_Samantha in Europe_
[Illustration: “He riz right up and shook his fist at the man with the
nightcap.” (See page 641.)]
_Samantha in Europe_
_by_
_Josiah Allen’s Wife_
(Marietta Holley)
Illustrated by
C DeGrimm
_Printed in the United States_
_New York · Funk and Wagnalls Company 1896_
_London and Toronto_
Copyright, 1895, by
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
Registered at Stationers’ Hall
London, England
Dedication.
TO THE WEARY TRAVELLER WHO YEARNS TO SEE UNDER STRANGE SKIES
THE LIGHT OF THE OLD HOME FIRE,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY
Samantha and Josiah.
PREFACE.
Sez Josiah, as he see me writin’ this preface:
“Seems to me, Samantha, you’ve writ enough prefaces.”
(He wanted me to start the supper; but, good land! it wuzn’t only half
past five, and I had a spring chicken all ready to fry, and my cream
biscuit wuz all ready for the oven, on the kitchen table.)
Sez he, “It seems to me you’ve writ enough on em.”
And I sez, “Wall, Josiah, I’d hate to sadden the world by sayin’ I
wouldn’t write any more.”
And he sez, “How do you know it would sadden the world--how do you know
it would?” And he continued: “Samantha, I hain’t wanted to dampen you,
but I have always considered your writin’s weak; naterally they would
be, bein’ writ by a woman; and,” sez he, as he looked longin’ly towards
the buttery door and the plump chicken, “a woman’s spear lays in a
different direction.”
And I sez, “I thought I’d write some of our adventures in our trip
abroad--that happy time,” sez I, lookin’ inquirin’ly at him.
“Happy time!” sez he, a-kinder ’nashin’ his teeth--“happy! gracious
Heavens! Do you want to bring up my sufferin’s agin, when I jest lived
through ’em?”
“Wall,” sez I, a-gittin’ up and approachin’ the buttery, and takin’
down the tea-kettle and fryin’-pan and coffee-pot, “I have writ other
things in the book that I am more interested in myself.”
He sot kinder still and demute as I put the chicken on to fry in
butter, and put the cream biscuit in the oven, and poured the bilein’
water on the fragrant coffee; his mean seemed to grow softer, and he
sez:
“Mebby I wuz too hash a-sayin’ what I did about your writin’s,
Samantha; I guess you write as well as you know how to; I guess you
_mean_ well;” and as he see me a-spreadin’ the snowy table-cloth on the
little round table, and a-puttin’ on some cream cheese and some peach
sass, he sez further:
“Nobody is to blame for what they don’t know, Samantha.”
I looked down affectionately and pityin’ly on his old bald head and
then further off--way off into mysterious spaces no mortal feet has
ever trod, and I sez:
“That is so, Josiah.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Chapter PAGE
Preface vii
List of Illustrations xi
I. Trains of Retrospection 1
II. A Heathen Missionary 32
III. Off into Side Paths 57
IV. Samantha’s Sword of Truth and Justice 85
V. A Heathen’s Standard of Morality 105
VI. A Little Fun and its Price 119
VII. The Embarkation 135
VIII. Landing in the Emerald Isle 153
IX. A Visit to Blarney Castle 173
X. Killarney, Dublin, and a Wake 183
XI. Josiah as a Banshee 197
XII. Robert Burns and Highland Mary 223
XIII. Edinburgh and Mary Queen of Scots 241
XIV. Memories of Sir Walter Scott 262
XV. Old York and its Cathedral 281
XVI. Edensor and the Duke of Devonshire 300
XVII. Josiah has an Adventure 322
XVIII. Shottery and Warwick Castle 354
XIX. The Lake District and its Poets 374
XX. The Arrival in London 389
XXI. Westminster and Parliament Houses 400
XXII. Samantha Sees a Doctor 418
XXIII. St. Paul’s and the Duke of Wellington 433
XXIV. “The Widder Albert” 445
XXV. A Visit to the British Museum 464
XXVI. Paris and its Beauties 486
XXVII. Napoleon and other Great Frenchmen 510
XXVIII. Germany and Belgium 525
XXIX. Samantha Climbs the Righi 548
XXX. Milan, Genoa, Venice 574
XXXI. Colosseum and Catacombs 602
XXXII. Fashionable Watering-Places 616
XXXIII. Cathedrals and Castles in Spain 627
XXXIV. Josiah’s Devotion 640
XXXV. The Queen, Ulaley, and a Bull-Fight 651
XXXVI. A Spanish Funeral and a Jonesville One 664
XXXVII. Al Faizi Says Good-Bye 674
XXXVIII. Home again, from a Foreign Shore 683
XXXIX. Martin’s Terrible Lesson 693
XL. Good-Night, Little Pardner 707
Other Works by Josiah Allen’s Wife. 715
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
“He riz right up and shook his fist at the man with the
nightcap” _Frontispiece_
Twilight on the broad ocean 1
Asleep in his narrer bunk 4
Two prettier, winnin’er creeters never lived than them two 9
“Aunt Samantha, where is Heaven? Is it up in the sky?” 12
He sassed him and yelled out, “You dum fool, you,
throw me a board!” 16
“It depends on whose lives they be” 18
Josiah and me put on our strongest specks 27
It wuz very dressy when it wuz done 31
A dark figger that riz up like a strange picter aginst the sunset 34
“I don’t love to hear that; that sounds bad” 39
“‘That man is a Christian.’ ‘How do you know?’
