was one man all embroidered in gold that looked splendid, with a crown
of the most brilliant jewels on his head, and another shinin’ one on the
table by the side of him; and all round in a border was as many as
twenty other gold saints; they looked rich. And then there was all sorts
of linen and cotton goods and umberells and everything.
And in Austria and Hungary we see beautiful bent wood furniture of all
kinds, and the awfulest sight of kid gloves, and chromos, and oil
paintins, and musical instruments, and the most beautiful Bohemian glass
anybody ever did see. And it was there we see the biggest opal in the
world; it is worth 25,000 dollars, and the man told me it weighed six
hundred and two carats.
I spoke right up and says I, “They must be awful small carrots then.”
We didn’t argue with him, but we didn’t believe it, Josiah nor I didn’t,
for if the carrots was any size at all, six hundred of ’em would have
made more’n two bushels. But it was a noble lookin’ stun, and a crowd of
wimmen was round it all the while. I declare I admired some of their
jewelry fearfully; Josiah see that I did, and with a anxious mean he
hurried me off into Germany. And here we see everything, etcetery and so
4th; makin’ one of the nicest displays to the Sentinal—and jewelry, and
gold and silver ware, and ivory ware, of all sorts. There was one case
containin’ velvet that was made of glass and velvet, the finest case in
the hull Main Buildin’.
But now, havin’ gone the rounds of the Nations, and treatin’ ’em all
alike, so they couldn’t one of ’em, call me uppish or proud spirited;
politeness bein’ attended to and nobody slighted, I told Josiah that I
must git out in the open air and rest off the eyes of my spectacles a
little, or I didn’t know what the result would be. My head was in a
fearful state; I had seen so much, it seemed as if I couldn’t see
nothin’, and at the same time I could see everything, right where it
wasn’t, or anywhere. Why, when I would look up in my Josiah’s face, it
seemed as if I could see right on his forward, dragons, and pulpits, and
on that peaceable bald head I could see (as it were) crockydiles, and
storks, and handkerchief pins; my mean must have looked bad. So we
hurried out through the crowd, and went out under a venerable tree by
the side of the path, and sot down; and anon, or about that time, my
spectacles begun to be rested off, and I see clearer, and realized
things one at a time, more than I _had_ realized ’em. When I come out of
that Main Buildin’, everything was mixed up together to a degree that
was almost alarmin’.
But the minute Josiah Allen got rested, he was all rousted up with a new
idee. He had catched a sight that day of a Photograph Gallery, and
nothin’ to do but he must go and have his picture took.
Says he, “I will go and be took Samantha; sunthin’ may happen that we
shall have to go home sudden, and I do want to be took before I leave
the village, for I shant probable look so dressy, and have so pretty a
expression onto me for some time; I shall make a crackin’ good lookin’
picture, Samantha.”
That man is vain! but I didn’t throw it in his face, I only told him
almost coldly to be took if he wanted to. And then he beset me to be
took too. Says he, “If you will, we will be holt of hands, or lockin’
arms, or any way.”
But I told him firmly, I was on a tower of Right, and though I expected
and lotted on sufferin’ and bein’ persecuted as a P. A., I would not
suffer as the foolish ones do; I would not, for nothin’, go into a job I
dreaded worse than makin’ soap, or bilein’ sap. But, says I, “I will set
here and wait for you.”
So he set off to be took, feelin’ awful neat, and sayin’ to me the last
thing, what a crackin’ handsome picture he was a goin’ to make.
That man is as vain as a pea-hen! I sot right there peaceful and
considerable composed, though it give me solemn feelins to watch the
crowd a passin’ by all the time, no two alike, always a movin’ on, never
a stoppin’. They seemed like the waves of a river that was surgin’ right
on towards a sea whose name is Eternity; oh, how they kep’ a movin’ on!
