had better have gone right up, breath or\nno breath.\n\nFor, while I was a settin' there, a tall, sepulchral lookin' female,\nthat I had noticed at the breakfast-table, come up to me; and says\nshe,--\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, mom, but I believe you are the noble and eloquent\nJosiah Allen's wife, and I believe you are a stoppin' here.\u201d\n\nSays I calmly, \u201cI hain't a stoppin'--I am stopped, as it were, for a few\ndays.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says she, \u201ca friend of mine is comin' to-night, to my room,\nNo. 17, to give a private seansy. And knowin' you are a great case to\ninvestigate into truths, I thought mebby you would love to come, and\nwitness some of our glorious spirit manifestations.\u201d\n\nI thanked her for her kindness, but told her \u201cI guessed I wouldn't go. I\ndidn't seem to be sufferin' for a seancy.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d says she: \u201cit is wonderful, wonderful to see. Why, we will tie the\nmedium up, and he will ontie himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d says I. \u201cI have seen that done, time and agin. I used to tie\nThomas J. up when he was little, and naughty; and he would, in spite of\nme, ontie himself, and get away.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is Thomas J.?\u201d says she.\n\n\u201cJosiah's child by his first wife,\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says she, \u201cif we have a good circle, and the conditions are\nfavorable, the spirits will materialize,--come before us with a body.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d says I. \u201cI have seen that. Thomas J. used to dress up as a ghost,\nand appear to us. But he didn't seem to think the conditions wus so\nfavorable, and he didn't seem to appear so much, after his father\nketched him at it, and give him a good whippin'.\u201d And says I firmly, \u201cI\nguess that would be about the way with your ghosts.\u201d\n\nAnd after I had said it, the idee struck me as bein' sort o'\npitiful,--to go to whippin' a ghost. But she didn't seem to notice my\nremark, for she seemed to be a gazin' upward in a sort of a muse; and\nshe says,--\n\n\u201cOh! would you not like to talk with your departed kindred?\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, yes,\u201d says I firmly, after a minute's thought. \u201cI would like to.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome to-night to our seansy, and we will call 'em, and you shall talk\nwith 'em.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I candidly, \u201cto tell the truth, bein' only wimmen present,\nI'll tell you, I have got to mend my petticoat to-night. My errents have\ntook me round to such a extent, that it has got all frayed out round the\nbottom, and I have got to mend the fray. But, if any of my kindred are\nthere, you jest mention it to 'em that she that wuz Samantha Smith is\nstopped at No. 16, and, if perfectly convenient, would love to see\n'em. I can explain it to 'em,\u201d says I, \u201cbein' all in the family, why I\ncouldn't leave my room.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THOMAS JEFFERSON S GHOST.]\n\nSays she, \u201cYou are makin' fun: you don't believe they will be there, do\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, to be honest with you, it looks dubersome to me. It does seem to\nme, that if my father or mother sot out from the other world, and come\ndown to this boardin'-house, to No. 17, they would know, without havin'\nto be told, that I was in the next room to 'em; and they wouldn't want\nto stay with a passel of indifferent strangers, when their own child was\nso near.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don't believe in the glorious manifestations of our seansys?\u201d says\nshe.\n\n\u201cWall, to tell you the plain truth, I don't seem to believe 'em to any\ngreat extent. I believe, if God wants to speak to a human soul below,\nHe can, without any of your performances and foolishness; and when I say\nperformences and when I say foolishness, I say 'em in very polite ways:\nand I don't want to hurt anybody's feelin's by sayin' things hain't so,\nbut I simply state my belief.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon't you believe in the communion of saints? Don't you believe God\never reveals himself to man?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I do! I believe that now, as in the past, the pure in heart shall\nsee God. Why, heaven is over all, and pretty nigh to some.\u201d\n\nAnd I thought of Cicely, and couldn't help it.\n\n\u201cI believe there are pure souls, especially when they are near to the\nother world, who can look in, and behold its beauty. Why, it hain't but\na little ways from here,--it can't be, sense a breath of air will blow\nus into it. It takes sights of preparation to get ready to go, but it is\nonly a short sail there. And you may go all over the land from house\nto house, and you will hear in almost every one of some dear friend who\ndied with their faces lit up with the glow of the light shinin' from\nsome one of the many mansions,--the dear home-light of the fatherland;\ndied speakin' to some loved one, gone before. But I don't believe you\ncan coax that light, and them voices, down into a cabinet, and let 'em\nshine and speak, at so much an evenin'.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought,\u201d says she bitterly, \u201cthat you was one who never condemned\nany thing that you hadn't thoroughly investigated.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don't,\u201d says I. \u201cI don't condemn nothin' nor nobody. I only tell my\nmind. I don't say there hain't no truth in it, because I don't know;\nand that is one of the best reasons in the world for not sayin' a thing\nhain't so. When you think how big a country the land of Truth is, and\nhow many great unexplored regions lay in it, why should Josiah Allen's\nwife stand and lean up aginst a tree on the outmost edge of the\nfrontier, and say what duz and what duzn't lay hid in them mysterius and\nbeautiful regions that happier eyes than hern shall yet look into?\n\n\u201cNo: the great future is the fulfillment of the prophecies, and blind\ngropin's of the present; and it is not for me, nor Josiah, nor anybody\nelse, to talk too positive about what we hain't seen, and don't know.\n\n\u201cNo: nor I hain't one to say it is the Devil's work, not claimin' such a\nclose acquaintance with the gentleman named, as some do, who profess\nto know all his little social eccentricities. But I simply say, and say\nhonest, that I hain't felt no drawin's towards seancys, nor felt like\nfollerin' 'em up. But I am perfectly willin' you should have your own\nidees, and foller 'em.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you believe angels have appeared to men?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, mom, I do. But I never heard of a angel bein' stanchelled up in a\nbox-stall, and let out of it agin at stated times, like a yearlin' colt.\n(Excuse my metafor, mom, I am country bred and born.) And no angel that\nI ever heard on, has been harnessed and tackled up with any ropes or\nstrings whatsoever. No! whenever we hear of angels appearin' to men,\nthey have flown down, white-winged and radiant, right out of the\nheavens, which is their home, and appeared to men, entirely unbeknown\nto them. That is the way they appeared to the shephards at Bethlahem, to\nthe disciples on the mountain, to the women at the tomb.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon't you believe they could come jest as well now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don't say they couldn't. There is no place in the Bible, that I know\nof, where it says they shall never appear agin to man. But I s'pose, in\nthe days I speak of, when the One Pure Heart was upon earth, Earth and\nHeaven drew nearer together, as it were,--the divine and the human. And\nif we now draw Heaven nearer to us by better, purer lives, who knows,\u201d\n says I dreamily (forgettin' the mejum, and other trials), \u201cwho knows but\nwhat we might, in some fair day, look up into the still heavens, and see\nthrough the clear blue, in the distance, a glimpse of the beautiful city\nof the redeemed?\n\n\u201cWho knows,\u201d says I, \u201cif we lived for Heaven, as Jennie Dark lived for\nher country, in the story I have heard Thomas J. read about, but we\nmight, like her, see visions, and hear voices, callin' us to heavenly\nduties? But,\u201d says I, findin' and recoverin' myself, \u201cI don't see no use\nin a seansy to help us.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon't you admit that there is strange doin's at these seansys?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says I. \u201cI never see one myself; but, from what I have heard of\n'em, they are very strange.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon't you think there are things done that seem supernatural?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don't know as they are any more supernatural than the telegraph\nand telefone and electric light, and many other seemin'ly supernatural\nworks. And who knows but there may still be some hidden powers in nature\nthat is the source of what you call supernatural?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not believe, with us, voices from Heaven speak through these\nmeans?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause it looks dubersome to me--dretful dubersome. It don't look\nreasonable to me, that He, the mighty King of heaven and earth, would\nspeak to His children through a senseless Indian jargon, or impossible\nand blasphemous speeches through a first sphere.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou say you believe God has spoken to men, and why not now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you, I don't know but He duz. But I don't believe it is in that\nmanner. Way back to the creation, when we read of God's speakin' to man,\nthe voice come directly down from heaven to their souls.\n\n\u201cIn the hush of the twilight, when every thing was still and peaceful,\nand Adam was alone, then he heard God's voice. He didn't have to wait\nfor favorable conditions, or set round a table; for, what is more\nconvincin', I don't believe he had a table to set round.\n\n\u201cIn the dreary lonesomeness of the great desert, God spoke to the\nheart-broken Hagar. She didn't have to try any tests to call down the\nspirits. Clear and sudden out of heaven come the Lord's voice speaking\nto her soul in comfort and in prophecy, and her eyes was opened, and she\nsaw waters flowin' in the midst of the desert.\n\n\u201cUp on the mountain top, God's voice spoke to Abraham; and Lot in the\nquiet of evening, at the tent's door, received the angelic visitants.\nSudden, unbeknown to them, they come. They didn't have to put nobody\ninto a trance, nor holler, so we read.\n\n\u201cIn the hush of the temple, through the quiet of her motherly dreams,\nHannah heard a voice. Hannah didn't have to say, 'If you are a spirit,\nrap so many times.' No: she knew the voice. God prepares the listenin'\nsoul His own self. 'They know my voice,' so the Lord said.\n\n\u201cDaniel and the lions didn't have to 'form a circle' for him to see\nthe one in shinin' raiment. No: the angel guest came down from heaven\nunbidden, and appeared to Daniel alone, in peril; and as he stood by\nthe 'great river,' it said, 'Be strong, be strong!' preparin' him for\nconflict. And Daniel was strengthened, so the Bible says.\n\n\u201cGod's hand is not weaker to-day, and His conflicts are bein' waged on\nmany a battle-field. And I dare not say that He does not send His angels\nto comfort and sustain them who from love to Him go out into rightous\nwarfare. But I don't believe they come through a seansy. I don't,\nhonestly. I don't believe Daniel would have felt strengthened a mite, by\nseein' a materialized rag-baby hung out by a wire in front of a hemlock\nbox, and then drawed back sudden.\n\n[Illustration: HEAVENLY VISITORS.]\n\n\u201cNo: Adam and Enoch, and Mary and Paul and St. John, didn't have to say,\nbefore they saw the heavenly guests, 'If you are a spirit, manifest it\nby liftin' up some table-legs.' And they didn't have to tie a mejum into\na box before they could hear God's voice. No: we read in the Bible of\neight different ones who come back from death, and appeared to their\nfriends, besides the many who came forth from their graves at Jerusalem.\nBut they didn't none of 'em come in this way from round under tables,\nand out of little coops, and etcetery.\n\n\u201cAnd as it was in the old days, so I believe it is to-day. I believe, if\nGod wants to speak to a human soul, livin' or dead, He don't _need_ the\nhelp of ropes and boxes and things. It don't look reasonable to think He\n_has_ to employ such means. And it don't look reasonable to me to think,\nif He wants to speak to one of His children in comfort or consolation,\nHe will try to drive a hard bargain with 'em, and make 'em pay from\nfifty cents to a dollar to hear Him, children half price. Howsomever,\neverybody to their own opinions.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a unbeliever,\u201d says she bitterly.\n\n\u201cYes, mom: I s'pose I am. I s'pose I should be called Samantha Allen,\nU.S., which Stands, Unbeliever in Spiritual Seansys, and also United\nStates. It has a noble, martyrous look to me,\u201d says I firmly. \u201cIt makes\nme think of my errent.\u201d\n\nShe tosted her head in a high-headed way, which is gaulin' in the\nextreme to see in another female. And she says,--\n\n\u201cYou are not receptive to truth.\u201d\n\nI s'pose she thought that would scare me, but it didn't. I says,--\n\n\u201cI believe in takin' truth direct from God's own hand and revelation.\nBut I don't have any faith in modern spiritual seansys. They seem to\nme,--and I would say it in a polite, courtous way, for I wouldn't\nhurt your feelin's for the world,--all mixed up with modern greed and\nhumbug.\u201d\n\nBut, if you'll believe it, for all the pains I took to be almost\nover-polite to her, and not say a word to hurt her feelin's, that woman\nacted mad, and flounced out of the room as if she was sent.\n\nGood land! what strange creeters there are in the world, anyway!\n\nWall, I had fairly forgot that the boy wus in the room. But 1,000 and 5\nis a small estimate of the questions he asked me after she went out.\n\n\u201cWhat a seansy was? And did folks appear there? And would his papa\nappear if he should tie himself up in a box? And if I would be sorry if\nhis papa didn't appear, if he didn't appear? And where the folks went\nto that I said, come out of their graves? And did they die again? Or did\nthey keep on a livin' and a livin' and a livin'? And if I wished I could\nkeep on a livin' and a livin' and a livin'?\u201d\n\nGood land! it made me feel wild as a loon, and Cicely put the boy to\nbed.\n\nBut I happened to go into the bedroom for something; and he opened his\neyes, and says he,--\n\n\u201c_Say_! if the dead live men's little boys that had grown up and lived\nand died before their pa's come out, would they come out too? and would\nthe dead live men know that they was their little boys? and _say_\u201d--\n\nBut I went out immegiatly, and s'pose he went to sleep.\n\nWall, the next mornin' I got up feelin' kinder mauger. I felt sort\no' weary in my mind as well as my body. For I had kep' up a powerful\nammount of thinkin' and medetatin'. Mebby right when I would be a\ntalkin' and a smilin' to folks about the weather or literatoor or any\nthing, my mind would be hard at work on problems, and I would be a\ntakin' silent observations, and musin' on what my eyes beheld.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cSAY!\u201d]\n\nAnd I had felt more and more satisfied of the wisdom of the conclusion\nI reached on my first interview with Allen Arthur,--that I dast not, I\ndast not let my companion go from me into Washington.\n\nNo! I felt that I dast not, as his mind was, let him go into temptation.\n\nI felt that he wanted to make money out of the Government I loved; and\nafter I had looked round me, and observed persons and things, I felt\nthat he would do it.\n\nI felt that _I_ dast not let him go.\n\nI knew that he wanted to help them that helped him, without no deep\nthought as to the special fitness of uncle Nate Gowdy and Ury Henzy for\ngovernmental positions. And after I had enquired round a little, and\nconsidered the heft of his mind, and the weight of example, I felt he\nwould do it.\n\nAnd I _dast_ not let him go.\n\nAnd, though I knew his hand was middlin' free now, still I realized that\nother hands just as free once had had rings slipped into 'em, and was\nled by 'em whithersoever the ring-makers wished to lead them.\n\nI dast _not_ let him go.\n\nI knew that now his morals, though small (he don't weigh more'n a\nhundred,--bones, moral sentiments, and all), was pretty sound and firm,\nthe most of the time. But the powerful winds that blew through them\nbroad streets of Washington from every side, and from the outside, and\nfrom the under side, powerful breezes, some cold, and some powerful hot\nones--why, I felt that them small morals, more than as likely as not,\nwould be upsot, and blowed down, and tore all to pieces.\n\nI dast not _let_ him go.\n\nI knew he was willin' to buy votes. If willin' to buy,--the fearful\nthought hanted me,--mebby he would be willin' to sell; and, the more I\nlooked round and observed, the more I felt that he would.\n\nI felt that I dast not let _him_ go.\n\nNo, no! I dast not let him _go_.\n\nI was a musin' on this thought at the breakfast-table where I sot with\nCicely, the boy not bein' up. I was settin' to the table as calm and\ncool as my toast (which was _very_ cool), when the hired man brought me\na letter; and I opened it right there, for I see by the post-mark it\nwas from my Josiah. And I read as follers, in dismay and anguish, for I\nthought he was crazy:--\n\nMI DEER WYF,--Kum hum, I hav got a crik in mi bak. Kum hum, mi deer Sam,\nkum hum, or I shal xpire. Mi gord has withurd, mi plan has faled, I am a\nundun Josire. Tung kant xpres mi yernin to see u. I kant tak no kumfort\nlookin at ure kam fisiognimy in ure fotogrof, it maks mi hart ake, u luk\nso swete, I fere u hav caut a bo. Kum hum, kum hum.