‘Because he is drunk’” 45
“Uncle Sam a-wadin’ in sin up to his old knee jints” 49
The game of Bulls and Bears 52
Al Faizi made a deep bow, almost to the floor 55
Sez I, a-risin’ up in the democrat, “I’ll git out” 61
She met me with a sweet smile 68
Finally, he got to be quarrelsome 75
Ellick lay drunk in the office 80
It wuz Ellick Gurley 87
“Yes, it _wuz_ sunthin’ else; it wuz _you_” 97
“Save the Sam, it may come in handy in the futer” 102
With one of his low, reverential bows 112
As the elder took it he turned pale 125
I took down my old Atlas 131
In time to kiss us and clasp our hands in partin’ 139
Her big blue eyes wuz full of tears 142
Then took his umbrell and started for the door 147
We tottered up on deck, two pale, thin figgers 151
The lord with a pink paper suit on 157
With a stern look, calculated to wither him 166
We went in what they call a “jauntin’ car” 171
Three beautiful lakes 184
Drinkin’ and tobacco-smokin’ in the little hovel drove ’em out 189
Drippin’ wet when he come back 201
Alice stood there, white and tremblin’ 206
A dark figger a-standin’ up on a little rock 209
I laid out to talk to Victoria on the subject 217
Samantha and Ellen Douglas 219
This immortal pair of lovers 230
The same furies that pursued the drunken Tam 238
Edinburgh Castle 250
The National Covenant signed by the Earl of Sutherland 254
When Prince Charlie and Flora Macdonald parted 259
“I could sing to you,” sez he 263
“When they got dirty, jest wet a towel and clean ’em off” 268
“I never should think of usin’ it” 274
Josiah wuz dretful took with it 281
“What a sensation it would create in Jonesville!” 285
That sentinul twelve or fourteen hundred years ago 289
“With the ends of the fingers a-hangin’ down” 294
Robin Hood 299
“It don’t pay to tussel with ’em” 301
Martin sent his card in 307
Josiah’s home-made waterfall 313
Her common-sense shoe 319
A quaint, old-fashioned tarvern 322
Says he, “I’m a-goin’ back--it is my duty” 328
Shakespeare’s ghost reading the effusions on the walls of his
house 337
A great many portraits of Shakespeare 344
The font in which Shakespeare was baptized 350
The supper that man eat wuz enormous 353
“You couldn’t eat that full of porridge” 359
“The more I see of moats, the more determined I be to have one
round our house” 362
“I am going to work for the poor” 370
My tone chilled him to the veins 379
Martin with his patronizin’ ways 384
A livin’ poem bound up in a girl’s sweet body 386
Them letters wuz a stroke of genius 391
A hull soap-box full 395
We stood long and silently by the graves of the great dead 401
An immense chair, the four legs bein’ four animals 407
“When I’m elected to Congress I’m goin’ to wear my hat the hull
time” 415
That little dude doctor, with his cane and his eyeglass 421
“I have had some trouble with my back lately, and I want you to
look at it” 424
Samantha’s faith cure 427
“Yes,” sez Josiah, “old Domono probble had his hands full with
her” 442
“Almost in the shadow of the Bank of England, I found the
greatest want and wretchedness” 455
Right in front of the tarvern, I have seen with my own eyes as
many as five teams and two open buggies 459
“Be you any kin of Bildad Henzy, of Jonesville?” 468
Napoleon’s tooth 472
Josiah at the London “Zoo” 477
“Calf-o-lay! I hain’t a calf or a ox!” he shouted 486
“How stylish I would look” 489
“I don’t spoze I could ever git to be nigh so graceful as she is” 492
Josiah, “cultered and travelled,” schemes for Jonesvillian
out-door dinner parties, à la Paris, and how Samantha foresees
the result 500
There wuz the clothes he wore that he ust to button over that
restless, ambitious heart 505
With his arms folded, and that old hat of hisen on, and his
inscrutable eyes fixed on the heights 512
A-wipin’ my face on sech genteel towels 518
“I believe he’d sell the steelyards that Jestice weighs things in,
if he could git a few cents for ’em” 523
“No attention paid to rumatiz, or meal times, or corns” 526
“A woman jest dressin’ herself--she seems all broke up” 537
I thought more’n likely I should be melted into tears 540
A-leadin’ Adrian and a-plannin’ sunthin’ with him relatin’ to a
whistle 543
A hogsit as big as the Jonesville tarvern 553
We did indeed go slow, but sure; for in two hours’ time we arrove
on the summit 556
“They have emulative Mas, who are bound that they shan’t be
out-travelled” 561
Ye-o-lo-leo-leo-leo--the melogious cry of the Alpine shepherds 563
Listening to the organ’s grand, melancholy voice 566
I thought considerable about William Tell and his exploits with
Gessler, apples, etc. 568
Divine realms of melody wuz brung to view by his heavenly vision 579
“If this smell keeps on, and the dum muskeeters keeps on a-bitin’,
one man will ‘see Venice and die’” 581
“Next thing I’d know you’d have a inquisition a-goin’ on” 588