Liberals from Liberia, Tunicks from Tunis, Sandwiches from Sandwich,
Oranges from Orange, Turkeys from Turkey and Poles from Poland; white
men, and yeller men, and black men, and red men, and brown men. Oh! what
a sight it was to see the endless wave and rush a settin’ on and on
forever. And as I see ’em,—though in body I was a settin’ there—I too
was one of ’em a bein’ carried on, and floatin’ toward the ocian. I
seemed to be kinder dizzy, “a ridin’,” as childern say when they set on
a bridge and watch the current sweep by; I was one of the waves, and the
river was a runnin’ swift.
[Sidenote: I MEET OLD ACQUAINTANCES]
I hadn’t allegoried (to myself) more than two or three minutes,
probable, when I see a form I knew, Jonathan Beans’es ex-wife by name,
and a vegetable widow by trade. I rose right up and catched holt of her
pin back, and says I, “Jonathan Beans’es ex-wife, how do you do?” she
turned round.
“Why Josiah Allen’s wife! is it you?” And we shook hands, and kissed
each other, (though I don’t make a practice of it.) And then I told her
that Josiah had gone to be took, and I was a waitin’ for him, and she
sot right down by me, cousin Bean did. Perhaps you will notice that I
say Bean, and not ex-Bean, as formally; she is livin’ with her husband
again, so she told me the first thing. Bean has come back, and they are
keepin’ a hen dairy in Rhode Island; I asked her if the hens didn’t
bother her a fallin’ off in the water, and she said they didn’t; and I
told her you couldn’t always tell by the looks of a map how things
really was. Then we talked a good deal about the Sentinal, and then I
inquired about Miss Astor and the boys; and then we spoke about
Alexander, and I told her I felt awful cut down when I heerd he was
gone; and then we talked about Alexander’s Widder, and we felt glad to
think that it wasn’t likely she would ever be put to it for things to
eat or wear, and had a comfortable house to live in, “most a new one,”
Miss Bean said.
I told her I was glad she had a house that wouldn’t want shinglin’ right
away; it is hard enough to be a Widder without bein’ leaked down on.
And then we meandered off into other friends in the village, and I asked
her if Victoria had been cuttin’ up and behavin’?
She said, she guessed my advice had quieted her down. She hadn’t heerd
of her actin’ for quite a spell. I felt noble when she told me this, but
her very next words made me feel different; I didn’t feel so good as I
did. Says she: “Beecher has been talked about some sense you was to the
village.”
Says I in a almost dry tone, “I have heerd his name mentioned once or
twice durin’ the past few years.”
“I believe he is guilty,” says she with a radiant look.
“Well _I_ don’t,” says I almost warmly. “I don’t believe it no more than
I believe my pardner is a drumedary.” And says I firmly, “I will come
out still plainer; I don’t believe it no more than I believe Josiah
Allen is an ostridge.”
“Oh!” says she with a still more delighted and lively mean, “I never see
anybody talked about quite so bad as he has been; and that shows that
meetin’ house folks haint no better than common folks.”
Miss Bean is a Nothingarian in good standin’, and loves to see meetin’
house folks brought low; loves it dearly. “Jest think,” says she with
that proud and raptuous look on her, “how high he has stood up on a
meetin’ house, and how he has been run down it.”
But I interrupted of her by askin’ her this conundrum, in about as cold
a tone as they make.
“Miss Bean, which would be apt to have the biggest, blackest shadder at
its feet; a mullien stalk, or a meetin’ house?”
“Why, a meetin’ house, of course,” says she.
“Well,” says I, “that is reasonable. I didn’t know,” says I in a very
dry tone, “but you would expect to see a shadder as black and heavy as a
meetin’ house shadder, a taggin’ along after a mullien stalk. But it
wouldn’t be reasonable; the cloud of detraction and envy and malice that
follers on at the feet of folks is generally proportioned to their
size.” Says I, “Jonathan Beans’es wife, you are not a runnin’ at Henry,
you are runnin’ at Religion.”
