Wall, after dinner I sot sail for James G. Blains'es, a walkin' afoot,
and carryin' Dorlesky's errent. I was determined to do that errent
before I slept. I am very obleegin', and am called so.
When I got to Mr. Blaines'es, I was considerably tired; for though
Dorlesky's errent might not be heavy as weighed by the steelyards, yet
it was _very_ hefty and wearin' on the moral feelin's. And my firm,
unalterable determination to carry it straight, and tend to it, to the
very utmost of my ability, strained on me.
I was fagged.
But I don't believe Mr. Blaine see the fag. I shook hands with him, and
there was calmness in that shake. I passed the compliments of the
day (how do you do, etc.), and there was peace and dignity in them
compliments.
He was most probable, glad I had come. But he didn't seem quite so
over-rejoiced as he probable would if he hadn't been so busy. _I_ can't
be so highly tickled when company comes, when I am washin' and cleanin'
house.
He had piles and piles of papers on the table before him. And there was
a gentleman a settin' at the end of the room a readin'.
I like James G. Blaines'es looks middlin' well. Although, like myself,
he don't set up for a professional beauty. It seems as if some of the
strength of the mountain pines round his old home is a holdin' up his
backbone, and some of the bracin' air of the pine woods of Maine has
blowed into James'es intellect, and braced it.
[Illustration: SAMANTHA MEETING JAMES G. BLAINE.]
I think enough of James, but not too much. My likin' is jest about
strong enough from a literary person to a literary person.
We are both literary, very. He is considerable taller than I am; and on
that account, and a good many others, I felt like lookin' up to him.
Wall, when I have got a hard job in front of me, I don't know any better
way than to tackle it to once. So consequently I tackled it.
I told James, that Dorlesky Burpy had sent two errents by me, and I had
brought 'em from Jonesville on my tower.
And then I told him jest how she had suffered from the Whisky Ring,
and how she had suffered from not havin' her rights; and I told him all
about her relations sufferin', and that Dorlesky wanted the Ring broke,
and her rights gin to her, within seven days at the longest.
He rubbed his brow thoughtfully, and says,--
“It will be difficult to accomplish so much in so short a time.”
“I know it,” says I. “I told Dorlesky it would. But she feels jest so,
and I promised to do her errent; and I am a doin' it.”
Agin he rubbed his brow in deep thought, and agin he says,--
“I don't think Dorlesky is unreasonable in her demands, only in the
length of time she has set.”
Says I, “That is jest what I told Dorlesky. I didn't believe you could
do her errents this week. But you can see for yourself that she is
right, only in the time she has sot.”
“Yes,” he said. “He see she wuz.” And says he, “I wish the 3 could be
reconciled.”
“What 3?” says I.
Says he, “The liquor traffic, liberty, and Dorlesky.”
And then come the very hardest part of my errent. But I had to do it, I
had to.
Says I, in the deep, solemn tones befitting the threat, for I wuzn't
the woman to cheat Dorlesky when she was out of sight, and use the
wrong tones at the wrong times--no, I used my deepest and most skairful
one--says I, “Dorlesky told me to tell you that if you didn't do her
errent, you should not be the next President of the United States.”
He turned pale. He looked agitated, fearful agitated.
I s'pose it was not only my words and tone that skairt him, but my
mean. I put on my noblest mean; and I s'pose I have got a very noble,
high-headed mean at times. I got it, I think, in the first place, by
overlookin' Josiah's faults. I always said a wife ort to overlook her
husband's faults; and I have to overlook so many, that it has made me
about as high-headed, sometimes, as a warlike gander, but more sort o'
meller-lookin', and sublime, kinder.
He stood white as a piece of a piller-case, and seemin'ly plunged down
into the deepest thought. But finally he riz part way out of it, and
says he,--
“I want to be on the side of Truth and Justice. I want to, awfully. And
while I do not want to be President of the United States, yet at the
same time I do want to be--if you'll understand that paradox,” says he.
“Yes,” says I sadly. “I understand that paradox. I have seen it myself,
right in my own family.” And I sithed. And agin silence rained; and I
sot quietly in the rain, thinkin' mebby good would come of it.
Finally he riz out of his revery; and says he, with a brighter look on
his linement,--
“I am not the one to go to. I am not the one to do Dorlesky's errent.”
“Who is the one?” says I.
“Senator Logan,” says he.
Says I, “I'll send Bub Smith to Senator Logan'ses the minute I get
back; for much as I want to obleege a neighbor, I can't traipse all over
Washington, walkin' afoot, and carryin' Dorlesky's errent. But Bub
is trusty: I'll send him.” And I riz up to go. He riz up too. He is a
gentleman; and, as I said, I like his looks. He has got that grand sort
of a noble look, I have seen in other literary people, or has been seen
in 'em; but modesty forbids my sayin' a word further.
But jest at this minute Mr. Blaines'es hired man come in, and told him
that he was wanted below; and he took up his hat and gloves.
But jest as he was startin' out, he says, turnin' to the other gentleman
in the room,--
“This gentleman is a senator. Mebby he can do Dorlesky's errent for
you.”
“Wall,” says I, “I would be glad to get it done, without goin' any
further. It would tickle Dorlesky most to death, and lots and lots of
other wimmen.”
Mr. Blaine spoke to the gentleman; and he come forward, and Mr. Blaine
introduced us. But I didn't ketch his name; because, jest as Mr. Blaine
spoke it, my umberell fell, and the gentleman sprung forward to pick it
up; and then he shook hands with me: and Mr. Blaine said good-bye to me,
and started off.
I felt willin' and glad to have this senator do Dorlesky's errents, but
I didn't like his looks from the very first minute I sot my eyes on him.
My land! talk about Dorlesky Burpy bein' disagreable--he wus as
disagreable as she is, any day. He was kinder tall, and looked out of
his eyes, and wore a vest: I don't know as I can describe him any more
close than that. He was some bald-headed, and he kinder smiled once in
a while: I persume he will be known by this description. It is plain,
anyway, almost lucid.
[Illustration: MR. BLAINE INTRODUCING THE SENATOR.]
But his baldness didn't look to me like Josiah Allen's baldness; and he
didn't have a mite of that smart, straight-forward way of Blaine, or the
perfect courtesy and kindness of Allen Arthur. No. I sort o' despised
him from the first minute.