The Tower of Pisa 599
The Colosseum 602
“The guides went ahead with flarin’ lights” 607
Mr. Goldwind, one of Martin’s business rivals 616
“I have faith that it aches like the old Harry” 623
I see one of the officials take up my sheep’s-head nightcap 628
A smile of admiration swep’ over his dark visage 628
Heavey, rough carts, drawed by an ox and a cow lashed together
by ropes wound round their horns 631
At my request he hooked up my dress skirt in the back 647
She knowed me to once--a happy smile curved her pretty lips 653
The Matador 661
His victim 661
How cold his feet must have been cold mornin’s 666
“I go back to my own country--I have many things to teach my
people--to avoid” 675
They had sent Philury out, like a dove, on the front doorstep
to meet us 684
His looks wuz so onbecomin’ to a deacon and a path-master 687
Sez Martin agin, “I am sick to death of these everlasting
complaints” 698
He fell down jest like a log at my feet 701
A faithful creeter with a strong breath, caused by stimulants,
I believe 704
He busted out into tears and buried his face in his hands 709
Finis 714
SAMANTHA IN EUROPE.
CHAPTER I.
TRAINS OF RETROSPECTION.
[Illustration]
Twilight on the broad ocean! Smooth, wild waste of blue-gray waters
stretchin’ out as fur as the eye could reach on every side.
In the east a silvery moon hangin’ low and a shinin’ path leadin’ up
to it. In the west Mars a-dazzlin’ bright over a pale pink sky, with
streaks of yeller and crimson a-layin’ stretched acrost it, like bars
put up by angel hands a-fencin’ in their world from ourn.
Now in a sunset in Jonesville it might seem as if you could put on your
sun-bunnet and stride off over hills and valleys and at las’ reach the
Sunset Land, and peek over the bars and ketch a glimpse of what wuz
beyend.
It would seem amongst the possibles.
But here--oh! how fur-off, illimitable, unaproachable, duz that fur-off
glory look!
And Mars seemed to wink that red eye of hisen at me mockin’ly as I
strained my eyes over the long watery plain, as if to say--“The time
has been when you wuz free to roam round, a-walkin’ off afoot; you may
have gloated over me in your free thoughts and said--
“You are fixed and sot up there, while I am free to soar and sail. Now,
haughty female mortal, your wings are clipped--the time has come when
your walkin’ afoot and roamin’ round is stopped.”
To think that I myself, Josiah Allen’s Wife, should find myself on
the Atlantic a-hangin’ onto the gunwale of the ship with one hand,
and a-lookin’ off over the endless waters below and all round me,
and a-thinkin’ if I should trust myself to step out onto its heavey,
treacherous surface where should I go to, and when, and why! I,
Samantha, who had ever been ust to slippin’ on my sun-bunnet and
runnin’ into Miss Bobbettses, or out into the garden, or out to the
hen-house for eggs, or down into the orchard, or the wood paster for
recreation or cowslips.
To think that I wuz thus caged up as it were, my restless wings
(speakin’ in metafor) folded in such clost quarters, with no chance (to
foller up the metafor) of floppin’ ’em to any extent.
Oh! where wuz I? The thought wuz full of or. Why wuz I? This thought
brung on trains of retrospection.
As I sot in my contracted corner of the aft fore-castle deck, and Night
wuz lettin’ down, gradual, her starry mantilly over me and the seen,
as erst it did over me as I sot in the sweet, restful door-yard at
Jonesville. (Dear seen, shall I ever see thee agin?)
I will rehearse the facts that led to my takin’ this onpresidented step.
My pardner is asleep in his narrer bunk, or ruther on one of the
shelves in our cell, that are cushioned, and on which our two forms
nightly repose.
[Illustration: Asleep in his narrer bunk.]
He is at rest. The waves are asleep, or pretty nigh asleep, the night
winds are hushed, and all Nater seems to draw in her breath and wait
for me as I tell the tale.
I will begin, as most fashionable novelists do, with a verse of
poetry----
“Backward, turn backward (as fur as Jonesville), Oh Time,
in thy flight--
Make me (a trusty, short-winded, female historian) jest
for to-night.”
It wuz now goin’ on three years sence Uncle Philander Smith’s son,
Philander Martin, named after his Pa and his Uncle Martin, writ a
line to me announcin’ his advent into Jonesville. And in speakin’ of
Philander I shall have to go back, kinder sideways, some distance into
the past to describe him.
Yes, I will have to lead the horse fur back to hitch it on properly to
the wagon of my history, or mebby it would be more proper, under the
circumstances, to say how fur I must row my little personal life-boat
back to hitch it onto the great steamer of my statement, in order that
there shall be direct smooth sailin’ and no meanderin’.