Says I, “If Christianity can stand ag’inst persecution and martyrdom, if
it is stronger than death and the grave, do you s’pose Jonathan Beans’es
wife, and the hull Nothingarian church is a goin’ to overthrow it?”
Says I, “Eighteen hundred years ago the unbelievers thought they had
hurt it all it could be; they thought they had crucified it, buried it
up, and rolled a stun ag’inst it; but it was mightier than death and the
grave, it rose up triumphant. And the fires of martyrdom in which they
have tried to destroy it ever sense, has only burnt away the chaff; the
pure seed has remained, and the waves of persecution in which time and
again they have tried to drownd it, has only scattered the seed abroad
throughout the world, wafted it to kinder shores: friendlier soils, in
which it has multiplied and blossomed a thousand fold more gloriously.
And,” says I, “the wave of infidelity that is sweepin’ over it now, will
only sweep away the dross, the old dry chaff of dead creeds,
superstitions, and bigotry—it can no more harm religion than you can
scatter dust on the floor of heaven.”
“Well,” says she, “Sam Snyder’ses wife, she that was Cassandra Bean is a
waitin’ for me and I must go.” She looked uneasy, and she told me she
would see me the next day, and started off.
And I sot there and waited for Josiah, and when he did come I see he was
wore almost completely out, and his mean looked as bad as I ever see a
mean look. He didn’t seem to want to talk, but I would make him tell the
particulars, and finally he up and told ’em. He said he got into the
wrong buildin’—one that had pictures to show off, but didn’t take ’em.
But a clever lookin’ feller showed him the way to go to be took, way
acrost Agricultural Avenue, and he got into the wrong house there, got
into Judges Hall, right where they was a judgin’. He said he never felt
so mortified in his life.
“I should think as much,” says I.
But he looked still more deprested, and says he:
“Worse is to come, Samantha.” I see by his looks he had had a tegus
time. I see he was completely unstrung, and it was my duty to try to
string him up with kindness and sympathy, and so says I almost tenderly,
“Tell your pardner all about it Josiah.”
“I hate too,” says he.
Says I firmly, “Josiah, you _must_.”
“Well,” says he. “I got into another wrong room, where some wimmen was a
kinder dressin’ ’em.”
“Josiah Allen!” says I sternly.
“Well, who under the sun would have been a lookin’ out for any such
thing. Who would think,” says he with a deeply injured air, “that wimmen
would go a prancin’ off so fur from home before they got their dresses
hooked up, or anything.”
I knew there was a room there a purpose for ladies to go and fix up in,
and I says more mildly—for his mean most skairt me—“I persume there was
no harm done Josiah, only most probable you skairt ’em.”
“Skairt ’em!” says he. “I should think so; they yelled like lunys.”
“And what did you say?” says I.
“I told ’em,” says he, “I wanted to be took.”
“And what did they say?” says I, for he would keep a stoppin’ in the
particulars.
“Oh! they yelled louder than ever; they seemed to think I was crazy, and
a policeman come—”
“And what did you tell him?” says I.
“What _could_ I tell him?” he snapped out. “Of course I told him I
wanted to be _took_, and he said he’d take me, and he did,” says Josiah
sadly. Again the particulars stopped, and again I urged him. And says
he: “Comin’ out of that room, and down the steps so awful sudden, got my
head kinder turned round, and instead of goin’ into the picture room, I
went the wrong way and got into the Japan house.”
[Illustration: JOSIAH “BEIN’ TOOK.”]
“Did you make any move towards gittin’ me a Japaned dust pan?” I
interrupted of him.
“No, I _didn’t_! I should think I see trouble enough, without luggin’
round dust pans. I told them I wanted to be took, and they didn’t
understand me, and I come right out and offered a boy I see there, five
cents to git me headed right, and he did it.”
