Josiah Allen's Wife as a P. A. and P. I.: Samantha at the Centennial. / Designed As a Bright and Shining Light, to Pierce the Fogs of Error and Injustice That Surround Society and Josiah, and to Bring More Clearly to View the Path That Leads Straight on to Virtue and Happiness.

by Marietta Holley

HOW I WENT TO ’LECTION.

I was a makin’ Josiah some cotton flannel shirts, and I lacked enough for the gussets and one shoulder band. I had also run out of shirt buttons; and I was a tellin’ the Widder Doodle in the forenoon, that I couldn’t work another stitch on ’em till I had been to Jonesville. And she said, speakin’ of cotton flannel, made her think of Doodle. She took in work—hetchelled tow for a woman—and bought some cotton flannel to make him some shirts; and when she got ’em all done, they didn’t set exactly right somehow, kinder wrinkled in the back a little, and she had to take ’em all to pieces and make ’em over; and Mr. Doodle would set and read the Evenin’ Grippher to her, and smile at her so sweet when she was a rippin’ of ’em up. She said, nobody knew but jest her, how much that man worshipped her. Says she, “I can’t never forget his linement, and I can’t never marry again and there needn’t nobody ask me to, for no linement can ever look to me like Mr. Doodle’ses linement.”

Says I, “Don’t take on so sister Doodle; he’s most probable in a land where he’ll have justice done to him.”

Josiah looked up from the World, and says he:

“I am goin’ to Jonesville to ’lection bime by, Samantha; you’d better ride down, and get the stuff for my shirts.” Says he, “The Town Hall, as you know, is bein’ fixed, and the pole is sot up right in the store. It will be handy, and you can go jest as well as not.”

But I looked my companion in the face with a icy, curious mean, and says I in low, strange tones:

“Wouldn’t it be revoltin’ to the finer feelin’s of your sole, to see a tender woman, your companion, a crowdin’ and elboin’ her way amongst the rude throng of men surroundin’ the pole; to have her hear the immodest and almost dangerous language, the oaths and swearin’; to see her a plungin’ down in the vortex of political warfare, and the arena of corruption?” Says I, “How is the shrinkin’ modesty and delicacy of my sect a goin’ to stand firm a jostlin’ its way amongst the rude masses, and you there to see it?” Says I, “Aint it a goin’ to be awful revoltin’ to you, Josiah Allen?”

“Oh no!” says he in calm gentle axents, “not if you was a goin’ for shirt buttons.”

“Oh!” says I almost wildly, “a woman can plunge up head first ag’inst the pole, and be unharmed if she is in search of cotton flannel; she can pursue shirt buttons into the very vortex of political life, into the pool of corruption, and the mirey clay, and come out white as snow, and modest as a lilly of the valley. But let her step in them very tracks, a follerin’ liberty and freedom, and justice, and right, and truth and temperance, and she comes out black as a coal.” And says I in a almost rapped way, liftin’ up my eyes to the ceelin’: “Why are these things so?”

“Yes,” says the Widder Doodle, that is jest what Mr. Doodle used to say. He said it would make a woman’s reputation black as a coal, would spile her modesty entirely to go to the pole, and be too wearin’ on her. Says he, “Dolly it would spile you, and I would rather give my best cow than to see you spilte. Poor Mr. Doodle! there was a heavy mortgage on old Lineback then—it was a cow I brought to him when we was married, and Mr. Doodle was obleeged to mortgage her to git his tobacco through the winter; it was foreclosed in the spring, and had to go, but his speakin’ as he did, and bein’ so willin’ to give up my cow, showed jest how much he thought of me. Oh! he almost worshipped me, Mr. Doodle did.”

Jest at that very minute, Josiah laid down the World, and says he: “I am a goin to hitch up the old mare, Samantha. I guess you had better go, for I am a sufferin for them shirts; my old ones are a gettin’ so thin; I am cold as a frog.”

I braided my hair and done it up, and then I made a good cup of coffee, and brought out a cherry pie, and some bread, and butter, and cheese, and cold meat. We all eat a little, and then sister Doodle bein’ anxious about the shirts, and dretful tickled about my goin’, offered to wash up the dishes.

Josiah said we’d got to stop to the barn for the buffalo skin; he come out with it all rolled up in a curious way, and I see there was a middlin’ sized bundle in it, that he slipped under the seat. He seemed so anxious for me not to see it that I never let on that I did; but I kep’ my eye on it. I didn’t like the looks of things; Josiah acted strange, but he acted dretful affectionate towards me. But all the while I was on my tower towards ’lection—and the old mare went slow, all the time—though my face was calm, my mind was worked up and agitated and felt strange, and I kep’ s’posen things. I said to myself, here I be started for ’lection, my companion settin’ by my side, affection on his face, sweetness and peace throned onto his eyebrow, and at home is a Widder Doodle a helpin’ me off to ’lection. Everything is peace and harmony and gay, because I am a goin’ to ’lection after buttons and gussets for men’s shirts. And then I’d s’pose t’other way; s’posen I was a settin’ off with my mind all boyed up with enthusiasm in the cause of Right, a earnest tryin’ to do my full duty to God and man, pledgin’ my life and sacred honor to help the good cause forred and put my shoulder blades to the wheel; s’posen I was on my way to vote,—and it wouldn’t take me half so long as it would to pick out the shirt buttons, and things—my Josiah’s face would look black as a thunder cloud, anger and gloom would be throned on his eyebrow, his mean would be fierce and warlike; I should be an outcast from Isreal, and sister Doodle wouldn’t have washed a dish.

And so I kep’ s’posen things till we got clear to the store door and Josiah went to help me out; and then thinkin’ what my companion had warned me about so many times—about how dangerous and awful it was for wimmen to go near the pole—I says to him, in middlin’ quiet tones:

“Josiah I guess I’ll set in the buggy till you hitch the old mare, and then you can go in with me, so’s to kinder keep between me and the pole.”

But he says in excited tones:

“Oh shaw! Samantha; what fools wimmen can be, when they set out to! Who do you s’pose is a goin’ to hurt you? Do you s’pose Elder Minkley is a goin’ to burgle you, or old Bobbet asalt and batter you? There haint a man there but what you have been to meetin’ with. You wasn’t afraid last Sunday was you? Go in and get your buttons and things, so’s to be ready by the time I am for once,—wimmen are always so slow.”