Wall, with the first paddle of my verbal row-boat, I would state--
(And into how many little still side coves and seemin’ly wind-locked
ways my little life-boat must sail on her way back to be jined to the
great steamer, and how I must stay in ’em for some time! It can’t be
helped.)
Yes, it must have been pretty nigh three years ago that we had our
first letter from P. Martyn Smythe.
He is my second cousin on my own side. And he sot out from Spoonville
(a neighborin’ hamlet) years ago with lots of ambition and pluck and
energy, and about one dollar and seventy-five cents in money.
Uncle Philander, his father, had a big family, and died leavin’ him
nothin’ but his good example and some old spectacles and a cane.
He wuz brung up by his Uncle Martin, a good-natered creeter, but
onfaculized and shiftless.
Young Martin never loved to be hampered, and after he got old enough
to help his uncle, he didn’t want to be hampered with him, so he
packed up his little knapsack and sot out to seek his fortune, and he
prospered beyend any tellin’, bought some mines, and railroads, and
things, and at last come back East and settled down in a neighborin’
city, and then got rid of several things that he found hamperin’ to
him. Amongst ’em wuz his old name--now he calls it “Smythe.”
Yes, he got rid of the good, reliable old Smith name, that has stood
by so many human bein’s even unto the end. And he got rid, too, of his
conscience, the biggest heft of it, and his poor relations.
For why, indeed, should a Bill or a Tom Smith claim relationship with a
P. Martyn Smythe?
Why, indeed! He got rid of ’em all in a heap, as it were, a-ignorin’
“the hull kit and bilein’ of ’em,” as Aunt Debby said.
“Never seen hide nor hair of any of ’em, from one year’s end to the
other,” sez Aunt Debby.
As to his conscience, he got rid of that, I spoze, kinder gradual, a
little at a time, till to all human appearance he hadn’t a speck left,
of which more anon.
But there wuz a little of it left, enough to leven his hull nater and
raise it up, some like hop yeast, only stronger and more spiritual (as
will also be seen anon).
Wall, he never seemed to know where his cousin, she that wuz Samantha
Smith, lived, and his neck seemed to be made in that way--kinder held
up by his stiff white collar mebby--that it held his head up firm and
immovable, so’s he didn’t see me nor my Josiah when he’d meet him once
in a great while at some quarterly meetin’ or conferences and sech.
I guess that neck of hisen carried him so straight that he couldn’t
seem to turn it towards the old Smith pew at all.
And then he wuz dretful near-sighted, too; his eyes wuz affected
dretful curous.
Uncle Mart Smith, the one P. Martin wuz named after, atted him about
it, for he wuz his own uncle, and dretful shiftless and poor, but a
Christian as fur as he could be with his nateral laziness on him.
As I say, he partly brung Martin up. A good-natered creeter he wuz.
And one day he walked right up and atted P. Martyn Smythe as to why he
never could see him.
And P. Martyn sed that it wuz his eyesight; sez he, “I’m dretful
near-sighted.”
It made it all right with Uncle Martin, but his wife, Aunt Debby, she
sed, “Why can he see bishops and elders so plain?”
“Wall,” sez Uncle Mart, “it is a curous complaint.” And she sez--
“’Tain’t curous a mite; it’s as nateral as ingratitude, and as old as
Pharo.”
And she and Uncle Mart had some words about it.
Wall, his eyesight seemed to grow worse and worse so fur as old friends
and relations wuz concerned, till all of a sudden--it wuz after my
third book had shook the world, or I spoze it did; it kinder jarred it
anyway, I guess--wall, what should that man, P. Martyn, do, but write
to me and invite me to the big city where he lived.
Sez he, “Relations ort to cling closter to each other;” sez he, “Come
and stay a week.”
I answered his note, cool but friendly.
And then he writ agin, and asked me to come and stay a month. Agin my
answer wuz Christian, but about as cool as well water.
And then he writ agin and asked me to come and stay a year with ’em.
And he would be glad, he said, he and his two motherless children, if I
would come and live with ’em always.
This allusion to the motherless melted me down some, and my reply wuz,
I spoze, about the temperture of milk jest from the cow.
But I said that Duty and Josiah binded me to my home and Jonesville.
Wall, the next summer what should P. Martyn do but to write to me that
he and Alice and Adrian, his two children, wuz a-comin’ to Jonesville,
and would we take ’em in for a week? He thought his children needed
fresh air and a little cossetin’.
Wall, to me, Josiah Allen’s wife, who has brung up almost numberless
lambs and chickens by hand as cossets, this allusion to “cossetin’”
melted me so and warmed up my nater, that my reply wuz about the
temperture of skim milk het for the calves.
So they come.
And indeed I said then what I say now, and I’ll defy anybody to dispute
me, that two prettier, winnin’er creeters never lived than them two
children.
[Illustration: Two prettier, winnin’er creeters never lived than them
two.]