Josiah stopped here, as if he wasn’t goin’ to speak another word. But
says I, “Josiah Allen was you took?”
“_Yes_ I _was_,” he snapped out.
“Lemme see the picture,” says I firmly.
He hung off, and tried to talk with me on religion, but I stood firm,
and says I, “You was a lottin’ on a handsome picture, Josiah Allen.”
“Throw that in my face will you, what if I _was_. I’d like to know if
you expect a man to have a handsome dressy expression, after he has
traipsed all over Pennsylvany, and been lost, and mortified, and helped
round by policeman, and yelled at by wimmen. And the man told me after I
sot down, to look at a certain knot-hole, and git up a brilliant happy
expression, and git inspired and animated. I did try to, but the man
told me such a gloomy expression wouldn’t do no how, and says he, ‘my
kind friend, you must look happier; think of the beautiful walk you had
a comin’ here; think of the happy scenes you passed through.’
“I _did_ think of ’em,” says Josiah, “and you can see for yourselves
jest how it looks.”
It truly went ahead of anything I ever see for meachinness, and
wretchedness. But I wouldn’t say a word to add to his gloom, I only says
in a warnin’ way, “You had better keep by your pardner after this Josiah
Allen.” And I added as I heerd the hour a strikin’ from the great clock
on Machinery Hall, “It is time for us to go home.” And we went.
[Illustration]
WIDDER DOODLE AS A BRIDE.
The next mornin’ we went to the grounds early and walked along the
broad, beautiful path (though very warm) and anon, we see through the
tall, noble trees on the nigh side of us, beautiful Horticultural Hall a
risin’ up lookin’ considerable like some splendid foreign pictures I had
seen of Morocco (not Morocco shoes, but jography Morocco); and there I
was calmly walkin’ along admirin’ the gorgeous, and stately but delicate
and almost dream-like beauty of the structure, when all of a sudden I
see a peaceable lookin’ old lady a comin’ along with her hair braided up
in one long braid, and her dress cut night-gown fashion; she looked cool
and comfortable and was mindin’ her own business, and carryin’ a
umberell; and in her other hand she had some things done up in a paper.
She was from some of the old countries I knew by her dress and her
curious looks—her eyes bein’ sot in sort o’ biasin’, and her complexion
was too yeller for health—she wasn’t well; she eat tea-grounds I knew
the minute I looked at her; nothin’ will give the complexion that
saffrony yeller look that tea-grounds will. And jest as she got most up
to us three young fellers begun to impose upon her. They wasn’t men, and
they wasn’t childern; they was passin’ through the land of
conceitedness, feeble whiskers, and hair-oil.
[Illustration: POLITENESS TO A STRANGER.]
And there she was, behavin’ herself like a perfect lady, and them three
healthy young American fellers a laughin’ and a scorfin’ and a pokin’
fun at her—a pintin’ at her hair and her dress, and her shoes, which was
wooden—but none of their business nor mine if they was; finally one of
them took holt of her long braid and give it a yank, and called her
“John”; and she, a tryin’ to save herself, dropped her paper and it bust
open and all the things in it scattered out on the ground. As she
stooped down in a patient way and went to pickin’ ’em up, I jest advised
them young fellers for their good. I had been told that day that the
fureigners had most all of ’em had to change their own costume for ourn,
the Americans made such fun of ’em; it mortified me dretful to have my
own folks show such awful bad manners; and says I:
“I would be ashamed of myself if I was in your places; are you such
conceited fools as to think our dress is the dress of the world, and our
ways all the ways there is under the sun? Although you probable don’t
know it, you are only a very small part of the world—a very little and
mean part. You would do well to learn a little Japan gentleness, and
some Turkey politeness,” and says I, warmly, as I looked at their pert
impudent faces, and then at her patient form—“Poles could learn you a
good deal, and they would to, if I had my way.” They started off lookin’
kinder meachin’, and I laid to and helped her pick up her things; and I
told her she must overlook it in coots; says I, “most Americans would be
ashamed of them, as they ort to be of themselves.”