I didn’t argue with him, I only said in cold tones:

“I wanted to be on the safe side, Josiah.”

JOSIAH’S SECRET.

But oh! how I kep’ s’posen things, as he lifted me out right in front of the pole, and left me there alone.

Josiah had business on his mind and it made him more worrysome; but I didn’t know what it was till afterwards. As I was a goin’ up the store steps I kinder looked back, and I see him take that bundle out of the wagon in a dretful sly way, and kinder meach off with it. I didn’t like the looks of things; he acted guilty, strange, and curious.

As I went into the store, I see sister Minkley up to the counter by the front winder, and I was glad to see her. The store was a big one and quite a lot of men was goin’ up and votin’. But good land! there wasn’t nothin’ frightful about it, I’ve seen three times as many men together, time and again. I wasn’t skairt a mite, nor sister Minkley wasn’t nuther. Two men was a swearin’, some, as I went in, but we heerd ’em swear as hard again 4th of July’s and common days; but the minute they catched sight of sister Minkley and me, they stopped off right in the middle of a swear, and looked as mild as protracted meetin’s, and took up some sticks and went to whittlin’ as peaceable as two sheeps.

Sister Minkley said she shouldn’t thought she could have come out that day, she had such a cold in her head, if her husband hadn’t urged her so, to come on his business. His heart seemed to be so sot on Kentucky Jane—

“Jane who?” says I in awful axents, for I couldn’t hardly believe my ears—my faith in that man’s morals was so high, it was like a steeple to my soul, and always had been ever sense I had known him—and I thought to myself if I have got to give up Elder Wesley Minkley, if his morals have got to totterin’ and swayin’ to and fro, a tottlin’ off after Janes and other wimmen, and if he is mean enough to send his wife off after ’em, I declare for’t I don’t know but I shall mistrust my Josiah. I know I looked wild and glarin’ out of my eyes, and horror was on my mean, as I asked her again in still more stern tones:

“Jane who?” For I was determined to get to the bottom of the affair, and if worst come to worst, to lay it before the meetin’ house myself, and have it stopped, and hushed up, before it got out amongst the world’s people, to bring a shame onto the meetin’ house, and them that belonged to it. And then as a woman that had a vow on her in the cause of Right, I felt it my duty to look out for Jane, and if there was any hopes of reformin’ her, to befriend her. And so I says in tones that would be replied to:

“Jane who?”

“Why Kentucky Jane for overhauls, he thought my judgment on Janes was better than hisen.”

“Oh!” says I in dretful relieved tones, for my heart would have sung for joy if it had understood the notes, it was that joyful, and thankful. Says I, “They have got a piece here that wears like iron, Josiah has got a frock offen it.”

Well, we stood there by the counter, a feelin’ of Jane, and tryin’ the thickness and color of it, and talkin’ together—as wimmen will—when who should come in but the Editor of the Auger’ses wife. She is a woman that is liked better on further acquaintance. She is thought a sight on in Jonesville; more’n her husband is, ten times over. She’s had two pair of twins sense she was married; I never see such a hand for twins as the Editor is. He’s had three pair and a half sense I knew him.

Well, as I was a sayin’, she came in, and called for some cigars. She told us he sent her to git ’em, the two biggest twins bein’ to school, and there bein’ nobody to come only jest him or her. She had walked afoot, and looked tired enough to sink; they lived about a mile and a half out of the village.

She said the Editor could not come himself for he was writin’ a long article on “The Imprudence, Impurity, and Impiety of Woman’s Appearance at the Pole.” She said, he said he was goin’ to make a great effort; he was goin’ to present the indecency and immorality of woman’s goin’ to ’lection, in such a masterly way that it would set the matter to rest forever. It was for to-morrow’s paper, and bein’ obleeged to use up so much brain, as he had to in the effort, he felt he must have some cigars, and a codfish; you know fish is dretful nourishin’ to the mind, and he is fond of it; he told her to get the biggest codfish she could get, and bile it up. And she was goin’ to.

I didn’t say much in reply to her, truly, as the poet says, “The least said is the soonest mended.” I only told her in a kind of a blind way, that if codfish was good for common sense, not to stent him on it. And jest then the storekeeper came back from down suller with the fish.

BRAIN FOOD.

“Good land!” says I the minute I laid eyes on it; “haint you made a mistake?”

“What mistake?” says he.

Says I, “Haint it a whale?”

“Oh no,” says he, “it is a codfish; but it is a pretty sizeable one.”

“I should think as much,” says I. For as true as I live, when the Editor of the Auger’ses wife laid it over her arm, it touched the floor head and tail; and it made her fairly lean over it was so heavy. And I thought to myself that I could have tackled the biggest political question of the day, easier than I could tackle that whale, and carry it a mile and a half. And so the Editor of the Auger’ses wife went home from ’lection, luggin’ a whale, and walkin’ afoot.

I picked out my buttons, five cents a dozen, and bought my cotton flannel, and no Josiah. I felt worried in my mind. I thought of that mysterious bundle, and my companion’s strange and curious looks as he brought it out from the barn, seemin’ly unbeknown to me, and his dretful curious actions about it as he meached out of the buggy with it. And I felt worried, and almost by the side of myself. But I kep’ a cool demeanor on the outside of me—it is my way in the time of trouble to be calm, and put my best foot forred.

Jest then a man come up to me that I never laid eyes on before. He was a poor lookin’ shack; his eyes was white mostly, and stood out of his head as if in search for some of the sense he never could git holt of, and his mouth was about half open. A dretful shiftless lookin’ critter, and ragged as a Jew—all but his coat, and I’ll be hanged if that didn’t look worse than if his clothes was all of a piece. It was a blue broadcloth coat, swaller tailed, and had been a dretful genteel coat in the day of it—which I should judge was some fifty or sixty years previous to date. It was awful long waisted, and small round, and what they call single breasted; it turned back at the breast in a low, genteel way, over his old ragged vest; and ragged, red woolen shirt, and pinched him in at the bottom of his waist like a pismire, and the tails floated down behind, so polite over his pantaloons, which was fairly rags and tatters. As I said, I never laid eyes on him before, and still as he come up, and stood before me, I felt a curious, and strange feelin’ go most through me; sunthin’ in the arrer way. A curiouser more familiar-like, strange feelin’, I never felt. But I didn’t know then what it meant, I was in the dark. But more of this, anon, and hereafter.