Alice wuz about sixteen then, and Adrian wuz about five, and wuzn’t
they happy! My hull heart went out to ’em, and mebby it wuz that love
atmosphere that wropped ’em completely round that made ’em grow so
bright and cheerful and healthy.
There hain’t no atmosphere that is at the same time so inspirin’ and so
restful as the heart atmosphere of love.
You can always tell ’em that breathe its rare, fine atmosphere by the
radiance in their faces and the lightness of their step.
I loved them two children dearly. They wuz both as handsome as picters,
Alice fair and slender and sweet as a white day lily, with big, happy
blue eyes, and hair of the same gold color that her mother had had.
Adrian had long curls of that same wonderful golden hair, and his eyes
wuz big, inspirin’, blue gray, and his lips always seemed to hold a
happy secret. He had that look some way.
Though what it could be we couldn’t tell, for he talked pretty much all
the time.
And the questions he asked would more’n fill our old family Bible,
I’m sure, and I thought some of the time that the overflow would fill
Foxe’s “Book of Martyrs.”
Why, one day we got old Uncle Smedley to mow our lawn while Adrian
wuz there, and I felt sorry that I didn’t put down the questions that
Adrian asked that perfectly deaf man as he trotted along in his little
velvet suit by the side of the lawn mower.
But then I d’no as I’m sorry, after all, for paper is sometimes skurce,
and I don’t believe in extravagance.
And how he did love poseys, most of all the English violets! We had
a big bed of ’em, and he always had a bunch of ’em in his little
buttonhole, and be a-pinnin’ ’em to my waist and Alice’s. And he would
have a big bunch in his hand, and jest bury his face in ’em, as if he
wuz tryin’ to take in their deep, sweet perfume through his pores as it
wuz. And always a little, low vase that stood before his plate on the
table would be full of ’em.
I wondered at it some, but found out that before he wuz born his sweet
Ma had jest sech a passion for ’em, and always had her room full of
’em. And I kinder wondered if, in some occult way, she wuz a-keepin’
up the acquaintance with her boy by means of that sweet and delicate
language that we can’t spell yet, let alone talkin’.
I d’no, nor Josiah don’t, but anyway Adrian jest seemed to live on ’em
in a certain way, as if they satisfied some deep hunger and need in his
inmost nater.
And he would sometimes make the old-fashionedest remarks I ever
hearn, and praise himself up jest as though he wuz somebody else. Not
conceited at all, but jest sincere and honest.
One day after family prayers, Josiah had been readin’ about the New
Jerusalem, and I spoze Adrian’s curosity wuz rousted up, and sez he,
“Aunt Samantha, where is Heaven? Is it up in the sky, or where is it?”
[Illustration: “Aunt Samantha, where is Heaven? Is it up in the sky?”]
And I sez, “Sometimes I have thought, Adrian, it wuz right here all
round us, if we could only see it.”
“I wonder if I could find it?” sez he, and he peered all round him in
the old-fashionedest way I ever see.
Sez he, “I spoze my pretty Mamma is there; I guess she wants me
dreadfully sometimes; I am a very bright little boy--I am very
agreeable.”
“But,” I sez, “that hain’t pretty for you to talk so.”
“Why, Papa sez I am, and he sez I am his wise little partner, and my
Papa knows everything that wuz ever known--he knows more than any other
man in the world.”
And I sez to myself, “No, he don’t. He don’t know enough to be jest,
from all I’ve hearn of his doin’s.”
But I didn’t wonder that Adrian thought as he did, or Alice either, for
if there wuz ever a indulgent and lovin’ father on earth, it wuz Martin
Smith.
Nothin’ wuz too good for his children. He adored ’em, and tried to be
father and mother both to his motherless boy and girl. And money, so
fur as they wuz concerned, flowed as free as water.
P. Martyn didn’t stay but a few days this time, but left the children
two weeks and come back for ’em.
He stayed right to our house, and his eyesight, so fur as the other
relations wuz concerned, wuz jest the same. He rode round considerable
with his children, and writ about five thousand letters, and sent off
and received about the same number of letters and telegrams, and said
and assured us at the end of the three days he wuz there, that “it wuz
so sweet for him to have sech a perfect rest.”
He didn’t tell us much about what wuz in the letters, though the last
day that he wuz there he got sech a enormous batch of ’em that he daned
to explain the meanin’ of ’em to Josiah and me, for we both had helped
him to carry ’em in. Sez he, “There is no such thing as satisfying the
masses.
“Now,” sez he, “I’ve built a line of trolley cars, that are the means
of saving no end of time, for my drivers, if they don’t come up to the
swift schedule time I have marked down for them, I discharge them at
once.
“They are economical, much cleaner and swifter than horses, an
invaluable saving of time. They are convenient, rapid, and cheap. Now
you would think that would satisfy them, but no; because they run
through the most populous streets of the city, and because once in
awhile an accident takes place, what do they want? They want me to add
further to the enormous expense I have already been subjected to, and
buy some fenders to prevent accidents.”
“Wall, hain’t you goin’ to?” sez I.
