CHAPTER V.

Josiah is as kind-hearted a man as was ever made. And he loves me with

a devotion, that though hidden sometimes, like volcanic fires, and other

married men's affections for their wives, yet it bursts out occasionally

in spurts and jets of unexpected tenderness.

Now, the very next mornin' after Cicely left for her aunt Mary's, he

gave me a flaming proof of that hidden fire that burns but don't consume

him.

A agent come to our dwelling, and with the bland and amiable air of

their sect, asked me,--

“If I would buy a encyclopedia?”

I was favorable to the idee, and showed it by my looks and words; but

Josiah wus awful set against it. And the more favorable I talked about

it, the more horrow-struck and skairt Josiah Allen looked. And finally

he got behind the agent, and winked at me, and made motions for me to

foller him into the buttery. He wunk several times before I paid much

attention to 'em; but finally, the winks grew so violent, and the

motions so imperious, yet clever, that I got up, and follered him into

the buttery. He shet the door, and stood with his back against it; and

says to me, with his voice fairly tremblin' with his emotions,--

“It will throw you, Samantha! you don't want to buy it.”

“What will throw me? and when?” says I.

“Why,” says he, “you can't never ride it! How should I feel to see you

on one of 'em! It skairs me most to death to see a boy ride 'em; and at

your age, and with your rheumatiz, you'd get throwed, and get your neck

broke, the first day.” Says he, “If you have got to have something

more stylish, and new-fangled than the old mair, I'd ruther buy you a

philosopher. They are easier-going than a encyclopedia, anyway.”

“A philosopher?” says I dreamily.

“Yes, such a one as Tom Gowdey has got.”

Says I, “You mean a velocipede!”

“Yes, and I'll get you one ruther than have you a ridin' round the

country on a encyclopedia.”

His tender thoughtfulness touched my heart, and I explained to him all

about 'em. He thought it was some kind of a bycicle. And he brightened

up, and didn't make no objections to my gettin' one.

Wall, that very afternoon he went to Jonesville, and come home, as I

said, all rousted up about bein' a senator. I s'pose Elburtus'es bein'

there, and talkin' so much on politics, had kinder sot him to thinkin'

on it. Anyway, he come home from Jonesville perfectly rampant with the

idee of bein' United-States senator. “He said he had been approached on

the subject.”

He said it in that sort of a haughty, high-headed way, such as men will

sometimes assume when they think they have had some high honors heaped

onto 'em.

Says I, “Who has approached you, Josiah Allen?”

[Illustration: JOSIAH BEING APPROACHED.]

“Wall,” he said, “it might be a foreign minister, and it might be uncle

Nate Gowdey.” He thought it wouldn't be best to tell who it was. “But,”

says he, “I am bound to be senator. Josiah Allen, M.C., will probable be

wrote on my letters before another fall. I am bound to run.”

Says I coldly, “You know you can't run. You are as lame as you can be.

You have got the rheumatiz the worst kind.”

Says he, “I mean runnin' with political legs--and I do want to be a

senator, Samantha. I want to, like a dog, I want the money there is in

it, and I want the honor. You know they have elected me path-master,

but I hain't a goin' to accept it. I tell you, when anybody gets into

political life, ambition rousts up in 'em: path-master don't satisfy

me. I want to be senator: I want to, like a dog. And I don't lay out to

tackle the job as Elburtus did, and act too good.”

“No!” says I sternly. “There hain't no danger of your bein' too good.”

“No: I have laid my plans, and laid 'em careful. The relation on your

side was too willin', and too clever. And witnessin' his campaign has

learnt me some deep lessons. I watched the rocks he hit aginst; and I

have laid my plans, and laid 'em careful. I am going to act offish.

I feel that offishness is my strong holt--and endearin' myself to the

masses. Educatin' public sentiment up to lovin' me, and urgin' me not to

be so offish, and to obleege 'em by takin' a office--them is my 2 strong

holts. If I can only hang back, and act onwillin', and get the masses

fierce to elect me--why, I'm made. And then, I've got a plan in my

head.”

I groaned, in spite of myself.

“I have got a plan in my head, that, if every other plan fails, will

elect me in spite of the old Harry.”

Oh! how that oath grated against my nerve! And how I hung back from this

idee! I am one that looks ahead. And I says in firm tones,--

“You never would get the nomination, Josiah Allen! And if you did, you

never would be elected.”

“Oh, yes, I should!” says he. But he continued dreamily, “There would

have to be considerable wire-pullin'.”

“Where would the wires be?” says I sternly. “And who would pull 'em?”

“Oh, most anywhere!” says he, lookin' dreamily up onto the kitchen

ceilin', as if wires wus liable to be let down anywhere through the

plasterin'.

Says I, “Should you have to go to pullin' wires?”

“Of course I should,” says he.

“Wall,” says I, “you may as well make up your mind in the first ont,

that I hain't goin' to give my consent to have you go into any thing

dangerous. I hain't goin' to have you break your neck, at your age.”

Says he, “I don't know but my age is as good a age to break my neck in

as any other. I never sot any particular age to break my neck in.”

“Make fun all you are a mind to of a anxious Samantha,” says I, “but

I will never give my consent to have you plunge into such dangerous

enterprizes. And talkin' about pullin' wires sounds dangerous: it sounds

like a circus, somehow; and how would _you_, with your back, look and

feel performin' like a circus?”

“Oh, you don't understand, Samantha! the wires hain't pulled in that

way. You don't pull 'em with your hands, you pull 'em with your minds.”

“Oh, wall!” says I, brightenin' up. “You are all right in that case: you

won't pull hard enough to hurt you any.”

I knew the size and strength of his mind, jest as well as if I had took

it out of his head, and weighed it on the steelyards. It was _not_ over

and above large. I knew it; and he knew that I knew it, because I have

had to sometimes, in the cause of Right, remind him of it. But he knows

that my love for him towers up like a dromedary, and moves off through

life as stately as she duz--the dromedary. Josiah was my choice out of a

world full of men. I love Josiah Allen. But to resoom and continue on.

Josiah says, “Which side had I better go on, Samantha?” Says he, kinder

puttin' his head on one side, and lookin' shrewdly up at the stove-pipe,

“Would you run as a Stalwart, or a Half-breed?”

Says I, “I guess you would run more like a lame hen than a Stalwart or

a Half-breed; or,” says I, “it would depend on what breeds they wuz. If

they wus half snails, and half Times in the primers, maybe you could get

ahead of 'em.”

“I should think, Samantha Allen, in such a time as this, you would act

like a rational bein'. I'll be hanged if I know what side to go on to

get elected!”

Says I, “Josiah Allen, hain't you got any principle? Don't you _know_

what side you are on?”

“Why, yes, I s'pose I know as near as men in gineral. I'm a Democrat in

times of peace. But it is human nater, to want to be on the side that

beats.”

I sithed, and murmured instinctively, “George Washington!”

“George Granny!” says he.

I sithed agin, and kep' sithin'.

Says I, “It is bad enough, Josiah Allen, to have you talk about runnin'

for senator, and pullin' wires, and etcetery. But, oh, oh! my agony to

think my partner is destitute of principle.”

“I have got as much as most political men, and you'll find it out so,

Samantha.”

My groans touched his heart--that man loves me.

“I am goin' to work as they all do. But wimmen hain't no heads for

business, and I always said so. They don't look out for the profits of

things, as men do.”

I didn't say nothin' only my sithes, but they spoke volumes to any one

who understood their language. But anon, or mebby before,--I hadn't kep'

any particular account of time, but I think it wus about anon,--when

another thought struck me so, right in my breast, that it most knocked

me over. It hanted me all the rest of that day: and all that night I lay

awake and worried, and I'd sithe, and sposen the case; and then I'd turn

over, and sposen the case, and sithe.

Sposen he would be elected--I didn't really think he would, but

I couldn't for my life help sposen. Sposen he would have to go to

Washington. I knew strange things took place in politics. Strange men

run, and run fur: some on 'em run clear to Washington. Mebby he would.

Oh! how I groaned at the idee!

I thought of the awfulness of that place as I had heard it described

upon to me; and then I thought of the weakness of men, and their

liability to be led astray. I thought of the powerful blasts of

temptation that blowed through them broad streets, and the small size of

my pardner, and the light weight of his bones and principles.

And I felt, if things wuz as they had been depictered to me, he

would (in a moral sense) be lifted right up, and blowed away--bones,

principles, and all. And I trembled.

At last the idee knocked so firm aginst the door of my heart, that I had

to let it in. That I _must_, I _must_ go to Washington, as a forerunner

of Josiah. I must go ahead of him, and look round, and see if my Josiah

could pass through with no smell of fire on his overcoat--if there wuz

any possibility of it. If there wuz, why, I should stand still, and let

things take their course. But if my worst apprehensions wuz realized,

if I see that it was a place where my pardner would lose all the modest

worth and winnin' qualities that first endeared him to me--why, I would

come home, and throw all my powerful influence and weight into the

scales, and turn 'em round.

[Illustration: JOSIAH BEING BLOWN AWAY.]

Of course, I felt that I should have to make some pretext about goin':

for though I wus as innocent as a babe of wantin' to do so, I felt that

he would think he wus bein' domineered over by me. Men are so sort o'

high-headed and haughty about some things! But I felt I could make a

pretext of George Washington. That dear old martyr! I felt truly I would

love to weep upon his tomb.

And so I told Josiah the next mornin', for I thought I would tackle the

subject at once. And he says,--

“What do you want to weep on his tomb for, Samantha, at this late day?”

Says I, “The day of love and gratitude never fades into night, Josiah

Allen: the sun of gratitude never goes down; it shines on that tomb

to-day jest as bright as it did in 1800.”

“Wall, wall! go and weep on it if you want to. But I'll bet half a cent

that you'll cry onto the ice-house, as I've heard of other wimmen's

doin'. Wimmen don't see into things as men do.”

“You needn't worry, Josiah Allen. I shall cry at the right time, and in

the right place. And I think I had better start soon on my tower.”

I always was one to tackle hard jobs immejutly and to once, so's to get

'em offen' my mind.

“Wall, I'd like to know,” says he, in an injured tone, “what you

calculate to do with me while you are gone?”

“Why,” says I, “I'll have the girl Ury is engaged to, come here and do

the chores, and work for herself; they are goin' to be married before

long: and I'll give her some rolls, and let her spin some yarn for

herself. She'll be glad to come.”