Wall, he was dretful polite: good land! politeness is no name for his
mean. Truly, as Josiah Allen says, I don't like to see anybody too good.
He drawed a chair up, for me and for himself, and asked me,--
“If he should have the inexpressible honor and the delightful joy of
aiding me in any way: if so, command him to do it,” or words to that
effect. I can't put down his smiles, and genteel looks, and don't want
to if I could.
But tacklin' hard jobs as I always tackle 'em, I sot right down calmly
in front of him, with my umberell acrost my lap, and told him over all
of Dorlesky's errents. And how I had brought 'em from Jonesville on my
tower. I told over all of her sufferin's, from the Ring, and from not
havin' her rights; and all her sister Susan Clapsaddle's sufferin's;
and all her aunt Eunice's and Patty's, and Drusilla's and Abagail's,
sufferin's. I did her errent up honorable and square, as I would love
to have a errent done for me. I told him all the particulers; and as I
finished, I said firmly,--
“Now, can you do Dorlesky's errents? and will you?”
He leaned forward with that deceitful and sort of disagreable smile of
hisen, and took up one corner of my mantilly. It wus cut tab fashion;
and he took up the tab, and says he, in a low, insinuatin' voice, and
lookin' close at the edge of the tab,--
“Am I mistaken, or is this pipein'? or can it be Kensington tattin'?”
I jest drawed the tab back coldly, and never dained a reply.
Again he says, in a tone of amiable anxiety,--
“Have I not heard a rumor that bangs were going out of style? I see you
do not wear your lovely hair bang-like, or a pompidorus! Ah! wimmen
are lovely creatures, lovely beings, every one of them.” And he sithed.
“_You_ are very beautiful.” And he sithed agin, a sort of a deceitful,
love-sick sithe.
I sot demute as the Sfinx, and a chippin'-bird a tappin' his wing
against her stunny breast would move it jest as much as he moved me
by his talk or his sithes. But he kep' on, puttin' on a kind of a sad,
injured look, as if my coldness wus ondoin' of him,--
“My dear madam, it is my misfortune that the topics I introduce, however
carefully selected by me, do not seem to be congenial to you. Have you
a leaning toward natural history, madam? Have you ever studied into the
traits and habits of our American wad?”
“What?” says I. For truly, a woman's curiosity, however paralized by
just indignation, can stand only jest so much strain. “The what?”
“The wad. The animal from which is obtained the valuable fur that
tailors make so much use of.”
Says I, “Do you mean waddin' 8 cents a sheet?”
“8 cents a pelt--yes, the skins are plentiful and cheap, owing to the
hardy habits of the animal.”
Says I, “Cease instantly. I will hear no more.”
Truly, I had heard much of the flattery and the little talk that
statesmen will use to wimmen, and I had heard much of their lies, etc.;
but truly, I felt that the 1/2 had not been told. And then I thought out
loud, and says,--
“I have hearn how laws of right and justice are sot one side in
Washington, D.C., as bein' too triflin' to attend to, while the
legislators pondered over, and passed laws regardin', hens' eggs and
birds' nests. But this is goin' too fur--too fur. But,” says I firmly,
“I shall do Dorlesky's errents, and do 'em to the best of my ability;
and you can't draw off my attention from her sufferin's and her
suffragin's by talkin' about wads.”
“I would love to obleege Dorlesky,” says he, “because she belongs to
such a lovely sex. Wimmen are the loveliest, most angelic creatures that
ever walked the earth: they are perfect, flawless, like snow and roses.”
Says I firmly, “That hain't no such thing. They are disagreable creeters
a good deal of the time. They hain't no better than men. But they ought
to have their rights all the same. Now, Dorlesky is disagreable, and
kinder fierce actin', and jest as humbly as they make wimmen; but that
hain't no sign she ort to be imposed upon. Josiah says, 'She hadn't ort
to have a right, not a single right, because she is so humbly.' But I
don't feel so.”
“Who is Josiah?” says he.
Says I, “My husband.”
“Ah! your husband! yes, wimmen should have husbands instead of
rights. They do not need rights, they need freedom from all cares and
sufferings. Sweet, lovely beings, let them have husbands to lift them
above all earthly cares and trials! Oh! angels of our homes,” says he,
liftin' his eyes to the heavens, and kinder shettin' 'em, some as if he
was goin' into a trance, “fly around, ye angels, in your native haunts!
mingle not with rings, and vile laws; flee away, flee above them.”
And he kinder moved his hand back and forth, in a floatin' fashion, up
in the air, as if it was a woman a flyin' up there, smooth and serene.
It would have impressed some folks dretful, but it didn't me. I says
reasonably,--
“Dorlesky would have been glad to flew above 'em. But the ring and the
vile laws laid holt of her, unbeknown to her, and dragged her down.
And there she is, all dragged and bruised and brokenhearted by it. She
didn't meddle with the political ring, but the ring meddled with her.
How can she fly when the weight of this infamous traffic is a holdin'
her down?”
[Illustration: “FLY AROUND, YE ANGELS.”]
“Ahem!” says he. “Ahem, as it were--as I was saying, my dear madam,
these angelic angels of our homes are too ethereal, too dainty, to
mingle with the rude crowds. We political men would fain keep them
as they are now: we are willing to stand the rude buffetings
of--of--voting, in order to guard these sweet, delicate creatures from
any hardships. Sweet, tender beings, we would fain guard you--ah, yes!
ah, yes!”
[Illustration: WOMAN'S RIGHTS.]
Says I, “Cease instantly, or my sickness will increase; for such talk
is like thoroughwort or lobelia to my moral stomach.” Says I, “You know,
and I know, that these angelic, tender bein's, half clothed, fill our
streets on icy midnights, huntin' up drunken husbands and fathers and
sons. They are driven to death and to moral ruin by the miserable want
liquor-drinkin' entails. They are starved, they are frozen, they are
beaten, they are made childless and hopeless, by drunken husbands
killing their own flesh and blood. They go down into the cold waves, and
are drowned by drunken captains; they are cast from railways into death,
by drunken engineers; they go up on the scaffold, and die of crimes
committed by the direct aid of this agent of hell.
[Illustration: SOMEBODY BLUNDERED.]