“No,” sez he, “I am not. If I do, they will probably want some sashay
bags to hang up in the cars, and some automatic fans to fan them with
as they ride.” But I had been a-readin’ a sight about the deaths them
swift monsters had caused, and I sez--
“Martin, life is dear, and it seems as if every safeguard possible ort
to be throwed round the great public, between ’em and death.”
“But,” sez he, “it is impudent in them to demand anything further than
what I’ve already done. Horses were always causing accidents.”
“Wall,” sez I, “when folks are in danger of death, it makes ’em
impudent. Why, Deacon Garvin sassed the minister when he fell into the
pond at a Sunday School picnic, and the minister told him to call on
the Lord in his extremity.”
He sassed him and yelled out to him, “You dum fool, you, throw me a
board!”
[Illustration: He sassed him and yelled out, “You dum fool, you, throw
me a board!”]
Sez I, “Dretful danger makes folks sassy.”
“Well, I won’t be to the expense of getting them,” sez he.
Sez I mildly, “You told Josiah Allen and me yesterday that you’d laid
up two millions of dollars sence you had gone into this enterprise.
Now, as a matter of justice, don’t you think that the public who have
paid you two millions of their money have a right to demand these
safeguards to life and limb?”
He waived off the question.
“Why,” sez he, “in all the last year there have not been more than
fifty lives lost in our city from these cars, and considering the hosts
that have been carried, considering the convenience, the swiftness, the
rapidity, and etcetera--what is fifty lives?”
[Illustration: “It depends on whose lives they be.”]
“Wall,” sez I, “it depends on whose lives they be. Now I know,” sez I,
a-glancin’ at my pardner’s shinin’ bald head a-risin’ up like a full
harvest moon from behind the pages of _The World_--
“I know one life that if it went down in darkness under them wheels,
it would make the hull world black and empty. It would take all the
happiness and hope and meanin’ out of this world, and change it into a
funeral gloom.”
Sez I, “It would darken the world for all who love him.” And sez I,
“Every one of them fifty that have gone down under them death chariots
have left ’em who loved ’em. Hearts have ached and broken as they have
looked at the mangled bodies and the emptiness of life faced ’em.” Sez
I, “Them rollin’ billows of blackness have swept over the livin’ and
the lovin’ every time them cruel wheels have ground a bright human life
to death.
“They have mostly been children,” sez I, “and think of the anguish
mother hearts have endured, and father love and pride--how it has been
crushed down under the rollin’ wheels of death.
“Sometimes a father, who wuz the only prop of a family, has gone down.
How cold the world is to ’em when the love that wropped ’em round
has been tore from ’em! Sometimes a mother--what can take the place
of mother love to the little ones left to suffer from hunger, and
nakedness, and ignorance?”
“You’re imaginative, Cousin Samantha,” said he; but I kep’ right on
onbeknown to me.
“Who will care for the destitute children left alone in the cold world
with no one to care for ’em and help ’em?”
“I’ll give ’em some money,” said little Adrian, who’d been leanin’ up
aginst my knee and listenin’ to our talk, with his big, earnest eyes
fixed on our faces.
“I’ll give ’em the gold piece that papa gave me yesterday.”
He had gin him a twenty dollar gold piece, for I see it.
“I’ll give ’em all I’ve got--I’ll work for that poor woman who lost her
little boy--I’ll work for her and help her.”
“Who’ll work for me?” sez Martin. “You’re to be my partner, my boy;
remember that. You’re my little partner now--half of all I own belongs
to you.”
“And I will give it all to them,” sez Adrian.
But Martin went right on--“You are to be president of this company when
I am an old man; you’re to work for me.”
“But I’ll work for those poor people, papa,” sez Adrian, and as he said
this he looked way off through his father’s face, as he sot by the open
window, to some distance beyend him. And his eyes, jest the color of
that June sky, looked big and luminous.
“I’ll work for them, papa,” and as he spoke a sudden thrill, some like
electricity, only more riz up like, shot through my soul, a sudden and
deep conviction that he would work for ’em--that he would in some way
redeem the old Smith name from the ojium attachin’ to it now as a owner
of them Herod’s Chariots and a Massacreer of Innocents. But to resoom.
All the next day Adrian kep’ talkin’ about it, how he wuz goin’ to be
his papa’s pardner, and how he wuz a-goin’ to work for poor folks who
had lost their little children, and wanted so many things.
And the questions he asked me about ’em, and about poor folks, though
wearisome to the flesh, wuz agreeable to the sperit.
Wall, Martin called him so much from day to day--“My little partner,”
that we all got into the habit on’t, and called him so through the day.
And every evenin’ he would come to me and say--“Good-night, Aunt
Samantha, good-bye till mornin’.”
And I would kiss him earnest and sweet, and say back to him,
“Good-night, little pardner, till mornin’.”
And after he went home, Josiah and I would talk about him a sight, and
wonder what the little pardner wuz doin’, and how he wuz lookin’ from
day to day. And I would often go into the parlor, where his picter
stood on the top shelf of the what-not, and stand and look dreamily at
it. There he wuz in his little black velvet suit and a big bunch of
English violets pinned on one side. The earnest eyes would look back
at me dretful tender like and good. The mouth that held that wonderful
sweet and sort o’ curous expression, as if he wuz thinkin’ of sunthin’
beautiful that we didn’t know anything about, would sort o’ smile back
at me.