But Josiah hunched me, and whispered: “Be you a goin’ to stand all day a
talkin’ to that man?”
“_Man_” says I, in witherin’ tones.
“Yes, it is a Chinaman, and do come along.”
Says I, “Josiah Allen, it is a pity if I can’t have the privilege of
speakin’ to a likely woman, afflicted with ganders, without your up and
callin’ her a man.”
He argued back that it was a man, but I wouldn’t multiply any more words
with him, and we went on by the broad lawn, or so they called it—though
I told Josiah it looked more like velvet than it did like any lawn I
ever see. It looked jest like the green velvet I had a bunnet made out
of when I was a girl; fresh, and green, and soft, and bright. And there
was hundreds of the most gorgeous and brilliant flower beds scattered
over it, and ornamental vases runnin’ over with vines and flowers, and
evergreens of all sorts; but I can’t describe it and wont try.
I said before, that Horticultural Hall was dream-like in its beauty, but
as I got nearer to it I see my mistake; it was fur handsomer. I couldn’t
have drempt out such a exquisitely lovely buildin’ if I had gone to
sleep a purpose; and so I told Josiah, as we went up the broad blue
marble steps, past great century plants and oranges with oranges on ’em,
up into a lofty place filled with folks, and flights of the most elegant
steps on each side, and tall pillows standin’ up at the foot of ’em,
with clusters of lamps on top, and folks a goin’ up and down on ’em—the
stairs I mean. Goin’ right in out of the blazin’ sunshine, it seemed to
me as if I never did see coolness so cool, and greenness so green, and
shade so uncommon shady before. Never did I see such noble and almost
foamin’ lookin’ green leaves of all kinds and shapes, from the size of a
pusly leaf, to them big enough to make my Josiah a pair of pantaloons
and a overcoat.
The floor was sort o’ openwork, with plain stripes runnin’ down through
it, sunthin’ as I knit stockins when I want ’em to look uncommon well.
But oh! how lovely it did look to me, as I glanced down as fur as I
could see ahead of me, to see clear from the floor to away up overhead,
the beautiful green branches a spreadin’ out, and the lovely poseys, and
over ’em and amongst ’em great bunches of lamps a hangin’ that looked
like drops of light as the sun shone through ’em, and stars and
ornaments of all kinds, a glistenin’ up there on the lofty ceilin’; and
down below there was white marble statutes a gleamin’ and fountains a
gushin’ out.
There was one fountain that I took to dretfully. A noble big vase bound
with acanthus leaves, was a shootin’ up water, clear as a crystal, and
at the foot of it on some rock work, sot three handsome childern jest
ready to plunge down into the cool, wet water; one of ’em was blowin’ a
shell, he felt so awful neat. There was lots of fountains in the Hall
but none so uncommon handsome as this; and that noble fountain was the
work of a woman; and as I looked at it, I thought I should be proud and
happy to take her by the hand and say:
“Miss Foley, I too am a woman, I am proud to sympathize with you.”
A good lookin’ woman, dressed up slick, with a little book and pencil in
her hand spoke up and says to me:
“It is wonderful, haint it?”
Says I, “Wonderful haint no name for it.”
“That’s so;” says she, and added, “have you seen the phantom leave?” or
sunthin’ like that.
Says I, firmly, “There haint been no phantom here appearin’ to me, and
how could I see it leave?” Then thinkin’ of my vow, and likin’ her looks
first-rate, I says in a encouragin’ tone, “There has somebody been a
tryin’ to fool you mom, there haint no such things as ghosts and
phantom’ses. Ghosts and phantoms are made of moonshine, and fear and
fancy are the makers of ’em.”
She took up her parasol—a pale blue one all covered with white lace—and
pinted right up at a glass case, and says she:
“Phantom leaves I mean, you can see them.”