\n\nUre luvin kompanien,\n\nJOSIRE.\n\nvers ov poetry.\n\n  Mi krik is bad, mi ink is pale:\n  Mi luv for u shal never fale.\n\nI dropt my knife and fork (I had got about through eatin', anyway), and\nhastened to my room. Cicely followed me, anxious-eyed, for I looked bad.\n\nI dropped into a chair; and almost buryin' my face in my white linen\nhandkerchief, I give vent to some moans of anguish, and a large number\nof sithes. And Cicely says,--\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter, aunt Samantha?\u201d\n\nAnd I says,--\n\n\u201cYour poor uncle! your poor uncle!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter with him?\u201d says she.\n\nAnd I says, \u201cHe is crazy as a loon. Crazy and got a creek, and I must\nstart for home the first thing in the mornin'.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA'S SORROW.]\n\nShe says, \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d and then I showed her the letter, and says\nas I did so,--\n\n\u201cHe has had too much strain on his mind, for the size of it. His plans\nhave been too deep. He has grappled with too many public questions.\nI ortn't to have left him alone with politics. But I left him for his\ngood. But never, never, will I leave that beloved man agin, crazy, or no\ncrazy, creek, or no creek.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d says I, \u201cwill he never, never more be conscious of the presence of\nthe partner of his youth and middle age? Will he never realize the deep,\nconstant love that has lightened up our pathway?\u201d\n\nI wept some. But I thought that mebby he would know my cream biscuit and\nother vittles, I felt that he would re_cog_nise them.\n\nBut by this time Cicely had got the letter read through; and she said\n\u201che wuzn't crazy, it was the new-fashioned way of spelling;\u201d she said\nshe had seen it; and so I brightened up, and felt well: though, as I\ntold her,--\n\n\u201cThe creek would drive me home in the mornin'.\u201d Says I, \u201cDuty and Love\ndraws me, a willin' captive, to the side of my sufferin' Josiah. I shall\ngo home on that creek.\u201d Says I, \u201cWoman's first duty is to the man she\nloves.\u201d Says I, \u201cI come here on that duty, and on that duty I shall go\nback, and the creek.\u201d\n\nCicely didn't feel as if she could go the next day, for there was to be\na great meetin' of the friends of temperance, in a few days, there; and\nshe wanted to attend to it; she wanted to help all she could; and then,\nthere wus a person high in influence that she wanted to converse with\non the subject. That good little thing was willin' to do _any thing_ for\nthe sake of the boy and the Right.\n\nBut I says to her, \u201cI _must_ go, for that word 'plan' worrys me; it\nworrys me far more than the creek: and I see my partner is all unstrung,\nand I must be there to try to string him up agin.\u201d\n\nSo it wus decided, that I should start in the morning, and Cicely come\non in a few days: she was all boyed up with the thought that at this\nmeetin' she could get some help and hope for the boy.\n\nBut, after Cicely went to bed, I sot there, and got to thinkin' about\nthe new spellin', and felt that I approved of it. My mind is such that\n_instantly_ I can weigh and decide.\n\nI took some of these words, photograph, philosophy, etc., in one hand,\nand in the other I took filosify and fotograf; and as I hefted 'em, I\nsee the latter was easier to carry. I see they would make our language\neasier to learn by children and foreigners; it would lop off a lot\nof silent letters of no earthly use; it would make far less labor in\nwritin', in printin', in cost of type, and would be better every way.\n\nCicely said a good many was opposed to it on account of bein' attached\nto the old way. But I don't feel so, though I love the old things with a\nlove that makes my heart ache sometimes when changes come. But my reason\ntells me that it hain't best to be attached to the old way if the new is\nbetter.\n\nNow, I s'pose our old 4 fathers was attached to the idee of hitchin' an\nox onto a wagon, and ridin' after it. And our old 4 mothers liked the\nidee of bein' perched up on a pillion behind the old 4 fathers. I s'pose\nthey hated the idee of gettin' off of that pillion, and onhitchin' that\nox. But they had to, they had to get down, and get up into phaetons and\nrailway cars, and steamboats.\n\nAnd I s'pose them old 4 people (likely creeters they wuz too) hated the\nidee of usin' matches; used to love to strike fire with a flint, and\ntrample off a mild to a neighber's on January mornin's (and their\nmornin's was _very_ early) to borrow some coals if they had lost their\nflint. I s'pose they had got attached to that flint, some of 'em, and\nhated to give it up, thought it would be lonesome. But they had to; and\nthe flint didn't care, it knew matches was better. The calm, everlasting\nforces of Nature don't murmur or rebel when they are changed for newer,\ngreater helps. No: it is only human bein's who complain, and have the\nheartache, because they are so sot.\n\n[Illustration: OUR 4 PARENTS.]\n\nBut whether we murmur, or whether we are calm, whether we like it, or\nwhether we don't, we have to move our tents. We are only campin' out,\nhere; and we have to move our tents along, and let the new things push\nus out of the way. The old things now, are the new ones of the past; and\nwhat seems new to us, will soon be the old.\n\nWhy, how long does it seem, only a minute, since we was a buildin' moss\nhouses down in the woods back of the old schoolhouse? Beautiful, fresh\nrooms, carpeted with the green moss, with bright young faces bendin'\ndown over 'em. Where are they now? The dust of how many years--I don't\nwant to think how many--has sifted down over them velvet-carpeted\nmansions, turned them into dust.\n\nAnd the same dust has sprinkled down onto the happy heads of the fresh,\nbright-faced little group gathered there.\n\n[Illustration: BORROWING COALS.]\n\nCharley, and Alice! oh! the dust is very deep on her head,--the dust\nthat shall at last lay over all our heads. And Louis! Bright blue eyes\nthere may be to-day, old Time, but none truer and tenderer than his.\nBut long ago, oh! long ago, the dust covered you--the dust that is older\nthan the pyramids, old, and yet new; for on some mysterious breeze it\nwas wafted to you, it drifted down, and covered the blue eyes and the\nbrown eyes, hid the bright faces forever.\n\nAnd the years have sprinkled down into Charley's grave business head\ntiresome dust of dividends and railway shares. Kate and Janet, and Will\nand Helen and Harry--where are you all to-day, I wonder? But though I do\nnot know that, I do know this,--that Time has not stood still with any\nof you. The years have moved you along, hustled you forward, as they\nswept by. You have had to move along, and let other bright faces stand\nin front of you.\n\nYou are all buildin' houses to-day that you think are more endurin'. But\nwhat you build to-day--hopes built upon worldly wealth, worldly fame,\nhousehold affection, political success--ah I will they not pass\naway like the green moss houses down in the woods back of the old\nschoolhouse?\n\nYes, they, too, will pass away, so utterly that only their dust will\nremain. But God grant that we may all meet, happy children again, young\nwith the new life of the immortals, on some happy playground of the\nheavenly life!\n\nBut poor little houses of moss and cedar boughs, you are broken down\nyears and years ago, trampled down into dust, and the dust blown away\nby the rushin' years. Blown away, but gathered up agin by careful old\nNature, nourishin' with it a newer, fresher growth.\n\nI don't s'pose any of us really hanker after growin' old; sometimes I\nkinder hate to; and so I told Josiah one day.\n\nAnd he says, \u201cWhy, we hain't the only ones that is growin' old. Why,\neverybody is as old as we be, that wuz born, at the same time; and lots\nof folks are older. Why, there is uncle Nate Gowdey, and aunt Seeny:\nthey are as old agin, almost.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE]\n\nSays I, \u201cThat is a great comfort to meditate on, Josiah; but it don't\ntake away all the sting of growin' old.\u201d\n\nAnd he said \u201che didn't care a dumb about it, if he didn't have to work\nso hard.\u201d He said \u201che'd fairly love to grow old if he could do it easy,\nkinder set down to it.\u201d\n\n(Now, that man don't work so very hard. But don't tell him I said so:\nhe's real fractious on that subject, caused, I think, by rheumatiz, and\nmebby the Plan.)\n\nI told Josiah that it wouldn't make growin' old any easier to set down,\nthan it would to stand up.\n\nI don't s'pose it makes much difference about our bodies, anyway; they\nare only wrappers for the soul: the real, person is within. But then,\nyou know, you get sort o' attached to your own body, yourself, you know,\nif you have lived with yourself any length of time, as we have, a good\nmany of us.\n\nYou may not be handsome, but you sort o' like your own looks, after all.\nYour eyes have a sort of a good look to you. Your hands are soft and\nwhite; and they are your own too, which makes 'em nearer to you; they\nhave done sights for you, and you can't help likin' 'em. And your mouth\nlooks sort o' agreable and natural to you.\n\nYou don't really like to see the dimpled, soft hands change into an\nolder person's hands; you kinder hate to change the face for an older,\nmore care-worn face; you get sick of lookin'-glasses.\n\nAnd sometimes you feel a sort of a homesick longin' for your old\nself--for the bright, eager face that looked back to you from the old\nlookin'-glass on summer mornin's, when the winder was open out into the\norchard, and the May birds was singin' amidst the apple-blows. The red\nlips parted with a happy smile; the bright, laughin' eyes, sort o' soft\ntoo, and wistful--wishful for the good that mebby come to you, and mebby\ndidn't, but which the glowin' face was sure of, on that spring morning\nwith the May birds singin' outside, and the May birds singin' inside.\n\n[Illustration: A MAY MORNING.]\n\nTime may have brought you somethin' better--better than you dreamed of\non that summer mornin'. But it is different, anyhow; and you can't help\ngettin' kinder homesick, longin', wantin' that pretty young face again,\nwantin' the heart back again that went with it.\n\nWall, I s'pose we shall have it back--sometime. I s'pose we shall get\nback our lost youth in the place where we first got it. And it is all\nright, anyway.\n\nWe must move on. You see, Time won't stop to argue with us, or dicker;\nand our settin' down, and coaxin' him to stop a minute, and whet his\nscythe, and give us a chance to get round the swath he cuts, won't\nammount to nothin' only wastin' our breath. His scythe is one that don't\nneed any grindstun, and his swath is one that must be cut.\n\nNo! Time won't lean up aginst fence corners, and wipe his brow on a\nbandanna, and hang round. He jest moves right on--up and down, up and\ndown. On each side of us the ripe blades fall, and the flowers; and\npretty soon the swath will come right towards us, the grass-blades will\nfall nearer and nearer--a turn of the gleamin' scythe, and we, too, will\nbe gone. The sunlight will rest on the turf where our shadows were, and\none blade of grass will be missed out of that broad harvest-field more\nthan we will be, when a few short years have rolled by.\n\nThe beauty and the clamor of life will go on without us. You see, we\nhain't needed so much as we in our egotism think we are. The world will\nget along without us, while we rest in peace.\n\nBut until then we have got to move along: we can't set down anywhere,\nand set there. No: if we want to be fore mothers and fore fathers, we\nmustn't set still: we must give the babies a chance to be fore mothers\nand fore fathers too. It wouldn't be right to keep the babies from bein'\nancestors.\n\nWe must keep a movin' on. How the summer follows the spring, and the\nwinter follows the autumn, and the years go by! And the clouds sail on\nthrough the sky, and the shadows follow each other over the grass, and\nthe grass fadeth.\n\nAnd the sun moves down the west, and the twilight follows the sun, and\nat last the night comes--and then the stars shine.\n\nStrange that all this long revery of my mind should spring from that\nletter of my pardner's. But so it is. Why, I sot probable 3 fourths of\na hour--entirely by the side of myself. Why, I shouldn't have sensed\nwhether I was settin' on a sofy in a Washington boarding-house (a hard\none too), or a bed of flowers in Asia Minor, or in the middle of the\nDesert of Sarah. Why, I shouldn't have sensed Sarah or A. Minor at all,\nif they had stood right by me, I was so lost and unbeknown to myself.\n\nBut anon, or pretty nigh that time (for I know it was ten when I got\ninto bed, and it probable took me 1/2 an hour to comb out my hair and\nwad it up, and ondress), I rousted up out of my revery, and realized\nI was Josiah Allen's wife on a tower of Principle and Discovery. I\nrealized I was a forerunner, and on the eve of return to the bosom of my\nfamily (a linen bosom, with five pleats on a side).\n\nWall, I rose betimes in the mornin', or about that time, and eat a good,\nnoble breakfast, so's to start feelin' well; embraced Cicely and the\nboy, who asked me 32 questions while I was embracin' him. I kissed him\nseveral times, with hugs according; and then I took leave of Sally and\nBub Smith. I paid for my board honorable, although Sally said she would\nnot take any pay for so short a board. But I knew, in her condition,\nboards of any length should be paid for. So I insisted, and the board\nwas paid for. I also rewarded Bub Smith for his efforts at doin' my\nerrents, in a way that made his blushes melt into a glowin' background\nof joyousness.\n\nAnd then, havin' asked the hired man to get a covered carriage to convey\nmy body to the depot, and my trunk, I left Washington, D.C.\n\nThe snort of the engine as it ketched sight of me, sounded friendly to\nme. It seemed to say to me,--\n\n\u201cForerunner, your runnin' is done, and well done! Your labors of duty\nand anxiety is over. Soon, soon will you be with your beloved pardner at\nhome.\u201d\n\nHome, the dearest word that was ever said or sung.\n\nThe passengers all looked good to me. The men's hats looked like\nJosiah's. They looked out of their eyes some as he did out of hisen:\nthey looked good to me. There was one man upbraidin' his wife about some\ndomestic matter, with crossness in his tone, but affectionate care and\ninterest in his mean. Oh, how good, and sort o' natural, he did look to\nme! it almost seemed as if my Josiah was there by my side.\n\nNever, never, does the cords of love fairly pull at your heart-strings,\na drawin' you along towards your heart's home, your heart's desire, as\nwhen you have been off a movin' round on a tower. I longed for my dear\nhome, I yearned for my Josiah.\n\nI arrove at Jonesville as night was a lettin' down her cloudy mantilly\nfringed with stars (there wuzn't a star: I jest put that in for oritory,\nand I don't think it is wrong if I tell of it right away).\n\n[Illustration: AT THE DEPOT.]\n\nEvidently Josiah's creek wus better; for he wus at the depot with the\nmair, to convey my body home. He wus stirred to the very depths of his\nheart to see me agin; but he struggled for calmness, and told me in a\nvoice controlled by his firm will, to \u201churry and get in, for the mair\nwus oneasy stand-in' so long.\u201d\n\nI, too, felt that I must emulate his calmness; and I says,--\n\n\u201cI can't get in no faster than I can. Do hold the mair still, or I can't\nget in at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, wall! hain't I a holdin' it? Jump in: there is a team behind a\nwaitin'.\u201d\n\nAfter these little interchanges of thought and affection, there was\nsilence between us. Truly, there is happiness enough in bein' once more\nby the side of the one you love, whether you speak or not. And, to\ntell the truth, I was out of breath hurryin' so. But few words were\ninterchanged until the peaceful haven of home was reached.\n\nSome few words, peaceful, calm words were uttered, as to what we\nwus goin' to have for supper, and a desire on Josiah's part for a\nchicken-pie and vegitables of all kinds, and various warm cakes and\npastries, compromised down to plans of tender steak, mashed potatoes,\ncream biscuit, lemon custard, and coffee. It wus settled in peace and\ncalmness. He looked unstrung, very unstrung, and wan, considerable wan.\nBut I knew that I and the supper could string him up agin; and I felt\nthat I would not speak of the plan or the creek, or any agitatin'\nsubject, until the supper was over, which resolve I follered. After the\ntable was cleared, and Josiah looked like a new man,--the girl bein' out\nin the kitchen washin' the dishes,--I mentioned the creek; and he owned\nup that he didn't know as it was exactly a creek, but \u201cit was a dumb\npain, anyway, and he felt that he must see me.\u201d\n\nIt is sweet, passing sweet, to be missed, to be necessary to the\nhappiness of one you love. But, at the same time, it is bitter to know\nthat your pardner has prevaricated to you, and so the sweet and the\nbitter is mixed all through life.\n\nI smiled and sithed simultaneous, as it were, and dropped down the\ncreek.\n\nThen with a calm tone, but a beatin' heart, I took up the Plan, and\npresented it to him. I wanted to find out the heights and depths of that\nPlan before I said a word about my own adventures at Washington, D.C.\nOh, how that plan had worried me! But the minute I mentioned it, Josiah\nlooked as if he would sink. And at first he tried to move off the\nsubject, but I wouldn't let him. I held him up firm to that plan, and,\nto use a poetical image, I hitched him there.\n\nSays I, \u201cYou know what you told me, Josiah,--you said that plan would\nmake you beloved and revered.\u201d\n\nHe groaned.\n\nSays I, \u201cYou know you said it would make you a lion, and me a lioness:\ndo you remember, Josiah Allen?\u201d\n\nHe groaned awful.