And he seemed to be a-sayin’ to me, as he said that day a-lookin’ out
into the clear sky--
“I’ll work for them poor people!”
And I answered back to him out loud once or twice onbeknown to me, and
sez I, “I believe you will, little pardner.”
And Josiah asked me who I wuz a-talkin’ to. He hollered out from the
kitchen.
And I sez, “Ahem--ahem,” and kinder coughed. I couldn’t explain to my
pardner jest how I felt, for I didn’t know myself hardly.
Wall, it run along for some time--Martin a-writin’ to me quite often,
always a-talkin’ about his little pardner and Alice, and how they wuz
a-gittin’ along, and a-invitin’ us to visit ’em.
And at last there came sech a pressin’ invitation from Alice to come
and see ’em that I had to succumb.
But little, little did I ever think in my early youth, when I ust
to read about Solomon’s Temple and Sheba’s Splendor, and sing about
Pleasures and Palaces, that I should ever enter in and partake of ’em.
Why, the house that Martin lived in wuz a sight, a sight--big as the
meetin’-housen at Jonesville and Loontown both put together, and
ornamented with jest so many cubits of glory one way, and jest so many
cubits of grandeur another. Wall, it wuz sunthin’ I never expected
to see on earth, and in another sphere I never sot my mind on seein’
carpets that your feet sunk down into as they would in a bed of moss
in a cedar swamp, and lofty rooms with stained-glass winders and sech
gildin’s and ornaments overhead, and furniture sech as I never see, and
statutes a-lookin’ pale with joy, to see the lovely picters that wuz
acrost the room from ’em; and more’n twenty servants of different sorts
and grades.
Why, actually, Josiah and I seemed as much out of place in that seen
of grandeur as two hemlock logs with the bark on ’em at a fashionable
church weddin’.
And nothin’ but the pure love I felt for them children, and their pure
love for me, made me willin’ to stay there a minute.
Martin wuz good to us, and dretful glad to have us there to all human
appearance; but Alice and Adrian loved us.
And I hadn’t been there more’n a few days before I see one reason why
Alice had writ me so earnest to come--she wuz in deep trouble, she
wuz in love, deep in love with a young lawyer, one who writ for the
newspapers, too--
A man who had the courage of his convictions, and had writ several
articles about the sufferin’s of the poor and the onjustice of rich
men. And amongst the rest he had writ some cuttin’ but jest articles
about the massacreein’ of children by them trolley cars, and so had got
Martin’s everlastin’ displeasure and hatred.
The young man, I found out, wuz as good as they make anywhere; a
noble-lookin’ young feller, too, so I hearn.
Even Martin couldn’t say a word aginst him, for, in the cause of Duty
and Alice, I tackled him on the subject. Sez I, “Hain’t he honest and
manly and upright?”
And he had to admit that he wuz, that he hadn’t a vice or bad habit,
and wuz smart and enterprisin’.
I held him right there with my eye till I got an answer.
“But he is a fool,” sez he.
Sez I, “Fools don’t generally write sech good sense, Martin.”
Sez he wrathfully, “I knew your opinions--I expected you’d uphold him
in his ungrateful folly.
“But he has lost Alice by it,” sez he; “for I never will give my
consent to have him marry her.”
Sez I, “Then you had never ort to let him come here and have the chance
to win her heart, and now break it, for,” sez I, “you encouraged him at
first, Martin.”
“I know I did,” sez he--“I thought I had found one honest man, and I
had decided on giving all my business into his hands. It would have
been the making of him,” sez he; “but he has only himself to blame, for
if he had kept still he would have married Alice, but now he shall not.”
Sez I, “Alice thinks jest as he duz.”
“What do women know about business?” he snapped out, enough to take my
head off.
“If wimmen don’t know anything about bizness, Martin, I should think
you’d be glad to know, in case you left Alice, that she and her immense
fortune wuz in the hands of an honest man.
“And I want you to consent to this marriage,” sez I, “in a suitable
time--when Alice gits old enough.”
“I won’t consent to it!” sez he--“the writer of them confounded papers
never shall marry my daughter.”
“Why,” sez I, “there’s nothin’ harsh in the articles.” Sez I, “They’re
only a strong appeal to the pity and justice of ’em who are responsible
for all this danger and horrow!”
“Well,” sez he, “I’ve made up mind, and I never change it.”
Sez I, “I d’no whether you will or not.” Sez I, “This is a strange
world, Martin, and folks are made to change their minds sometimes
onbeknown to ’em.”
Wall, I didn’t stay more’n several days after this, when I returned
to the peaceful precincts of Jonesville and my (sometimes) devoted
pardner, and things resoomed their usual course.
But every few days I got communications from Martin’s folks. Alice writ
to me sweet letters of affection, wherein I could read between the
lines a sad background of Hope deferred and a achin’ heart.