“Wimmen had ruther be a flyin' round than to do all this, but they
can't. If men really believe all they say about wimmen, and I think some
of 'em do, in a dreamy way--if wimmen are angels, give 'em the rights of
angels. Who ever heard of a angel foldin' up her wings, and goin' to a
poorhouse or jail through the fault of somebody else? Who ever heard
of a angel bein' dragged off to a police court by a lot of men, for
fightin' to defend her children and herself from a drunken husband that
had broke her wings, and blacked her eyes, himself, got the angel into
the fight, and then she got throwed into the streets and the prison by
it? Who ever heard of a angel havin' to take in washin' to support a
drunken son or father or husband? Who ever heard of a angel goin' out as
wet nurse to get money to pay taxes on her home to a Government that in
theory idolizes her, and practically despises her, and uses that same
money in ways abomenable to that angel?
“If you want to be consistent--if you are bound to make angels of
wimmen, you ort to furnish a free, safe place for 'em to soar in. You
ort to keep the angels from bein' meddled with, and bruised, and killed,
etc.”
“Ahem,” says he. “As it were, ahem.”
But I kep' right on, for I begun to feel noble and by the side of
myself.
“This talk about wimmen bein' outside and above all participation in the
laws of her country, is jest as pretty as I ever heard any thing, and
jest as simple. Why, you might jest as well throw a lot of snowflakes
into the street, and say, 'Some of 'em are female flakes, and mustn't
be trampled on.' The great march of life tramples on 'em all alike: they
fall from one common sky, and are trodden down into one common ground.
“Men and wimmen are made with divine impulses and desires, and human
needs and weaknesses, needin' the same heavenly light, and the same
human aids and helps. The law should meet out to them the same rewards
and punishments.
“Dorlesky says you call wimmens angels, and you don't give 'em the
rights of the lowest beasts that crawls upon the earth. And Dorlesky
told me to tell you that she didn't ask the rights of a angel: she would
be perfectly contented and proud if you would give her the rights of a
dog--the assured political rights of a yeller dog. She said 'yeller;'
and I am bound on doin' her errent jest as she wanted me to, word for
word.
“A dog, Dorlesky says, don't have to be hung if it breaks the laws it
is not allowed any hand in making. A dog don't have to pay taxes on its
bone to a Government that withholds every right of citizenship from it.
“A dog hain't called undogly if it is industrious, and hunts quietly
round for its bone to the best of its ability, and wants to get its
share of the crumbs that fall from that table that bills are laid on.
“A dog hain't preached to about its duty to keep home sweet and sacred,
and then see that home turned into a place of torment under laws that
these very preachers have made legal and respectable.
“A dog don't have to see its property taxed to advance laws that it
believes ruinous, and that breaks its own heart and the hearts of other
dear dogs.
“A dog don't have to listen to soul-sickening speeches from them that
deny it freedom and justice--about its bein' a damosk rose, and a
seraphine, when it knows it hain't: it knows, if it knows any thing,
that it is a dog.
“You see, Dorlesky has been kinder embittered by her trials that
politics, corrupt legislation, has brought right onto her. She didn't
want nothin' to do with 'em; but they come right onto her unexpected and
unbeknown, and she feels jest so. She feels she must do every thing she
can to alter matters. She wants to help make the laws that have such
a overpowerin' influence over her, herself. She believes from her soul
that they can't be much worse than they be now, and may be a little
better.”
“Ah! if Dorlesky wishes to influence political affairs, let her
influence her children,--her boys,--and they will carry her benign and
noble influence forward into the centuries.”
“But the law has took her boy, her little boy and girl, away from her.
Through the influence of the Whisky Ring, of which her husband was a
shinin' member, he got possession of her boy. And so, the law has made
it perfectly impossible for her to mould it indirectly through him. What
Dorlesky does, she must do herself.”
“Ah! A sad thing for Dorlesky. I trust that you have no grievance of the
kind, I trust that your estimable husband is--as it were, estimable.”
“Yes, Josiah Allen is a good man. As good as men _can_ be. You know, men
or wimmen either can't be only jest about so good anyway. But he is my
choice, and he don't drink a drop.”
“Pardon me, madam; but if you are happy, as you say, in your marriage
relations, and your husband is a temperate, good man, why do you feel so
upon this subject?”
“Why, good land! if you understand the nature of a woman, you would know
that my love for him, my happiness, the content and safety I feel about
him, and our boy, makes me realize the sufferin's of Dorlesky in havin'
her husband and boy lost to her, makes me realize the depth of a wive's,
of a mother's, agony, when she sees the one she loves goin' down, goin'
down so low that she can't reach him; makes me feel how she must yearn
to help him in some safe, sure way.
“High trees cast long shadows. The happier and more blessed a woman's
life is, the more does she feel for them who are less blessed than she.
Highest love goes lowest, if need be. Witness the love that left Heaven,
and descended onto the earth, and into it, that He might lift up the
lowly.
“The pityin' words of Him who went about pleasin' not himself, hants me,
and inspires me. I am sorry for Dorlesky, sorry for the hull wimmen
race of the nation--and for the men too. Lots of 'em are good
creeters--better than wimmen, some on 'em. They want to do jest about
right, but don't exactly see the way to do it. In the old slavery times,
some of the masters was more to be pitied than the slaves. They could
see the injustice, feel the wrong, they was doin'; but old chains of
custom bound 'em, social customs and idees had hardened into habits of
thought.
“They realized the size and heft of the evil, but didn't know how to
grapple with it, and throw it.
“So now, many men see the great evils of this time, want to help it, but
don't know the best way to lay holt of it.
“Life is a curious conundrum anyway, and hard to guess. But we can try
to get the right answer to it as fur as we can. Dorlesky feels that one
of the answers to the conundrum is in gettin' her rights. She feels jest
so.
“I myself have got all the rights I need, or want, as fur as my own
happiness is concerned. My home is my castle (a story and a half wooden
one, but dear).
“My towers elevate me, the companionship of my friends give social
happiness, our children are prosperous and happy. We have property
enough, and more than enough, for all the comforts of life. And, above
all other things, my Josiah is my love and my theme.”
“Ah! yes!” says he. “Love is a woman's empire, and in that she should
find her full content--her entire happiness and thought. A womanly woman
will not look outside of that lovely and safe and beautious empire.”