\n\nSays I firmly, \u201cIt didn't make you a lion, did it?\u201d\n\nHe didn't speak, only sithed. But says I firmly, for I wus bound to come\nto the truth of it,--\n\n\u201cAre you a lion?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d say she, \u201cI hain't.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cthen what be you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a fool,\u201d says he bitterly, \u201ca dumb fool.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I encouragingly, \u201cyou no need to have laid on plans, and I\nneedn't have gone off on no towers of discovery, to have found that out.\nBut now,\u201d says I in softer axents, for I see he did indeed look agitated\nand melancholy,--\n\n\u201cTell your Samantha all about it.\u201d\n\nSays he mournfully, \u201cI have got to find 'The Gimlet.'\u201d\n\n[Illustration: ARE YOU A LION?]\n\n\u201cThe Gimlet!\u201d I sithed to myself; and the wild and harrowin' thought\nwent through me like a arrow,--that my worst apprehensions had been\nrealized, and that man had been a writing poetry.\n\nBut then I remembered that he had promised me years ago, that he never\nwould tackle the job agin. He begun to make a poem when we was first\nmarried; but there wuzn't no great harm done, for he had only wrote two\nlines when I found it out and broke it up.\n\nBein' jest married, I had a good deal of influence over him; and he\npromised me sacred, to never, _never_, as long as he lived and breathed,\ntry to write another line of poetry agin. We was married in the spring,\nand these 2 lines was as follers:--\n\n  \u201cHow happified this spring appears--\n  More happier than I ever knew springs to be, _shears_.\u201d\n\nAnd I asked him what he put the \u201cshears\u201d in for, and he said he did it\nto rhyme. And then was the time, then and there, that I made him promise\non the Old Testament, _never_ to try to write a line of poetry agin. And\nI felt that he _could_ not do himself and me the bitter wrong to try it\nagin, and still I trembled.\n\nAnd right while I was tremblin', he returned, and silently laid \u201cThe\nGimlet\u201d in my lap, and sot down, and nearly buried his face in his\nhands. And the very first piece on which the eye of my spectacle rested,\nwas this: \u201cJosiah Allen on a Path-Master.\u201d\n\nAnd I dropped the paper in my lap, and says I,--\n\n\u201c_What_ have you been doing _now_, Josiah Allen? Have you been a\nfightin'? What path-master have you been on?\u201d\n\n\u201cI hain't been on any,\u201d says he sadly, out from under his hand. \u201cI\nheaded it so, to have a strong, takin' title. You know they 'pinted me\npath-master some time ago.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH BEING TREATED.]\n\nI groaned and sithed to that extent that I was almost skairt at myself,\nnot knowin' but I would have the highstericks unbeknown to me (never\nhavin' had 'em, I didn't know exactly what the symptoms was), and I felt\ndredfully. But anon, or pretty nigh anon, I grew calmer, and opened the\npaper, and read. It seemed to be in answer to the men who had nominated\nhim for path-master, and it read as follers:--\n\nJOSIAH ALLEN ON A PATH-MASTER.\n\nFeller Constituents and Male Men of Jonesville and the surroundin' and\nadjacent worlds!\n\nI thank you, fellow and male citizents, I thank you heartily, and\nfrom the depths of my bein', for the honor you have heaped onto me, in\npintin' me path-master.\n\nBut I feel it to be my duty to decline it. I feel that I must keep\nentirely out of political matters, and that I cannot be induced to be\npath-master, or President, or even United-States senator. I have not got\nthe constitution to stand it. I don't feel well a good deal of the time.\nMy liver is out of order, I am liable to have the ganders any minute,\nI am bilious, am troubled with rheumatiz and colic, my blood don't\ncirculate proper, I have got a weak back, and lumbago, and biles. And\nI hain't a bit well. And I dassent put too much strain on myself, I\ndassent.\n\nAnd then, I am a husband and a father. I have sacred duties to perform\nabout, nearer and more sacred duties, that I dast not put aside for any\nothers.\n\nI am a husband. I took a tender and confidin' woman away from a happy\nhome (Mother Smith's, in the east part of Jonesville), and transplanted\nher (carried her in a one-horse wagon and a mare) into my own home. And\nI feel that it is my first duty to make that home the brightest spot on\nearth to her. That home is my dearest and most sacred treasure. And how\ncan I disturb its sweet peace with the wild turmoil of politics? I can\nnot. I dast not.\n\nAnd politics are dangerous to enter into. There is bad folks in\nJonesville 'lection day,--bad men, and bad women. And I am liable to be\nled astray. I don't want to be led astray, but I feel that I am liable\nto.\n\nI have to hear swearin'. Now, I don't swear myself. (I don't call \u201cdumb\u201d\n swearin', nor never did.) I don't swear, but I think of them oaths\nafterwards. Twice I thought of 'em right in prayer-meetin' time, and it\nworrys me.\n\nI have to see drinkin' goin' on. I don't want to drink; but they offer\nto treat me, old friends do, and Samantha is afraid I shall yield to the\ntemptation; and I am most afraid of it myself.\n\nYes, politics is dangerous and hardenin'; and, should I enter into the\nwild conflict, I feel that I am in danger of losin' all them tender,\nwinnin' qualities that first won me the love of my Samantha. I dare not\nimperil her peace, and mine, by the effort.\n\nI can not, I dast not, put aside these sacred duties that Providence has\nlaid upon me. My wive's happiness is the first thing I must consider.\nCan I leave her lonely and unhappy while I plunge into the wild turmoil\nof caurkusses and town-meetin's, and while I go to 'lection, and vote?\nNo.\n\nAnd the time I would have to spend in study in order to vote\nintelligent, I feel as if that time I must use in strugglin' to promote\nthe welfare and happiness of my Samantha. No, I dassent vote, I dassent\nanother time.\n\nAgain, another reason. I have a little grandchild growin' up around me.\nI owe a duty to her. I must dandle her on my knee. I must teach her the\npath of virtue and happiness. If I do not, who will? For though there\nare plenty to make laws, and to vote, little Samantha Joe has but one\ngrandpa on her mother's side.\n\nAnd then, I have sights of cares. The Methodist church is to be kep' up:\nI am one of the pillows of the church, and sometimes it rests heavy on\nme. Sometimes I have to manage every way to get the preacher's salary. I\nam school-trustee: I have to grapple with the deestrict every spring and\nfall. The teachers are high-headed, the parents always dissatisfied,\nand the children act like the Old Harry. I am the salesman in the\ncheese-factory. Anarky and quarellin' rains over me offen that\ncheese-factory; and its fault-findin', mistrustin' patrons, embitters my\nlife, and rends my mind with cares.\n\nThe care of providin' for my family wears onto me; for though Samantha\ntends to things on the inside of the house, I have to tend to things\noutside, and I have to provide the food she cooks.\n\nAnd then, I have a great deal of work to do. Besides my barn-chores, and\nall the wearin' cares I have mentioned, I have five acres of potatoes to\nhoe and dig, a barn to shingle, a pig-pen to new cover, a smoke-house to\nfix, a bed of beets and a bed of turnips to dig,--ruty bagys,--and four\nbig beds of onions to weed--dumb 'em! and six acres of corn to husk. My\nbarn-floor at this time is nearly covered with stooks. How dare I leave\nmy barn in confusion, and, by my disorderly doin's, run the risk of my\nwive's bein' so disgusted with my want of neatness and shiftlessness, as\nto cause her to get dissatisfied with home and husband, and wander off\ninto paths of dissipation and vice? Oh! I dassent, I dassent, take the\nresk! When I think of all the terrible evils that are liable to\ncome onto me, I feel that I dassent vote agin, as long as I live and\nbreathe--I dast not have any thing whatever to do with politics.\n\nFINY. THE END.\n\nI read it all out loud, every word of it, interrupted now and then, and\nsometimes oftener, by the groans of my pardner. And as I finished, I\nlooked round at him, and I see his looks was dretful. And I says in\nsoothin' tones--for oh! how a companion's distress calls up the tender\nfeelin's of a lovin' female pardner!\n\nSays I, \u201cIt hain't the worst piece in the world, Josiah Allen! It is as\nsensible as lots of political pieces I have read.\u201d Says I, \u201cChirk up!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt hain't the piece! It is the way it was took,\u201d says he. \u201cLife has\nbeen a burden to me ever sense that appeared in 'The Gimlet.' Tongue\ncan't tell the way them Jonesvillians has sneered and jeered at me, and\nrun me down, and sot on me.\u201d\n\nI sithed, and remained a few moments almost lost in thought; and then\nsays I,--\n\n\u201cNow, if you are more composed and gathered together, will you tell your\ncompanion how you come to write it? what you did it _for?_\u201d\n\n\u201cI did it to be populer,\u201d says he, out from under his hand. \u201cI thought I\nwould branch off, and take a new turn, and not act so fierce and wolfish\nafter office as most of 'em did. I thought I would get up something new\nand uneek.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, you have, uneeker than you probable ever will agin. But, if you\nwanted to be a senator, _why_ did you refuse to have any thing to do\nwith politics?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did it to be _urged_,\u201d says he, in the same sad, despairin' tones. \u201cI\nmade the move to be loved--to be the favorite of the Nation. I thought\nafter they read that, they would be fierce to promote me, fierce\nas blood-hounds. I thought it would make me the most populer man in\nJonesville, and that I should be sought after, and praised up, and\nfollered.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat give you that idee?\u201d says I calmly.\n\n\u201cWhy, don't you remember Letitia Lanfear? She wrote a article sunthin'\nlike this, only not half so smart and deep, when she was nominated for\nschool-trustee, and it jest lifted her right up. She never had been\nthought any thing off in Jonesville till she wrote that, and that was\nthe makin' of her. And she hadn't half the reason to write it that I\nhave. She hadn't half nor a quarter the cares that I have got. She was a\nwidder, educated high, without any children, with a comfortable income,\nand she lived in her brother's family, and didn't have _no_ cares at\nall.\n\n\u201cAnd only see how that piece lifted her right up! They all said, what\nright feelin', what delicacy, what a noble, heart-stirrin', masterly\ndocument hern was! And I hankered, I jest hankered, after bein' praised\nup as she was. And I thought,\u201d says he with a deep sithe, \u201cI thought I\nshould get as much agin praise as she did. I thought I should be twice\nas populer, because it wus sunthin' new for a _man_ to write such a\narticle. I thought I should be all the rage in Jonesville. I thought I\nshould be a lion.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: LETITIA LANFEAR.]\n\n\u201cWall, accordin' to your tell, they treat you like one, don't they?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says he, \u201cspeakin' in a wild animal way.\u201d Says he, growin'\nexcited, \u201cI wish I _wuz_ a African lion right out of a jungle: I'd\nteach them Jonesvillians to get out of my way. I'd love, when they was\nsnickerin', and pokin' fun at me, and actin' and jeerin' and sneerin',\nand callin' me all to nort, I'd love to spring onto 'em, and roar.\u201d\n\n\u201cHush, Josiah,\u201d says I. \u201cBe calm! be calm!\u201d\n\n\u201cI won't be calm! I can't see into it,\u201d he hollered. \u201cWhy, what lifted\nLetitia Lanfear right up, didn't lift me up. Hain't what's sass for the\ngoose, sass for the gander?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I sadly. \u201cIt hain't the same sass. The geese have to get the\nsame strength from it,--strength to swim in the same water, fly over the\nsame fences, from the same pursuers and avengers; and they have to grow\nthe same feathers out of it; but the sass, the sass is fur different.\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d says I, \u201cI don't approve of all your piece. A man, as a general\nthing, has as much time as a woman has. And I'd love to see the\ntime that I couldn't do a job as short as puttin' a letter in the\npost-office. Why, I never see the time, even when the children was\nlittle, and in cleanin' house, or sugarin'-time, but what I could ride\ninto Jonesville every day, to say nothin' of once a year, and lay a vote\nonto a pole. And you have as much time as I do, unless it is springs\nand falls and hayin'-time. And if _I_ could do it, _you_ could. I don't\napprove of such talk.\n\n\u201cAnd you know very well that you and I had better spend a little of our\nspare time a studyin' into matters, so as to vote intelligently; study\ninto the laws that govern us both,--that hang us if we break 'em, and\nprotect us if we obey 'em,--than to spend it a whittling shingles, or\nwonderin' whether Miss Bobbet's next baby will be a boy or a girl.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he, takin' his hand down, and winkin',--a sort of a shrewd,\nknowin' wink, but a sad and dejected one, too, as I ever see wunk,--\n\n\u201cI didn't have no idee of stoppin' votin'.\u201d\n\nSays I coldly, as cold as Zero, or pretty nigh as coldblooded as the old\nman,--\n\n\u201cDid you write that article _jest_ for the speech of people? Didn't you\nhave no principle to back it up?\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says he mournfully, \u201cI wouldn't want it to get out of the\nfamily, but I'll tell you the truth. I didn't write it on a single\nprinciple, not a darn principle. I wrote it jest for popularity, and to\nmake 'em fierce to promote me.\u201d\n\nI groaned aloud, and he groaned. It wus a sad and groanful time.\n\nSays he, \u201cI pinned my faith onto Letitia Lanfear. And I can't understand\nnow, why a thing that made Letitia so populer, makes me a perfect\noutcast. Hain't we both human bein's--human Methodists and\nJonesvillians?\u201d Says he, in despairin', agonized tone, \u201cI can't see\nthrough it.\u201d\n\nSays I soothenly, \u201cDon't worry about that, Josiah, for nobody can. It\nis too deep a conundrum to be seen through: nobody has ever seen through\nit.\u201d\n\nBut it seemed as if he couldn't be soothed; and agin he kinder sithed\nout,--\n\n\u201cI pinned my faith onto Letitia, and it has ondone me;\u201d and he kinder\nwhimpered.\n\nBut I says firmly, but gently,--\n\n\u201cYou will hear to your companion another time, will you not? and pin\nyour faith onto truth and justice and right?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I won't. I won't pin it onto nothin' nor nobody. I'm done with\npolitics from this day.\u201d\n\nAnd bad as we both felt, this last speech of hisen made a glimmer of\nlight streak up, and shine into my future. Some like heat lightenin' on\nsummer evenin's. It hain't so much enjoyment at the time, but you know\nit is goin' to clear the cloudy air of the to-morrow. And so its light\nis sweet to you, though very curious, and crinkley.\n\nAnd as mournful and sort o' curious as this time seemed to me and to\nJosiah, yet this speech of hisen made me know that all private and\npublic peril connected with Hon. Josiah Allen was forever past away. And\nthat thought cast a rosy glow onto my to-morrows.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nI found, on lookin' round the house the next mornin', that Philury had\nkep' things in quite good shape. Although truly the buttery looked like\na lonesome desert, and the cubbards like empty tents the Arabs had left\ndesolate.\n\nBut I knew I could soon make 'em blossom like the rosy with provisions,\nwhich I proceeded at once to do, with Philury's help.\n\nWhile I wus a rollin' out the pie-crust, Philury told me \u201cshe had\nchanged her mind about long engagements.\u201d\n\nAnd while I wus a makin' the cookies, she broached it to me that \u201cshe\nand Ury was goin' to be married the next week.\u201d\n\nI wus agreable to the idee, and told her so. I like 'em both. Ury is a\ntall, limber-jinted sort of a chap, sandy complected, and a little\nround shouldered, but hard-workin' and industrious, and seems to take a\ninterest.\n\nHis habits are good: he never drinks any thing stronger than root-beer,\nand he never uses tobacco--never has chawed any thing to our house\nstronger than gum. He used that, I have thought sometimes, more than\nwuz for his good. And I thought it must be expensive, he consumed such\nquantities of it. But he told me he made it himself out of beeswax and\nrozum.\n\nAnd I told Josiah that I shouldn't say no more about it; because,\nalthough it might be a foolish habit, gum was not what you might call\ninebriatin'; it was not a intoxicatin' beverage, and didn't endanger the\npublick safety. So he kep' on a chawin' it, to home and abroad. He kep'\nat it all day, and at night if he felt lonesome.\n\nI had mistrusted this, because I found a great chunk now and then on the\nhead-board; and I tackled him about it, and he owned up.\n\n\u201cWhen he felt lonesome in the night,\u201d he said, \u201cgum sort o' consoled\nhim.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: URY.]\n\nWell, I thought that in a great lonesome world, that needed comfort\nso much, if he found gum a consoler, I wouldn't break it up. So I kep'\nstill, and would clean the head-board silently with kerosine and a\nwoolen rag.\n\nAnd Philury is a likely girl. Very freckled, but modest and unassuming.\nShe is little, and has nice little features, and a round little face;\nand though she can't be said to resemble it in every particular, yet\nI never could think of any thing whenever I see her, but a nice little\nturkey-egg.\n\nShe is very obligin', and would always curchy and smile, and say \u201cYes'm\u201d\n whenever I asked her to do any thing. She always would, and always will,\nI s'pose, do jest what you tell her to,--as near as she can; and she is\nthought a good deal of.