“How long do you s'pose you'll be gone? She hain't no cook. I'd as lives

eat rolls, as to eat her fried cakes.”

“Your pardner will fry up 2 pans full before she goes, Josiah; and I

don't s'pose I'll be gone over four days.”

“Oh, well! then I guess I can stand it. But you had better make some

mince-pies ahead, and other kinds of pies, and some fruit-cake, and

cookies, and tarts, and things: it is always best to be on the safe

side, in vittles.”

So it wus agreed on,--that I should fill two cubbard shelves full of

provisions, to help him endure my absence.

I wus some in hopes that he might give up the idee of bein'

United-States senator, and I might have rest from my tower; for I

dreaded, oh, how I dreaded, the job! But as day by day passed, he grew

more and more rampant with the idee. He talked about it all the time

daytimes; and in the night I could hear him murmur to himself,--

“Hon. Josiah Allen!”

And once I see it in his account-book, “Old Peedick debtor to two

sap-buckets to Hon. Josiah Allen.”

And he talked sights, and sights, about what he wus goin' to do when

he got to Washington, D.C.--what great things he wus goin' to do. And I

would get wore out, and say to him,--

“Wall! you will have to get there first.”

“Oh! you needn't worry. I can get there easy enough. I s'pose I shall

have to work hard jest as they all do. But as I told you before,

if every thing else fails, I have got a grand plan to fall back

on--sunthin' new and uneek. Josiah Allen is nobody's fool, and the

nation will find it out so.”

Then, oh, how I urged him to tell his plan to his lovin' pardner! but he

_wouldn't tell_.

But hours and hours would he spend, a tellin' me what great things he

wus goin' to do when he got to Washington.

Says he, “There is one thing about it. When I get to be United-States

senator, uncle Nate Gowdey shall be promoted to some high and

responsible place.”

“Without thinkin' whether he is fit for it or not?” says I.

“Yes, mom, without thinkin' a thing about it. I am bound to help the

ones that help me.”

“You wouldn't have him examined,” says I,--“wouldn't have him asked no

questions?”

“Oh, yes! I'd have him pass a examination jest as the New-York aldermen

do, or the civil-service men. I'd say to him, 'Be you uncle Nate

Gowdey?'

“'Yes.'

“'How long have you been uncle Nate Gowdey?'

“And he'd answer; and I'd say,--

“'How long do you calculate to be uncle Nate?'

“And he'll tell; and then I'll say,--

“'Enough: I see you have all the qualifications for office. You are

admitted.' That is what I would do.”

I groaned. But he kep' on complacently, “I am goin' to help the ones

that elect me, sink or swim; and I calculate to make money out of the

project,--money and honor. And I shall do a big work there,--there

hain't no doubt of it.

“Now, there is political economy. I shall go in strong for that. I shall

say right to Congress, the first speech I make to it, I shall say, that

there is too much money spent now to hire votes with; and I shall prove

it right out, that we can get votes cheaper if we senators all join in

together, and put our feet right down that we won't pay only jest so

much for a vote. But as long as one man is willin' to pay high, why,

everybody else has got to foller suit. And there hain't no economy in

it, not a mite.

“Then, there is the canal question. I'll make a thorough end of that.

There is one reform that will be pushed right through.”

“How will you do it?” says I.

“I will have the hull canal cleaned out from one end to the other.”

“I was readin' only yesterday,” says I, “about the corruption of the

canal question. But I didn't s'pose it meant that.”

“That is because you hain't a man. You hain't got the mind to grasp

these big questions. The corruption of the canal means that the bottom

of the canal is all covered with dead cats and things; and it ort to be

seen to, by men that is capable of seein' to such things. It ort to be

cleaned out. And I am the man that has got the mind for it,” says he

proudly.

“Then, there is the Star Route. Nothin' but foolishness from beginnin'

to end. They might have known they couldn't make any road through the

stars. Why, the very Bible is agin it. The ground is good enough for me,

and for any other solid man. It is some visionary chap that begun it in

the first place. Nothin' but dumb foolishness; and so uncle Nate Gowdey

said it was. We got to talkin' about it yesterday, and he said it was a

pity wimmin couldn't vote on it. He said that would be jest about what

they would be likely to vote for.

“He is a smart old feller, uncle Nate is, for a man of his age. He

talked awful smart about wimmin's votin'. He said any man was a fool to

think that a woman would ever have the requisit grasp of intellect,

and the knowledge of public affairs, that would render her a competent

voter.

[Illustration: JOSIAH's STAR ROUTE.]

“I tell you, you have got to _understand_ things in order to tackle

politicks. Politicks takes deep study.

“Now, there is the tariff question, and the revenue. I shall most

probable favor 'em, and push 'em right through.”

“How?” says I.

“Oh, wall! a woman most probable couldn't understand it. But I shall

push 'em forward all I can, and lift 'em up.”

“Where to?” says I.

“Oh, keep a askin', and a naggin'! That is what wears out us public

men,--wimmin's questionin'. It hain't so much the public duties we

have to perform that ages us, and wears us out before our time,--it is

woman's weak curiosity on public topics, that her mind is too feeble to

grasp holt of. It is wearin',” says he haughtily.

Says I, “Specially when they don't know what to answer.” Says I, “Josiah

Allen, you don't know this minute what tariff means, or revenue.”

“Wall, I know what starvation means, and I know what vittles means, and

I know I am as hungry as a bear.”

Instinctively I hung on the teakettle. And as Josiah see me pare the

potatoes, and grind the coffee, and pound the steak, he grew very

pleasant again in his demeanor; and says he,--

“There will be some abuses reformed when I get to Washington, D.C.;

and you and the nation will see that there will. Now, there is the

civil-service law: Uncle Nate and I wus a talkin' about it yesterday. It

is jest what we need. Why, as uncle Nate said, hired men hain't civil at

all, nor hired girls either. You hire 'em to serve you, and to serve you

civil; and they are jest as dumb uppish and impudent as they can be. And

hotel-clerks--now, they don't know what civil-service means.”

“Why, uncle Nate said when he went to the Ohio, last fall, he stayed

over night to Cleveland, and the hotel-clerk sassed him, jest because he

wanted to blow out his light: he wanted uncle Nate to turn it off.

“And uncle Nate jest spoke right up, smart as a whip, and said,

'Old-fashioned ways was good enough for him: blows wus made before

turners, and he should blow it out.' And the hotel-clerk sassed him, and

swore, and threatened to make him leave.

“And ruther than have a fuss, uncle Nate said he turned it out. But it

rankled, uncle Nate says it did, it rankled deep. And he says he wants

to vote for that special. He says he'd love to make that clerk eat

humble-pie.

“Uncle Nate is a sound man: his head is level.

“And good, sound platforms, that is another reform, uncle Nate said we

needed the worst kind, and he hoped I would insist on it when I got to

be senator. He said there was too much talk about 'em in the papers, and

too little done about 'em. Why, Elam Gowdey, uncle Nate's youngest boy,

broke down the platform to his barn, and went right down through it,

with a load of hay. And nothin' but that hay saved his neck from bein'

broke. It spilte one of his horses.

“Uncle Nate had been urgin' him to fix the platform, or build a new one;

but he was slack. But, as uncle Nate says, if such things are run by

law, they will _have_ to be done.

“And then, there is another thing uncle Nate and I was talkin'

about,” says he, lookin' very amiable at me as I rolled out my cream

biscuit--almost spooney.

[Illustration: UNCIVIL SERVICE.]

“I shall jest run every poor Irishman and Chinaman out of the country

that I can.”

“What has the Irishmen done, Josiah Allen?” says I.

“Oh! they are poor. There hain't no use in our associatin' with the

poor.”

Says I dreamily, “Did I not read once, of One who renounced the throne

of the universe to dwell amongst the poor?”

“Oh, wall! most probable they wuzn't Irish.”

“And what has the Chinaman done?” says I.

“Why, they are heathens, Samantha. What does the United States want with

heathens anyway? What the country _needs_ is Methodists.”

“Somewhere did I not once hear these words,” says I musin'ly, as I

set the coffee-cups on the table,--“'You shall have the heathen for an

inheritance'--and 'preach the gospel to the heathen'--and 'we who were

sometime heathens, but have received light'? Did not the echo of some

such words once reach my mind?”

“Oh, wall! if you are goin' to quote readin', why can't you quote from

'The World'? you can't combine Bible and politics worth a cent. And the

Chinaman works too cheap--are too industrious, and reasonable in their

charges, they hain't extravagant--and they are too dumb peacible, dumb

'em!”

“Josiah Allen!” says I firmly, “is that all the fault you find with

'em?”

“No, it hain't. They don't want to vote! They don't care a cent about

bein' path-master or President. And I say, that after givin' a man a

fair trial and a long one, if he won't try to buy or sell a vote, it is

a sure sign that he can't asimulate with Americans, and be one with 'em;

that he can't never be mingled in with 'em peacible. And I'll bet that

I'll start the Catholics out--and the Jews. What under the sun is the

use of havin' anybody here in America only jest Methodists? That is the

only right way. And if I have my way, I'll get rid of 'em,--Chinamen,

Irishmen, Catholics,--the hull caboodle of 'em. I'll jest light 'em out

of the country. We can do it too. That big statute in New-York Harbor

of Liberty Enlightenin' the World, will jest lift her torch up high, and

light 'em out of the country:--that is what we had her for.”

I sithed low, and says, “I never knew that wus what she wus there for.

I s'posed it wus a gift from a land that helped us to liberty and

prosperity when we needed 'em as bad as the Irishmen and Chinamen do

to-day; and I s'posed that torch that wus lit for us by others' help, we

should be willin' and glad to have it shine on the dark cross-roads of

others.”

“Wall, it hain't meant for no such purpose: it is to light up _our_ land

and _our_ waters. That's what _she's_ there for.”

I sithed agin, a sort of a cold sithe, and says,--

“I don't think it looks very well for us New-Englanders a sittin' round

Plymouth Rock, to be a condemnin' anybody for their religeous beliefs.”

“Wall, there hain't no need of whittlin' out a stick, and worshipin' it,

as the Chinamen do.”

“How are you goin' to help 'em to worship the true God if you send 'em

out of the country? Is it for the sake of humanity you drive 'em out?

or be you, like the Isrealites of old, a worshipin' the golden calf of

selfishness, Josiah Allen?”