Says I firmly, “If she hain't a idiot, she can't help it. Love is the
most beautiful thing on earth, the most holy, the most satisfyin'. But
which would you like best--I do not ask you as a politician, but as a
human bein'--which would you like best, the love of a strong, earnest,
tender nature--for in man or woman, 'the strongest are the tenderest,
the loving are the daring'--which would you like best, the love and
respect of such a nature, full of wit, of tenderness, of infinite
variety, or the love of a fool?
“A fool's love is wearin': it is insipid at the best, and it turns to
viniger. Why! sweetened water _must_ turn to viniger: it is its nater.
And, if a woman is bright and true-hearted, she can't help seem' through
a injustice. She may be happy in her own home. Domestic affection,
social enjoyments, the delights of a cultured home and society, and the
companionship of the man she loves, and who loves her, will, if she is
a true woman, satisfy fully her own personal needs and desires; and she
would far rather, for her own selfish happiness, rest quietly in that
love--that most blessed home.
“But the bright, quick intellect that delights you, can't help seeing
through an injustice, can't help seeing through shams of all kinds--sham
sentiment, sham compliments, sham justice.
“The tender, lovin' nature that blesses your life, can't help feelin'
pity for those less blessed than herself. She looks down through the
love-guarded lattice of her home,--from which your care would fain bar
out all sights of woe and squalor,--she looks down, and sees the weary
toilers below, the hopeless, the wretched; she sees the steep hills they
have to climb, carry in' their crosses; she sees 'em go down into the
mire, dragged there by the love that should lift 'em up.
“She would not be the woman you love, if she could restrain her hand
from liftin' up the fallen, wipin' tears from weepin' eyes, speakin'
brave words for them who can't speak for themselves.
“The very strength of her affection that would hold you up, if you were
in trouble or disgrace, yearns to help all sorrowin' hearts.
“Down in your heart, you can't help admirin' her for this: we can't help
respectin' the one who advocates the right, the true, even if they are
our conquerors.
“Wimmen hain't angels: now, to be candid, you know they hain't. They
hain't better than men. Men are considerable likely; and it seems
curious to me, that they should act so in this one thing. For men ort
to be more honest and open than wimmen. They hain't had to cajole and
wheedle, and spile their natures, through little trickeries and deceits,
and indirect ways, that wimmen has.
“Why, cramp a tree-limb, and see if it will grow as straight and
vigorous as it would in full freedom and sunshine.
“Men ort to be nobler than wimmen, sincerer, braver. And they ort to be
ashamed of this one trick of theirn; for they know they hain't honest in
it, they hain't generous.
“Give wimmen 2 or 3 generations of moral freedom, and see if men will
laugh at 'em for their little deceits and affectations.
“No: men will be gentler, and wimmen nobler; and they will both come
nearer bein' angels, though most probable they won't be angels: they
won't be any too good then, I hain't a mite afraid of it.”
He kinder sithed; and that sithe sort o' brought me down onto my feet
agin (as it were), and a sense of my duty: and I spoke out agin,--
“Can you, and will you, do Dorlesky's errents?”
[Illustration: THE WEARY TOILERS OF LIFE.]
Wall, he said, “as far as giving Dorlesky her rights was concerned, he
felt that natural human instinct was against the change.” He said, “in
savage races, who knew nothing of civilization, male force and strength
always ruled.”
Says I, “History can't be disputed; and history tells of savage races
where the wimmen always rule, though I don't think they ort to,” says I:
“ability and goodness ort to rule.”
“Nature is against it,” says he.
Says I firmly, “Female bees, and lots of other insects, and animals,
always have a female for queen and ruler. They rule blindly and
entirely, right on through the centuries. But we are more enlightened,
and should _not_ encourage it. In my opinion, a male bee has jest as
good a right to be monarch as his female companion has. That is,” says I
reasonably, “if he knows as much, and is as good a calculator as she is.
I love justice, I almost worship it.”
Agin he sithed; and says he, “Modern history don't seem to encourage the
skeme.”
But his axent was weak, weak as a cat. He knew better.
Says I, “We won't argue long on that point, for I could overwhelm you if
I approved of overwhelmin'. But I merely ask you to cast your right
eye over into England, and then beyond it into France. Men have ruled
exclusively in France for the last 40 or 50 years, and a woman in
England: which realm has been the most peaceful and prosperous?”
He sithed twice. And he bowed his head upon his breast, in a sad, almost
meachin' way. I nearly pitied him, disagreable as he wuz. When all of a
sudden he brightened up; and says he,--
“You seem to place a great deal of dependence on the Bible. The Bible is
aginst the idee. The Bible teaches man's supremacy, man's absolute power
and might and authority.”
“Why, how you talk!” says I. “Why, in the very first chapter, the Bible
tells how man was jest turned right round by a woman. It teaches how she
not only turned man right round to do as she wanted him to, but turned
the hull world over.
“That hain't nothin' I approve of: I don't speak of it because I like
the idee. That wuzn't done in a open, honorable manner, as I believe
things should be done. No: Eve ruled by indirect influence,--the 'gently
influencing men' way, that politicians are so fond of. And she jest
brought ruin and destruction onto the hull world by it. A few years
later, after men and wimmen grew wiser, when we hear of wimmen ruling
Israel openly and honestly, like Miriam, Deborah, and other likely old
4 mothers, why, things went on better. They didn't act meachin', and
tempt, and act indirect, I'll bet, or I wouldn't be afraid to bet, if I
approved of bettin'.”
He sithed powerful, and sot round oneasy in his chair. And says he, “I
thought wimmen was taught by the Bible to serve, and love their homes.”
“So they be. And every true woman loves to serve. Home is my supreme
happiness and delight, and my best happiness is found in servin' them I
love. But I must tell the truth, in the house or outdoors.”
“Wall,” says he faintly, “the Old Testament may teach that wimmen has
some strenth and power; but in the New Testament, you will find that in
every great undertakin' and plan, men have been chosen by God to carry
it through.”
“Why-ee!” says I. “How you talk!” says I. “Have you ever read the
Bible?”
He said “He had, his grandmother owned one. And he had seen it in early
youth.”