THE STRANGER.

Says the man, says he; “I beg your parding mom, for speaking to you, but you have got such a dretful good look to your face, somehow—,” (Truly as I have said prior, and before this, my trials with the Widder Doodle, my martyrdom on the stake of Doodle and particulars, borne like a martyr, have purified my mean and make me look first-rate.) Says the man, says he: “You look so good, somehow, that I want to ask your advice.”

Says I kindly, “I am a Promiscous Advisor by trade; advisin’ is my mission and my theme. Ask me any advice my honest man, that you feel called to ask, and I will proceed to preform about my mission.”

He handed me a ticket, with a awful dirty hand, every finger nail of which was seemin’ly in the deepest of mournin’ for the pen-knife and nail-brushes they never had seen; and says he, “Will you tell me mom, whether that ticket is a democrat ticket, or the t’other one?”

I put on my specks, and says I, “It is the t’other one.”

“Good Gracious!” says he; “Christopher Columbus! Pocahontas! Jim Crow and Jehosiphat!” says he. But I interrupted of him coldly, and says I:

“Stop swearin’, instantly and this minute; and if you want my advice, proceed, and go on.”

Says he, “There I have voted that ticket seventeen times, and I was paid to vote the democrat.” Says he, “I am a man of my word, I am a poor man but a honest one. And here I have,”—says he in a mournful tone—“here I have voted the wrong ticket seventeen times.” Says he in a bitter tone, “I had ruther have give half a cent than to had this happen.” Says he, “I am a poor man, I haint no capital to live on, and have got to depend on my honesty and principles for a livin’. And if this gets out, I am a ruined man;” says he in awful bitter tones, “what would the man that hired me say, if he should hear of it?”

“What did he give you?” says I, and as I said this, that strange, curious feelin’ came over me again, as strange a feelin’ as I ever felt.

Says he, “He give me this coat.”

Then I knew it all. Then the cast-iron entered my sole, the arrer that had been a diggin’ into me, unbeknown to me as it was, went clear through me, and come out on the other side, (the side furtherest from sister Minkley.) Then I knew the meanin’ of the strange feelin’ I had felt. It was Father Allen’s coat—one that had fell to Josiah. Then I knew the meanin’ of my companion’s mysterious demeanor, as he bore the bundle from the barn. His plottin’s the week before, and his drawin’s onto my sympathy, to keep me from puttin’ it into the carpet rags, when I was fairly sufferin for blue in the fancy stripe, and refrained from takin’ it, because he said it would hurt his feelin’s so. Oh the fearful agony of that half a moment. What a storm was a ragin’ on the inside of my mind. But with a almost terrible effort, I controlled myself, and kep’ considerable calm on the outside. Truly, everybody has their own private collection of skeletons; but that haint no sign they should go abroad in public a rattlin’ their bones; it don’t help the skeletons any nor their owners, and it haint nothin’ highlarious and happyfyin’ to the public. I hadn’t no idee of lettin’ sister Minkley into the clothes-press where my skeletons hung, knowin’ that she probable had a private assortment of her own skeletons, that she could look at unbeknown to me.

“What made you vote the wrong ticket?” Says I, “can’t you read?”

“No,” says he, “we can’t none of us read, my father, nor my brothers; there is nine of us in all. My father and mother was first cousins,” says he in a confidential tone; “and the rest of my brothers don’t know only jest enough to keep out of the fire. I am the only smart one in the family. But,” says he, “my brothers will all do jest as father and I tell ’em to, and they will all vote a good many times a day, every ’lection; and we are all willin’ to do the fair thing and vote for the one that will pay us the most. But not knowin’ how to read, we git cheated,” says he with that bitter look, “there is so much corruption in politics now-a-days.”

“I should think as much,” says I. And almost overcome by my emotions, I spoke my mind out loud.

“There couldn’t be much worse goin’s on, anyway, if wimmen voted.”

“Wimmen vote!” says he in a awful scornful tone. “Wimmen!”

“Then you don’t believe in their votin’,” says I mekanically (as it were) for I was agitated, very.

“No I don’t,” says he, in a bold, hauty tone. “Wimmen don’t know enough to vote.”

I wouldn’t contend with him, and to tell the truth, though I haint hauty, and never was called so, I was fairly ashamed to be catched talkin’ with him, he looked so low and worthless. And I was glad enough that that very minute brother Wesley Minkley came up a holdin’ out his hand, and says he:

“How do you do sister Allen, seems to me you look some cast down. How do you feel in your mind to-day, sister Allen?”

Bein’ very truthful, I was jest a goin’ to tell him that I felt considerable strange. But I was glad indeed that he forgot to wait for my answer, but went on, and says he:

“I heard the words the poor man uttered as I drew near, and I must say that although he had the outward appearance of bein’ a shack—an idiotic shiftless shack, as you may say,—still he uttered my sentiments. We will wave the subject, however, of wimmen’s incapacity to vote.”

Elder Minkley is a perfect gentleman at heart, and he wouldn’t for anything, tell me right out to my face that I didn’t know enough to vote. I too am very lady-like when I set out, and I wasn’t goin’ to be outdone by him, so I told him in a genteel tone, that I should think he would want to wave off the subject, after perusin’ such a specimen of male sufferage as had jest disappeared from our vision.

SENATOR VYSE AND HIS VICTIM

“Yes,” says Elder Minkley mildly, and in a gentlemanly way, “we will wave it off. But Senator Vyse was a sayin’ to me jest now—he has come in to vote, and we got to talkin’, the Senator and I did, about wimmen’s votin’; and he is bitter ag’inst it. And I believe jest as the Senator does, that woman’s sufferage would introduce an element into politics, that would tottle it down from the foundation of justice and purity, on which it now firmly rests.”