\n\nWall, she has liked Ury for some time--that has been plain to see: she\nthought her eyes of him, and he of her. He has got eight or nine hundred\ndollars laid up; and I thought it was well enough for 'em to marry if\nthey wanted to, and so I told Josiah the first time he come into the\nhouse that forenoon.\n\nAnd he said \u201che guessed our thinkin' about it wouldn't alter it much,\none way or the other.\u201d\n\nAnd I said \u201cI s'posed not.\u201d But says I, \u201cI spoke out, because I feel\nquite well about it. I like 'em both, and think they'll make a happy\ncouple: and to show my willin'ness still further, I mean to make a\nweddin' for her; for she hain't got no mothers, and Miss Gowdy won't\nhave it there, for you know there has been such a hardness between 'em\nabout that grindstun. So I'll have it here, get a good supper, and have\n'em married off respectable.\u201d\n\nHe hung back a little at first, but I argued him down. Says I,--\n\n\u201cI have heerd you say, time and agin, that you liked 'em, and wanted 'em\nto do well: now, what do good wishes ammount to, unless you are willin'\nto back 'em up with good acts?\u201d Says I, \u201cI might say that I wished 'em\nwell and happy, and that would be only a small expendature of wind, that\nwouldn't be no loss to me, and no petickuler help to them. But if I show\nmy good will towards 'em by stirrin' up fruit-cakes and bride-cake, and\npickin' chickens, and pressin' 'em, and makin' ice-cream and coffee\nand sandwitches, and workin' myself completely tired out, a wishin'\n'em well, why, then they can depend on it that I am sincere in my good\nwishes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says Josiah, \u201cif you wish me well, I wish you would get me a\nlittle sunthin' to eat before I starve: it is past eleven o'clock.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe hand is on the pinter,\u201d says I calmly. \u201cBut start a good fire, and\nI will get dinner.\u201d\n\nSo he did, and I did, and he never made no further objections to my\nenterprise; and it was all understood that I should get their weddin'\nsupper, and they should start from here on their tower.\n\nAnd I offered, as she and Miss Gowdy didn't agree, that she might come\nback here, if she wanted to, and get some quiltin' done, and get ready\nfor housekeepin'. She was tickled enough with the idee, and said she\nwould help me enough to pay for her board. Ury's time wouldn't be out\ntill about a month later.\n\nI told her she needn't work any for me. But she is a dretful handy\nlittle thing about the house, or outdoors. When Josiah was sick, and\nwhen the hired man happened to be away, she would go right out to the\nbarn, and fodder the cattle jest as well as a man could. And Josiah said\nshe milked faster than he could, to save his life. Her father had nine\ngirls and no boys; and he brought some of the girls up when they was\nlittle, kinder boy-like, and they knew all about outdoor work.\n\nWall, it was all decided on, that they should come right back here jest\nas soon as they ended their tower. They was a goin' to Ury's sister's,\nMiss Reuben Henzy's, and laid out to be gone about four days, or from\nfour days to a week.\n\nAnd I went to cookin' for the weddin' about a week before it took place.\nI thought I would invite the minister and his wife and family, and\nPhilury's sister-in-law's family,--the only one of her relations\nwho lived near us, and she was poor; and her classmates at Sunday\nschool,--there was twelve of 'em,--and our children and their families.\nAnd I asked Miss Gowdey'ses folks, but didn't expect they would come,\nowin' to that hardness about the grindstun. But everybody else come that\nwas invited; and though I am far from bein' the one that ort to say it,\nthe supper was successful. It was called \u201cexcellent\u201d by the voice, and\nthe far deeper language of consumption.\n\nThey all seemed to enjoy it: and Ury took out his gum, and put it under\nthe table-leaf before he begun to eat; and I found it there afterwards.\nHe was excited, I s'pose, and forgot to take it agin when he left the\ntable.\n\nPhilury looked pretty. She had on a travellin'-dress of a sort of a warm\nbrown,--a color that kinder set off her freckles. It was woosted,\nand trimmed with velvet of a darker shade; and her hat and her gloves\nmatched.\n\nHer dress was picked out to suit me. Ury wanted her to be married in\na yellow tarleton, trimmed with red. And she was jest that obleegin',\nclever creeter, that she would have done it if it hadn't been for me.\n\n[Illustration: THE WEDDING SUPPER.]\n\nI says to her and to him,--\n\n\u201cWhat use would a yeller tarleton trimmed with red be to her after\nshe is married, besides lookin' like fury now?\u201d Says I, \u201cGet a good,\nsensible dress, that will do some good after marriage, besides lookin'\ngood now.\u201d Says I, \u201cMarriage hain't exactly in real life like what it\nis depictered in novels. Life don't end there: folks have to live\nafterwards, and dress, and work.\u201d Says I, \u201cIf marriage was really what\nit is painted in that literature--if you didn't really have nothin' to\ndo in the future, only to set on a rainbow, and eat honey, why, then,\na yaller tarleton dress with red trimmin's would be jest the thing to\nwear. But,\u201d says I, \u201cyou will find yourself in the same old world, with\nthe same old dishcloths and wipin'-towels and mops a waitin' for you to\ngrasp, with the same pair of hands. You will have to konfront brooms and\nwash-tubs and darnin'-needles and socks, and etcetery, etcetery. And you\nmust prepare yourself for the enkounter.\u201d\n\nShe heerd to me; and that very day, after we had the talk, I took her\nto Jonesville, drivin' the old mare myself, and stood by her while she\npicked it out.\n\nAnd thinkin' she was young and pretty, and would want somethin' gay and\nbright, I bought some flannel for a mornin'-dress for her, and give it\nto her for a present. It was a pretty, soft gray and pink, in stripes\nabout half a inch wide, and would be pretty for her for years, to wear\nin the house, and when she didn't feel well.\n\nI knew it would wash.\n\nShe was awful tickled with it. And I bought a present for Ury on that\nsame occasion,--two fine shirts, and two pair of socks, with gray toes\nand heels, to match the mornin'-dress. I do love to see things kompared,\nespecially in such a time as this.\n\nMy weddin' present for 'em was a nice cane-seat rocker, black walnut,\ngood and stout, and very nice lookin'. And, knowin' she hadn't no\nmother to do for her, I gave her a pair of feather pillows and a\nbed-quilt,--one that a aunt of mine had pieced up for me. It was a\nblazin' star, a bright red and yeller, and it had always sort o' dazzled\nme.\n\nUry worshiped it. I had kept it on his bed ever sense I knew what\nfeelin's he had for it. He had said \u201cthat he didn't see how any thing so\nbeautiful could be made out of earthly cloth.\u201d And I thought now was my\ntime to part with it.\n\nWall, they had lots of good presents. I had advised the children, and\nthe Sunday-school children, that, if they was goin' to give 'em any\nthing, they would give 'em somethin' that would do 'em some good.\n\nSays I, \u201cPerforated paper lambrequins, and feather flowers, and\ncotton-yarn tidies, look well; but, after all, they are not what you may\ncall so nourishin' as some other things. And there will probable rise\nin their future life contingencies where a painted match-box, and a\nhair-pin receiver, and a card-case, will have no power to charm. Even\nchina vases and toilet-sets, although estimable, will not bring up a\nlarge family, and educate them, especially for the ministry.\u201d\n\nI s'pose I convinced 'em; for, as I heerd afterwards, the class had\nraised fifty cents apiece to get perforated paper, woosted yarn, and\ncrystal beads. But they took it, and got her a set of solid silver\nteaspoons: the store-keeper threw off a dollar or two for the occasion.\nThey was good teaspoons.\n\nAnd our children got two good linen table-cloths, and a set of\ntable-napkins; and the minister's wife brought her four towels, and the\nsister-in-law a patch-work bed-quilt. And Reuben Henzy's wife sent 'em\nthe money to buy 'em a set of chairs and a extension table; and a rich\nuncle of hisen sent him the money for a ingrain carpet; and a rich uncle\nof hern in the Ohio sent her the money for a bedroom set,--thirty-two\ndollars, with the request that it should be light oak, with black-walnut\ntrimmin's.\n\nAnd I had all the things got, and took 'em up in one of our chambers,\nso folks could see 'em. And I beset Josiah Allen to give 'em for his\npresent, a nice bedroom carpet. But no: he had got his mind made up to\ngive Ury a yearlin' calf, and calf it must be. But he said \u201che would\ngive in to me so fur, that, seein' I wanted to make such a show, if I\nsaid so, he would take the calf upstairs, and hitch it to the bed-post.\u201d\n\nBut I wouldn't parlay with him.\n\nWall, the weddin' went off first-rate: things went to suit me, all but\none thing. I didn't love to see Ury chew gum all the time they was bein'\nmarried. But he took it out and held it in his hand when he said \u201cYes,\nsir,\u201d when the minister asked him, would he have this woman. And when\nshe was asked if she would have Ury, she curchied, and said, \u201cYes, if\nyou please,\u201d jest as if Ury was roast veal or mutton, and the minister\nwas a passin' him to her. She is a good-natured little thing, and always\nwas, and willin'.\n\nWall, they was married about four o'clock in the afternoon; and Josiah\nsot out with 'em, to take 'em to the six o'clock train, for their tower.\n\nThe company staid a half-hour or so afterwards: and the children stayed\na little longer, to help me do up the work; and finally they went. And\nI went up into the spare chamber, and sort o' fixed Philury's things to\nthe best advantage; for I knew the neighbors would be in to look at 'em.\nAnd I was a standin' there as calm and happy as the buro or table,--and\nthey looked very light and cheerful,--when all of a sudden the door\nopened, and in walked Ury Henzy, and asked me,--\n\n\u201cIf I knew where his overhauls was?\u201d\n\nYou could have knocked me down with a pin-feather, as it were, I was so\nsmut and dumb-foundered.\n\nSays I, \u201cUry Henzy, is it your ghost?\u201d says I, \u201cor be you Ury?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I am Ury,\u201d says he, lookin', I thought, kinder disappointed and\ncurious.\n\n\u201cWhere is Philury?\u201d says I faintly.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cYES, IF you PLEASE.\u201d]\n\n\u201cShe has gone on her tower,\u201d says he.\n\nSays I, \u201cThen, you be a ghost: you hain't Ury, and you needn't say you\nbe.\u201d\n\nBut jest at that minute in come Josiah Allen a snickerin'; and says\nhe,--\n\n\u201cI have done it now, Samantha. I have done somethin' now, that is new\nand uneek.\u201d\n\nAnd as he see my strange and awful looks, he continued, \u201cYou know, you\nalways say that you want a change now and then, and somethin' new, to\npass away time.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I shall most probable get it,\u201d says I, groanin', \u201cas long as I live\nwith you. Now tell me at once, what you have done, Josiah Allen! I know\nit is your doin's.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says he proudly, \u201cyes, mom. Ury never would have thought of it,\nor Philury. I got it up myself, out of my own head. It is original, and\nI want the credit of it all myself.\u201d\n\nSays I faintly, \u201cI guess you won't be troubled about gettin' a patent\nfor it.\u201d Says I, \u201cWhat ever put it into your head to do such a thing as\nthis?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says he, \u201cI got to thinkin' of it on the way to the cars. Philury\nsaid she would love to go and see her sister in Buffalo; and Ury, of\ncourse, wanted to go and see his sister in Rochester. And I proposed to\n'em that she should go first to Buffalo, and see her folks, and when she\ngot back, he should go to Rochester, and see his folks. I told her that\nI needed Ury's help, and she could jest as well go alone as not, after\nwe got her ticket. And then in a week or so, when she had got her visit\nmade out, she could come back, and help do the chores, and tend to\nthings, and Ury could go. Ury hung back at first. But she smiled, and\nsaid she would do it.\u201d\n\nI groaned aloud, \u201cThat clever little creeter! You have imposed upon her,\nand she has stood it.\u201d\n\n\u201cImposed upon her? I have made her a heroine.\n\n\u201cFolks will make as much agin of her. I don't believe any female ever\ndone any thing like it before,--not in any novel, or any thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d I groaned. \u201cI don't believe they ever did.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will make her sought after. I told her it would. Folks will jest run\nafter her, they will admire her so; and so I told her.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cJosiah Allen, you did it because you didn't want to milk. Don't\ntry to make out that you had a good motive for this awful deed. Oh,\ndear! how the neighbors will talk about it!\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, dang it all, when they are a talkin' about this, they won't be\nlyin' about something else.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Josiah Allen!\u201d says I. \u201cDon't ever try to do any thing, or say any\nthing, or lay on any plans agin, without lettin' me know beforehand.\u201d\n\n\u201cI'd like to know why it hain't jest as well for 'em to go one at a\ntime? They are both _a goin_ You needn't worry about _that_. I hain't a\ngoin' to break _that_ up.\u201d\n\nI groaned awful; and he snapped out,--\n\n\u201cI want sunthin' to eat.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo eat?\u201d says I. \u201cCan you eat with such a conscience? Think of that\npoor little freckled thing way off there alone!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat poor little freckled thing is with her folks by this time, as\nhappy as a king.\u201d But though he said this sort o' defient like, he begun\nto feel bad about what he had done, I could see it by his looks; but\nhe tried to keep up, and says he, \u201cMy conscience is clear, clear as\na crystal goblet; and my stomack is as empty as one. I didn't eat a\nmouthful of supper. Cake, cake, and ice-cream, and jell! a dog couldn't\neat it. I want some potatoes and meat!\u201d\n\nAnd then he started out; and I went down, and got a good supper, but I\nsithed and groaned powerful and frequent.\n\nPhilury got home safely from her bridal tower, lookin' clever, but\nconsiderable lonesome.\n\nTruly, men are handy on many occasions, and in no place do they seem\nmore useful and necessary than on a weddin' tower.\n\nUry seemed considerable tickled to have her back agin. And Josiah would\nwhisper to me every chance he got,--\n\n\u201cThat now she had got back to help him, it was Ury's turn to go, and\nthere wuzn't nothin' fair in his not havin' a tower.\u201d Josiah always\nstands up for his sect.\n\nAnd I would answer him every time,--\n\n\u201cThat if I lived, Philury and Ury should go off on a tower together,\nlike human bein's.\u201d\n\nAnd Josiah would look cross and dissatisfied, and mutter somethin' about\nthe milkin'. _There was where the shoe pinched_.\n\nWall, right when he was a mutterin' one day, Cicely got back from\nWashington. And he stopped lookin' cross, and looked placid, and\nsunshiny. That man thinks his eyes of Cicely, both of 'em; and so do I.\n\nBut I see that she looked fagged out.\n\nAnd she told me how hard she had worked ever sence she had been gone.\nShe had been to some of the biggest temperance meetin's, and had done\nevery thing she could with her influence and her money. She was willin'\nto spend her money like rain-water, if it would help any.\n\nBut she said it seemed as if the powers against it was greater than\never, and she was heart-sick and weary.\n\nShe had had another letter from the executor, too, that worried her.\n\nShe told me that, after she went up to her room at night, and the boy\nwas asleep.\n\nShe had took off her heavy mournin'-dress, covered with crape, and put\non a pretty white loose dress; and she laid her head down in my lap, and\nI smoothed her shinin' hair, and says to her,--\n\n\u201cYou are all tired out to-night, Cicely: you'll feel better in the\nmornin'.\u201d\n\nBut she didn't: she was sick in bed the next day, and for two or three\ndays.\n\nAnd it was arranged, that, jest as quick as she got well enough to go,\nI was to go with her to see the executor, to see if we couldn't make him\nchange his mind. It was only half a day's ride on the cars, and I'd go\nfurther to please her.\n\nBut she was sick for most a week. And the boy meant to be good. He\nwanted to be, and I know it.\n\nBut though he was such a sweet disposition, and easy to mind, he was\ndretful easy led away by temptation, and other boys.\n\nNow, Cicely had told him that he _must not_ go a fishin' in the creek\nback of the house, there was such deep places in it; and he must not go\nthere till he got older.\n\nAnd he would _mean_ to mind, I would know it by his looks. He would look\ngood and promise. But mebby in a hour's time little Let Peedick would\nstroll over here, and beset the boy to go; and the next thing she'd\nknow, he would be down to the creek, fishin' with a bent pin.\n\n[Illustration: LED ASTRAY.]\n\nAnd Cicely had told him he _mustn't_ go in a swimmin'. But he went;\nand because it made his mother feel bad, he would deceive her jest as\ngood-natured as you ever see.\n\nWhy, once he come in with his pretty brown curls all wet, and his little\nshirt on wrong side out.\n\nHe was kinder whistlin', and tryin' to act indifferent and innocent. And\nwhen his mother questioned him about it, he said,--\n\n\u201cHe had drinked so much water, that it had soaked through somehow to his\nhair. And he turned his shirt gettin' over the fence. And we might ask\nLet Peedick if it wuzn't so.