And Adrian writ long letters to me, where the spellin’ left much to be
desired, but the good feelin’ and love and confidence in ’em wuz all
the most exactin’ could ask for.
And occasionally Martin would write a short line of a sort of hurried,
patronizin’ affection, and the writin’ looked so much like ducks’
tracts that it seemed as if our old drake would have owned up to ’em in
a law suit.
But Josiah and me would put on our strongest specks, and take the
letter between us, and hold it in every light, and make out the heft on
it.
[Illustration: Josiah and me put on our strongest specks.]
Till at last, one notable day, long to be remembered, there come a
letter in Martin’s awful chirography. And when we had studied out its
contents, we looked at each other in a astounded astonishment and a
sort of or.
“Would I go to Europe with him and his children as his guest?” He
thought Alice seemed to be a little delicate, and mebby the trip would
do her good, and he also thought she needed the company of some good,
practical woman to see to her, and mother her a little.
That last sentence tugged at my heart strings.
But my answer went back by next mail--
“I wuz afraid of the ocean, and couldn’t leave Josiah.”
The answer come back by telegraph--
“The ocean wuz safer than land, and take Josiah along, too. He
expected he would go.”
Then I writ back--“I never had been drownded on dry land, and didn’t
believe I should be, and Josiah didn’t feel as though he could leave
the farm.”
Then Martin telegrafted to Thomas J.--
“Arrange matters for father and mother to take trip. Send bill to me.
Alice needs their care. Her health and happiness depend on it.”
So he got Thomas Jefferson on his side. Thomas J. and Maggie loved
Alice like a sister. But there wuzn’t any bill to send to Martin, for
Thomas J. pinted out the facts that Ury could move right into the house
and take care of everything. And sez he, “The trip and the rest will do
you both good.”
“But the danger,” sez I.
And he said, jest like Martin--“Less danger than the land, better rates
of insurance given,” etc., etc., etc.
And Maggie put in too, and Josiah begun to kinder want to go.
And we wavered back and forth, until a long letter from Alice, beggin’
me and her Uncle Josiah to go with her to take care of her, tottled the
balance over on the side of Europe.
And Josiah and I began to make preperations for a trip abroad.
Oh my heart! think on’t!
I announced our decision to Martin in a letter of 9 pages of
foolscap--Josiah writ half of it--describin’ our doubts and delays and
our final reasons for decision.
And he telegrafted back--
“All right--start 14th. Send bill of expense to me.”
But there wuzn’t no bill sent, as I said--no, indeed!
I guess we didn’t want nobody to buy clothes for us--no, indeed!
As for the travellin’ expenses of the trip, seein’ they thought we wuz
necessaries to their comfort, and seein’ he’d invited us, and seein’
his income wuz about ten thousand dollars an hour, why we laid out to
let him have his way in that.
It wuzn’t nothin’ that we’d ever thought on, and then, as I told
Josiah, we could even it up some by invitin’ the children to stay all
summer with us next year.
So the die wuz cast down, and the cloth wuz soon bought for Josiah’s
new European shirts, and my own foreign nightcap and nightgown.
As for my clothes, by Maggie’s advice and assistance, aided by our two
practical common senses, the work wuz soon completed.
Maggie said that I must dress better than I usually did on my towers,
for the sake of pleasin’ Martin and Alice. And she and Thomas J. made
me a present of a good black silk dress, and she see to makin’ it, with
one plain waist for common wear, and one dressy waist, very handsome,
with black jet trimmin’ on it for my best.
A good gray alpacky travellin’ dress, some the color of dust, with
a bunnet of the same color, and a good brown lawn for hot days wuz
enough, and didn’t take up much room. Plenty of good underclothes and a
wool wrapper for the steamer completed my trossow.
Thomas J. see to it that his Pa had a good-lookin’ suit of black
clothes for his best, and a suit of pepper and salt for every day.
I also made him 2 new flannel nightcaps. And I myself had two new
nightcaps made. In makin’ ’em, I departed from my usual fashion of
sheep’s-head nightcaps, thinkin’ in case of a panick at sea, and the
glare of publicity a-bein’ throwed onto ’em, a modified sheep’s head
would appear better than clear sheep.
They wuz gathered slightly in the crown, and had some very nice egin’
on ’em--7 cents per yard at hullsail--7 and ½ retail.
It wuz good lace.
They wuz very becomin’ to my style.
[Illustration: It wuz very dressy when it wuz done.]
I also made Josiah a handsome dressin’-gown out of a piece of rep goods
I had in the house. I had laid out to cover a lounge with it, but I
thought under these peculiar circumstances Josiah needed it more’n the
lounge did, and so I made it up for him. I made a cord with two tossels
to tie it with. I twisted the cord out of good red and black woosted
and made the tossels of the same.
It wuz very dressy when it wuz done. And he would have worn it out
visitin’ if I had encouraged him in it. He wuz highly delighted and
tickled with it.
But I tutored him that it wuz only to wear in his state-room, and in
case of a panick on deck.