And then he went on, sort o' apologizin', “He had always meant to read
it through. But he had entered political life at an early age, and he
believed he had never read any more of it, only portions of Gulliver's
Travels. He believed,” he said, “he had read as far as Lilliputions.”
Says I, “That hain't in the Bible,--you mean Gallatians.”
“Wall,” he said, “that might be it. It was some man, he knew, and he had
always heard and believed that man was the only worker God had chosen.”
“Why,” says I, “the one great theme of the New Testament,--the
redemption of the world through the birth of the Christ,--no man had
any thing to do with that whatever. Our divine Lord was born of God and
woman.
“Heavenly plan of redemption for fallen humanity. God Himself called
women into that work,--the divine work of helpin' a world.
“God called her. Mary had no dream of publicity, no desire for a world's
work of sufferin' and renunciation. The soft airs of Gallilee wrapped
her about in its sweet content, as she dreamed her quiet dreams
in maiden peace, dreamed, perhaps, of domestic love and quiet and
happiness.
“From that sweetest silence, the restful peace of happy, innocent
girlhood, God called her to her divine work of helpin' to redeem a world
from sin.
“And did not this woman's love, and willin' obedience, and sufferin',
and the shame of the world, set her apart, babtize her for this work of
liftin' up the fallen, helpin' the weak?
“Is it not a part of woman's life that she gave at the birth and the
crucifixion?--her faith, her hope, her sufferin', her glow of divine
pity and joyful martyrdom. These, mingled with the divine, the pure
heavenly, have they not for 1800 years been blessin' the world? The God
in Christ would awe us too much: we would shield our faces from the too
blindin' glare of the pure God-like. But the tender Christ, who wept
over a sinful city, and the grave of His friend, who stopped dyin' upon
the cross, to comfort his mother's heart, provide for her future--it is
this element in our Lord's nature that makes us dare to approach Him,
dare to kneel at His feet.
“And since woman wus so blessed as to be counted worthy to be co-worker
with God in the beginnin' of a world's redemption; since He called her
from the quiet obscurity of womanly rest and peace, into the blessed
martyrdom of renunciation and toil and sufferin', all to help a world
that cared nothing for her, that cried out shame upon her,--will He
not help her to carry on the work that she helped commence? Will He not
approve of her continuin' in it? Will He not protect her in it?
“Yes: she cannot be harmed, since His care is over her; and the cause
she loves, the cause of helpin' men and wimmen, is God's cause too,
and God will take care of His own. Herods full of greed, and frightened
selfishness, may try to break her heart, by efforts to kill the child
she loves; but she will hold it so close to her bosom, that he can't
destroy it. And the light of the divine will go before her, showin'
the way she must go, over the desert, maybe; but she shall bear it into
safety.”
“You spoke of Herod,” says he dreamily. “The name sounds familiar to me:
was not Mr. Herod once in the United-States Congress?”
“No,” says I. “He died some years ago. But he has relatives there now,
I think, judging from recent laws. You ask who Herod was; and, as it all
seems to be a new story to you, I will tell you. That when the Saviour
of the world was born in Bethlehem, and a woman was tryin' to save
His life, a man by the name of Herod was tryin' his best, out of
selfishness, and love of gain, to murder him.”
“Ah! that was not right in Herod.”
“No,” says I. “It hain't been called so. And what wuzn't right in him,
hain't right in his relations, who are tryin' to do the same thing
to-day. But,” says I reasonably, “because Herod was so mean, it hain't
no sign that all men was mean. Joseph, now, was likely as he could be.”
“Joseph,” says he pensively. “Do you allude to our senator from
Connecticut,--Joseph R. Hawley?”
“No, no,” says I. “He is likely, as likely can be, and is always on
the right side of questions--middlin' handsome too. But I am talkin'
Bible--I am talkin' about Joseph, jest plain Joseph, and nothin' else.”
“Ah! I see I am not fully familiar with that work. Being so engrossed
in politics, and political literature, I don't get any time to devote to
less important publications.”
Says I candidly, “I knew you hadn't read it, I knew it the minute you
mentioned the Book of Lilliputions. But, as I was a sayin', Joseph was
a likely man. He did the very best he could with what he had to do with.
He had the strength to lead the way, to overcome obsticles, to keep
dangers from Mary, to protect her tenderer form with the mantilly of his
generous devotion.
[Illustration: BEARING THE BABY PEACE.]
“_But she carried the child on her bosom_. Pondering high things in her
heart that Joseph had never dreamed of. That is what is wanted now, and
in the future. The man and the woman walking side by side. He, a little
ahead mebby, to keep off dangers by his greater strength and courage.
She, a carryin' the infant Christ of love, bearin' the baby Peace in her
bosom, carrying it into safety from them that seek to murder it.
“And, as I said before, if God called woman into this work, He will
enable her to carry it through. He will protect her from her own
weaknesses, and from the misapprehensions and hard judgments and
injustices of a gain-saying world.
“Yes, the star of hope is rising in the sky, brighter and brighter;
and the wise men are even now coming from afar over the desert, seeking
diligently where this redeemer is to be found.” He sot demute. He did
not frame a reply: he had no frame, and I knew it. Silence rained for
some time; and finally I spoke out solemnly through the rain,--
“Will you do Dorlesky's errents? Will you give her her rights? And will
you break the Whisky Ring?”
He said he would love to do Dorlesky's errents. He said I had convinced
him that it would be just and right to do 'em, but the Constitution of
the United States stood up firm against 'em. As the laws of the United
State wuz, he could not make any move towards doin' either of the
errents.
Says I, “Can't the laws be changed?”
“Be changed? Change the laws of the United States? Tamper with the
glorious Constitution that our 4 fathers left us--an immortal, sacred
legacy?”
He jumped right up on his feet, in his surprise, and kinder shook, as
if he was skairt most to death, and tremblin' with borrow. He did it
to skair me, I knew; and I wuz most skaird, I confess, he acted so
horrowfied. But I knew I meant well towards the Constitution, and our
old 4 fathers; and my principles stiddied me, and held me middlin' firm
and serene. And when he asked me agin in tones full of awe and horrow,--
“Can it be that I heard my ear aright? or did you speak of changing the
unalterable laws of the United States--tampering with the Constitution?”
Says I, “Yes, that is what I said.”