“I hain't never worshiped _no calf_, Samantha Allen. That would be the

last thing _I_ would worship, and you know it.”

(Josiah wus very lame on his left leg where he had been kicked by a

yearlin'. The spot wus black and blue, but healin'.)

“You have blanketed that calf with thick patriotic excuses; but I fear,

Josiah Allen, that the calf is there.

“Oh!” says I dreamily, “how the tread of them calves has moved down

through the centuries! If every calf should amble right out, marked with

its own name and the name of its owner, what a sight, what a sight it

would be! On one calf, right after its owner's name, would be branded,

'Worldly Honor and Fame.'”

Josiah squirmed, for I see him, but tried to turn the squirm in' into a

sickly smile; and he murmured in a meachin' voice, and with a sheepish

smile,--

“'Hon. Josiah Allen. Fame.' That wouldn't look so bad on a likely

yearlin' or two-year old.”

But I kep' right on. “On another would be marked, 'Wealth.' Very yeller

those calves would be, and a long, long drove of 'em.

“On another would be, 'Earthly Love.' Middlin' good-lookin' calves,

these, and sights of 'em. But the mantillys that covered 'em would be

all wet and wore with tears.

“'Culture,' 'Intellect,' 'Refinement.' These calves would march right

along by the side of 'Pride,' 'Vanity,' 'Old Creeds,' 'Bigotry,'

'Selfishness.' The last-named would be too numerous to count with the

naked eye, and go pushin' aginst each other, rushin' right through

meetin'-housen, tearin' and actin'. Why,” says I, “the ground trembles

under the tread of them calves. I can hear 'em whinner,” says I, fillin'

up the coffee-pot.

“Calves don't whinner!” says Josiah.

Says I, “I speak parabolickly;” and says I, in a very blind way,

“Parables are used to fit the truth to weak comprehensions.”

“Wall!” says he, kinder cross, “your potatoes are a burnin' down.”

I turned the water off, and mashed 'em up, with plenty of cream and

butter; and them, applied to his stomach internally, seemed to sooth

him,--them, and the nice tender steak, and light biscuit, and lemon

puddin' and coffee, rich and yellow and fragrant.

[Illustration: THE GOLDEN CALVES OF CHRISTIANS.]

He never said a word more about politics till after dinner. But on

risin' up from the table he told me he had got to go to Jonesville to

get the old mare shod. And I see sadly, as he stood to the lookin'-glass

combin' out his few hairs, how every by-path his mind sot out on led up

gradually to Washington, D.C. For as he stood there, and spoke of the

mare's feet, he says,--

“The mare is good enough for Jonesville, Samantha. But when we get

to Washington, we want sunthin' gayer, more stylish, to ride on.

I calculate,” says he, pullin' up his collar, and pullin' down his

vest,--“I lay out to dress gay, and act gay. I calculate to make a show

for once in my life, and put on style. One thing I am bound on,--I shall

drive tantrum.”

“How?” says I sternly.

“Why, I shall buy another mare, most probable some gay-colored one, and

hitch it before the old white mare, and drive tantrum. You know, it

is all the style. Mebby,” says he dreamily, “I shall ride the drag.

I s'pose that is fashionable. But I'll be hanged if I should think

it would be easy ridin' unless you had the teeth down. Dog-carts are

stylish, I hear; but our dog is so dumb lazy, you couldn't get him to go

out of a walk. But tantrum I _will_ drive.”

[Illustration: JOSIAH DRIVING TANTRUM.]

I groaned, and says, “Yes, I hain't no doubt that anybody that sees you

at Washington, will see tantrums, strange tantrums. But you hain't there

yet.”

“No, but I most probable shall be ere long.”

He had actually begun to talk in high-flown, blank verse sort of a way.

“Ere long!” that wus somethin' new for Josiah Allen.

Alas! every thought of his heart wus tuned to that one political key.

I mentioned to him that “the bobbin to my sewin'-machine was broke, and

asked him to get a new one of the agent at Jonesville.”

“Yes,” says he benignantly, “I will tend to your machine; and speakin'

of machines, that makes me think of another thing uncle Nate and I wus

talkin' about.”

“Machine politics, I sha'n't favor 'em. What under the sun do they want

machines to make politics with, when there is plenty of men willin', and

more than willin', to make 'em? And it is as expensive agin. Machines

cost so much. I tell you, they cost tarnation high.”

“I can understand you without swearin', Josiah Allen.”

“I hain't a swearin': 'tarnation' hain't swearin', nor never wuz. I

shall use that word most likely in Washington, D.C.”

“Wall,” says I coldly, “there will have to be some tea and sugar got.”

He did not demur. But, oh! how I see that immovible setness of his mind!

“Yes, I will get some. But won't it be handy, Samantha, to have free

trade? I shall go for that strong. Why, I can tell you, it will come

handy along in the winter when the hens don't lay, and we don't make

butter to turn off--it will come dretful handy to jest hitch up the

mare, and go to the store, and come home with a lot of groceries of all

kinds, and some fresh meat mebby. And mebby some neckties of different

colors.”

“Who would pay for 'em?” says I in a stern tone; for I didn't somehow

like the idee.

“Why, the Government, of course.”

I shook my head 2 or 3 times back and forth. I couldn't seem to get the

right sense of it. “I can't understand it, Josiah. We heard a good deal

about free trade, but I can't believe that is it.”

“Wall, it is, jest that. Free trade is one of the prerequisits of

a senator. Why, what would a man want to be a senator for, if they

couldn't make by it?”

“Don't you love your country, Josiah Allen?”

“Yes, I do: but I don't love her so well as I do myself; it hain't

nateral I should.”

“Surely I read long ago,--was it in the English Reader?” says I

dreamily, “or where was it? But surely I have heard of such things as

patriotism and honor, love of country, and love of the right.”

“Wall, I calculate I love my country jest as well as the next man; and,”

says he firmly, “I calculate I can make jest as much out of her, give me

a chance. Why, I calculate to do jest as they all do. What is the use of

startin' up, and bein' one by yourself?”

Says I, “That is what Pilate thought, Josiah Allen.” Says I, “The

majority hain't always right.” Says I firmly, “They hardly ever are.”

“Now, that is a regular woman's idee,” says he, goin' into the bedroom

for a clean shirt. And as he opened the bureau-draw, he says,--

“Another thing I shall go for, is abolishin' lots of the bureaus. Why,

what is the use of any man havin' more than one bureau? It is nothin'

but nonsense clutterin' up the house with so many bureaus.

“When wimmen get to votin',” says he sarcastickly, “I'll bet their first

move will be to get 'em back agin. I'll bet there hain't a women in the

land, but what would love to have 20 bureaus that they could run to.”

“Then, you think wimmen _will_ vote, do you, Josiah Allen?”

“I think,” says he firmly, “that it will be a wretched day for the

nation if she does. Wimmen is good in their places,” says he, as he come

to me to button up his shirtsleeves, and tie his cravat.

“They are good in their places. But they can't have, it hain't in 'em to

have, the calm grasp of mind, the deep outlook into the future, that men

have. They can't weigh things in the firm, careful balences of right and

wrong, and have that deep, masterly knowledge of national affairs that

we men have. They hain't got the hard horse sense that anybody has got

to have in order to make money out of the nation. They would have some

sentimental subjects up of right or wrong to spend their energies and

their hearts on. Look at Cicely, now. She means well. But what would she

do? What would she make out of votin'? Not a cent. And she never would

think of passin' laws for her own personal comfort, either. Now, there

is the subsidy bill. I'll see that through if I sweat for it.

“Why, it would be worth more than a dollar-bill to me lots of times to

make folks subside. Preachers, now, when they get to goin' beyond the

20ethly. No preacher has any right to go to wanderin' round up beyond

them figures in dog-days. And if they could be made to subside when they

had gone fur enough, why, it would be a perfect boon to Jonesville and

the nation.

“And sewin'-machine agents--and--and wimmen, when they get all excited a

scoldin', or talkin' about bonnets, and things. Why! if a man could jest

lift up his hand, and say 'Subside!' and then see 'em subside--why, I

had ruther see it than a circus any day.”

[Illustration: A WOMAN'S PLACE.]

I looked at him keenly, and says I,--

“I wish such a bill had even now passed; that is, if wimmen could

receive any benefit from it.”

“Wall, you'll see it after I get to Washington, D.C., most probable. I

calculate to jest straighten out things there, and get public affairs in

a good runnin' order. The nation _needs_ me.”

“Wall,” says I, wore out, “it can _have you_, as fur as I am concerned.”

And I wus so completely fagged out, that I turned the subject completely

round (as I s'posed) by askin' him if he laid out to sell our apples

this year where he did last. The man's wife had wrote to me ahead, and

wanted to know, for they had bought a new dryin'-machine, and wanted to

make sure of apples ahead.

“Wall,” says Josiah, drawin' on his overshoes, “I shall probable have to

use the apples this fall to buy votes with.”

“To buy votes?” says I, in accents of horrow.

“Yes. I wouldn't tell it out of the family. But you are all in the

family, you know, and so I'll tell you. I sha'n't have to buy near

so many votes on account of my plan; but I shall have to buy some, of

course. You know, they all do; and I sha'n't stand no chance at all if I

don't.”

My groans was fearful that I groaned at this; but truly, worse was to

come. He looked kinder pitiful at me (he loves me). But yet his love did

not soften the firm resolve that wus spread thick over his linement as

he went on,--

“I lay out to get lots of votes with my green apples,” says he dreamily.

“It seems as if I ought to get a vote for a bushel of apples; but there

is so much iniquity and cheatin' a goin' on now in politics, that I may

have to give a bushel and a half, or two bushels: and then, I shall make

up a lot of the smaller ones into hard cider, and use 'em to--to advance

the interests of myself and the nation in that way.

“There is hull loads of folks uncle Nate says he can bring to vote for

me, by the judicious use of--wall, it hain't likely you will approve of

it; but I say, stimulants are necessary in medicine, and any doctor will

tell you so--hard cider and beer and whiskey, and so 4th.”

[Illustration: OUR LAW-MAKERS.]

I riz right up, and grasped holt of his arm, and says in stern, avengin'

tones,--

“Josiah Allen, will you go right against God's commands, and put the cup

to your neighbor's lips, for your own gain? Do you expect, if you do,

that you can escape Heaven's avengin' wrath?”