\u201d\n\nWe could hear Letty a whistlin' out to the barn, and we knew he stood\nready to say \u201che see the shirt turn.\u201d\n\nBut we didn't ask.\n\nBut when the boy see that his actin' and behavin' made his mother feel\nreal bad, he would ask her forgiveness jest as sweet; and I knew he\nmeant to do jest right, and mebby he would for as much as an hour, or\ntill some temptation come along--or boy.\n\nBut the good-tempered easiness to be led astray made Cicely feel like\ndeath: she had seen it in another; she see it was a inherited trait. And\nshe could see jest how hard it was goin' to make his future: she would\ntry her best to break him of it. But how, how was she goin' to do it,\nwith them weak, good-natured lips, and that chin?\n\nBut she tried, and she prayed.\n\nAnd, oh, how we all loved the boy! We loved him as we did the apples in\nour eyes.\n\nBut as I said, he was a child that had his spells. Sometimes he would\nbe very truthful and honest,--most too much so. That was when he had his\nsort o' dreamy spells.\n\n[Illustration: THE BOY'S EXPLANATION.]\n\nI know one day, she that wus Kezier Lum come here a visitin'. She is\nmiddlin' old, and dretful humbly.\n\nPaul sot and looked at her face for a long time, with that sort of a\ndreamy look of hisen; and finally he says,--\n\n\u201cWas you ever a young child?\u201d\n\nAnd she says,--\n\n\u201cWhy, law me! yes, I s'pose so.\u201d\n\nAnd he says,--\n\n\u201cI think I would rather have died young, than to grow up, and be so\nhomely.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: SHE THAT WUS KEZIER LUM.]\n\nI riz up, and led him out of the room quick, and told him \u201cnever to talk\nso agin.\u201d\n\nAnd he says,--\n\n\u201cWhy, I told the truth, aunt Samantha.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, truth hain't to be spoken at all times.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother punished me last night for not telling the truth, and told me to\ntell it always.\u201d\n\nAnd then I tried to explain things to him; and he looked sweet, and said\n\u201che would try and remember not to hurt folks'es feelin's.\u201d\n\nHe never thought of doin' it in the first place, and I knew it. And I\ndeclare, I thought to myself, as I went back into the room,--\n\n\u201cWe whip children for tellin' lies, and shake 'em for tellin' the truth.\nPoor little creeters! they have a hard time of it, anyway.\u201d\n\nBut when I went back into the room, I see Kezier was mad. And she said\nin the course of our conversation, that \u201cshe thought Cicely was too\nmuch took up on the subject of intemperance, and some folks said she was\ncrazy on the subject.\u201d\n\nKezier was always a high-headed sort of a woman, without a nerve in her\nbody. I don't believe her teeth has got nerves; though I wouldn't want\nto swear to it, never havin' filled any for her.\n\nAnd I says back to her, for it made me mad to see Cicely run,--\n\nSays I, \u201cShe hain't the first one that has been called crazy, when they\nwus workin' for truth and right. And if the old possles stood it, to be\ncalled crazy, and drunken with new wine--why, I s'pose Cicely can.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says she, \u201cdon't you believe she is almost crazy on that\nsubject?\u201d\n\nSays I, deep and earnest, \u201cIt is a _good_ crazy, if it is. And,\u201d says I,\n\u201cto s'posen the case,--s'posen the one we loved best in the world, your\nEbineezer, or my Josiah, should have been ruined, and led into murder,\nby drinkin' milk, don't you believe we should have been sort o' crazy\never afterwards on the milk question?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d says she, \u201cmilk won't make anybody crazy.\u201d\n\nThere it wuz--she hadn't no imagination.\n\nSays I, \u201cI am s'posen milk, I don't mean it.\u201d Says I, \u201cCicely means\nwell.\u201d\n\nAnd so she did, sweet little soul.\n\nBut day by day I could see that her eagerness to accomplish what she had\nsot out to, her awful anxiety about the boy's future, wus a wearin' on\nher: the active, keen mind, the throbbin', achin' heart, was a wearin'\nout the tender body.\n\nHer eyes got bigger and bigger every day; and her face got the\nsolemnest, curiusest look to it, that I ever see.\n\nAnd her cheeks looked more and more like the pure white blow of the\nSweet Cicely, only at times there would be a red upon 'em, as if a leaf\nout of a scarlet rose had dropped dowrn upon their pure whiteness.\n\nThat would be in the afternoon; and there would be such a dazzlin'\nbrightness in her eyes, that I used to wonder if it was the fire of\nimmortality a bein' kindled there, in them big, sad eyes.\n\nAnd right about this time the executor (and I wish he could have been\nexecuted with a horse-whip: he knew how she felt about it)--he wuz sot,\na good man, but sot. Why, his own sir name wuz never more sot in the\nground than he wuz sot on top of it. And he didn't like a woman's\ninterference. He wrote to her that one of her stores, that he had always\nrented for the sale of factory-cloth and sheep's clothin', lamb's-wool\nblankets, and etcetery, he had had such a good offer for it, to open a\nnew saloon and billiard-room, that he had rented it for that purpose;\nand he told how much more he got for it. That made 4 drinkin' saloons,\nthat wuz in the boy's property. Every one of 'em, so Cicely felt, a\ndrawin' some other mother's boys down to ruin.\n\nCicely thought of it nights a sight, so she said,--said she was afraid\nthe curses of these mothers would fall on the boy.\n\nAnd her eyes kep' a growin' bigger and solemner like, and her face\ngrew thinner and thinner, and that red flush would burn onto her cheeks\nregular every afternoon, and she begun to cough bad.\n\nBut one day she felt better, and was anxious to go. So she and I went to\nsee the executor, Condelick Post.\n\nWe left the boy with Philury. Josiah took us to the cars, and we arrove\nthere at 1 P.M. We went to the tarven, and got dinner, and then sot out\nfor Mr. Post'ses office.\n\n[Illustration: CONDELICK POST.]\n\nHe greeted Cicely with so much politeness and courtesy, and smiled so at\nher, that I knew in my own mind that all she would have to do would be\nto tell her errent. I knew he would do every thing jest as she wanted\nhim to. His smile was truly bland--I don't think I ever see a blander\none, or amiabler.\n\nI guess she was kinder encouraged, too, for she begun real sort o'\ncheerful a tellin' what she come for,--that she wanted him to rent these\nbuildin's for some other purpose than drinkin' and billiard saloons.\n\nAnd he went on in jest as cheerful a way, almost jokeuler, to tell\nher \u201cthat he couldn't do any thing of the kind, and he was doing the\nbusiness to the best of his ability, and he couldn't change it at all.\u201d\n\nAnd then Cicely, in a courteus, reasonable voice, begun to argue with\nhim; told him jest how bad she felt about it, and urged him to grant her\nrequest.\n\nBut no, the pyramids couldn't be no more sot than he wuz, nor not half\nso polite.\n\nAnd then she dropped her own sufferings in the matter, and argued the\nright of the thing.\n\nShe said when she was married, her husband took the whole of her\nproperty, and invested it for her in these very buildings. And in\nreality, it was her own property. The most of her husband's wealth was\nin the mills and government bonds. But she wanted her money invested\nhere, because she wanted a larger interest. And she was intending to let\nthe interest accumulate, and found a free library, and build a chapel,\nfor the workmen at the mills.\n\nAnd says she, \u201cIs it _right_ that my own property should be used for\nwhat I consider such wicked purposes?\u201d\n\n\u201cWicked? why, my dear madam! it brings in a larger interest than any\nother investment that I have been able to make. And you know your\nhusband's will provides handsomely for you--the yearly allowance is very\nhandsome indeed.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is all I wish, and more than I care for. I am not speaking of that.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it is very handsome indeed. And by the time Paul is of age, in the\nway I am managing the property now, he will be the richest young man\nin this section of the State. The revenue of which you make complaints,\nwill be of itself a handsome property, a large patrimony.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will seem to be loaded with curses, weighed down with the weight of\nheavy hearts, broken hearts, ruined lives.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll imagination, my dear madam! You have a vivid imagination. But there\nwill be nothing of the kind, I assure you,\u201d says he, with a patronizing\nsmile. \u201cIt will all be invested in government bonds,--good, honest\ndollars, with nothing more haunting than the American eagle on them.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and these words, 'In God we trust.' But do you know,\u201d says\nshe, with the red spot growin' brighter on her cheek, and her eyes\nbrighter,--\u201cdo you know, if one did not possess great faith, they would\nbe apt to doubt the existence of a God, who can allow such injustice?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat injustice, my dear madam?\u201d says he, smilin' blandly.\n\n\u201cYou know, Mr. Post, just how my husband died: you know he was killed\nby intemperance. A drinking-saloon was just as surely the cause of his\ndeath, as the sword is, that pierces through a man's heart. Intemperance\nwas the cause of his crime. He, the one I loved better than my own self,\ninfinitely better, was made a murderer by it. I have lost him,\u201d says\nshe, a throwin' out her arms with a wild gesture that skairt me. \u201cI have\nlost him by it.\u201d\n\nAnd her eyes looked as big and wild and wretched, as if she was lookin'\ndown the endless ages of eternity, a tryin' to find her love, and knew\nshe couldn't. All this was in her eyes, in her voice. But she seemed to\nconquer her emotion by a mighty effort, tried to smother it down, and\nspeak calmly for the sake of her boy.\n\n\u201cAnd now, after I have suffered by it as I have, is it right, is it\njust, that I should be compelled to allow my property to be used to\nmake other women's hearts, other mothers' hearts, ache as mine must ache\nforever?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear madam, the law, as it is now, gives me the right to do as\nI am doing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am pleading for justice, right: you have it in your power to grant my\nprayer. Women have no other weapon they can use, only just to plead, to\nbeg for mercy.\u201d\n\n\u201cO my dear madam! you are quite wrong: you are entirely wrong. Women are\nthe real rulers of the world. They, in reality, rule us men, with a\nrod of iron. Their dainty white hands, their rosy smiles, are the real\nautocrats of--of the breakfast-table, and of life.\u201d\n\nYou see, he went on, as men used to went on, to females years ago.\nHe forgot that that Alonzo and Melissa style of talkin' to wimmen had\nalmost entirely gone out of fashion. And it was a good deal more stylish\nnow to talk to wimmen as if they wuz human bein's, and men wuz too.\n\nBut Cicely looked at him calm and earnest, and says,--\n\n\u201cWill you do as I wish you to in this matter?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, really, my dear madam, I don't quite get at your meaning.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you let this store remain as it is, and rent those other saloons\nto honest business men for some other purpose than drinking-saloons?\u201d\n\n\u201cO my dear, dear madam! What can you be thinking of? The rent that I get\nfrom those four buildings is equal in amount to any eight of the other\nbuildings of the same size. I cannot, I cannot, consent to make any\nchanges whatever.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not, then, do as I wish?\u201d\n\n\u201cI _cannot_, my dear madam: I prefer to put it in that way,--I cannot. I\ndo not see as you do in the matter. And as the law empowers me to use my\nown discretion in renting the buildings, investing money, etc., I shall\nbe obliged to do so.\u201d\n\nCicely got up: she was white as snow now, but as quiet as snow ever wus.\n\nMr. Post got up, too, about the politest actin' man I ever see, a movin'\nchairs out of the way, and a smilin', and a waitin' on us out. He was\nready to give plenty of politeness to Cicely, but no justice.\n\nAnd I guess he was kinder sorry to see how white and sad she looked, for\nhe spoke out in a sort of a comfortin' voice,--\n\n\u201cYou have had great sorrows, Mrs. Slide, but you have also a great deal\nto comfort you. Just think of how many other widows have been left in\npoverty, or, as you may say, penury, and you are rich.\u201d\n\nCicely turned then, and made the longest speech I ever heard her make.\n\n[Illustration: LICENSED WRETCHEDNESS.]\n\n\u201cYes, many a drunkard's wife is clothed in rags, and goes hungry to bed\nat night, with her hungry children crying for bread about her. She can\nlie on her cold pile of rags, with the snow sifting down on her, and\nthink that her husband, a sober, honest man once, was made a low,\nbrutal wretch by intemperance; that he drank up all his property, killed\nhimself by strong drink, was buried in a pauper's grave, and left a\nstarving wife and children, to live if they could. The cold of winter\nfreezes her, the want of food makes her faint, and to see her little\nones starving about her makes her heart ache, no doubt. I have plenty of\nmoney, fine clothes, dainty food, diamonds on my fingers.\u201d\n\nSays she, stretching out her little white hands, and smilin' the\nbitterest smile I ever see on Cicely's face,--\n\n\u201cBut do you not think, that, as I lie on my warm, soft couch at night,\nmy heart is wrung by a keener pang than that drunkard's wife can ever\nknow? I can lie and think that by my means, my wealth, I am making just\nsuch homes as that, making just such broken hearts, just such starving\nchildren, filling just such paupers' graves,--laying up a long store of\ncurses and judgments, for my boy's inheritance. And I am powerless to do\nany thing but suffer.\u201d\n\nAnd she opened the door, and walked right out. And Mr. Post stood and\nsmiled till we got to the bottom of the stairs.\n\n\u201cGood-afternoon, _good_-afternoon, my clear madam, call again; happy to\nsee you--_Good_-afternoon.\u201d\n\nWall, Cicely went right to bed the minute we got home; and she never eat\na mite of supper, only drinked a cup of tea, and thanked me so pretty\nfor bringin' it to her.\n\nAnd there was such a sad and helpless, and sort of a outraged, look in\nher pretty brown eyes, some as a noble animal might have, who wus at bay\nwith the cruel hunters all round it. And so I told Josiah after I went\ndown-stairs.\n\nAnd the boy overheard me, and asked me 87 questions about \u201ca animal at\nbay,\u201d and what kind of a bay it was--was it the bay to a barn? or on the\nwater? or--\n\nOh my land! my land! How I did suffer!\n\nBut Cicely grew worse fast, from that very day. She seemed to run right\ndown.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nOne day Cicely had been worryin' dretfully all the forenoon about the\nboy. And I declare, it seemed so pitiful to hear her talk and forebode\nabout him, with her face lookin' so wan and white, and her big eyes\nso sorrowful lookin', as if they was lookin' onto all the sadness\nand trouble of the world, and couldn't help herself--such a sort of a\nhopeless look, and lovin' and broken-hearted, that it was all I could do\nto stand it without breakin' right down, and cry in' with her.\n\nBut I knew her state, and held firm. And she went over all the old\ngrounds agin to me, that she had foreboded on; and I went over all the\nold grounds of soothing agin and agin.\n\nWhy, good land! I had had practice enough. For every day, and every\nnight, would she forebode and forebode, and I would soothe and soothe,\ntill I declare for't, I should have felt (to myself) a good deal like\na bread-and-milk poultice, or even lobelia or catnip, if my feelin's\non the subject hadn't been so dretful deep and solemn, deeper than any\npoultice that was ever made--and solemner.\n\nWhy, Tirzah Ann says to me one day,--she had been settin' with Cicely\nfor a hour or two; and she come out a cryin', and says she,--\n\n\u201cMother, I don't see how you can stand it. It would break my heart to\nsee Cicely's broken-hearted look, and hear her talk for half a day; and\nyou have to hear her all the time.\u201d And she wiped her eyes.\n\nAnd I says, \u201cTongue can't tell, Tirzah Ann, how your ma's heart does\nache for her. And,\u201d says I, \u201cif I knew myself, I had got to die and\nleave a boy in the world with such temptations round him, and such a\nchin on him, why, I don't know what I should do, and what I shouldn't\ndo.\u201d\n\nAnd says Tirzah Ann, \u201cThat is jest the way I feel, mother;\u201d and we both\nof us wiped our eyes.\n\nBut I held firm before her, and reminded her every time, of what she\nknew already,--\u201cthat there was One who was strong, who comforted her in\nher hour of need, and He would watch over the boy.\u201d\n\nAnd sometimes she would be soothed for a little while, and sometimes she\nwouldn't.\n\nWall, this day, as I said, she had worried and worried and worried. And\nat last I had soothed her down, real soothed. And she asked me before\nI went down-stairs, for a poem, a favorite one of hers,--\u201cThe Celestial\nCountry.\u201d And I gin it to her. And she said I might shet the door, and\nshe would read a spell, and she guessed she should drop to sleep.\n\nAnd as I was goin' out of the room, she called me back to hear a verse\nor two she particularly liked, about the \u201cendless, ageless peace of\nSyon:\u201d--\n\n  \u201cTrue vision of true beauty,\n  Sweet cure of all distrest.\u201d\n\nAnd I stood calm, and heard her with a smooth, placid face, though I\nknew my pies was a scorchin' in the oven, for I smelt 'em. I did well by\nCicely.\n\n[Illustration: SAMANTHA LISTENING TO CICELY.]