Oh, how his body kinder shook, and how sort o' wild he looked out of his
eyes at me!
Says I, “Hain't they never been changed?”
He dropped that skairful look in a minute, and put on a firm, judicial
one. He gin up; he could not skair me to death: and says he,--
“Oh, yes! they have been changed in cases of necessity.”
Says I, “For instance, durin' the late war, it was changed to make
Northern men cheap blood-hounds and hunters.”
“Yes,” he said. “It seemed to be a case of necessity and econimy.”
“I know it,” says I. “Men was cheaper than any other breed of
blood-hounds the planters had employed to hunt men and wimmen with, and
more faithful.”
“Yes,” he said. “It was doubtless a case of clear econimy.”
And says I, “The laws have been changed to benifit whisky-dealers.”
“Wall, yes,” he said. “It had been changed to enable whisky-dealers
to utelize the surplufus liquor they import.” Says he, gettin' kinder
animated, for he was on a congenial theme,--
“Nobody, the best calculators in drunkards, can't exactly calculate on
how much whisky will be drunk in a year; and so, ruther than have the
whisky-dealers suffer loss, the laws had to be changed.
[Illustration: A CASE OF NECESSITY.]
“And then,” says he, growin' still more candid in his excitement, “we
are makin' a powerful effort to change the laws now, so as to take the
tax off of whisky, so it can be sold cheaper, and be obtained in greater
quantities by the masses. Any such great laws for the benifit of the
nation, of course, would justify a change in the Constitution and the
laws; but for any frivolous cause, any trivial cause, madam, we male
custodians of the sacred Constitution would stand as walls of iron
before it, guarding it from any shadow of change. Faithful we will be,
faithful unto death.”
Says I, “As it has been changed, it can be again. And you jest said
I had convinced you that Dorlesky's errents wus errents of truth and
justice, and you would love to do 'em.”
“Well, yes, yes--I would love to--as it were--But really, my dear madam,
much as I would like to oblige you, I have not the time to devote to it.
We senators and Congressmen are so driven, and hard-worked, that really
we have no time to devote to the cause of Right and Justice. I don't
think you realize the constant pressure of hard work, that is ageing us,
and wearing us out, before our day.
“As I said, we have to watch the liquor-interest constantly, to see that
the liquor-dealers suffer no loss--we _have_ to do that. And then, we
have to look sharp if we cut down the money for the Indian schools.”
Says I, in a sarcastick tone, “I s'pose you worked hard for that.”
“Yes,” says he, in a sort of a proud tone. “We did, but we men don't
begrudge labor if we can advance measures of economy. You see, it
was taking sights of money just to Christianize and civilize
Injuns--savages. Why, the idea was worse than useless, it wus perfectly
ruinous to the Indian agents. For if, through those schools, the Indians
had got to be self-supporting and intelligent and Christians, why, the
agents couldn't buy their wives and daughters for a yard of calico,
or get them drunk, and buy a horse for a glass bead, and a farm for a
pocket lookin'-glass. Well, thank fortune, we carried that important
measure through; we voted strong; we cut down the money anyway. And
there is one revenue that is still accruing to the Government--or, as it
were, the servants of Government, the agents. You see,” says he, “don't
you, just how important the subjects are, that are wearing down the
Congressional and senatorial mind?”
“Yes,” says I sadly, “I see a good deal more than I want to.”
“Yes, you see how hard-worked we are. With all the care of the North
on our minds, we have to clean out all the creeks in the South, so the
planters can have smooth sailing. But we think,” says he dreamily, “we
think we have saved money enough out of the Indian schools, to clean out
most of their creeks, and perhaps have a little left for a few New-York
aldermen, to reward them for their arduous duties in drinking and voting
for their constituents.
“Then, there is the Mormons: we have to make soothing laws to sooth
them.
“Then, there are the Chinese. When we send them back into heathendom,
we ought to send in the ship with them, some appropriate biblical texts,
and some mottoes emblematical of our national eagle protecting and
clawing the different nations.
“And when we send the Irish paupers back into poverty and ignorance, we
ought to send in the same ship, some resolutions condemning England for
her treatment of Ireland.”
Says I, “Most probable the Goddess of Liberty Enlightenin' the World,
in New-York Harbor, will hold her torch up high, to light such ships on
their way.”
And he said, “Yes, he thought so.” Says he, “There is very important
laws up before the House, now, about hens' eggs--counting them.” And
says he, “Taking it with all those I have spoke of and other kindred
laws, and the constant strain on our minds in trying to pass laws to
increase our own salaries, you can see just how cramped we are for
time. And though we would love to pass some laws of Truth and
Righteousness,--we fairly ache to,--yet, not having the requisite time,
we are obliged to lay 'em on the table, or under it.”
“Wall,” says I, “I guess I might jest a well be a goin'.”
I bid him a cool good-bye, and started for the door. I was discouraged;
but he says as I went out,--
“Mebby William Wallace will do the errent for you.”
Says I coldly,--
“William Wallace is dead, and you know it.” And says I with a real lot
of dignity, “You needn't try to impose on me, or Dorlesky's errent, by
tryin' to send me round amongst them old Scottish chiefs. I respect
them old chiefs, and always did; and I don't relish any light talk about
'em.”
Says he, “This is another William Wallace; and very probable he can do
the errent.”
“Wall,” says I, “I will send the errent to him by Bub Smith; for I am
wore out.”
As I wended, my way out of Mr. Blains'es, I met the hired man, Bub
Smith's friend; and he asked me,--
“If I didn't want to visit the Capitol?”
Says I, “Where the laws of the United States are made?”
“Yes,” says he.
And I told him “that I was very weary, but I would fain behold it.”
And he said he was going right by there on business, and he would be
glad to show it to me. So we walked along in that direction.
It seems that Bub Smith saved the life of his little sister--jumped off
into the water when she was most drowned, and dragged her out. And from
that time the two families have thought the world of each other. That is
what made him so awful good to me.
Wall, I found the Capitol was a sight to behold! Why, it beat any
buildin' in Jonesville, or Loontown, or Spoon Settlement in beauty and
size and grandeur. There hain't one that can come nigh it. Why, take all
the meetin'-housen of these various places, and put 'em all together,
and put several other meetin'-housen on top of 'em, and they wouldn't
begin to show off with it.