I didn’t say a word, but oh! what a strange agitated feelin’ I felt, to hear brother Minkley go on—for that very Senator Vyse he was a talkin’ about, is a disgrace to Jonesville and the world. A meaner, licentiouser man never trod shoe leather. He lives two or three miles out of Jonesville, in a awful big, nice place; looks like a castle; he has troops of servants, and a colored nigger to drive his horses, and is considered a big-bug. And truly, if meanness makes a man feel big he has reason enough to feel. I never could bear the sight on him, though he is called handsome, and has dretful fascinatin’ ways. Bein’ so awful rich (he owns township after township, and heaps of money) he is made as much of as if he was made of pure gold from head to feet. But he’ll never git me nor Josiah to make of him; Josiah’s morals are as sound as brass.

But brother Minkley went on a talkin’, and oh! how I went on a thinkin’: “Senator Vyse says, that the nation would be so madded to have wimmen try to vote, that it would rise up to a man, to defend the purity of the pole. Ah! here comes the Senator to vote; look quick, Alzina Ann! stand up close to me, and I’ll try to introduce you.”

Oh! how reverentially, and awe-struck everybody in the store looked at the Senator as he came a sailin’ in, a lookin’ as big and hauty as if he owned Jonesville and the hull world. I believe they would have strewed palm leaves in his way, if they had any palms by ’em. He stopped a minute to speak to brother Minkley and the Elder introduced his wife to him, with an air as if he was a settlein’ a dowery on her, that would make her rich for life. And sister Minkley looked on to him as awe-stricken, and admirin’ly, as if he was a entire menagery of new and curious animals, and she beholdin’ ’em for the first time on a free ticket. And when he reached out his hand to shake hands with her, she acted perfectly overcome with joy.

Then brother Minkley introduced the Senator to me, with considerable the mean as if he was makin’ me a present of a nice house and lot, all paid for. But when that Senator reached out his hand to shake hands with Josiah Allen’s wife, that woman, nerved completely up with principle, jest looked at him with a stiddy lofty mean, and gripped holt of her brown alpaca overskirt, and never touched his hand. I wouldn’t. It was white and delicate, and a great seal ring set with diamonds glittered on it, but it was stained with crimes blacker than murder, enough sight; I had jest as lives laid holt of a pisen serpent.

INTRODUCTION TO THE SENATOR.

I am naturally well bred, and polite in my demeanor, and the politest way is generally the quietest way; so ruther than make a fuss, I bowed my head a very little, mebby half or three quarters of a inch. But oh! what a majestic look there was on my eyebrow; what a terrible rebukin’ expression curved my nostrils; what a firmness, and a icyness there sot throned on my upper lip. He felt it. His handsome false face turned red as blood, as I calmly replied to brother Minkley’s last words. Says I:

“I agree with you brother Minkley in what you said. I think it would be a first-rate plan to keep impure people from the pole, male or female. It would be apt to thin the voters out considerable; it would be apt to make it considerable lonesome for the pole. But howsumever, I should approve of it highly and so would Josiah.”

Truly, if the coat fits anybody, let ’em put it on freely, without money and without price. Senator Vyse felt what I said deeply, I know he did, for I’ll be hanged if I ever see Josiah’s face look any meachener in his meachinest times. I then coolly turned my back to ’em and looked out of the winder; and the Senator and brother Minkley went up towards the pole together, for the Elder seemed to think it would be a perfect treat to see such a big man vote. And sister Minkley followed him with her eyes, as admirin’ly as if he was a hull circus, side show and all.

When Senator Vyse and Brother Minkley moved off toward the pole, Sister Minkley and I was left alone. We was in a little corner by the winder, fenced in by a high counter and still more deeply secluded by a lofty and almost precipitous pile of rag carpetin’, that towered up on the nigh side of us. On the off side as I said was the counter.

My body stood there a lookin’ out of the winder, but my mind was nearly lost in thought, a wanderin’ off into a complete wilderness of strange and conflictin’ idees; little underbrushes of puzzlin’ contradictions, runnin’ every which way, and hedgin’ my mind almost completely up, when it tried to soar off free and noble; great high trees of the world’s curious beliefs, and practices, and proceedin’s, castin’ a shadder black as night down on the ever green mosses beneath ’em all. Sometimes my tuckered out mind would git half a minute’s rest, reclinin’ as you may say, on them mosses, that with tender, faithful fingers, touch with the same repose, the ruins of castle and hovel; that are ever green in sunshine and in shade; that quietly, silently—never hastin’, never restin’, never tirin’—make a soft piller for all tired heads alike; the lofty, and the lowly. Sometimes, as I say, I would rest half a moment in the thought of that tender Mercy and Compassion. And little wild flowers of sweet thoughts and consolations, would kinder peep up at me, and hopes, and prophecies of truth and justice would shine out like glorious stars; and I’d git perhaps for three quarters of a moment or so, all lit up and a feelin’ awful well. Then my mind would soar off again, considerable of a ways, and some of them runnin’ vines of curious idees and customs, that was a tanglin’ up the tree tops, would trip it up, and down it would come again—all the harder from fallin’ from such a height. Good land! what a hard time it was a havin’. All of a sudden sister Minkley spoke up, for she too, it seems, had been a lookin’ out of the winder, entirely unbeknown to me.

Says she, “I believe jest as Wesley and Senator Vyse does. Look at that creeter across the street. What would become of the nation if such things was permitted to vote?”

And she pinted with her gingham umberell across the street to a girl that was sometimes in Jonesville, and sometimes in the city. A girl, that every time I looked at her, made my cheeks blush with shame for her, and my eyes brim over with tears for her. I don’t believe there was ever a dry eye in my head when I looked at that girl, because I had heerd her story, the hull thing, from one that knew. And that was one very great reason, why I turned my back to Senator Vyse, and wouldn’t touch his hand; the mean, contemptible, creeter.

YOUNG WOMANHOOD.