“They hain't my neighbors: I never neighbored with 'em.”

Says I sternly, “If you commit this sin, you will be held accountable;

and it seems to me as if you can never be forgiven.”

“Dumb it all, Samantha, if everybody else does so, where will I get my

votes?”

“Go without 'em, Josiah Allen; go down to poverty, or the tomb, but

never commit this sin. 'Cursed is he that putteth the cup to his

neighbor's lips.'”

“They hain't my neighbors, and it probable hain't no cup that they will

drink out of: they will drink out of gobblers” (sometimes when Josiah

gets excited, he calls goblets, gobblers). But I wus too wrought up and

by the side of myself to notice it.

Says I, “To think a human bein', to say nothin' of a perfessor, would go

to work deliberate to get a man into a state that is jest as likely

as not to end in a murder, or any crime, for gain to himself.” Says I,

“Think of the different crimes you commit by that one act, Josiah Allen.

You make a man a fool, and in that way put yourself down on a level with

disease, deformity, and hereditary sin. You steal his reason away. You

are a thief of the deepest dye; for you steal then, from the man you

have stole from--steal the first rights of his manhood, his honor,

his patriotism, his duty to God and man. You are a thief of the

Government--thief of God, and right.

“Then, _you_ make this man liable to commit any crime: so, if he

murders, _you_ are a murderer; if he commits suicide, _your_ guilty soul

shall cower in the presence of Him who said, 'No self-murderer shall

inherit eternal life.' It is your own doom you shall read in them

dreadful words.”

“Good landy, Samantha! do you want to scare me to death?” and Josiah

quailed and shook, and shook and quailed.

“I am only tellin' you the truth, Josiah Allen; and I should think it

_would_ scare anybody to death.”

“If I don't do it, I shall appear like a fool: I shall be one by

myself.”

Oh, how Josiah duz want to be fashionable!

“No, you won't, Josiah Allen--no, you won't. If you try to do right, try

to do God's will, you have His armies to surround you with a unseen wall

of Strength.”

“Why, I hain't seen you look so sort o' skairful and riz up, for years,

Samantha.”

“I hain't felt so. To think of the brink you wuz a standin' on, and jest

a fallin' off of.”

Josiah looked quite bad. And he put his hand on his side, and says, “My

heart beats as if it wuz a tryin' to get out and walk round the room. I

do believe I have got population of the heart.”

Says I, in a sarcasticker tone than I had used,--

“That is a disease that is very common amongst men, very common, though

they hain't over and above willin' to own up to it. Too much population

of the heart has ailed many a man before now, and woman too,” says I in

reasonable axents. “But you mean palpitation.”

“Wall, I said so, didn't I? And it is jest your skairful talk that has

done it.”

“Wall, if I thought I could convince men as I have you, I would foller

the business stiddy, of skairin' folks, and think I wuz doin' my duty.”

Says I, my emotions a roustin' up agin,--

“I should call it a good deal more honorable in you to get drunk

yourself; and I should think more of you, if I see you a reelin' round

yourself, than to see you make other folks reel. I should think it was

your own reel, and you had more right to it than to anybody else's.

“Oh! to think I should have lived to see the hour, to have my companion

in danger of goin' aginst the Scripter--ready to steal, or be stole, or

knock down, or any thing, to buy votes, or sell 'em!”

“Wall, dumb it all, do you want me to appear as awkward as a fool? I

have told you more than a dozen times I have _got_ to do as the rest do,

if I want to make any show at all in politics.”

I said no more: but I riz right up, and walked out of the room, with my

head right up in the air, and the strings of my head-dress a floatin'

out behind me; and I'll bet there wus indignation in the float of them

strings, and heart-ache, and agony, and--and every thing.

I thought I had convinced him, and hadn't. I felt as if I must sink. You

know, that is all a woman can do--to sink. She can't do any thing

else in a helpful way when her beloved companion hangs over political

abysses. She can't reach out her lovin' hand, and help stiddy him; she

can't do nothin' only jest sink. And what made it more curious, these

despairin' thoughts come to me as I stood by the sink, washin' my

dinner-dishes. But anon (I know it wus jest anon, for the water wus

bilein' hot when I turned it out of the kettle, and it scalded my hands,

onbeknown to me, as I washed out my sass-plates) this thought gripped

holt of me, right in front of the sink,--

“Josiah Allen's wife, you must _not_ sink. You _must_ keep up. If you

have no power to help your pardner to patriotism and honor, you can, if

your worst fears are realized, try to keep him to home. For if his acts

and words are like these in Jonesville, what will they be in Washington,

D.C., if that place is all it has been depictered to you? Hold up,

Samantha! Be firm, Josiah Allen's wife! John Rogers! The nine! One at

the breast!”

So at last, by these almost convulsive efforts at calmness, I grew more

calmer and composeder. Josiah had hitched up and gone.

And he come home clever, and all excited with a new thing.

They are buildin' a new court-house at Jonesville. It is most done,

and it seemed they got into a dispute that day about the cupelow. They

wanted to have the figger of Liberty sculped out on it; and they had got

the man there all ready, and he had begun to sculp her as a woman,--the

goddess of Liberty, he called her. But at the last minute a dispute

had rosen: some of the leadin' minds of Jonesville, uncle Nate Gowdey

amongst 'em, insisted on it that Liberty wuzn't a woman, he wuz a man.

And they wanted him depictered as a man, with whiskers and pantaloons

and a standin' collar, and boots and spurs--Josiah Allen wus the one

that wanted the spurs.

He said the dispute waxed furious; and he says to 'em,--

“Leave it to Samantha: she'll know all about it.”

And so it was agreed on that they'd leave it to me. And he drove the

old mare home, almost beyond her strength, he wus so anxious to have it

settled.

I wus jest makin' some cream biscuit for supper as he come in, and asked

me about it; and a minute is a minute in makin' warm biscuit. You want

to make 'em quick, and bake 'em quick. My mind wus fairly held onto

that dough--and needed on it; but instinctively I told him he wus in the

right ont. Liberty here in the United States wuz a man, and, in order

to be consistent, ort to be depictered with whiskers and overcoat and a

standin' collar.

“And spurs!” says Josiah.

“Wall,” I told him, “I wouldn't be particular about the spurs.” I said,

“Instead of the spurs on his boots, he might be depictered as settin'

his boot-heel onto the respectful petition of fifty thousand wimmen, who

had ventured to ask him for a little mite of what he wus s'posed to have

quantities of--Freedom.

“Or,” says I, “he might be depictered as settin' on a judgment-seat, and

wavin' off into prison an intelligent Christian woman, who had spent her

whole noble, useful life in studyin' the laws of our nation, for darin'

to think she had as much right under our Constitution, as a low, totally

ignorant coot who would most likely think the franchise wus some sort of

a meat-stew.”

Says I, “That will give Liberty jest as imperious and showy a look as

spurs would, and be fur more historick and symbolical.”

Wall, he said he would mention it to 'em; and says he, with a contented

look,--

“I told uncle Nate I knew I wus right. I knew Liberty wus a man.”

Wall, I didn't say no more: and I got him as good a supper as the house

afforded, and kep' still as death on politics; fur I could not help

havin' some hopes that he might get sick of the idee of public life. And

I kep' him down close all that evenin' to religion and the weather.

[Illustration: JONESVILLE COURTHOUSE.]

But, alas! my hopes wus doomed to fade away. And, as days passed by, I

see the thought of bein' a senator wus ever before him. The cares and

burdens of political life seemed to be a loomin' up in front of him,

and in a quiet way he seemed to be fittin' himself for the duties of his

position.

He come in one day with Solomon Cypher'ses shovel, and I asked him “what

it wuz?”

And he said “it wus the spoils of office.”

And I says, “It is no such thing: it is Solomon Cypher'ses shovel.”

“Wall,” says he, “I found it out by the fence. Solomon has gone over to

the other party. I am a Democrat, and this is party spoils. I am goin'

to keep this as one of the spoils of office.”

Says I firmly, “You won't keep it!”

“Why,” says he, “if I am goin' to enter political life, I must begin

to practise sometime. I must begin to do as they all do. And it is a

crackin' good shovel too,” says he pensively.

Says I, “You are goin' to carry that shovel right straight home, Josiah

Allen!”

And I made him.

The _idee_.

But I see in this and in many kindred things, that he wuz a dwellin' on

this thought of political life--its honors and emollients. And often,

and in dark hints, he would speak of his _Plan_. If every other means

failed, if he couldn't spare the money to buy enough votes, how his

_plan_ wus goin' to be the makin' of him.

And I overheard him tellin' the babe once, as he wus rockin' her to

sleep in the kitchen, “how her grandpa had got up somethin' that no

other babe's grandpa had ever thought of, and how she would probable see

him in the White House ere long.”

I wus makin' nut-cakes in the buttery; and I shuddered so at these

words, that I got in most as much agin lemon as I wanted in 'em. I wus

a droppin' it into a spoon, and it run over, I wus that shook at the

thought of his plan.

I had known his plans in the past, and had hefted 'em. And I truly

felt that his plans wus liable any time to be the death of him, and the

ruination.

But he wouldn't tell!

But kep' his mind immovibly sot, as I could see. And the very day of the

shovel episode, along towards night he rousted out of a brown study,--a

sort of a dark-brown study,--and says he,--

“Yes, I shall make out enough votes if we have a judicious committee.”

“A lyin' one, do you mean?” says I coldly. But not surprized. For truly,

my mind had been so strained and racked that I don't know as it would

have surprized me if Josiah Allen had riz up, and knocked me down.

“Wall, in politics, you _have_ to add a few orts sometimes.”

I sithed, not a wonderin' sithe, but a despairin' one; and he went on,--

“I know where I shall get a hull lot of votes, anyway.”

“Where?” says I.

“Why, out to that nigger settlement jest the other side of Jonesville.”

“How do you know they'll vote for you?” says I.

“I'd like to see 'em vote aginst me!” says he, in a skairful way.

“Would you use intimidation, Josiah Allen?”

“Why, uncle Nate Gowdey and I, and a few others who love quiet, and

love to see folks do as they ort to, lay out to take some shot-guns and

_make_ them niggers vote right; make 'em vote for me; shoot 'em right

down if they don't. We have got the campaign all planned out.”

“Josiah Allen,” says I, “if you have no fear of Heaven, have you no fear

of the Government? Do you want to be hung, and see your widow a breakin'

her heart over your gallowses?”