\n\nAfter she finished it, I told her it was perfectly beautiful, and I left\nher feelin' quite bright; and there wuzn't but one of my pies spilte,\nand I didn't care if it wuz. I wuzn't goin' to have her feelin's hurt,\npies or no pies.\n\nAfter I got my pies out, I went into my nearest neighbor's on a errent,\ntellin' Josiah to stay in Thomas Jefferson's room, just acrost from\nCicely's, so's if she wanted any thing, he could get it for her. I\nwuzn't gone over a hour, and, when I went back, I went up-stairs the\nfirst thing; and I found Cicely a cryin,' though there was a softer,\nmore contented look in her eyes than I had seen there for a long time.\n\nAnd I says, \u201cWhat is the matter, Cicely?\u201d\n\nAnd she says,--\n\n\u201cOh! if I had been a better woman, I could have seen my mother! she has\nbeen here!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, Cicely!\u201d says I. \u201cHere, take some of this jell.\u201d\n\nBut she put it away, and says in a sort of a solemn, happy tone,--\n\n\u201cShe has been here!\u201d\n\nShe said it jest as earnest and serene as I ever heard any thing said;\nand there was a look in her eyes some as there wuz when she come home\nfrom her aunt Mary's, and told me \u201cshe almost wished her aunt had died\nwhile she was there, because she felt that her mother would be the angel\nsent from heaven to convey her aunt's soul home--and she could have seen\nher.\u201d\n\nThere was that same sort of deep, soulful, sad, and yet happy look to\nher eyes, as she repeated,--\n\n\u201cShe has been here! I was lying here, aunt Samantha, reading 'The\nCelestial Country,' not thinking of any thing but my book, when suddenly\nI felt something fanning my forehead, like a wing passing gently over\nmy face. And then something said to me just as plain as I am speaking to\nyou, only, instead of being spoken aloud, it was said to my soul,--\n\n\u201c'You have wanted to see your mother: she is here with you.'\n\n\u201cAnd I dropped my book, and sprung up, and stood trembling, and reached\nout my hands, and cried,--\u201c'Mother! mother! where are you? Oh! how I\nhave wanted you, mother!'\n\n\u201cAnd then that same voice said to my heart again,--\n\n\u201c'God will take care of the boy.'\n\n\u201cAnd as I stood there trembling, the room seemed full. You know how you\nwould feel if your eyes were shut, and you were placed in a room full of\npeople. You would know they were there--you would feel their presence,\nthough you couldn't see them. You know what the Bible says,--'Seeing we\nare encompassed about by so great a cloud of witnesses.' That word just\ndescribes what I felt. There seemed to be all about me, a great cloud\nof people. And I put my arms out, and made a rush through them, as you\nwould through a dense crowd, and said again,--\n\n\u201c'Mother! mother! where are you? Speak to me again.'\n\n\u201cAnd then, suddenly, there seemed to be a stir, a movement in the room,\nsomething I was conscious of with some finer, more vivid sense than\nhearing. It seemed to be a great crowd moving, receding. And farther\noff, but clear, these words came to me again, sweet and solemn,--\n\n\u201c'God will take care of the boy.'\n\n\u201cAnd then I seemed to be alone. And I went out into the hall; and uncle\nJosiah heard me, and he came out, and asked me what the matter was.\n\n\u201cAnd I told him 'I didn't know.' And my strength left me then; and he\ntook me up in his arms, and brought me back into my room, and laid me on\nthe lounge, and gave me some wine, and I couldn't help crying.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat for, dear?\u201d says I.\n\n\u201cBecause I wasn't good enough to see my mother. If I had only been good\nenough, I could have seen her. For she was here, aunt Samantha, right in\nthis room.\u201d\n\nHer eyes wus so big and solemn and earnest, that I knew she meant what\nshe said. But I soothed her down as well as I could, and I says,--\n\n\u201cMebby you had dropped to sleep, Cicely: mebby you dremp it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says Josiah, who had come in, and heard my last words.\n\n\u201cYes, Cicely, you dremp it.\u201d\n\nWall, after a while Cicely stopped cryin', and dropped to sleep.\n\nAnd now what I am goin' to tell you is the _truth_. You can believe it,\nor not, jest as you are a mind to; but it is the _truth_.\n\nThat night, at sundown, Thomas J. come in with a telegram for Cicely;\nand she says, without actin' a mite surprised,--\n\n\u201cAunt Mary is dead.\u201d\n\nAnd sure enough, when she opened it, it was so. She died jest before the\ntime Cicely come out into the hall. Josiah remembered plain. The clock\nhad jest struck two as she opened the door.\n\nHer aunt died at two.\n\nThis is the plain truth; and I will make oath to it, and so will Josiah.\nAnd whether Cicely dremp it, or whether she didn't; whether it wus jest\na coincidin' coincidence, her havin' these feelin's at exactly the time\nher aunt died, or not,--I don't know any more than you do. I jest put\ndown the facts, and you can draw your own inferences from 'em, and draw\n'em jest as fur as you want to, and as many of 'em.\n\n[Illustration: THOMAS JEFFERSON BRINGING CICELY'S TELEGRAM.]\n\nBut that night, way along in the night, as I lay awake a musin' on it,\nand a wonderin',--for I say plain that my specks hain't strong enough to\nsee through the mysteries that wrap us round on every side,--I s'posed\nmy companion wus asleep; but he spoke out sudden like, and decided, as\nif I had been a disputin' of him,--\n\n\u201cYes, most probable she dremp it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall,\u201d says I, \u201cI hain't disputed you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHain't you a goin' to?\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d says I. And that seemed to quiet him down, and he went to sleep.\n\nAnd I give up, that most probable she did, or didn't, one of the two.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cMOST PROBABLE SHE DREMP IT.\u201d]\n\nBut anyway, from that night, she didn't worry one bit about the boy.\n\nShe would talk to him sights about his bein' a good boy, but she would\nact and talk as if she was _sure_ he would. She would look at him, not\nwith the old, pitiful, agonized look, but with a sweet and happy light\nin her eyes.\n\nAnd I guessed that she thought that the laws would be changed before\nthe boy was of age. I thought that she felt real encouraged to think\nthe march of civilization was a marchin' on, pretty slow but sure,\nand, before the boy got old enough to go out into a world full of\ntemptations, there would be wiser laws, purer influences, to help the\nboy to be a good and noble man, which is about the best thing we know\nof, here below.\n\nNo, she never worried one worry about him after that day, not a single\nworry. But she made her will, and it was fixed lawful too. She wanted\nPaul to stay with us till he was old enough to send off to school and\ncollege. And she wanted her property and Paul's too, if he should die\nbefore he was of age, should be used to found a school, and a home for\nthe children of drunkards. A good school and a Christian home, to teach\nthem and help them to be good, and good citizens.\n\nJosiah Allen and Thomas J. and I was appinted to see to it, appinted\nby law. It was to be right in them buildings that wus used now for\ndram-shops: them very housen was to be used to send out good influences\nand spirits into the world instead of the vile, murderous, brutal\nspirits, they wus sendin' out now.\n\nAnd wuzn't it sort o' pitiful to think on, that Cicely had to _die_\nbefore her property could be used as she wanted it to be,--could be\nused to send out blessings into the world, instead of 'cursings and\nwickedness, as it was now? It was pitiful to look on it with the eye of\na woman; but I kep' still, and tried to look on it with the eye of the\nUnited States, and held firm.\n\nAnd we give her our solemn promises, that in case the job fell to us\nto do, it should be tended to, to the very best of our three abilities.\nThomas J., bein' a good lawyer, could be relied on.\n\nThe executor consented to it,--I s'pose because he was so dretful\npolite, and he thought it would be a comfort to Cicely. He knew there\nwuzn't much danger of its ever takin' place, for Paul was a healthy\nchild. And his appetite was perfectly startlin' to any one who never see\na child's appetite.\n\nI estimated, and estimated calmly, that there wuzn't a hour of the day\nthat he couldn't eat a good, hearty meal. But truly, it needed a strong\ndiet to keep up his strength. For oh! oh! the questions that child would\nask! He would get me and Philury pantin' for breath in the house, and\nthen go out with calmness and strength to fatigue his uncle Josiah and\nUry nearly unto death.\n\nBut they loved him, and so did I, with a deep, pantin', tired-out\naffection. We loved him better and better as the days rolled by: the\ntireder we got with him seemin'ly, the more we loved him.\n\nBut one hope that had boyed me up durin' the first weeks of my\nintercourse with him, died out. I did think, that, in the course of\ntime, he would get all asked out. There wouldn't be a thing more in\nheavens or on earth, or under the earth, that he hadn't enquired in\nperticular about.\n\nBut as days passed by, I see the fallicy of my hopes. Insperation seemed\nto come to him; questions would spring up spontanious in his mind; the\nmore he asked, the more spontaniouser they seemed to spring.\n\nNow, for instance, one evenin' he asked me about 3,000 questions about\nthe Atlantic Ocian, its whales and sharks and tides and steamships and\nislands and pirates and cable and sailors and coral and salt, and etc.,\netc., and etcetery; and after a hour or two he couldn't think of another\nthing to ask, seemin'ly. And I begun to get real encouraged, though\nfagged to the very outmost limit of fag, when he drew a long breath, and\nsays with a perfectly fresh, vigorous look,--\n\n[Illustration: THE BOY ASKING QUESTIONS.]\n\n\u201cNow less begin on the Pacific.\u201d\n\nAnd I answered kindly, but with firmness,--\n\n\u201cI can't tackle any more ocians to-night, I am too tuckered out.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d says he, glancin' out of the window at the new moon which\nhung like a slender golden bow in the west, \u201cdon't you think the moon\nto-night is shaped some like a hammock? and if I set down in it with my\nfeet hanging out, would I be dizzy? and if I should curl my feet up, and\nlay back in it, and sail--and sail--and sail up into the sky, could I\nfind out about things up in the heavens? Could I find the One up there\nthat set me to breathing? And who made the One that made me? And where\nwas I before I was made?--and uncle Josiah and Ury? And why wouldn't I\ntell him where we was before we was anywhere? and if we wasn't anywhere,\ndid I suppose we would want to be somewhere? and _say_--SAY\u201d--\n\nOh, dear me! dear me! how I did suffer!\n\nBut a better child never lived than he was, and I would have loved to\nseen anybody dispute it. He was a lovely child, and very deep.\n\nAnd he would back up to you, and get up into your lap, with such a calm,\nassured air of owning you, as if you was his possession by right of\ndiscovery. And he would look up into your face with such a trustin',\nangelic look as he tackled you, that, no matter how tuckered out you\nwould get, you was jest as ready for him the next time, jest as ready to\nbe tackled and tuckered.\n\nHe was up with his mother a good deal. He would get up on the bed, and\nlay by her side; and she would hold him close, and talk good to him,\ndretful good.\n\nI heard her tellin' him one day, that, \u201cif ever he had a man's influence\nand strength, he must use them wisely, and deal tenderly and gently\nby those who were weaker, and in his power. That a manly man was never\nashamed of doing what was right, no matter how many opposed him; that it\nwas manly and noble to be pure and good, and helpful to all who needed\nhelp.\n\n\u201cAnd he must remember, if he ever got tired out and discouraged trying\nto be good himself, and helping others to be good, that he was never\nalone, that his loving Father would always be with him, and _she_\nshould. She should never be far away from her boy.\n\n\u201cAnd it would only be a little while at the longest, before she should\ntake him in her arms again, before life here would end, and the new and\nglorious life begin, that he must fit himself for. That life here was so\nshort that it wasn't worth while to spend any part of it in less worthy\nwork than in loving and serving with all his strength God and man.\u201d\n\nAnd I thought as I listened to her, that her talk had the simplicity of\na child, and the wisdom of all the philosiphers.\n\nYes, she would talk to him dretful good, a holdin' him close in her\narms, and lookin' on him with that fur-off, happy look in her eyes, that\nI loved and hated to see,--loved to see because it was so beautiful and\nsweet, hated to see because it seemed to set her so fur apart from all\nof us.\n\nIt seemed as though, while her body was here below, she herself was a\nlivin' in another world than ourn: you could see its bright radience in\nher eyes, hear its sweet and peaceful echoes in her voice.\n\nShe was with us, and she wuzn't with us; and I'd smile and cry about it,\nand cry and smile, and couldn't help it, and didn't want to.\n\nAnd seein' her so satisfied about the boy--why, seein' her feel so good\nabout him, made us feel good too. And seein' her so contented and happy,\nmade us contented and happy--some.\n\nAnd so the peaceful weeks went by, Cicely growin' weaker and weaker\nall the time in body, but happier and happier in her mind; so sweet and\nserene, that we all felt, that, instead of being sad, it was somethin'\nbeautiful to die.\n\nAnd as the long, sweet days passed by, the look in her eyes grew\nclearer,--the look that reminded us of the summer skies in early\nmornin', soft and dark, with a prophecy in them of the coming brightness\nand glory of the full day.\n\n[Illustration: TIRZAH ANN AND MAGGIE IN THE DEMOCRAT.]\n\nThe mornin' of the last day in June Cicely was not so well; and I sent\nfor the doctor in the mornin', and told Ury to have Tirzah Ann and\nMaggie come home and spend the day. Which they did.\n\nAnd in the afternoon she grew worse so fast, that towards night I sent\nfor the doctor again.\n\nHe didn't give any hope, and said the end was very near. A little before\nnight the boys come,--Thomas Jefferson and Whitfield.\n\nThe sun went down; and it was a clear, beautiful evenin', though there\nwas no moon. All was still in the house: the lamp was lighted, but the\ndoors and windows was open, and the smell of the blossoms outside come\nin sweet; and every thing seemed so peacful and calm, that we could not\nfeel sorrowful, much as we loved her.\n\nShe had wanted the boy on the bed with her; and I told Josiah and the\nchildren we would go out, and leave her alone with him. Only, the doctor\nsot by the window, with the lamp on a little stand by the side of him,\nand the mornin'-glories hangin' their clusters down between him and the\nsweet, still night outside.\n\nCicely's voice was very low and faint; but we could hear her talkin' to\nhim, good, I know, though I didn't hear her words. At last it was\nall still, and we heard the doctor go to the bedside; and we all went\nin,--Josiah and the children and me. And as we stood there, a light fell\non Cicely's face,--every one in the room saw it,--a white, pure\nlight, like no other light on earth, unless it was something like that\nwonderful new light--that has a soul. It was something like that clear\nwhite light, falling through a soft shade. It was jest as plainly\nvisible to us as the lamplight at the other end of the room.\n\nIt rested there on her sweet face, on her wide-open brown eyes, on her\nsmilin' lips. She lay there, rapt, illumined, glorified, apart from us\nall. For that strange, beautiful glow on her face wrapped her about,\nseparated her from us all, who stood outside.\n\nThe boy had fallen asleep, his dimpled arms around her neck, and his\nmoist, rosy face against her white one. She held him there close to her\nheart; but in the awe, the wonder of what we saw, we hardly noticed the\nboy.\n\nShe heard voices we could not hear, for she answered them in low\ntones,--contented, happy tones. She saw faces we couldn't see, for she\nlooked at them with wondern' rapture in her eyes. She was away from us,\nfur away from us who loved her,--we who were on this earth still. Love\nstill held her here, human love yet held her by a slight link to the\nhuman; but her sweet soul had got with its true kindred, the pure in\nheart.\n\n[Illustration: DEATH OF CICELY.]\n\nBut still her arms was round the boy,--white, soft arms of flesh, that\nheld him close to her heart. And at the very last, she fixed her eyes\non him; and, oh! what a look that was,--a look of such full peace, and\nrapturous content, as if she knew all, and was satisfied with all that\nshould happen to him. As if her care for him, her love for him, had\nblossomed, and bore the ripe fruit of blessedness.\n\nAt last that beautiful light grew dimmer, and more dim, till it was\ngone--gone with the pure soul of our sweet Cicely.\n\nThat night, way along in the night, I wuzn't sleeping, and I wuzn't\ncrying, though I had loved Cicely so well. No: I felt lifted up in my\nmind, inspired, as if I had seen somethin' so beautiful that I could\nnever forget it. I felt perhaps somethin' as our old 4 mothers did when\nthey would see an angel standin' with furled wings outside their tents.\n\nI thought Josiah was asleep; but it seems he wuzn't, for he spoke out\nsort o' decided like,--\n\n\u201cMost probable it was the lamp.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nIt was a lovely mornin' about three weeks after Cicely's death. Josiah\nhad to go to Jonesville to mill, and the boy wanted to go to; and so I\nput on his little cloak and hat, and told him he might go.\n\nWe didn't act cast down and gloomy before the boy, Josiah and me didn't.\nHe had worried for his ma dretfully, at first. But we had made every\nthing of him, and petted him. And I had told him that she had gone to a\nlovely place, and was there a waitin' for him. And I would say it to him\nwith as cheerful a face as I could. (I knew I could do my own cryin',\nout to one side.)