This very girl when she was a child, was left to his care by her dyin’ mother and she grew up as pretty as a half blown rose bud, and jest as innocent; an orphan, unbeknowin’ to the world, its glory, and its wickedness. And he learnt it all to her, all its glory, and all its wickedness; for she thought, innocent young lamb, that a new world of light and glory had swung down from heaven a purpose for him and her, in them days when he ransacked heaven and earth to find tender ways and tender words enough to tell his love for her, his admiration for her beauty, her brightness, her grace, her sweet confidin’ innocence. And so he held her heart, her life in his hands, and she would have been thankful to have laid them down for the handsome villain, if he had told her to. And holdin’ her heart as he did, he broke it. Holdin’ her life as he did, he ruined it. By every hellish art that could be called to aid him, he deliberately committed this sin. Brought her down from innocence and happiness, to ruin, wretchedness, disgrace, despair, drink, the streets. And then he was unanimously chosen by a majority of the people to make wise laws, such as legalizing sin and iniquity, and other noble statutes, for the purifyin’ of the nation. And she,—why, as she is too low and worthless for anything else, she is used as a capital illustration to enforce the fact, that wimmen like her are too sinful to vote.

Says I speakin’ right out, loud and very eloquent: “Sister Minkley, as sure as there is a God in heaven, such injustice will not be permitted to go on forever.”

I s’pose I skairt her, speakin’ out so sudden like, and she not knowin’ what performances had been a performin’ in my mind. And she murmured again almost mekanically:

“It would be the awfulest thing I ever hearn on, for such creeters to vote.”

Says I, “That old torment can vote can’t he, the one that brought her where she is?”

“No doubt but what she was to blame,” says sister Minkley drawin’ her lips down in a real womanly way.

“Who said she wasn’t!” says I in real excited axents. “But this I will contend for, that her sin compared to his, wasn’t so much as a morphine powder to a barrell of flour.”

“She no need to have sunk down to where she is now,” says sister Minkley speakin’ again, in a real prudent, womanly tone.

FALLEN.

Says I, “Sister Minkley, when that girl found out that the man she loved better than her own soul, that she looked up to as a God, as wimmen will, when she found that that man had betrayed her, ruined her, do you s’pose she had any faith left in God or man? The hull world reeled with her, and she went down with the shock. How low she went down, you nor I shall never know. And may the God above, who is able to keep us all from temptation, keep your childern and mine, sister Minkley.”

“Amen!” says sister Minkley jest as solemn as if she was to camp-meetin’. For danger never looks so dangerous, nor ruin so ruinous, as when a mother thinks of her own childern fallin’ onto it.

Says I, “Sister Minkley when I think it might have been my Tirzah Ann, what feelin’s I feel.”

“And jest so I feel,” says she. Sister Minkley does dretful well by her childern, thinks a sight on ’em, and the mother in her was touched.

Says I, “Sister Minkley, that girl had a mother once. A mother’s hand to guide her upwards—to lay on her brow when it ached. A mother’s love to keep her from temptation. A mother’s arms to hold her from evil, from coldness, from blame. A mother’s heart to rest on, when tired, tired out with the world. Less try to feel for her a little as that faithful heart would, if it wasn’t put away under the grasses.”

Says I, almost eloquently, “It don’t look well sister Minkley for mother’s hands that have held little trustin’ baby fingers in them, to be pinted out in mockery, or stun bruised in stunnin’ such as she. No! rather let them be lifted up to high heavens in prayer for ’em, or reached in help to ’em, or wipin’ away tears of pity and sorrow for ’em. Let mothers think for one half or even one third of a moment, what if death had unloosed their own claspin’ lovin’ hands from the baby fingers—tender trustin’ little fingers,—and so many different hands in the world reached out to clasp ’em, and they so weak, so confidin’, and so woefully ignorant what hands to lay holt of, little helpless, foolish lambs, that love guarded, love watched in safe homes, need such wise guidance, and prayers, and tears, and watchfulness—what would become of them wanderin’ alone in a world full of wolves, temptation, starvation, and more’n forty other old whelps, some of the fiercest ones so covered up with honest lookin’ wool, that the keenest spectacles are powerless for the time bein’ to tell ’em from sheep. Little white lambs travelin’ alone so dangerous and black a road, how can they keep themselves white unless God keeps ’em. We mothers ort to think such thoughts sister Minkley, and pray prayers daily, not alone for our own childern, but for all of Gods little ones—for all of these poor wanderers; askin’ for heavenly wisdom and strength to save them, win them back to a better life.”

THE LITTLE INNOCENT.

“Amen,” says sister Minkley, speakin’ up jest as prompt and serene as if she was carryin’ on a conference meetin’. She is as well meanin’ a woman as I ever see, and bein’ a Methodist by perswasion ‘Amens’ come jest as natural to her as the breath she breathes. They are truly her theme; but she means well.

Says I goin’ on and resumin’:

“After that girl gave her freshness and beauty to the little face that lay for a few months on her bosom—dear to her, dearer to her in all her shame and guilt, than her life, because she could see his features in it—then Senator Vyse grew tired of her.

GRIEF AND REMORSE.

“And then her baby died. Perhaps God knew she was not fit to guide a deathless life, so he took to himself the little white soul. And she missed it. Missed the little constant hands that clung to her trustingly—the innocent eyes that never looked at her scornfully, and the little loving head that nestled fearlessly on her guilty breast.

“TOOK TO DRINKIN’.”

“And then, the Senator bein’ very tired of her, and havin’ found a newer face that he liked better, turned her out doors, and she went ravin’ wild, they say, run off into the woods, tried to kill herself. They took her to the hospittle, and when she got over her wildness, she would set by the winder all day, pale as a ghost, jest for the chance of seein’ him ridin’ by—for she couldn’t kill her love for him, that was one of the hardest things for her; she couldn’t strangle it out no more’n she could kneel down and pray the sun out of the sky, because she had had a sunstroke. And what did she do to try to forget him and her agony? She took to drinkin’, and fell lower and lower; so low, that nothin’ but God’s mercy can ever reach down to her.”

Says I, “Her face used to be as innocent and sweet as your baby’s face, your little Katy; and look at it now, if you want to see what this man has done. Look at the shame there, where there used to be fearlessness and trust; look at the wretchedness, where there used to be happiness; look at the vicious look, the guilty look, where there was innocence and purity; see how she is shunned and despised by those who used to love and respect her; consider the gulf his hands have dug, deep as eternity, between her and the old life she weeps over but can never return to. If, when she was sweet, and innocent, and trustin’, and fitter for heaven than she ever will be again—when she was first left to his care—he had killed her with his own hands, it wouldn’t have been half the crime he has done now, for then he would only have harmed her body, not her immortal soul.