“Oh! I shouldn't get hung. The Government wouldn't do nothin'. The

Government feels jest as I do,--that it would be wrong to stir up old

bitternesses, and race differences. The bloody shirt has been washed,

and ironed out; and it wouldn't be right to dirty it up agin. The

colored race is now at peace; and if they will only do right, do jest as

the white men wants 'em to, Government won't never interfere with 'em.”

I groaned, and couldn't help it; and he says,--

“Why, hang it all, Samantha, if I make any show at all in public life, I

have got to begin to practise sometime.”

“Wall,” says I, “bring me in a pail of water.” But as he went out after

it, I murmured sternly to myself,--

“Oh! wus there ever a forerunner more needed run?” and my soul answered,

“Never! never!”

[Illustration: MAKING THEM DO RIGHT.]

So with sithes that could hardly be sithed, so big and hefty wuz they, I

commenced to make preparations for embarkin' on my tower. And no martyr

that ever sot down on a hot gridiron wus animated by a more warm and

martyrous feelin' of self-sacrifice. Yes, I truly felt, that if there

wus dangers to be faced, and daggers run through pardners, I felt I

would ruther they would pierce my own spare-ribs than Josiah's. (I say

spare-ribs for oritory--my ribs are not spare, fur from it.)

I didn't really believe, if he run, he would run clear to Washington.

And yet, when my mind roamed on some public men, and how fur they run, I

would groan, and hurry up my preparations.

I knew my tower must be but a short one, for sugarin'-time wus

approachin' with rapid strides, and Samantha must be at the hellum. But

I also knew, that with a determined mind, and a willin' heart,

great things could be accomplished speedily; so I commenced makin'

preparations, and layin' on plans.

As become a woman of my cast-iron principles, I fixed up mostly on

the inside of my head instead of the outside. I studied the map of the

United States. I done several sums on the slate, to harden my mind, and

help me grasp great facts, and meet difficulties bravely. I read Gass'es

“Journal,”--how he rode up our great rivers on a perioger, and shot

bears. Expectin', as I did, to see trouble, I read over agin that

book that has been my stay in so many hard-fit battle-fields of

principle,--Fox'es “Book of Martyrs.”

I studied G. Washington's picture on the parlor-wall, to get kinder

stirred up in my mind about him, so's to realize to the full my

privileges as I wept onto his tomb, and stood in the capital he had

foundered.

Thomas J. come one day while I wus musin' on George; and he says,--

“What are you lookin' so close at that dear old humbug for?”

Says I firmly, and keepin' the same posture, “I am studyin' the face of

the revered and noble G. Washington. I am going shortly to weep on his

tomb and the capital he foundered. I am studyin' his face, and Gass'es

'Journal,' and other works,” says I.

“If you are going to the capital, you had better study Dante.”

Says I, “Danty who?”

And he says, “Just plain Dante.” Says he, “You had better study his

inscription on the door of the infern”--

Says I, “Cease instantly. You are on the very pint of swearin';” and I

don't know now what he meant, and don't much care. Thomas J. is full of

queer remarks, anyway. But deep. He had a sick spell a few weeks ago;

and I went to see him the first thing in the mornin', after I heard of

it. He had overworked, the doctor said, and his heart wuz a little weak.

He looked real white; and I took holt of his hand, and says I,--

“Thomas J., I am worried about you: your pulse don't beat hardly any.”

“No,” says he. And he laughed with his eyes and his lips too. “I am glad

I am not a newspaper this morning, mother.”

And I says, “Why?”

And he says, “If I were a morning paper, mother, I shouldn't be a

success, my circulation is so weak.”

A jokin' right there, when he couldn't lift his head. But he got over

it: he always did have them sort of sick spells, from a little child.

But a manlier, good-hearteder, level-headeder boy never lived than

Thomas Jefferson Allen. He is _just right_, and always wuz. And though I

wouldn't have it get out for the world, I can't help seein' it, that he

goes fur ahead of Tirzah Ann in intellect, and nobleness of nater; and

though I love 'em both devotedly, I _do_, and I can't help it, like him

jest a little mite the best. But _this_ I wouldn't have get out for a

thousand dollars. I tell it in strict confidence, and s'pose it will

be kep' as such. Mebby I hadn't ort to tell it at all. Mebby it hain't

quite orthodox in me to feel so. But it is truthful, anyway. And

sometimes I get to kinder wobblin' round inside of my mind, and a

wonderin' which is the best,--to be orthodox, or truthful,--and I sort

o' settle down to thinkin' I will tell the truth anyway.

Josiah, I think, likes Tirzah Ann the best.

But I studied deep, and mused. Mused on our 4 fathers, and our 4

mothers, and on Liberty, and Independence, and Truth, and the Eagle. And

thinkin' I might jest as well be to work while I was a musin', I had a

dress made for the occasion. It wus bran new, and the color wus Bismark

Brown.

Josiah wanted me to have Ashes of Moses color.

But I said no. With my mind in the heroic state it was then, I couldn't

curb it down onto Ashes of Moses, or roses, or any thing else peacible.

I felt that this color, remindin' me of two grand heroes,--Bismark, John

Brown,--suited me to a T. There wus two wimmen who stood ready to make

it,--Jane Bently and Martha Snyder. I chose Martha because Martha wus

the name of the wife of Washington.

It wus made with a bask.

When the news got out that I wus goin' to Washington on a tower, the

neighbors all wanted to send errents by me.

Betsey Bobbet wanted me to go to the Patent Office, and get her two

Patent-office books, for scrap-books for poetry.

Uncle Jarvis Bently wanted me to go to the Agricultural Bureau, and get

him a paper of lettis seed. And Solomon Cypher wanted me to get him a

new kind of string-beans, if I could, and some cowcumber seeds.

Uncle Nate Gowdey, who talked of paintin' his house over, wanted me to

ask the President what kind of paint he used on the White House, and if

he put in any sperits of turpentime. And Ardelia Rumsey, who wuz goin'

to be married soon, wanted me, if I see any new kinds of bed-quilt

patterns to the White House, or to the senators' housen, to get the

patterns for her. She said she wus sick of sunflowers, and blazin'

stars, and such. She thought mebby they'd have suthin' new, spread-eagle

style, or suthin' of that kind. She said “her feller was goin' to be

connected with the Government, and she thought it would be appropriate.”

And I asked her “how?” And she said, “he was goin' to get a patent on a

new kind of a jack-knife.”

I told her “if she wanted a Government quilt, and wanted it appropriate,

she ort to have it a crazy-quilt.”

And she said she had jest finished a crazy-quilt, with seven thousand

pieces of silk in it, and each piece trimmed with seven hundred stitches

of feather stitchin': she counted 'em. And then I remembered seein' it.

There wus some talk then about wimmen's rights, and a petition wus got

up in Jonesville for wimmen to sign; and I remember well that Ardelia

couldn't sign it for lack of time. She wanted to, but she hadn't got the

quilt more'n half done then. It took the biggest heft of two years to

do it. And so, of course, less important things had to be put aside till

she got it finished.

And I remember, too, that Ardelia's mother wanted to sign it; but she

couldn't, owin' to a bed-spread she wus a makin'. She wuz a quiltin' in

Noah's ark, and all the animals, at that time, on a Turkey-red quilt.

I remember she wuz a quiltin' the camel that day, and couldn't be

disturbed. So we didn't get the names. It took the old lady three years

to quilt that quilt. And when it wuz done, it wuz a sight to behold.

Though, as I said then, and say now, I wouldn't give much to sleep

under so many animals. But folks went from fur and near to see it, and

I enjoyed lookin' at it that day. And I see jest how it wuz. I see that

she couldn't sign. It wuzn't to be expected that a woman could stop to

tend to Justice or Freedom, or any thing else of that kind, right in the

midst of a camel.

Zebulin Coon wanted me to carry a new hen-coop of hisen to get it

patented. And I thought to myself, I wonder if they'll ask me to carry a

cow.

And sure enough, Josiah wanted me to dicker, if I could, for a calf

from Mount Vernon,--swop one of our yearlin's for it if I couldn't do no

better.

But I told him right out and out, that I couldn't go into a calf-trade

with my mind wrought up as I knew it would be.

Wall, it wuzn't more'n 2 or 3 days after I begun my preparations, that

Dorlesky Burpy, a vegetable widow, come to see me; and the errents

she sent by me wuz fur more hefty and momentous than all the rest put

together, calves, hen-coop, and all.

[Illustration: THE MOTHER'S BED-QUILT.]

And when she told 'em over to me, and I meditated on her reasons for

sendin' 'em, and her need of havin' 'em done, I felt that I would do

the errents for her if a breath was left in my body. I felt that I

would bear them 2 errents of hern on my tower side by side with my own

private, hefty mission for Josiah.

She come for a all day's visit; and though she is a vegetable widow, and

very humbly, I wuz middlin' glad to see her. But thinks'es I to myself

as I carried away her things into the bedroom, “She'll want to send some

errent by me;” and I wondered what it wouldn't be.

And so it didn't surprise me any when she asked me the first thing when

I got back “if I would lobby a little for her in Washington.”

And I looked agreeable to the idee; for I s'posed it wuz some new kind

of tattin', mebby, or fancy work. And I told her “I shouldn't have much

time, but I would try to buy her some if I could.”

And she said “she wanted me to lobby, myself.”

And then I thought mebby it wus some new kind of waltz; and I told her

“I was too old to lobby, I hadn't lobbied a step since I was married.”

And then she said “she wanted me to canvass some of the senators.”

And I hung back, and asked her in a cautius tone “how many she wanted

canvassed, and how much canvass it would take?”

I knew I had a good many things to buy for my tower; and, though I

wanted to obleege Dorlesky, I didn't feel like runnin' into any great

expense for canvass.

And then she broke off from that subject, and said “she wanted her

rights, and wanted the Whiskey Ring broke up.”

And then she says, going back to the old subject agin, “I hear that

Josiah Allen has political hopes: can I canvass him?”

And I says, “Yes, you can for all me.” But I mentioned cautiously, for I

believe in bein' straightforward, and not holdin' out no false hopes,--I

said “she must furnish her own canvass, for I hadn't a mite in the

house.”

But Josiah didn't get home till after her folks come after her. So he

wuzn't canvassed.