And, oh! my land! to stand in the hall below, and look up--and up--and
up--and see all the colors of the rainbow, and see what kinder curious
and strange pictures there wuz way up there in the sky above me (as it
were). Why, it seemed curiouser than any Northern lights I ever see in
my life, and they stream up dretful curious sometimes.
And as I walked through the various lofty and magnificent halls, and
realized the size and majestic proportions of the buildin', I wondered
to myself that a small law, a little, unjust law, could ever be passed
in such a magnificent place.
[Illustration: SAMANTHA VIEWING THE CAPITOL.]
Says I to myself, “It can't be the fault of the place, anyway. They have
got a chance for their souls to soar if they want to.” Thinks'es I, here
is room and to spare, to pass by laws big as elephants and camels. And
I wondered to myself that they should ever try to pass laws and
resolutions as small as muskeeters and nats. Thinks'es I, I wonder
them little laws don't get to strollin' round and get lost in them
magnificent corriders. But I consoled myself a thinkin' that it wouldn't
be no great loss if they did.
But right here, as I was a thinkin' on these deep and lofty subjects,
the hired man spoke up; and says he,--
“You look fatigued, mom.” (Soarin' even to yourself, is tuckerin'.) “You
look very fatigued: won't you take something?”
I looked at him with a curious, silent sort of a look; for I didn't know
what he meant.
Agin he looked close at me, and sort o' pityin'; and says he, “You look
tired out, mom. Won't you take something?”
Says I, “What?”
Says he, “Let me treat you to something: what will you take, mom?”
Wall, I thought he was actin' dretful liberal; but I knew they had
strange ways there in Washington, anyway. And I didn't know but it was
their way to make some presents to every woman who come there: and I
didn't want to be odd, and act awkward, and out of style; so I says,--
“I don't want to take any thing, and I don't see any reason why you
should insist on it. But, if I have got to take something I had jest as
lives have a few yards of factory-cloth as any thing.”
I thought, if he was determined to treat me, to show his good feelin's
towards me, I would get somethin' useful, and that would do me some
good, else what would be the use of bein' treated? And I thought, if I
had got to take a present from a strange man, I would make a shirt for
Josiah out of it: I thought that would make it all right, so fur as
goodness went.
But says he, “I mean beer, or wine, or liquor of some kind.”
I jest riz right up in my shoes and my dignity, and glared at him.
Says he, “There is a saloon right here handy in the buildin'.”
Says I, in awful axents, “It is very appropriate to have it right here
handy.” Says I, “Liquor does more towards makin' the laws of the United
States, from caucus to convention, than any thing else does; and it is
highly proper to have some liquor here handy, so they can soak the laws
in it right off, before they lay 'em onto the tables, or under 'em, or
pass 'em onto the people. It is highly appropriate,” says I.
“Yes,” says he. “It is very handy for the senators. And let me get you a
glass.”
“No, you won't,” says I firmly, “no, you won't. The nation suffers
enough from that room now, without havin' Josiah Allen's wife let in.”
Says he (his friendship for Bub Smith makin' him anxious and sot on
helpin' me), “If you have any feeling of delicacy in going in there, let
me make some wine here. I will get a glass of water, and make you some
pure grape wine, or French brandy, or corn or rye whiskey. I have all
the drugs right here.” And he took out a little box out of his pocket.
“My father is a importer of rare old wines, and I know just how it is
done. I have 'em all here,--capiscum, coculus Indicus, alum, coperas,
strychnine. I will make some of the choicest and purest imported liquors
we have in the country, in five minutes, if you say so.”
[Illustration: SAMANTHA REFUSING TO BE TREATED.]
“No,” says I firmly. “When I want to follow up Cleopatra's fashion, and
commit suicide, I am goin' to hire a rattlesnake, and take my poison as
she did, on the outside.”
“Cleopatra?” says he inquiringly. “Is she a Washington lady?”
And I says guardedly, “She has lots of relations here, I believe.”
“Wall,” he said, “he thought her name sounded familiar. Then, I can't do
any thing for you?” he says.
“Yes,” says I calmly: “you can open the front door, and let me out.”
Which he did, and I was glad enough to get out into the pure air.
When I got back to the house, I found they had been to supper. Sally had
had company that afternoon,--her husband's brother. He had jest left.
He lived only a few miles away, and had come in on the cars. Sally said
he wanted to stay and see me the worst kind: he wanted to throw out some
deep arguments aginst wimmen's suffrage. Says she, “He talks powerful
about it: he would have convinced you, without a doubt.”
“Wall,” says I, “why didn't he stay?”
She said he had to hurry home on account of business. He had come in
to the village, to get some money. There was goin' to be a lot of men,
wimmen, and children sold in his neighborhood the next mornin', and he
thought he should buy a girl, if he could find a likely one.
“Sold?” says I, in curious axents.
“Yes,” says Sally. “They sell the inmates of the poor-house, every year,
to the highest bidder,--sell their labor by the year. They have 'em get
up on a auction block, and hire a auctioneer, and sell 'em at so much a
head, to the crowd. Why, some of 'em bring as high as twenty dollars a
year, besides board.
[Illustration: BUYING TIME.]
“Sometimes, he said, there was quite a run on old wimmen, and another
year on young ones. He didn't know but he might buy a old woman. He said
there was an old woman that he thought there was a good deal of work in,
yet. She had belonged to one of the first families in the State, and
had come down to poverty late in life, through the death of some of
her relations, and the villany of others. So he thought she had more
strength in her than if she had always been worked. He thought, if she
didn't fetch too big a price, he should buy her instead of a young one.
They was so balky, he said, young ones was, and would need more to eat,
bein' growin'. And she could do rough, heavy work, just as well as a
younger one, and probably wouldn't complain so much; and he thought she
would last a year, anyway. It was his way, he said, to put 'em right
through, and, when one wore out, get another one.”
I sithed; and says I, “I feel to lament that I wuzn't here so's he could
have converted me.” Says I, “A race of bein's, that make such laws as
these, hadn't ort to be disturbed by wimmen meddlin' with 'em.”
“Yes: that is what he said,” says Sally, in a innocent way.