\n\nAnd he believed me. He believed every word I said to him. And he would\nask me sights and sights of questions about \u201cthe _place_.\u201d\n\nAnd \u201cif it was inside the gate, that uncle Josiah had read about,--that\ngate that was big and white, like a pearl? And if it would float down\nthrough the sky some day, and stand still in front of him? And would\nthe gate swing open so he could see into the City? and would it be all\nglorious with golden streets, and shining, and full of light? And\nwould his mamma Cicely stand just inside, and reach out her arms to\nhim?--those pretty white arms.\u201d\n\nAnd then the boy would sob and cry. And I'd soothe him, and swaller\nhard, and say \u201cYes,\u201d and didn't think it was wicked, when he would be a\nsobbin' so.\n\nAnd then he'd ask, \u201cWould she take him in her arms, and be glad to see\nher own little boy again? And would he have long to wait?\u201d\n\nAnd I'd comfort him, and tell him, \u201cNo, it wouldn't be but a little time\nto wait.\u201d\n\nAnd didn't think it was wicked, for it wuzn't long anyway. For \u201cour days\nare but shadows that flee away.\u201d\n\nWall, he loved us, some. And we loved him, and did well by him; and\nbein' a child, we could sometimes comfort him with childish things.\n\nAnd this mornin' he wus all excitement about goin' to Jonesville with\nhis uncle Josiah. And I gin him some pennys to get some oranges for him\nand the babe, and they set off feelin' quite chirk.\n\nAnd I sot down to mend a vest for my Josiah. And I was a settin' there a\nmendin' it,--one of the pockets had gin out, and it was frayed round the\nedges.\n\nAnd I sot there a sewin' on that fray, peaceful and calm and serene as\nthe outside of the vest, which was farmer's satin, and very smooth and\nshinin'. The weather also wus as mild and serene as the vest, if not\nserener. I had got my work all done up as slick as a pin: the floor\nglittered like yellow glass, the stove shone a agreable black, a good\ndinner was a cookin'. And I sot there, happy, as I say; for though,\nwhen I had done so much work that mornin', if that vest had belonged to\nanybody else, it would have looked like a stent to me, I didn't mind it,\nfor it was for my Josiah: and love makes labor light,--light as day.\n\nI was jest a thinkin' this, and a thinkin' that though I had jest told\nJosiah, from a sense of duty, that \u201che had broke that pocket down by\nluggin' round so much stuff in it, and there was no sense in actin' as\nif he could carry round a hull car-load of things in his vest-pocket;\u201d\n though I had spoken to him thus, from a sense of duty, tryin' to keep\nhim straight and upright in his demeaner,--still, I was a thinkin' how\npleasant it wuz to work for them you loved, and that loved you: for\nthough he had snapped me up considerable snappish, and said \u201che should\ncarry round in his pockets as much as he was a minter; and if I didn't\nwant to mend it, I could let it alone,\u201d and had throwed it down in the\ncorner, and slammed the door considerable hard when he went out, still,\nI knew that this slight pettishness was only the light bubbles that\nrises above the sparkling wine. I knew his love for me lay pure and\nclear and sparklin' in the very depths of his soul.\n\nI was a settin' there, thinkin' about it, and thinkin' how true love,\nsuch as mine and hisen, glorified a earthly existence, when all of a\nsudden I heard a rap come onto the kitchen door right behind me; and I\nsays, \u201cCome in.\u201d And a tall, slim feller entered, with light hair, and\nsort o' thin, and a patient, determined countenance onto him. A sort\nof a persistent look to him, as if he wuzn't one to be turned round\nby trifles. I didn't dislike his looks a mite at first, and sot him a\nchair.\n\nBut little did I think what was a comin'. For, if you will believe it,\nhe hadn't much more than got sot down when he says to me right there, in\nthe middle of the forenoon, and right to my face,--the mean, miserable,\nlowlived scamp,--says he, right there, in broad daylight, and without\nblushing, or any thing, says he,--\n\n\u201cI called this morning, mom, to see if I couldn't sell you a feller.\u201d\n\n\u201cSell me a feller!\u201d I jest made out to say, for I wus fairly paralyzed\nby his impudence. \u201cSell me a feller!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes: I have got some of the best kinds they make, and I didn't know but\nI could sell you one.\u201d\n\nSez I, gettin' my tongue back, \u201cBuy a feller! you ask me, at my age, and\nwith my respectability, and after carryin' round such principles as\nI have been carryin' round for years and years, you ask me to buy a\nfeller!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes: I didn't know but you would want one. I have got the best kind\nthere is made.\u201d\n\n\u201cI'll let you know, young man,\u201d says I, \u201cI'll let you know that I have\ngot a feller of my own, as good a one as was ever made, one I have had\nfor 20 years and over.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, mom,\u201d says he, with that stiddy, determined way of hisen, \u201ca\nfeller that you have had for 20 years must be out of gear by this time.\u201d\n\n\u201cOut of gear!\u201d says I, speakin' up sharp. \u201cYou will be out of gear\nyourself, young man, if I hear any more such talk out of your head.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope you will excuse me, mom,\u201d says he, in that patient way of hisen.\n\u201cIt hain't my way to run down anybody's else's fellers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, I guess you hadn't better try it again in this house,\u201d says I\nwarmly. \u201cI guess it won't be very healthy for you.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: AGENT TRYING TO SELL SAMANTHA A FELLER.]\n\n\u201cCan't I sell you some other attachment, mom? I have got 'em of all\nkinds.\u201d\n\n\u201cSell me another attachment? No, sir. You can't sell me another\nattachment. My attachment is as firm and endurin' as the rocks, and has\nalways been, and is one not to be bought and sold.\u201d\n\n\u201cI presume yours was good in the day of 'em, mom, but they must be\nold-fashioned. I have the very best and newest attachments of all kinds.\nBut I make a specialty of my fellers. You'd better let me sell you a\nfeller, mom.\u201d\n\nI declare for't, my first thought was, to turn him right outdoors, and\nshet the door in his face. And then agin, I thought, I am a member of\nthe meetin'-house. I must be patient and long sufferin', and may be here\nis a chance for me to do good. Thinks'es I, if I was ever eloquent in a\ngood cause, I must be now. I must convince him of the nefariousness of\nhis conduct. And if soarin' in eloquence can do it, why, I must soar.\nAnd so I begun.\n\nSays I, wavin' my right hand in a broad, soarin', eloquent wave, \u201cYoung\nman, when you talk about buyin' and sellin' a feller, you are talkin'\non a solemn subject,--buyin and sellin' attachments! Buyin' and sellin'\nfellers! It hain't nothin' new to me. I've hearn tell of such things,\nbut little did I suppose it was a subject I should ever be tackled on.\n\n\u201cBut I have hearn of it. I have hearn of wimmen sellin' themselves to\nthe highest bidder, with a minister for auctioneer and salesman. I have\nhearn of fathers and mothers sellin' beauty and innocence and youth to\nwicked old age for money--sellin' 'em right in the meetin'-house, under\nthe very shadow of the steeple.\n\n[Illustration: THEM THAT SELL DOVES.]\n\n\u201cJerusalem hain't the only village where God's holy temple has been\npolluted by money-changers and them that sell doves. Many a sweet\nlittle dove of a girl is made by her father and mother, and other old\nmoney-changers, to walk up to God's holy altar, and swear to a lie.\nThey think her tellin' that lie, makes the infamous bargain more sacred,\nmakes the infamous life they have drove her into more respectable.\n\n\u201cThere was One who cleansed from such accursed traffic the old Jewish\ntemples, but He walks no more with humanity. If he did, would he not\nwalk up the broad aisles of our orthodox churches in American\ncities, and release these doves, and overthrow the plots of these\nmoney-changers?\n\n\u201cBut let me tell 'em, that though they can't see Him, He is there; and\nthe lash of His righteous wrath will surely descend, not upon their\nbodies, but upon their guilty souls, teachin' them how much more\nterrible it is to sell a life, with all its rich dowery of freedom,\nhappiness, purity, immortality.\u201d\n\nHere my breath gin out, for I had used my very deepest principle tone;\nand it uses up a fearful ammount of wind, and is tuckerin' beyend what\nany one could imagine of tucker. You _have_ to stop to collect breath.\n\nAnd he looked at me with that same stiddy, patient, modest look of\nhisen; and says he, in that low, determined voice,--\n\n\u201cWhat you say, madam, is very true, and even beautiful and eloquent: but\ntime is valuable to me; and as I said, I stopped here this morning to\nsee if I could sell\u201d--\n\n\u201cI know you did: I heard you with my own ears. If it had come through\ntwo or three, or even one, pair of ears besides my own, I couldn't have\nbelieved 'em--I never could have believed that any human creeter, male\nor female, would have dared to stand up before me, and try to sell me a\nfeller! _Sell_ a feller to me! Why, even in my young days, do you s'pose\nI would ever try to _buy_ a feller?\n\n\u201cNo, sir! fellers must come free and spontaneous? or not at all. Never\nwas I the woman to advance one step towards any feller in the way of\ncourtship--havin' no occasion for it, bein' one that had more offers\nthan I knew what to do with, as I often tell my husband, Josiah Allen,\nnow, in our little differences of opinion. 'Time and agin,' as I tell\nhim, 'I might have married, but held back.' And never would I have\nmarried, never, had not love gripped holt of my very soul, and drawed me\nalong up to the marriage alter. I loved the feller I married, and he was\nthe only feller in the hull world for me.\u201d\n\nSays he in that low, gentle tone, and lookin' modest and patient as a\nlily, but as determined and sot as ever a iron teakettle was sot over a\nstove,--\n\n\u201cYou are under a mistake, mom.\u201d\n\nSays I, \u201cDon't you tell me that agin if you know what is good for\nyourself. I guess I know my own mind. I was past the age of whifflin',\nand foolin' round. I married that feller from pure love, and no other\nreason under the heavens. For there wuzn't any other reason only jest\nthat, why I _should_ marry him.\u201d\n\nAnd for a moment, or two moments, my mind roamed back onto that old,\nmysterious question that has haunted me more or less through my natural\nlife, for over twenty years. _Why_ did I marry Josiah Allen? But I\ndidn't revery on it long. I was too agitated, and wrought up; and I says\nagin, in tones witherin' enough to wither him,--\n\n\u201cThe idee of sellin' me a feller!\u201d\n\nBut the chap didn't look withered a mite: he stood there firm and\nimmovible, and says he,--\n\n\u201cI didn't mean no offense, mom. Sellin' attachments is what I get my\nliving by\u201d--\n\n\u201cWall, I should ruther not get a livin',\u201d says I, interruptin' of him.\n\u201cI should ruther not live.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs I said, mom, I get my livin' that way: and one of your neighbors\ntold me that your feller was an old one, and sort o' givin' out; and\nI have got 'em with all the latest improvements, and--and she thought\nmebby I could sell you one.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou miserable coot you!\u201d says I. \u201cDo you stop your impudent talk, or I\nwill holler to Josiah. What do you s'pose I want with another feller? Do\nyou s'pose I'd swap Josiah Allen for all the fellers that ever swarmed\non the globe? What do you s'pose I care for the latest improvements? If\na feller was made of pure gold from head to feet, with diamond eyes and\na garnet nose, do you s'pose he would look so good to me as Josiah Allen\nduz?\n\n\u201cAnd I would thank the neighbers to mind their own business, and let my\naffairs alone. What if he is a gettin' old and wore out? What if he is\na givin' out? He is always kinder spindlin' in the spring of the year.\nSome men winter harder than others: he is a little tizicky, and breathes\nshort, and his liver may not be the liver it was once; but he will come\nround all right when the weather moderates. And mebby they meant to hint\nand insinuate sunthin' about his bein' so bald, and losin' his teeth.\n\n\u201cBut I'll let you know, and I'll let the neighbors know, that I didn't\nmarry that man for hair; I didn't marry that man for teeth, and a\nfew locks more or less, or a handful of teeth, has no power over that\nlove,--that love that makes me say from the very depths of my soul, that\nmy feller is one of a thousand.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hain't disputed you, mom,\u201d says he, with his firm, patient look.\n\u201cI dare presume to say that your feller was good in the day of such\nfellers. But every thing has its day: we make fellers far different\nnow.\u201d\n\nSays I sarcasticly, givin' him quite a piercin' look, \u201cI know they do:\nI've seen 'em.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, they make attachments now very different: yours is old-fashioned.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I know it is: I know that love, such love as hisen and mine, and\nI know that truth and fidelity and constancy, _are_ old-fashioned. But\nI thank God that our souls are clothed with that beautiful old fashion,\nthat seamless, flawless robe that wus cut out in Eden, and a few true\nsouls have wore ever since.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut your attachment will grow older and older, and give out entirely\nafter a while. What will you do then?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy attachment will _never_ give out.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut mom\u201d--\n\n\u201cNo, you needn't argue and contend--I say it will _never_ give out. It\nis a heavenly gift dropped down from above, entirely unbeknown. True\nlove is not sought after, it comes; and when it comes, it stays.\nTalk about love gettin' old--love _never_ grows old; talk about love\ngoin'--love _never_ goes: that which goes is not love, though it has\nbeen called so time and agin. Talk about love dyin'--why, it _can't_\ndie, no more than the souls can, in which its sweet light is born.\nWhy, it is a flame that God Himself kindles: it is a bit of His own\nbrightness a shinin' down through the darkness of our earthly life, and\nis as immortal and indestructible as His own glory.\n\n\u201cIt is the only fountain of Eternal Youth that gushes up through this\ndreary earthly soil, for the refreshin' of men and wimmen, in which the\nweary soul can bathe itself, and find rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cSometimes,\u201d says he, sort o' dreamily, \u201csometimes we repair old\nfellers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWall, you won't repair my feller, I can let you know that. I won't\nhave him repaired. The impudence of the hull idee,\u201d says I, roustin' up\nafresh, \u201cgoes ahead of any thing I ever dreamed of, of impudence. Repair\nmy feller! I don't want him any different. I want him jest as he is. I\nwould scorn to repair him. I _could_ if I wanted to,--his teeth could\nbe sharpened up, what he has got, and new ones sot in. And I could\ncover his head over with red curls; or I could paint it black, and paste\ntransfer flowers onto it. I could have a sot flower sot right on the top\nof his bald head, and a trailin' vine runnin' round his forward. Or I\ncould trim it round with tattin', if I wanted to, and crystal beads.\nI could repair him up so he would look gay. But do you s'pose that any\nartificials that was ever made, or any hair, if it was as luxuriant as\nAyer'ses Vigor, could look so good to me as that old bald head that I\nhave seen a shinin' acrost the table from me for so many years?\n\n[Illustration: JOSIAH AFTER BEING REPAIRED.]\n\n\u201cI tell you, there is memories and joys and sorrows a clusterin' round\nthat head, that I wouldn't swap for all the beauty and the treasures of\nthe world.\n\n\u201cMemories of happy mornin's dewy fresh, with cool summer breezes a\ncomin' in through the apple-blows by the open door, and the light of\nthe happy sunrise a shinin' on that old bald head, and then gleamin' off\ninto my happy heart.\n\n\u201cThere is memories of pleasant evenin' hours, with the tea-table drawed\nup in front of the south door, and the sweet southern wind a comin' in\nover the roses, and the tender light of the sunset, and the waverin'\nshadows of the honeysuckles and mornin'-glorys, fallin' on us, wrappin'\nus all round, and wrappin' all of the rest of the world out.\u201d\n\nMebby the young chap said sunthin' here, but it was entirely unbeknown\nto me; though I thought I heard the murmur of his voice makin' a sort\nof a tinklin' accompinment to my thoughts, sunthin' like the babble of a\nbrook a runnin' along under forest boughs, when the wind with its mighty\nmelody is sweepin' through 'em. Great emotions was sweepin' along with\npower, and couldn't be stayed. And I went right on, not sensin' a thing\nround me,--\n\n\u201cThere is memories of sabbath drives, in fair June mornin's, through the\nold lane alder and willow fringed, with the brook runnin' along on one\nside of it; where the speckled trout broke the Sunday quiet by dancin'\nup through the brown and gold shadows of the cool water, and the odor of\nthe pine woods jest beyend comin' fresh and sweet to us.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cGOIN' TO THE REVIVAL MEETING.