It wuz a cam beautiful mornin'; old Mom Nater seemed agreeable and
serene, goin' about her mornin's work of lightin' up and warmin' the
world. And Samantha seemed as busy as old Nater herself, and as cam, as
she went about her work of makin' the house comfortable and clean.
As I've mentioned prior and before this a better, cleaner housekeeper
than Samantha Allen never trod on no shoe leather whatsoever, or went
barefoot. Equinomical, industrious, and as a cook beyond any compare.
If these words wuz the last I should ever write I'd die solemnly
declarin' as a housekeeper and home maker Samantha Allen can't never
be beat. Oh, if her principles about female suffragin', and the
inferiority of her sect, and the superiority of my sect, wuz only equal
to her housekeepin', what a treasure I would have in a earthen vessel
(that is Bible; I don't really understand what it means, but I think it
looks well for a deacon to patronize the Bible all he can conveniently,
and bring into his literary work passages out on't).
I feelt meller and agreeable in my mind, as I sot there in my favorite
corner almost immersed in the parfenalia of my perfession, two paper
pads, a bottle of ink, a steeled pen, two lead pencils, a pen knife and
the immense granny iron dish-pan containin' Betsy B.'s poetry.
And as I sot there with my steeled pen in my hand ready to begin work
on my remarkable book, my mind become so impressed by the inestimable
value it wuz goin' to be to the world and the male and female sect,
that almost onbeknown to myself I uttered the words aloud that wuz
seethin' through my large active brain.
Sez I, "Samantha, don't you believe this forthcomin' book of mine is
goin' to be the greatest work of this age, or any age?"
She wuz pickin' the pin feathers offen a plump spring chicken for
dinner, and she looked up at me over her specs in the cool deliberate
way she has sometimes, and sez, "Josiah, a hen don't cackle till she
lays her egg."
And then she resoomed her work agin, sayin' no more. Naterally my
feelin's immediately hardened more hard than they had been, for I would
ask any human bein' did not that one speech show what I've sot out
to prove in my book, what wifflin' onstabled minds females have got,
and how onfit for votin', onjinted, tottlin', wanderin' way off from
the subject spoke on, flyin' down at one jump from literatoor onto
poultry. For what connection, I ask, is there between the finest fruit
in literature, and hens? Hens which are known to be the awkwardes and
stupidest of any liven critters. What jinin' link is there between the
most scathin' and convincin' arguments ever writ by mortal man, and
eggs? Mute, onfeelin', onseein', eggs.
But I only gin a moment of my valuable time to contemplate this
prominent phase of wimmen's folly. And bein' driv back as I have often
been by a lack of congenial sympathy into my own interior (my mind), my
inteleck seemed to flow freer than ever, and I devoted this propishous
time to enlargin' on a important subject I had not had time to enlarge
on before, and that wuz the well known extravagance of females and
how fatally fatal that trait which is exclusively confined to her own
sect would be if let loose on the political world. And so harrered
up my mind got in contemplatin' that gigantic danger to my sect, and
my country, that before I knowed it I wuz speakin' my thoughts and
forebodin's aloud.
Sez I, "Another insurmountable objection agin female suffragin',
another fearful danger facin' the country if females should have a free
run in the political field, is their well known extravagance."
[Illustration: "Josiah," sez she, "a hen don't cackle till she lays her
egg."]
Sez I, "To a Female Researcher of the prudent, equinomical male
sect, it is absolutely appallin' to witness the blind reckless
extravagance of wimmen and their well known habits of follerin' each
other's fashions blindly, like a flock of sheep jumpin' over the fence.
If one woman gits a new dress the neighborin' wimmen have got to git
one like it, or better, not a mite of independent sperit about 'em. Why
can't they take pattern of us men who always wear jest what we please,
and pay no attention to what any other male wears, pay no attention
whatsumever to fashion or extravagance. In fact men would hardly know
there wuz any such words as them, if it wuzn't for female doin's and
the dictionary."
I knowed I had got Samantha in a corner then that she couldn't git out
on and I waited with a dignified stately look on my linement to hear
her say, "I gin up, Josiah; you're in the right on't." But did I hear
her say this? Oh, no!
She lifted up the plump yeller skinned chicken in one hand, whilst
she peered under its wings for a stray pin feather. And then she laid
it down gently on the pages of the _World_ that wuz spread for its
benefit over the table, I spoze to keep her dress clean, and as she
looked down on the smooth crisp folds of gingham she sez:
"Yes, lots of wimmen are extravagant. But as the fashion is now,
Josiah, five or six yards will make a woman a dress, and have enough
left to make her husband a vest, if he would wear anything so cheap.
I've got enough left of this very dress, good green and white plaid
gingham, costin' ten cents per yard to make you a good cool summer
vest; it would wear like iron, and I stand ready to make it, and will
you wear it, Josiah?"
She thought she had me in a corner then, but my mind works so quick I
answered her almost instantaneously, "Id'no as a green and white plaid
vest would be becomin' to my complexion, but I will wear it if the
other bretheren will."