I didn't say no more. Good land! Sally hain't to blame. But with a noble
scorn filling my eye, and floating out the strings of my head-dress, I
moved off to bed.
Wall, the next mornin' I sent Dorlesky's errents by Bub Smith to William
Wallace, for I felt a good deal fagged out. Bub did 'em well, and I know
it.
But William Wallace sent him to Gen. Logan.
And Gen. Logan said Grover Cleveland was the one to go to: he wuz a
sot man, and would do as he agreed. And Mr. Cleveland sent him to Mr.
Edmunds.
And Mr. Edmunds told him to go to Samuel G. Tilden, or Roswell P.
Flower.
And Mr. Flower sent him to William Walter Phelps.
And Mr. Phelps said that Benjamin P. Butler or Mr. Bayard was the one to
do the errent.
And Mr. Bayard sent him to somebody else, and somebody else sent him to
another one. And so it went on; and Bub Smith traipsed round, a carryin'
them errents, from one man to another, till he was most dead.
Why, he carried them errents round all day, walkin' afoot.
Bub said most every one of 'em said the errents wuz just and right, but
they couldn't do 'em, and wouldn't tell their reasons.
One or two, Bub said, opposed it, because they said right out plain,
“that they wanted to drink. They wanted to drink every thing they could,
and everywhere they could,--hard cider and beer, and brandy and whisky,
and every thing.”
And they didn't want wimmen to vote, because they liked to have the
power in their own hands: they loved to control things, and kinder boss
round--loved to dearly.
These was open-hearted men who spoke as they felt. But they was
exceptions. Most every one of 'em said they couldn't do it, and wouldn't
tell their reasons.
Till way along towards night, a senator he had been sent to, bein'
a little in liquor at the time, and bein' talkative; he owned up the
reasons why the senators wouldn't do the errents.
He said they all knew in their own hearts, both of the errents was right
and just, to their own souls and their own country. He said--for the
liquor had made him _very_ open-hearted and talkative--that they knew
the course they was pursuin' in regard to intemperance was a crime
against God and their own consciences. But they didn't dare to tackle
unpopular subjects.
He said they knew they was elected by liquor, a good many of them,
and they knew, if they voted against whisky, it would deprive 'em of
thousands and thousands of voters, dillegent voters, who would vote for
'em from morn in' till night, and so they dassent tackle the ring. And
if wimmen was allowed to vote, they knew it was jest the same thing as
breaking the ring right in two, and destroying intemperance. So, though
they knew that both the errents was jest as right as right could be,
they dassent tackle 'em, for fear they wouldn't run no chance at all of
bein' President of the United States.
“Good land!” says I. “What a idee! to think that doin' right would
make a man unpopular. But,” says I, “I am glad to know they have got a
reason, if it is a poor one. I didn't know but they sent you round jest
to be mean.”
Wall, the next mornin' I told Bub to carry the errents right into the
Senate. Says I, “You have took 'em one by one, alone, now you jest carry
'em before the hull batch on 'em together.” I told him to tackle the
hull crew on 'em. So he jest walked right into the Senate, a carryin'
Dorlesky's errents.
And he come back skairt. He said, jest as he was a carryin' Dorlesky's
errents in, a long petition come from thousands and thousands of wimmen
on this very subject. A plea for justice and mercy, sent in respectful,
to the lawmakers of the land.
And he said the men jeered at it, and throwed it round the room, and
called it all to nort, and made the meanest speeches about it you ever
heard, talked nasty, and finally threw it under the table, and acted
so haughty and overbearin' towards it, that Bub said he was afraid to
tackle 'em. He said “he knew they would throw Dorlesky's errents under
the table, and he was afraid they would throw him under too.” He was
afraid--(he owned it up to me)--he was afraid they would knock him down.
So he backed out with Dorlesky's errents, and never give it to 'em at
all.
And I told him he did right. “For,” says I, “if they wouldn't listen to
the deepest, most earnest, and most prayerful words that could come from
the hearts of thousands and tens of thousands of the best mothers and
wives and daughters in America, the most intelligent and upright and
pure-minded women in the land, loaded down with their hopes, wet with
their tears--if they turned their hearts', prayers and deepest desires
into ridicule, throwed 'em round under their feet, they wouldn't pay
no attention to Dorlesky's errents, they wouldn't notice one little
vegitable widow, humbly at that, and sort o' disagreeable.” And says I,
“I don't want Dorlesky's errents throwed round under foot, and she made
fun of: she has went through enough trials and tribulations, besides
these gentlemen--or,” says I, “I beg pardon of Webster's Dictionary: I
meant men.”
“For,” as I said to Webster's Dictionary in confidence, in a quiet
thought we had about it afterwards, “they might be gentlemen in every
other place on earth; but in this one move of theirn,” as I observed
confidentially to the Dictionary, “they was jest _men_--the male animal
of the human species.”
And I was ashamed enough as I looked Noah Webster's steel engraving in
the face, to think I had misspoke myself, and called 'em gentlemen.
[Illustration: HOW WOMAN'S PRAYERS ARE ANSWERED.]
Wall, from that minute I gin up doin' Dorlesky's errents. And I felt
like death about it. But this thought held me up,--that I had done my
best. But I didn't feel like doin' another thing all the rest of that
day, only jest feel disapinted and grieved over my bad luck with the
errents. I always think it is best, if you can possibly arrainge it in
that way, to give up one day, or half a day, to feelin' bad over any
perticuler disapintment, or to worry about any thing, and do all your
worryin' up in that time, and then give it up for good, and go to
feelin' happy agin. It is also best, if you have had a hull lot of
things to get mad about, to set apart half a day, when you can spare the
time, and do up all your resentin' in that time. It is easier, and takes
less time than to keep resentin' 'em as they take place; and you can
feel clever quicker than in the common way.
Wall, I felt dretful bad for Dorlesky and the hull wimmen race of the
land, and for the men too. And I kep' up my bad feelin's till pretty
nigh dusk. But as I see the sun go down, and the sky grow dark, I
says,--
“You are goin' down now, but you are a comin' up agin. As sure as the
Lord lives, the sun will shine agin; and He who holds you in His hand,
holds the destinies of the nations. He will watch over you, and me and
Josiah, and Dorlesky. He will help us, and take care of us.”
So I begun to feel real well agin--a little after dusk.