\u201d]\n\n\u201cMemories of how that road and that face looked in the week-day dusk, as\nwe sot out for the revival meetin', when the sun had let down his long\nbars of gold and crimson and yellow, and had got over 'em, and sunk\ndown behind 'em out of sight. And we could ketch glimpses through the\nwillow-sprays of them shinin' bars a layin' down on the gray twilight\nfield. And fur away over the green hills and woods of the east, the moon\nwas a risin', big and calm and silvery. And we could hear the plaintive\nevenin' song of the thrush, and the crickets' happy chirp, till we got\nnearer the schoolhouse, when they sort o' blended in with 'There is a\nfountain filled with blood,' and 'Come, ye disconsolate.'\n\n\u201cAnd the moonlight, and sister Bobbet's and sister Minkly's candles,\nshone down and out, on that dear old bald head as his hat fell off, as\nhe helped me out of the wagon.\n\n\u201cMemories of how I have seen it a bendin' over the Word, in hours of\npeace and happiness, and hours of anxiety and trouble, a readin' every\ntime about the eternal hills, and the shadow of the Rock, and the\nEverlastin' Arms that was a holdin' us both up, me and Josiah, and the\nEverlastin' Love that was wrappin' us round, helpin' us onward by these\nvery joys, these very sorrows.\n\n\u201cMemories of the midnight lamp lightin' it up in the chamber of the\nsick, in the long, lonesome hours before day-dawn.\n\n\u201cMemories of its bendin' over the sick ones in happier mornin's, as he\ncarried 'em down-stairs in his arms, and sot 'em in their old places at\nthe table.\n\n\u201cMemories of how it looked in the glare of the tempest, and under the\nrainbow when the storm had passed. It stands out from a background of\nwinter snows and summer sunshine, and has all the shadows and brightness\nof them seasons a hangin' over it.\n\n\u201cYes, there is memories of sorrows borne by both, and so made holier and\nmore blessed than happiness. That head has bent with mine over a little\ncoffin, and over open graves, when he shared my anguish. And stood by\nme under the silent stars, when he shared my prayers, my hopes, for the\nfuture.\n\n\u201cThat old bald head stands up on the most sacred height of my heart,\nlike a beacon; the glow of the soul shines on it; love gilds it. And do\nyou s'pose any other feller's head on earth could ever look so good to\nme as that duz? Do you s'pose I will ever have it repaired upon? never!\nI _won't_ repair him. I won't have him dickered and fooled with. Not at\nall.\n\n\u201cHe'd look better to me than any other feller that ever walked on earth\nif he hadn't a tooth left in his head, or a hair on his scalp. As long\nas Josiah Allen has got body enough left to wrap round his soul, and\nkeep it down here on earth, my heart is hisen, every mite of it, jest as\nhe is too.\n\n\u201cAnd I'll thank the neighbors to mind their own business!\u201d says I,\nkinder comin' to agin. For truly, I had soared up high above my kitchen,\nand gossipin' neighbors, and feller-agents, and all other tribulations.\nAnd as I lit down agin (as it were), I see he was a standin' on\none foot, with his watch, a big silver one, in his hand, and gazin'\npensively onto it; and he says,--\n\n\u201cYour remarks are worthy, mom--but somewhat lengthy,\u201d says he, in a\nvoice of pain; \u201cnearly nine moments long: but,\u201d says he, sort o' bracin'\nup agin on both feet, \u201cI beg of you not to be too hasty. I did not come\ninto this neighborhood to make dissensions or broils. I merely stated\nthat I got the idee, from what they said, that your feller didn't work\ngood.\u201d\n\n\u201cDidn't work good! You impudent creeter you! What of it? What if\nhe don't work at all? What earthly business is it of yourn or the\nneighbors? I guess he is able to lay by for a few days if he wants to.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are laborin' under a mistake, mom.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I hain't laborin' under no mistake! And don't you tell me agin that\nI be. We have got a good farm all paid for, and money out on interest;\nand whose business is it whether he works all day, or don't. When I get\nto goin' round to see who works, and who don't; and when I get so low\nas to watch my neighbors the hull of the time, to find out every minute\nthey set down; when I can't find nothin' nobler to do,--I'll spend my\ntime talkin' about hens' teeth, and lettis seed.\u201d\n\nSays he, lookin' as amiable and patient as a factory-cloth rag-babe, but\nas determined as a weepin' live one, with the colic,--\n\n\u201cYou don't seem to get my meaning. I merely wished to remark that I\ncould fix over your feller if you wanted me to\u201d--\n\nOh! how burnin' indignant I wuz! But all of a sudden, down on this\nseethin' tumult of anger fell this one calmin' word,--_Meeting-house!_ I\nfelt I must be calm,--calm and impressive; so says I,--\n\n\u201cYou need not repeat your infamous proposal. I say to you agin, that the\nform where Love has set up his temple, is a sacred form. Others may be\nmore beautiful, and even taller, but they don't have the same look to\n'em. It is one of the strangest things,\u201d says I, fallin' agin' a little\nways down into a revery,--\n\n\u201cIt is one of the very solemnest things I ever see, how a emotion large\nand boundless enough to fill eternity and old space itself, should all\nbe gathered up and centered into so small a temple, and such a lookin'\none, too, sometimes,\u201d says I pensively, as I thought it over, how sort\no' meachin' and bashful lookin' Josiah Allen wuz, when I married to him.\nAnd how small his weight wuz by the steelyards. But it is so, curious it\ncan be, but so it is.\n\n\u201c_Why_ Love, like a angel, springs up in the heart unawares, as Lot\nentertained another, I don't know. If you should ask me why, I'd tell\nyou plain, that I didn't know where Love come from; but if you should\nask me where Love went to, I should answer agin plain, that it don't go,\nit stays. The only right way for pardners to come, is to come down free\ngifts from above, free as the sun, or the showers--that fall down in\na drouth--and perfectly unbeknown, like them. Such a love is\noncalculatin', givin' all, unquestionin', unfearin', no dickering no\nholdin' back lookin' for better chances.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, mom,\u201d says he, a twirlin' his hat round, and standin' on one foot\nsome like a patient old gander in the fall of the year.\n\n\u201cYes, mom, what you say is very true; but your elequent remarks, your\nvery sociable talk, has caused me to tarry a longer period than is\nreally consistent with the claims of business. As I told you when I\nfirst come in, I merely called to see if I could sell you\u201d--\n\n\u201cYes, I know you did. And a meaner, low-liveder proposal I never heard\nfrom mortal lips, be he male, or be he female. The idee of _me_, Josiah\nAllen's wife, who has locked arms with principle, and has kep' stiddy\ncompany with it, for years and years--the idee of _me_ buyin' a feller!\nI dare persume to say\u201d--\n\nSays I more mildly, as he took up his hat and little box he had, and\nstarted for the door,--and seein' I was goin' to get rid of him so soon,\nI felt softer towards him, as folks will towards burdens when they are\nbein' lifted from 'em,--\n\n\u201cI dare persume to say, you thought I was a single woman, havin'\nbeen told time and agin, that I am young-lookin' for my age, and fair\ncomplected. I won't think,\u201d says I, feelin' still softer towards him as\nI see him a openin' the door,--\n\n\u201cI won't think for a minute that you knew who it was you made your\ninfamous proposal to. But never, never make it agin to any livin' human\nbein', married or single.\u201d\n\nHe looked real sort o' meachin' as I spoke; and he said in considerable\nof a meek voice,--\n\n\u201cI was talkin' to you about a new feller, jest got up by the richest\nfirm in North America.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat difference does it make to me who he belongs to? I don't care if\nhe belongs to Vanderbilt, or Aster'ses family. Principle--that is what I\nam a workin' on; and the same principle that would hender me from buyin'\na feller that was poor as a snail, would hender me from buyin' one that\nhad the riches of Creshus; it wouldn't make a mite of difference to me.\n\n\u201cAs the poet Mr. Burns says,--I have heard Thomas J. repeat it time and\nagin, and I always liked it: I may not get the words exactly right, but\nthe meanin' is,--\n\n\u201cRank is only the E pluribus Unum stamp, on the trade dollar: a feller\nis a feller for all that.\u201d\n\nBut I'll be hanged if he didn't, after all my expenditure of wind and\neloquence, and quotin' poetry, and every thing--if he didn't turn round\nat the foot of that doorstep, and strikin' that same patient, determined\nattitude of hisen, say, says he,--\n\n[Illustration: \u201cCAN'T I SELL YOU A FELLER?\u201d]\n\n\u201cYou are mistaken, mom. I merely stopped this mornin' to see if I could\nsell you\u201d--\n\nBut I jest shet the door in his face, and went off upstairs into the\nwest chamber, and went to windin' bobbin's for my carpet. And I don't\nknow how long he stayed there, nor don't care. He had gone when I come\ndown to get dinner, and that was all I cared for.\n\nI told Josiah about it when he and the boy come home; and I tell you,\nmy eyes fairly snapped, I was that mad and rousted up about it: but he\nsaid,--\n\n\u201cHe believed it was a sewin'-machine man, and wanted to sell me a feller\nfor my sewin'-machine. He said he had heard there was a general agent in\nJonesville that was a sendin' out agents with all sorts of attachments,\nsome with hemmers, and some with fellers.\u201d\n\nBut I didn't believe a word of it: I believe he was _mean_. A mean,\nlow-lived, insultin' creeter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nWall, Cicely died in June; and how the days will pass by, whether we are\njoyful or sorrowful! And before we knew it (as it were), September\nhad stepped down old Time's dusty track, and appeared before us, and\ncurchied to us (allegory).\n\nAh, yes! time passes by swiftly. As the poet observes, In youth the days\npass slowly, in middle life they trot, and in old age they canter.\n\nBut the time, though goin' fast, had passed by very quietly and\npeacefully to Josiah Allen and me.\n\nEvery thing on the farm wus prosperous. The children was well and happy;\nthe babe beautiful, and growin' more lovely every day.\n\nUry had took his money, and bought a good little house and 4 acres of\nland in our neighborhood, and had took our farm for the next and ensuin'\nyear. And they was happy and contented. And had expectations. They had\n(under my direction) took a tower together, and the memory of her lonely\npilgrimage had seemed to pass from Philury's mind.\n\nThe boy wus a gettin' healthier all the time. And he behaved better and\nbetter, most all the time. I had limited him down to not ask over\n50 questions on one subject, or from 50 to 60; and so we got along\nfirst-rate.\n\nAnd we loved him. Why, there hain't no tellin' how we did love him. And\nhe would talk so pretty about his ma! I had learned him to think that he\nwould see her bime by, and that she loved him now jest as much as ever,\nand that she _wanted him_ to be a _good boy_.\n\nAnd he wuz a beautiful boy, if his chin wuz sort o' weak. He would try\nto tell the truth, and do as I would tell him to--and would, a good\ndeal of the time. And he would tell his little prayers every night, and\nrepeat lots of Scripture passages, and would ask more'n 100 questions\nabout 'em, if I would let him.\n\nThere was one verse I made him repeat every night after he said his\nprayers: \u201cBlessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.\u201d\n\nAnd I always would say to him, earnest and deep, that his ma was pure in\nheart.\n\nAnd he'd say, \u201cDoes she see God now?\u201d\n\nAnd I'd say, \u201cYes.\u201d\n\nAnd he would say, \u201cWhen shall I see Him?\u201d\n\nAnd I'd say, \u201cWhen you are good enough.\u201d\n\nAnd he'd say, \u201cIf I was good enough, could I see Him now?\u201d\n\nAnd I would say, \u201cYes.\u201d\n\nAnd then he would tell me that he would try to be good; and I would say,\n\u201cWall, so do.\u201d\n\nAnd late one afternoon, a bright, sunny afternoon, he got tired of\nplayin'. He had been a horse, and little Let Peedick had been a drivin'\nhim. I had heard 'em a whinnerin' out in the yard, and a prancin', and a\nhitchin' each other to the post.\n\nBut he had got tired about sundown, and come in, and leaned up against\nmy lap, and asked me about 88 questions about his ma and the City.\nHe had never forgot what his uncle Josiah had read about it, and he\ncouldn't seem to talk enough about it.\n\n[Illustration: THE BOY AND LET PEEDICK PLAYING HORSE.]\n\nAnd says he, with a dreamy look way off into the glowin' western sky,\n\u201cMy mamma Cicely said it would swing right down out of heaven some day,\nand would open, and I could walk in; and don't you believe mamma will\nstand just inside of the gate as she used to, and say, 'Here comes my\nown little boy'?\u201d\n\nAnd he wus jest a askin' me this,--and it beats all, how many times he\nhad tackled me on this very subject,--when Whitfield drove up in a great\nhurry. Little Samantha Joe had been taken sick, very sick, and extremely\nsudden.\n\nScarlet-fever was round, and she and the boy had both been exposed. I\nwas all excitement and agitation; and I hurried off without changin' my\ndress, or any thing. But I told Josiah to put the boy to bed about nine.\n\nWall, there was a uncommon sunset that night. The west was all\naflame with light. And as we rode on towards Jonesville right towards\nit,--though very anxious about the babe,--I drawed Whitfield's attention\nto it.\n\nThe hull of the west did look, for all the world, like a great, shinin'\nwhite gate, open, and inside all full of radience, rose, and yellow, and\ngold light, a streamin' out, and changin', and glowin', movin' about, as\nclouds will.\n\nIt seemed sometimes, as if you could almost see a white, shadowy figure,\ninside the gate, a lookin' out, and watchin' with her arms reached out;\nand then it would all melt into the light again, as clouds will.\n\nIt wus the beautifulest sunset I had seen, that year, by far. And we\ns'pose, from what we could learn afterwards, that the boy, too, was\nattracted by that wonderful glory in the west, and strolled out to the\norchard to look at it. It wus a favorite place with him, anyway. And\nthere wus a certain tree that he loved to lay under. A sick-no-further\napple. It wus the very tree I found him under that day in the spring,\na lookin' up into the sky, a watchin' for the City to come down from\nheaven. You could see a good ways from there off into the west, and out\nover the lake. And the sunset must have looked beautiful from there,\nanyway.\n\nWall, my poor companion Josiah wus all rousted up in his mind about the\nbabe, and he never thought of the boy till it was half-past nine; and\nthen he hurried off to find him, skairt, but s'posen he was up on\nhis bed with his clothes on, or asleep on the lounges, or carpets, or\nsomewhere.\n\n[Illustration: PAUL LOOKING AT THE SUNSET.]\n\nBut he couldn't find him: he hunted all over the house, and out in the\nbarn, and the door-yard, and the street; and then he rousted up Mr.\nGowdey's folks, our nearest neighbors, to see if they could help find\nhim.\n\nWall, Miss Gowdey, when she wus a bringin' in her clothes,--it\nwas Monday night,--she had seen him out in the orchard under the\nsick-no-further tree.\n\nAnd there they found him, fast asleep--where they s'pose he had fell\nasleep unexpected to himself.\n\nIt wus then almost eleven o'clock, and he was wet with dew: the dew\nwas heavy that night. And when they rousted him up, he was so hoarse he\ncouldn't speak. And before mornin' he was in a high fever. They sent for\nme and the doctor at daybreak. Little Samantha Joe wus better: it only\nproved to be a hard cold that ailed her.\n\nBut the boy had the scarlet-fever, so the doctor said. And he grew worse\nfast. He didn't know me at all when I got home, but wus a talkin' fast\nabout his mamma Cicely; and he asked me \u201cIf the gate had swung down, for\nhim to go through into the City, and if his mamma was inside, reachin'\nout her arms to him?\u201d\n\nAnd then he would get things all mixed up, and talk about things he had\nheard of, and things he hadn't heard of. And then he would talk about\nhow bright it was inside the gate, and how he see it from the orchard.\nAnd so we knew he had been attracted out by the bright light in the\nwest.\n\nAnd then he would talk about the strangest things. His little tongue\ncouldn't be still a minute; but it never could, for that matter.\n\nTill along about the middle of the afternoon he become quiet, and\ngrew so white and still that I knew before the doctor told me, that we\ncouldn't keep the boy.\n\nAnd I thought, and couldn't help it, of what Cicely had worried so\nabout; and though my heart sunk down and down, to think of givin' the\nboy up,--for I loved him,--yet I couldn't help thinkin' that with his\ntemperament, and as the laws was now, the grave was about the only place\nof safety that the Lord Himself could find for the boy.\n\nAnd it wus about sundown that he died. I had been down-stairs for\nsomethin' for him; and as I went back into the room, I see his eyes was\nwide open, and looked natural.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cSAY!\u201d]\n\nAnd as I bent over him, he looked up at me, and said in a faint voice,\nbut rational,--\n\n\u201cSay\u201d--\n\nAnd I couldn't help a smilin' right there, with the tears a runnin' down\nmy face like rain-water. He wanted to ask some question.\n\nBut he couldn't say no more. His little, eager, questionin' soul was\ntoo fur gone towards that land where the hard questions we can't answer\nhere, will be made plain to us.\n\nBut he looked up into my face with that sort of a questionin' look, and\nthen up over my head, and beyend it--and beyend--and I see there settled\ndown over his face the sort of a satisfied look that he would have when\nI had answered his questions; and I sort o' smiled, and said to myself,\nI guessed the Lord had answered it.\n\nAnd so he went through the gate of the City, and was safe. And that is\nthe way God took care of the boy.","title":"Sweet Cicely \u2014 or Josiah Allen as a Politician","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":89002}