“And what seems to me the most pitiful thing, sister Minkley, is, he ruined that girl through the best part of her nater—her trust, her affection. Jest as a young deer is led to its death by an old panther mockin’ the voice of its dam, jest so did this old human panther lead this innocent young creeter astray by mockin’ the voice of love,—that holiest of voices—lead her down to destruction through her tenderness, her love for him. And now, after he has stole her happiness, her innocence, her purity, her self-respect, and the respect of others, all her earthly hopes of happiness and her hopes of heaven; after she has lost all for his sake; after he has committed this crime against her, the greatest that man can commit, he crows over her and feels above her; says, ‘you can’t vote, but I can; oh yes, I am all right because I am a man.’ Good land! sister Minkley, how mad it makes me to see such injustice and iniquity.”

But sister Minkley’s mind had got to travelin’ again the ways of the world, and she spoke out in a sort of a preachin’ tone—I s’pose she kinder catched it from Brother Minkley, unbeknown to her:

“Listen to the voice of Solomon concernin’ strange wimmen. ‘She layeth in wait as for a prey. She increaseth the trangressions amongst men. My son rejoice with the wife of thy youth, be thou ravished always with her love. Beware of strange wimmen! Her feet go down to death. Her steps take hold on hell!’”

I was agitated and almost by the side of myself, and I spoke out quick like, before I had time to think how it would sound.

Says I, “That very same strange woman that Solomon was bewarin’ his son about, was innocent once, and in the first on’t some man led her astray, and I shouldn’t wonder a mite if it was old Solomon himself.”

“Good gracious!” says sister Minkley, “Why’e!”

Says I, “I mean well sister Minkley; and there can’t nobody go ahead of me in honorin’ Solomon for what was honorable in him, and admirin’ what was admirable in him. He bilt one of the biggest meetin’ housen’s that ever was bilt, did lots of good, and some of his words are truly like ‘apples of gold in pitchers of silver,’ chuck full of wisdom and goodness. But I must speak the truth if I speak at all sister Minkley, especially where my sect is concerned. As you probable know, private investigation into the wrongs of my sect and tryin’ to right them wrongs, is at present my mission and my theme, (and also promiscous advisin’.) And I must say, that I think Solomon talked to his son a little too much about bewarin’ of strange wimmen, and exhortin’ him to stick to the wife of his youth, when he had ten hundred wimmen by him all the time, and then wasn’t satisfied but started off to git a couple more—upwards of a thousand wimmen. Good gracious! sister Minkley; I should have thought some of ’em would have looked strange to him.”

“Why sister Allen! why’e!”

“I mean well, sister Minkley; I mean first rate. And I’ll bet a cent if you should speak your mind right out, you would say that you don’t uphold Solomon in all his doin’s no more’n I do. He was altogether too familiar with wimmen, Solomon was, to suit me. Marryin’ seven hundred of ’em. Good land! And folks make a great fuss now-a-days if a man marries two; claps him right into jail quicker’n a wink, and good enough for him; he ort to go. One woman at a time is my theme, and that is the theme of the new testament, and what that says is good enough for me or anybody else; it is God’s own words to us sister Minkley.”

I had been dretful kinder agitated in tone, I felt so deeply what I said. But I continued on in some milder axents, but impressive as impressive could be—for I was a talkin’ on principle, and I keep a tone by me all the time on purpose for that, a dretful deep, lofty, eloquent tone; and I used it now, as I went on and proceeded.

As I said sister Minkley, I have made the subject of wimmen my theme for quite a number of years—ever sense the black African and the mortgage on our farm was released. I have meditated on what wimmen has done, and what she haint done; what treatment she has received, and what she haint received. Why sometimes, sister Minkley, when I have got onto that theme, my mind has soared to that extent that you wouldn’t have any idee of, if you never had seen anything done in the line of soarin’. It has sailed back to the year one, and sailed onwards through the centuries that lie between to that golden year we both believe in sister Minkley. It has soared clear from the east to the west, and seen sad eyed Eastern wimmen with veiled faces, toys, or beasts of burden, not darin’ to uncover their faces to the free air and light of heaven, because man willed it so. It has seen Western wimmen, long processions of savages, the wimmen carryin’ the babies, the house, and household furniture on their backs, while the men, unburdened and feathered out nobly, walked in front of ’em, smoking calmly, and meditatin’ on the inferiority of wimmen.

I never contended that wimmen was perfect, far from it. You have heerd me say in the past, that I thought wimmen was meaner than pusly about some things. I say so still. My mind haint changed about wimmen, nor about pusly. But justice is what I have been a contendin’ for; justice, and equal rights, and a fair dividin’ of the burdens of life is my theme; and I say they haint been used well.

ABOUT A FAIR THING.

Now in the year one, when Adam and Eve eat that apple, jest as quick as Adam swallowed it—probable he most choked himself with the core, he was in such a awful hurry to get his mouth clear, so he could lay the blame onto Eve. “The woman did tempt me, and I did eat.”

“But thank fortin, he didn’t make out much, for Eternal Goodness, which is God, is forever on the side of Right. And Adam and Eve—as any two ort to be who sin together—got turned out of Eden, side by side, out of the same gate, into the same wilderness; and the flaming sword that kept Eve back from her old life of beauty and innocence, kept Adam back, too. Sister Minkley, that is my theme. When two human souls turn the Eden of their innocence into a garden of guilt, punish ’em both alike, and don’t turn her out into the wilderness alone; don’t flash the flamin’ sword of your righteous indignation in her eyes and not in hisen.

“And then, there was Hagar’ses case,—when Abraham turned Hagar and his baby out into the desert. If I had lived neighbor to ’em, at the time, I should have give him a talkin’ to about it; I should have freed my mind, and felt relieved so fur, anyway. I should have said to the old gentleman, in a pleasant way, so’s not to git him mad:—‘I think a sight of you, Abraham, in the patriarch way. You are a good man, in a great many respects; but standin’ up for wimmen is my theme, (and also promiscous advisin’,) and do you think you are doin’ the fair thing by Hagar, to send her and your baby off into the desert with nothin’ but one loaf of bread and a bottle of water between them and death?’ Says I, ‘It is your child, and if it hadn’t been for you, Hagar would probable now be a doin’ housework round in Beersheba, a happy woman with no incumbrances. It is your child as well as hern, and you, to say the least of it, are as guilty as she is; and don’t you think it is a little ungenerous and unmanly in you, to drive her off into the desert—to let her in her weakness, take all the consequences of the sin you and she committed, when she had paid for it already pretty well, in the line of sufferin’?’ Says I, ‘I think a sight of you, Abraham, but in the name of principle, I say with the poet,—that what is sass for the goose, ort to be sass for the gander—and if she is drove off into the desert, you ort to lock arms with her and go too.’