But she talked a sight about her children, and how bad she felt to be

parted from 'em, and how much she used to think of her husband, and how

her hull life wus ruined, and how the Whiskey Ring had done it,--that,

and wimmen's helpless condition under the law. And she cried, and wept,

and cried about her children, and her sufferin's she had suffered; and

I did. I cried onto my apron, and couldn't help it. A new apron too. And

right while I wus cryin' onto that gingham apron, she made me promise to

carry them two errents of hern to the President, and to get 'em done for

her if I possibly could.

“She wanted the Whiskey Ring destroyed, and she wanted her rights; and

she wanted 'em both in less than 2 weeks.”

I wiped my eyes off, and told her I didn't believe she could get 'em

done in that length of time, but I would tell the President about it,

and “I thought more'n as likely as not he would want to do right by

her.” And says I, “If he sets out to, he can haul them babys of yourn

out of that Ring pretty sudden.”

And then, to kinder get her mind off of her sufferin's, I asked her

how her sister Susan wus a gettin' along. I hadn't heard from her for

years--she married Philemon Clapsaddle; and Dorlesky spoke out as bitter

as a bitter walnut--a green one. And says she,--

“She is in the poorhouse.”

“Why, Dorlesky Burpy!” says I. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say. My sister, Susan Clapsaddle, is in the poorhouse.”

“Why, where is their property all gone?” says I. “They was well

off--Susan had five thousand dollars of her own when she married him.”

“I know it,” says she. “And I can tell you, Josiah Allen's wife, where

their property is gone. It has gone down Philemon Clapsaddle's throat.

Look down that man's throat, and you will see 150 acres of land, a good

house and barns, 20 sheep, and 40 head of cattle.”

“Why-ee!” says I.

“Yes, you will see 'em all down that man's throat.” And says she,

in still more bitter axents, “You will see four mules, and a span of

horses, two buggies, a double sleigh, and three buffalo-robes. He

has drinked 'em all up--and 2 horse-rakes, a cultivator, and a

thrashin'-machine.

“Why! Why-ee!” says I agin. “And where are the children?”

“The boys have inherited their father's evil habits, and drink as bad as

he duz; and the oldest girl has gone to the bad.”

“Oh, dear! oh, dear me!” says I. And we both sot silent for a spell.

And then, thinkin' I must say sunthin', and wantin' to strike a safe

subject, and a good-lookin' one, I says,--

“Where is your aunt Eunice'es girl? that pretty girl I see to your house

once.”

“That girl is in the lunatick asylum.”

“Dorlesky Burpy!” says I. “Be you a tellin' the truth?”

“Yes, I be, the livin' truth. She went to New York to buy millinary

goods for her mother's store. It wus quite cool when she left home, and

she hadn't took off her winter clothes: and it come on brilin' hot in

the city; and in goin' about from store to store, the heat and the hard

work overcome her, and she fell down in the street in a sort of a

faintin'-fit, and was called drunk, and dragged off to a police court by

a man who wus a animal in human shape. And he misused her in such a way,

that she never got over the horror of what befell her--when she come to,

to find herself at the mercy of a brute in a man's shape. She went into

a melancholy madness, and wus sent to the asylum. Of course they

couldn't have wimmen in such places to take care of wimmen,” says she

bitterly.

I sithed a long and mournful sithe, and sot silent agin for quite a

spell. But thinkin' I _must_ be sociable, I says,--

“Your aunt Eunice is well, I s'pose?”

“She is a moulderin' in jail,” says she.

“In jail? Eunice Keeler in jail?”

“Yes, in jail.” And Dorlesky's tone wus now like wormwood, wormwood and

gall.

“You know, she owns a big property in tenement-houses, and other

buildings, where she lives. Of course her taxes wus awful high; and she

didn't expect to have any voice in tellin' how that money, a part of her

own property, that she earned herself in a store, should be used.

[Illustration: MAN LIFTING UP EUNICE.]

“But she had jest been taxed high for new sidewalks in front of some of

her buildin's.

“And then another man come into power in that ward, and he natrully

wanted to make some money out of her; and he had a spite aginst her,

too, so he ordered her to build new sidewalks. And she wouldn't tear up

a good sidewalk to please him or anybody else, so she was put to jail

for refusin' to comply with the law.”

Thinks'es I to myself, I don't believe the law would have been so hard

on her if she hadn't been so humbly. The Burpys are a humbly lot. But I

didn't think it out loud. And I didn't uphold the law for feelin' so, if

it did. No: I says in pityin' tones,--for I wus truly sorry for Eunice

Keeler,--

“How did it end?”

“It hain't ended,” says she. “It only took place a month ago; and she

has got her grit up, and won't pay: and no knowin' how it will end. She

lays there a moulderin'.”

I myself don't believe Eunice wus “mouldy;” but that is Dorlesky's way

of talkin',--very flowery.

[Illustration: EUNICE IN JAIL.]

“Wall,” says I, “do you think the weather is goin' to moderate?”

I truly felt that I dassent speak to her about any human bein' under the

sun, not knowin' what turn she would give to the conversation, bein' so

embittered. But I felt the weather wus safe, and cotton stockin's, and

factory-cloth; and I kep' her down onto them subjects for more'n two

hours.

But, good land! I can't blame her for bein' embittered aginst men and

the laws they have made; for, if ever a woman has been tormented, she

has.

It honestly seems to me as if I never see a human creeter so afflicted

as Dorlesky Burpy has been, all her life.

Why, her sufferin's date back before she wus born; and that is goin'

pretty fur back. You see, her father and mother had had some difficulty:

and he wus took down with billious colic voyolent four weeks before

Dorlesky wus born; and some think it wus the hardness between 'em, and

some think it wus the gripin' of the colic at the time he made his will;

anyway, he willed Dorlesky away, boy or girl, whichever it wuz, to his

brother up on the Canada line.

So, when Dorlesky wus born (and born a girl, entirely onbeknown to her),

she wus took right away from her mother, and gin to this brother. Her

mother couldn't help herself: he had the law on his side. But it jest

killed her. She drooped right away and died, before the baby wus a year

old. She was a affectionate, tenderhearted woman; and her husband wus

kinder overbearin', and stern always.

But it wus this last move of hisen that killed her; for I tell you, it

is pretty tough on a mother to have her baby, a part of her own life,

took right out of her arms, and gin to a stranger.

For this uncle of hern wus a entire stranger to Dorlesky when the will

wus made. And almost like a stranger to her father, for he hadn't seen

him sence he wus a boy; but he knew he hadn't any children, and s'posed

he wus rich and respectable. But the truth wuz, he had been a runnin'

down every way,--had lost his property and his character, wus dissipated

and mean (onbeknown, it wus s'posed, to Dorlesky's father). But the will

was made, and the law stood. Men are ashamed now, to think the law wus

ever in voge; but it wuz, and is now in some of the States. The law wus

in voge, and the poor young mother couldn't help herself. It has always

been the boast of our American law, that it takes care of wimmen. It

took care of her. It held her in its strong, protectin' grasp, and held

her so tight, that the only way she could slip out of it wus to drop

into the grave, which she did in a few months. Then it leggo.

But it kep' holt of Dorlesky: it bound her tight to her uncle, while he

run through with what little property she had; while he sunk lower and

lower, until at last he needed the very necessaries of life; and then

he bound her out to work, to a woman who kep' a drinkin'-den, and the

lowest, most degraded hant of vice.

Twice Dorlesky run away, bein' virtuous but humbly; but them strong,

protectin' arms of the law that had held her mother so tight, jest

reached out, and dragged her back agin. Upheld by them, her uncle could

compel her to give her service wherever he wanted her to work; and he

wus owin' this woman, and she wanted Dorlesky's work, so she had to

submit.

But the 3d time, she made a effort so voyalent that she got away. A good

woman, who, bein' nothin' but a woman, couldn't do any thing towards

onclinchin' them powerful arms that wuz protectin' her, helped her to

slip through 'em. And Dorlesky come to Jonesville to live with a sister

of that good woman; changed her name, so's it wouldn't be so easy to

find her; grew up to be a nice, industrious girl. And when the woman she

was took by, died, she left Dorlesky quite a handsome property.

And finally she married Lank Rumsey, and did considerable well, it

was s'posed. Her property, put with what little he had, made 'em a

comfortable home; and they had two pretty little children,--a boy and

a girl. But when the little girl was a baby, he took to drinkin',

neglected his business, got mixed up with a whisky-ring, whipped

Dorlesky--not so very hard. He went accordin' to law; and the law of

the United States don't approve of a man whippin' his wife enough to

endanger her life--it says it don't. He made every move of hisen lawful,

and felt that Dorlesky hadn't ort to complain and feel hurt. But a good

whippin' will make anybody feel hurt, law or no law. And then he parted

with her, and got her property and her two little children. Why, it

seemed as if every thing under the sun and moon, that _could_ happen to

a woman, had happened to Dorlesky, painful things, and gaulin'.

Jest before Lank parted with her, she fell on a broken sidewalk: some

think he tripped her up, but it never was proved. But, anyway, Dorlesky

fell, and broke her hip bone; and her husband sued the corporation, and

got ten thousand dollars for it. Of course, the law give the money to

him, and she never got a cent of it. But she wouldn't never have made

any fuss over that, knowin' that the law of the United States was such.

But what made it gaulin' to her wuz, that, while she was layin' there

achin' in splints, he took that very money and used it to court up

another woman with. Gin her presents, jewellry, bunnets, head-dresses,

artificial flowers, and etcetery, out of Dorlesky's own hip-money.

[Illustration: DORLESKY'S TRIALS.]

And I don't know as any thing could be much more gaulin' to a woman than

that wuz,--while she lay there, groanin' in splints, to have her husband

take the money for her own broken bones, and dress up another woman like

a doll with it.

But the law gin it to him; and he was only availin' himself of the

glorious liberty of our free republic, and doin' as he was a mind to.

And it was s'posed that that very hip-money was what made the match.

For, before she wus fairly out of splints, he got a divorce from her.

And by the help of that money, and the Whisky Ring, he got her two

little children away from her.

And I wonder if there is a mother in the land, that can blame Dorlesky

for gettin' mad, and wantin' her rights, and wantin' the Whisky Ring

broke up, when they think it over,--how she has been fooled round with

by men, willed away, and whipped and parted with and stole from. Why,

they can't blame her for feelin' fairly savage about 'em--and she duz.