“Oh!” says I, “I thought you meant a ghost.” They was handsome; looked
as white and delicate as the frost-work on our winders in December.
It wasn’t probable more’n half an hour after this that my pride had a
fall. Truly, when we seem to be a standin’ up the straightest, tottlin’
may come onto us, and sudden crumplin’ of the spiritual knees. There I
had been a boastin’ in my proud philosophical spirit that there was no
such things as phantoms, and lo, and behold! within thirty-one minutes
time, I thought I see a ghost appearin’ to me; I was skairt, and
awe-stricken. The way on’t was, Josiah beset me to go into some of the
different hot-houses in the buildin’, and I had told him firmly, that
bein’ very fleshy and warm-blooded, I was satisfied and more’n satisfied
with the heat of the place I was in; but if _he_ wasn’t—bein’ thinner in
flesh, if he felt chilly, he could go and I would meet him in a certain
place. So he went on, and I meandered back into the Main Hall. And there
I stood a lookin’ peacefully up into the boughs of a Injy Rubber tree,
and thinkin’ pensively to myself what fools anybody was to think that
rubber-boots and shoes grew right out of the tree, for they didn’t—no
such thing; they had green leaves like any tree—when all of a sudden I
heerd these words:
“Oh Doodle! Doodle! if you was alive, I shouldn’t be in this
perdickerment!”
If I had had some hen’s feathers by me, I should have burnt a few, or if
I had had a tea-cup of water I should have throwed some in my face, to
keep me from faintin’ away. But not havin’ none of these conveniences by
me, I see I must make a powerful effort, and try to control myself down;
and jest as I was a makin’ this effort, these words come again to my
almost rigid ear:
“Oh Doodle! Doodle! you never would have stood by, and seen your relict
smashed to pieces right before your dear linement.”
And as I heerd these words I see her appearin’ to me. I see the Widder
Doodle, emergin’ from the crushin’ crowd, and advancin’ onto me like a
phantom. Says I to myself, “Be you a ghost or be you a phantom? Are you
a fore-runner, Widder?” says I, “you be a fore-runner, I know you be,”
for even as I looked I see behind her the form of Solomon Cypher
advancin’ slowly on, and appearin’ to me too. I felt fearfully curious.
But in about three-fourths of a minute my senses come back—for the big
wave of folks sort o’ swept off somewhere else, and left the Widder
Doodle some like a sea-weed nigh me. And on lookin’ closer at her I see
that no respectable ghost who thought anything of itself, would go out
in company lookin’ so like furyation—I felt better, and says I:
[Illustration: THE PHANTOM.]
“Widder Doodle, how under the sun did you come here to the Sentinal?”
Says she, “Samantha, I am married; I am on my tower.”
Says I in faint axents, “Who to?”
“Solomon Cypher,” says she.
Again I thought almost wildly of burnt feathers, for it seemed so
fearfully curious to think she should be a double and twisted ort, as
you may say; should be a ort by name, after bein’ one by nater all her
days. But again the thought come to me, that I had no conveniences for
faintin’ away, and I must be calm, so says I, “Married to Solomon
Cypher!”
And then it all come back to me—their talk the day he come to borry my
clothes for the mourners; her visits to his housekeeper sense; and his
strange and almost foolish errants to our house from day to day; but I
didn’t speak my thoughts, I only said:
“Widder Doodle, what ever put it into your head to marry again?”
Well, she said she had kinder got into the habit of marryin’, and it
seemed some like a second nater to her—and she thought Solomon had some
of Doodle’ses linement—so she thought she would marry him. She said he
offered himself in a dretful handsome style; she said the childern of
the Abbey, or Thadeus of Warsaw couldn’t done it up in any more foamin’
and romantic way; she said he was a bringin’ her home in his wagon from
a visit I remembered her makin’ to his housekeeper.
“Three weeks after his wife’s death!” says I.