“I’ll bet a cent I could have convinced Abraham that he was doin’ a cowardly and ungenerous act by Hagar. But then I wasn’t there; I didn’t live neighbor to ’em. And I persume Sarah kep’ at him all the time; kep’ a tewin’ at him about her; kep’ him awake nights a twittin’ him about her, and askin’ him to start her off. I persume Sarah acted meaner than pusly.

“Human nater, and especially wimmen human nater is considerable the same in the year 18 and 1800, and I’ll bet a cent, (or I wouldn’t be afraid to bet a cent, if I believed in bettin’,) that if Sarah had had her way, Hagar wouldn’t have got even that loaf of bread and bottle of water. It says, Abraham got up early—probable before Sarah was up—and give ’em to her, and started her off. I shouldn’t wonder a mite if Sarah twitted Abraham about that loaf of bread every time she did a bakin’, for a number of years after. And that bottle. I dare persume to say, if the truth was known, that she throwed that bottle in his face more’n a hundred times, deplorin’ it as the toughest-hided, soundest bottle in all Beersheba.

“But as I said, I wasn’t there, and Abraham turned her out, and Hagar had a hard time of it out in the desert, toilin’ on alone through its dreary wastes, hungry for bread, and hungry for love; dying from starvation of soul and body; deceived; despised; wronged; deserted; lonely; broken-hearted; and carrying with all the rest of her sorrow—as mothers will—the burden of her child’s distress. Why, this woman’s wrongs and misery opened the very gates of Heaven, and God’s own voice comforted and consoled her; again Eternal Justice and Mercy spoke out of Heaven for wimmen. Why is it that his childern on earth will continue to be so deaf and dumb—deaf as a stun—for 6000 years.

“But from that time to this, take it between the Abrahams and the Sarahs of this world, the Hagars have fared hard, and the Abrahams have got along first rate; the Hagars have been turned out into the desert to die there, and the Abrahams that ruined ’em, have increased in flocks and herds; are thought a sight of and are high in the esteem of wimmen. Seems as though the more Hagars they fit out for the desert business, the more feathers it is in their cap. Every Hagar they start out is a new feather, till some get completely feathered out; then they send ’em to Congress, and think a sight on ’em.

“I declare for’t it is the singularest thing I ever see, or hearn tell on, how folks that are so just in every thing else, are so blinded in this one. And” says I almost wildly—for I grew more and more agitated every minute, and eloquent—“the female sect are to blame for this state of affairs;” says I, “men as a general thing, all good men, have better idees in this matter than we do, enough sight. Wimmen are to blame—meetin’ house wimmen and all,—you and I are to blame sister Minkley,” says I. “As a rule the female sect wink at men’s sins, but not a wink can you ever git out of them about our sins. Not a wink. We have got to toe the mark in morals, and we ort to make them toe the mark. And if we did, we should rise 25 cents in the estimation of every good man, and every mean one too, for they can’t respect us now, to toady and keep a winkin’ at ’em when they wont at us; they can’t respect us. We ort to require as much purity and virtue in them, as they do in us, and stop winkin’.” Says I, “Winkin’ at men’s sins is what is goin’ to ruin us all, the hull caboodle of us; ruin men, ruin wimmen, Jonesville, and the hull nation. Let the hull female race, fur and near, bond and free, in Jonesville and the world, stop winkin’.”

I don’t believe I had been any more eloquent sense war times; I used to get awful eloquent then, talkin’ about the colored niggers. And I declare I don’t know where, to what heights and depths my eloquence would have flown me off to, if I hadn’t jest that minute heard a low, lady-like snore—sister Minkley was asleep. Yes, she had forgot her troubles; she was leanin’ up ag’inst the high pile of rag carpetin’, that kinder fenced us in, fast asleep. But truly, she haint to blame. She has bad spells,—a sort of weakness she can’t help. But jest at that very minute my Josiah came up and says he:

“Come Samantha! haint you about ready to go?”

“Yes,” says I, for truly principle had tuckered me out. Josiah’s voice had waked up sister Minkley, and she give a kind of a start, and says she:

“Amen, sister Allen! I can say amen to that with all my heart. You talked well sister Allen, especially towards the last. You argued powerful.”

I wasn’t goin’ to twit her of not hearin’ a word of it. Brother Minkley jest that minute sent in word that he was ready, and to hurry up, for the colts wouldn’t stand. (He had hired a neighborin’ team.) And so we two wimmen, sister Minkley and I started home from ’lection.

I don’t know as I ever see Josiah Allen in any better spirits, than he was, as we started off on our tower homewards. He had been to the clothin’ store and bought him a new Sentinal neck-tie, red, white and blue. It was too young for him by forty years, and I told him so; but he said he liked it the minute he sot his eyes on it, it was so dressy. That man is vain. And then ’lection bid fair to go the way he wanted it to. He was awful animated, his face was almost wreathed in a smile, and before the old mare had gone several rods, he begun what a neat thing it was, and what a lucky hit for the nation, that wimmen couldn’t vote. And he kep’ on a talkin’, that man did, as he was a carryin’ me home from ’lection, about how it would break a woman’s modesty down to go to the pole, and how it would devour her time and so 4th, and so 4th. And I was that tired out and fatigued a talkin’ to sister Minkley that I let him go on for more’n a mile, and never put in my note at all. Good land! I’d heerd it all over from him, word for word, more’n a hundred times, and so I sot still. I s’pose he never thought how it was my lungs that ailed me, that I had used ’em almost completely up in principle, how I was almost entirely out of wind. And though a woman’s will may be good, and her principles lofty, still she can’t talk without wind. For truly in the words of a poem, I once perused:

“What’s Paul, or Pollus, when a sinner’s dead? dead for want of breath.”