For as she says to me once when we wus a talkin' it over, how every

thing had happened to her that could happen to a woman, and how curious

it wuz,--

“Yes,” says she, with a axent like boneset and vinegar,--“and what few

things there are that hain't happened to me, has happened to my folks.”

And, sure enough, I couldn't dispute her. Trouble and wrongs and

sufferin's seemed to be epidemic in the race of Burpy wimmen. Why, one

of her aunts on her father's side, Patty Burpy, married for her first

husband Eliphalet Perkins. He was a minister, rode on a circuit. And he

took Patty on it too; and she rode round with him on it, a good deal of

the time. But she never loved to: she wus a woman who loved to be still,

and be kinder settled down at home.

But she loved Eliphalet so well, she would do any thing to please him:

so she rode round with him on that circuit, till she was perfectly

fagged out.

He was a dretful good man to her; but he wus kinder poor, and they had

hard times to get along. But what property they had wuzn't taxed, so

that helped some; and Patty would make one doller go a good ways.

No, their property wasn't taxed till Eliphalet died. Then the supervisor

taxed it the very minute the breath left his body; run his horse, so it

was said, so's to be sure to get it onto the tax-list, and comply with

the law.

You see, Eliphalet's salary stopped when his breath did. And I s'pose

mebby the law thought, seem' she was a havin' trouble, she might jest as

well have a little more; so it taxed all the property it never had taxed

a cent for before.

But she had this to console her anyway,--that the law didn't forget her

in her widowhood. No: the law is quite thoughtful of wimmen, by spells.

It says, the law duz, that it protects wimmen. And I s'pose in some

mysterious way, too deep for wimmen to understand, it was protectin' her

now.

Wall, she suffered along, and finally married agin. I wondered why she

did. But she was such a quiet, home-lovin' woman, that it was s'posed

she wanted to settle down, and be kinder still and sot. But of all the

bad luck she had! She married on short acquaintance, and he proved to be

a perfect wanderer. Why, he couldn't keep still. It was s'posed to be a

mark.

He moved Patty thirteen times in two years; and at last he took her into

a cart,--a sort of a covered wagon,--and travelled right through the

Eastern States with her. He wanted to see the country, and loved to

live in the wagon: it was his make. And, of course, the law give him the

control of her body; and she had to go where he moved it, or else part

with him. And I s'pose the law thought it was guardin' and nourishin'

her when it was a joltin' her over them praries and mountains and

abysses. But it jest kep' her shook up the hull of the time.

It wus the regular Burpy luck.

[Illustration: PATTY AND HUSBAND TRAVELLING IN THE FAR WEST.]

And then, another one of her aunts, Drusilla Burpy, she married a

industrius, hard-workin' man,--one that never drinked a drop, and was

sound on the doctrines, and give good measure to his customers: he was

a grocer-man. And a master hand for wantin' to foller the laws of his

country, as tight as laws could be follered. And so, knowin' that the

law approved of “moderate correction” for wimmen, and that “a man might

whip his wife, but not enough to endanger her life,” he bein' such a

master hand for wantin' to do every thing faithful, and do his very best

for his customers, it was s'posed that he wanted to do his best for the

law; and so, when he got to whippin' Drusilla, he would whip her _too_

severe--he would be _too_ faithful to it.

You see, the way ont was, what made him whip her at all wuz, she was

cross to him. They had nine little children. She always thought that two

or three children would be about all one woman could bring up well “by

hand,” when that one hand wuz so awful full of work, as will be told

more ensuin'ly. But he felt that big families wuz a protection to the

Government; and “he wanted fourteen boys,” he said, so they could all

foller their father's footsteps, and be noble, law-making, law-abiding

citizens, jest as he was.

But she had to do every mite of the housework, and milk cows, and make

butter and cheese, and cook and wash and scour, and take all the care

of the children, day and night, in sickness and in health, and spin and

weave the cloth for their clothes (as wimmen did in them days), and then

make 'em, and keep 'em clean. And when there wuz so many of 'em, and

only about a year's difference in their ages, some of 'em--why, I s'pose

she sometimes thought more of her own achin' back than she did of the

good of the Government; and she would get kinder discouraged sometimes,

and be cross to him.

And knowin' his own motives was so high and loyal, he felt that he ought

to whip her. So he did.

And what shows that Drusilla wuzn't so bad as he s'posed she wuz, what

shows that she did have her good streaks, and a deep reverence for the

law, is, that she stood his whippin's first-rate, and never whipped him.

Now, she wuz fur bigger than he wuz, weighed 80 pounds the most, and

might have whipped him if the law had been such.

[Illustration: BEATING HIS WIFE.]

But they was both law-abidin', and wanted to keep every preamble; so she

stood it to be whipped, and never once whipped him in all the seventeen

years they lived together.

She died when her twelfth child was born: there wus jest 13 months

difference in the age of that and the one next older. And they said she

often spoke out in her last sickness, and said,--

“Thank fortune, I have always kept the law.”

And they said the same thought wus a great comfort to him in his last

moments.

He died about a year after she did, leaving his 2nd wife with twins and

a good property.

Then, there was Abagail Burpy. She married a sort of a high-headed

man, though one that paid his debts, and was truthful, and considerable

good-lookin', and played well on the fiddle. Why, it seemed as if he had

almost every qualification for makin' a woman happy, only he had jest

this one little excentricity,--that man would lock up Abagail Burpy's

clothes every time he got mad at her.

Of course the law give her clothes to him; and knowin' it was one of the

laws of the United States, she wouldn't have complained only when she

had company. But it was mortifyin', and nobody could dispute it, to have

company come, and nothin' to put on.

Several times she had to withdraw into the wood-house, and stay most

of the day, shiverin', and under the cellar-stairs, and round in

clothes-presses.

But he boasted in prayer-meetin's, and on boxes before grocery-stores,

that he wus a law-abidin' citizen; and he wuz. Eben Flanders wouldn't

lie for anybody.

But I'll bet that Abagail Flanders beat our old Revolutionary 4 mothers

in thinkin' out new laws, when she lay round under stairs, and behind

barrells, in her nightdress.

You see, when a man hides his wive's corset and petticoat, it is

governin' without the “consent of the governed.” And if you don't

believe it, you ort to have peeked round them barrells, and seen

Abagail's eyes. Why, they had hull reams of by-laws in 'em, and

preambles, and “declarations of independence.” So I have been told.

Why, it beat every thing I ever heard on, the lawful sufferin's of them

wimmen. For there wuzn't nothin' illegal about one single trouble of

theirn. They suffered accordin' to law, every one of 'em. But it wus

tuff for 'em--very tuff.

And their all bein' so dretful humbly wuz and is another drawback to

'em; though that, too, is perfectly lawful, as everybody knows.

And Dorlesky looks as bad agin as she would otherways, on account of her

teeth.

It wus after Lank had begun to kinder get after this other woman, and

wus indifferent to his wive's looks, that Dorlesky had a new set of

teeth on her upper jaw. And they sort o' sot out, and made her look so

bad that it fairly made her ache to look at herself in the glass. And

they hurt her gooms too. And she carried 'em back to the dentist, and

wanted him to make her another set.

But the dentist acted mean, and wouldn't take 'em back, and sued Lank

for the pay. And they had a lawsuit. And the law bein' such that a

woman can't testify in court in any matter that is of mutual interest

to husband and wife--and Lank wantin' to act mean, too, testified that

“they wus good sound teeth.”

And there Dorlesky sot right in front of 'em with her gooms achin', and

her face all pokin' out, and lookin' like furyation, and couldn't say a

word. But she had to give in to the law.

And ruther than go toothless, she wears 'em to this day. And I do

believe it is the raspin' of them teeth aginst her gooms, and her

discouraged and mad feelin's every time she looks in a glass, that helps

to embitter her towards men, and the laws men have made, so's a woman

can't have the control over her own teeth and her own bones.

Wall, Dorlesky went home about 4 P.M., I a promisin' at the last minute

as sacred as I could, without usin' a book, to do her errents for her.

I urged her to stay to supper, but she couldn't; for she said the man

where she worked was usin' his horses, and couldn't come after her agin.

And she said that--

“Mercy on her! how could anybody eat any more supper after such a dinner

as I had got?”

And it wuzn't nothin' extra, I didn't think. No better than my common

run of dinners.

Wall, she hadn't been gone over an hour (she a hollerin' from the wagon,

a chargin' on me solemn, about the errents,--the man she works for is

deef, deef as a post,--and I a noddin' to her firm, honorable nods, that

I would do 'em), and I wus a slickin' up the settin'-room, and Martha,

who had jest come in, wus measurin' off my skirt-breadths, when Josiah

Allen drove up, and Cicely and the boy with him.

And there I had been a layin' out to write to her that very night to

tell her I wus goin' away, and to be sure and come jest as quick as I

got back!

Wall, I never see the time I wuzn't glad to see Cicely, and I felt that

she could visit to Tirzah Ann's and Thomas J.'s while I wus gone. She

looked dretful pale and sad, I thought; but she seemed glad to see

me, and glad to get back. And the boy asked Josiah and Ury and me 47

questions between the wagon and the front doorstep, for I counted 'em.

He wus well.

I broached the subject of my tower to Cicely when she and I wus all

alone in her room. And, if you'll believe it, she all rousted up with

the idee of wantin' to go too.

She says, “You know, aunt Samantha, just how I have prayed and labored

for my boy's future; how I have made all the efforts that it is possible

for a woman to make; how I have thrown my heart and life into the

work,--but I have done no good. That letter,” says she, takin' one out

of her pocket, and throwin' it into my lap,--“that letter tells me just

what I knew so well before,--just how weak a woman is; that they have no

power, only the power to suffer.”

It wus from that old executor, refusin' to comply with some request she

had made about her own property,--a request of right and truth.

Oh, how glad I would have been to had him execkuted that very minute!

Why, I'd done it myself if wimmen could execkit--but they can't.

Says she, “I'll go with you to Washington,--I and the boy. Perhaps I can

do something for him there.” But when she mentioned the boy, I demurred

in my own mind, and kep' a demurrin'. Thinks'es I, how can I stand it,

as tired as I expect to be, to have him a askin' questions all the hull

time? She see I was a demurrin'; and her pretty face grew sadder than it

had, and overcasteder.

And as I see that, I gin in at once, and says with a cheerful face, but

a forebodin' mind,--

“Wall, Cicely, we three will embark together on our tower.”

Wall, after supper Cicely and I sot down under the front stoop,--it

was a warm evenin',--and we talked some about other wimmen. Not runnin'

talk, or gossipin' talk, but jest plain talk, about her aunt Mary, and

her aunt Melissa, and her aunt Mary's daughter, who wus a runnin' down,

runnin' faster than ever, so I judged from what she said. And how Susan

Ann Grimshaw that was, had a young babe. She said her aunt Mary was

better now, so she had started for the Michigan; but she had had a

dretful sick spell while she was there.

While she wuz a tellin' me this, Cicely sot on one of the steps of the

stoop: I sot up under it in my rockin'-chair. And she looked dretful

good to me. She had on a white dress. She most always wears white in the

house, when we hain't got company; and always wears black when she is

dressed up, and when she goes out.

This dress was made of white mull. The yoke wus made all of thin

embroidery, and her white neck and shoulders shone through it like snow.

Her sleeves was all trimmed with lace, and fell back from her pretty

white arms. Her hands wus clasped over her knees; and her hair, which

the boy had got loose a playin' with her, wus fallin' round her face

and neck. And her great, earnest eyes wus lookin' into the West, and the

light from the sunset fallin' through the mornin'-glorys wus a fallin'

over her, till I declare, I never see any thing look so pretty in my

hull life. And there was some thin' more, fur more than prettiness in

her face, in her big eyes.

It wuzn't unhappiness, and it wuzn't happiness, and I don't know as I

can tell what it wuz. It seemed as if she wuz a lookin' fur, fur

away, further than Jonesville, further than the lake that lay beyend

Jonesville, and which was pure gold now,--a sea of glass mingled with

fire,--further than the cloudy masses in the western heavens, which

looked like a city of shinin' mansions, fur off; but her eyes was

lookin' away off, beyend them.

And I kep' still, and didn't feel like talkin' about other wimmen.

Finally she spoke out. “Aunt Samantha, what do you suppose I thought

when dear aunt Mary was so ill when I was there?”

And I says, “I don't know, dear: what did you?”

“Well, I thought, that, though I loved her so dearly, I almost wished

she would die while I was there.”

“Why, Cicely!” says I. “Why-ee! what did you wish that for? and thinkin'

so much of your aunt as you do.”

[Illustration: LOOKING BEYEND THE SUNSET.]

“Well, you know how mother and aunt Mary loved each other, how near they

were to each other. Why, mother could always tell when aunt Mary was

ill or in trouble, and she was just the same in regard to mother. And I

can't think that when death has freed the soul from the flesh, that they

will have less spiritual knowledge of each other than when they were

here; and I felt, that with such a love as theirs, death would only make

their souls nearer: and you know what the Bible says,--that 'God shall

make of his angels ministering spirits;' and I _know_ He would send

no other angel but my mother, to dear aunt Mary's bedside, to take her

spirit home. And I thought, that, if I were there, my mother would be

there right in the room with me; and I didn't know but I might _feel_

her presence if I could not see her. And I _do_ want my mother so

sometimes, aunt Samantha,” says she with the tears comin' into them

soft brown eyes. “It seems as if she would tell me what to do for the

boy--she always knew what was right and best to do.”

Says I to myself, “For the land's sake, what won't Cicely think on

next?” But I didn't say a word, mind you, not a single word would I say

to hurt that child's feelin's--not for a silver dollar, I wouldn't.

I only says, in calm accents,--

“Don't for mercy's sake, child, talk of seein' your mother now.”

She looked far off into the shinin' western heavens with that deep,

searchin', but soft gaze,--seemin' to look clear through them cloudy

mansions of rose and pearl,--and says she,--

“If I were good enough, I think I could.”

And I says, “Cicely, you are goin' to take cold, with nothin' round your

shoulders.” Says I, “The weather is very ketchin', and it looks to me as

if we wus goin' to have quite a spell of it.”

And the boy overheard me, and asked me 75 questions about ketchin' the

weather.

“If the weather set a trap? If it ketched with bait, or with a hook, and

what it ketched? and how? and who?”

Oh my stars! what a time I did have!

The next mornin' after this Cicely wuzn't well enough to get up. I

carried up her breakfast with my own hands,--a good one, though I am fur

from bein' the one that ort to say it.

And after breakfast, along in the forenoon, Martha, who was makin'

my dress, felt troubled in mind as to whether she had better cut the

polenay kitrin' ways of the cloth, or not: and Miss Gowdey had jest had

one made in the height of the fashion, to Jonesville; and so to ease

Martha's mind (she is one that gets deprested easy, when weighty

subjects are pressin' her down), I said I would run over cross-lots, and

carry home a drawin' of tea I had borrowed, and look at the polenay, and

bring back tidin's from it. And I wus goin' there acrost the orchard,

when I see the boy a layin' on his back under a apple-tree, lookin' up

into the sky; and says I,--

“What be you doin' here, Paul?”

He never got up, nor moved a mite. That is one of the peculiarities of

the boy, you can't surprise him: nothin' seems to startle him.

He lay still, and spoke out for all the world as if I had been there

with him all day.

“I am lookin' to see if I can see it. I thought I got a glimpse of it a

minute ago, but it wus only a white cloud.”

“Lookin' for what?” says I.

“The gate of that City that comes down out of the heavens. You know,

uncle Josiah read about it this morning, out of that big book he prays

out of after breakfast. He said the gate was one pearl.

“And I asked mamma what a pearl was, and she said it was just like that

ring she wears that papa gave her. And I asked her where the City was,

and she said it was up in the heavens. And I asked her if I should ever

see it; and she said, if I was good, it would swing down out of the sky,

sometime, and that shining gate would open, and I should walk through it

into the City.

[Illustration: LOOKING FOR THE CITY.]

“And I went right to being good, that minute; and I have been good for

as many as three hours, I should think. And _say_, how long have you got

to be good before you can go through? And _say_, can you see it before

you go through? And SAY”--

But I had got most out of hearin' then.

“And _say_”--

I heard his last “say” just as I got out of hearin' of him.

He acted kinder disappointed at dinner-time, and said “he wus tired of

watchin', and tired out of bein' good;” and he wus considerable cross

all that afternoon. But he got clever agin before bedtime. And he come

and leaned up aginst my lap at sundown, and asked me, I guess, about 200

questions about the City.

And his eyes looked big and dreamy and soft, and his cheeks looked rosy,

and his mouth awful good and sweet. And his curls wus kinder moist, and

hung down over his white forehead. I _did_ love him, and couldn't help

it, chin or no chin.

He had been still for quite a spell, a thinkin'; and at last he broke

out,--

“Say, auntie, shall I see my father there in the City?”

And I didn't know what to tell him; for you know what it says,--

“_Without_ are murderers.”

[Illustration: ASKING ABOUT THE CITY.]

But then, agin, I thought, what will become of the respectable church

members who sell the fire that flames up in a man's soul, and ruins his

life? What will become of them who lend their votes and their influence

to make it right? They vote on Saturdays, to make the sale of this

poison legal, and on Sundays go to church with their respectable

families. And they expect to go right to heaven, of course; for they

have improved all the means of grace. Hired costly pews, and give big

charities--in money obtained by sellin' robberies, murders, broken

hearts, ruined lives.

But the boy wanted an answer; and his eyes looked questioning but soft.

“Say, auntie, do you think we'll find him there, mamma and I? You know,

that is what mamma cries so for,--she wants him so bad. And do you think

he will stand just inside the gate, waiting for us? _Say!_”

But agin I thought of what it said,--

“No drunkard shall inherit eternal life.”

And agin I didn't know what to say, and I hurried him off to bed.

But, after he had gone, I spoke out entirely unbeknown to myself, and

says,--

“I can't see through it.”

“You can't see through what?” says Josiah, who wus jest a comin' in.

“I can't see through it, why drunkards and murderers are punished, and

them that make 'em drink and murder go free. I can't see through it.”

“Wall, I don't see how you can see through any thing here--dark as

pitch.” Here he fell over a stool, which made him madder.

“Folks make fools of themselves, a follerin' up that subject.” Here he

stubbed his foot aginst the rockin'-chair, and most fell, and snapped

out enough to take my head off,--

“The dumb fools will get so before long, that a man can't drink milk

porridge without their prayin' over him.”

Says I, “Be calm! stand right still in the middle of the floor, Josiah

Allen, and I'll light a lamp,” which I did; and he sot down cleverer,

though he says,--

“You want to take away all the rights of a man. Liquor is good for

sickness, and you know it. You go onto extremes, you go too fur.”

Says I calmly, “Do you s'pose, at this late hour, I am goin' to stop

bein' mejum? No! mejum have I lived, and mejum will I die. I believe

liquor is good for medicine: if I should say I didn't, I should be a

lyin', which I am fur from wantin' to do at my age. I think it kep'

mother Allen alive for years, jest as I believe arsenic broke up Bildad

Smith's chills. And I s'pose folks have jest as good a right to use it

for the benefit of their health, as to use any other pizen, or fire, or

any thing.

“And it should be used jest like pizen and fire and etcetery. You don't

want to eat pizen for a treat, or pass it round amongst your friends.

You don't want to play with fire for fun, or burn yourself up with it.

You don't want to use it to confligrate yourself or anybody else.

“So with liquor. You don't want to drink liquor to kill yourself with,

or to kill other folks. You don't want to inebriate with it. If I had my

way, Josiah Allen,” says I firmly, “the hull liquor-trade should be

in the hands of doctors, who wouldn't sell a drop without knowin'

_positive_ that it wus _needed_ for sickness, or the aged and infirm.

Good, honest doctors who couldn't be bought nor sold.”

“Where would you find 'em?” says Josiah in a gruff tone (I mistrust his

toe pained him).

Says I thoughtfully, “Surely there is one good, reliable man left in

every town--that could be found.”

“I don't know about it,” says he, sort o' musin'ly. “I am gettin' pretty

old to begin it, but I don't know but I might get to be a doctor now.”

Says he, brightenin' up, “It can't take much study to deal out a dose of

salts now and then, or count anybody's pult.”

But says I firmly, “Give up that idee at once, Josiah Allen. I have

come out alive, out of all your other plans and progects, and I hain't a

goin' to be killed now at my age, by you as a doctor.”

My tone wus so powerful, and even skairful, that he gin up the idee, and

wound up the clock, and went to bed.