I don’t s’pose he thought of my bein’ tuckered out, but honestly s’pose he thought he was convincin’ of me; for his mean grew gradually sort of overbearin’ like, and contemptible, till he got to be more big feelin’ and hauty in his mean than I had ever known him to be, and independenter. And he ended up as follers:

“Now, we have purity, and honesty, and unswervin’ virtue, and incorruptible patriotism at the pole. Now, if corruption tries to stalk, honest, firm, lofty minded men stand ready to grip it by the throat. How can it stalk, when it is a chokin’? Wimmen haint got the knowledge, the deep wisdom and insight into things that we men have. They haint got the lofty idees of national honor, and purity, that we men have. Wimmen may mean well—”

He was feelin’ so neat that he felt kinder clever towards the hull world, hemale, and female. “Wimmen may mean well, and for arguments sake, we’ll say they do mean well. But that haint the pint, the pint is here—”

And he pinted his forefinger right towards the old mare. Josiah can’t gesture worth a cent. He wouldn’t make a oriter, if he should learn the trade for years. But ever sense he has been to the Debatin’ school, he has seemed to have a hankerin’ that way. “The pint is here. Not knowin’ so much as we men know, not bein’ so firm and lofty minded as we be, if wimmen should vote corruption would stalk; they not havin’ a firm enough grip to choke it off. They would in the language of the ’postle be ‘blowed about by every windy doctor.’ They would be tempted by filthy lucre to ‘sell their birth-right for a mess of pottery,’ or crockery, I s’pose the text means. They haint got firmness; they are whifflin’, their minds haint stabled. And if that black hour should ever come to the nation, that wimmen should ever go to the pole—where would be the lofty virtue, the firm high-minded honesty, the incorruptible patriotism that now shines forth from politics? Where would be the purity of the pole? Where? oh! where?”

I’ll be hanged if I could stand it another minute, and my lungs havin’ got considerable rested, I spoke up, and says I:

“You seem to be havin’ a kind of a enquiry meetin’ in politics, Josiah Allen, and I’ll get up in my mind, and speak in meetin’.” And then I jest let loose that eloquent tone I keep by me expressly for the cause of principle; I used the very loftiest and awfulest one I had by me, as I fastened my specks immovably on hisen. “Where is that swaller tailed coat of Father Allen’s?”

And in slower, sterner, colder tones, I added:

“With the brass buttons. Where is it Josiah Allen? Where? oh! where?”

Oh! What a change came over my companion’s mean. Oh, how his feathers drooped and draggled on the ground speakin’ in a rooster and allegory way. Oh, what a meachin’ look covered him like a garment from head to foot. I declare for’t if his boots didn’t look meachin’, and his hat and his vest. I never seen a meachener lookin’ vest than hisen, as I went on:

“I’d talk Josiah Allen about men bein’ so pure-minded, and honest. I’d talk about wimmens bein’ whifflin’ and their minds not stabled. I’d talk about the purity of the pole. I’d love to see Josiah Allen’s wife buyin’ votes; bribin’ Miss Gowdey or sister Minkley away from the paths of honesty and virtue, with a petticoat or a bib apron. I’d love to see George Washington offerin’ his jack knife to Patrick Henry to get him to vote his ticket; or Benjamin Franklin, or Thomas Jefferson sellin their votes for store clothes. I should be ashamed to go to the Sentinal Josiah Allen, if I was in your place. I should be perfectly ashamed to set my eyes on that little hatchet that George Washington couldn’t tell a lie with. I should think that hatchet would cut your conscience clear to the bone—if you have got a conscience, Josiah Allen.

“Oh! Did I ever expect to see the companion of my youth and middle age, betrayin’ his country’s honor; trafficin’ in bribery and sin; dickerin’ with dishonesty; tradin’ in treason; buyin’ corruption; and payin’ for it with a swaller tailed coat, with his old father’s blue swaller tailed coat that his lawful pardner wanted for carpet rags. Oh, the agony of this half an hour, Josiah Allen! Oh, the feelin’s that I feel.”

JOSIAH FINDS HIS SECRET IS KNOWN.

But Josiah had begun to pick up his crumbs again. Truly it is hard work to keep men down in the valley of humiliation. You can’t keep ’em worked up and mortified for any great length of time, do the best you can. But I continued on in almost dretful axents.

“You ort to repent in sackcloth and ashes, Josiah Allen.”

“We haint got no sackcloth Samantha,” says he, “and we have sold our ashes. Probable the man wouldn’t want me to be a repentin’ in ’em. It would be apt to leach ’em, too much lie for ’em.”

“I’d try to turn it off into a joke, Josiah Allen, I’d laugh if I was in your place about lyin’. Your tears ort to flow like a leach barrell. Oh if you could realize as I do the wickedness of your act. Destroyin’ your country’s honor. Sellin’ your father’s coat when I wanted it for carpet rags.” Says I, “I am as good a mind as I ever was to eat, to color the hull thing black, warp and all, makin’ a mournin’ carpet of it, to set down and bewail my pardner’s wickedness from year to year.”

“It would look pretty solemn Samantha.” I see the idee worried him.

“It wouldn’t look no solemner than I feel, Josiah Allen.”

And then I kep’ perfectly still for a number of minutes, for silence is the solemn temple with its roof as high as the heavens, convenient for the human soul to retire into, at any time, unbeknown to anybody; to offer up thanksgivin’s, or repent of iniquities. And I thought my Josiah was repentin’ of hisen.

But truly as I said men’s consciences are like ingy rubber, dretful easy and stretchy, and almost impossible to break like a bruised reed. For while I was a hopin’ that my companion was a repentin’, and thought mebby he would burst out a cryin’, overcome by a realizin’ sense of his depravities; and I was a thinkin’ that if he did, I should take up a corner of his bandanna handkerchief and cry on it too—that man for all his back slidin’s is so oncommon dear to me—he spoke out in jest as chirp a way as I ever seen him, and for all the world, jest as if he hadn’t done nothin’:

“I wonder if sister Doodle will have supper ready, Samantha. I meant to have told her to fried a little o’ that beef.”