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

THE GRAND EXHIBITION.

From the first minute I had give a thought to goin’ to see the Sentinal, my idee had been to git boarded up in a private house. And I had my eye (my mind’s eye) upon who was willin’ and glad to board us. The Editor of the Auger’ses wife’s sister’s husband’s cousin boarded folks for a livin’—she was a Dickey and married to a Lampheare. The Editor of the Auger’ses wife told me early in the spring, that if she went, she should go through the Sentinal to her sisters’, and she happened to mention Miss Lampheare and the fact that she boarded up folks for a livin’. So when we decided to go, I told her when she wrote to her sister to ask her, to ask Miss Lampheare if she was willin’ to board Josiah and me, and how much she would ask for the boards. She wrote back; her terms was moderate and inside of our means, and my mind was at rest. I almost knew that Josiah would want to throw himself onto his relatives through the Sentinal, but the underpinnin’ was no firmer and rockier under our horse barn than the determination of her that was Samantha Smith, not to encamp upon a 2nd cousin. We had quite a lot of relations a livin’ out to Filadelfy—though we never seen ’em,—sort o’ distant, such as 2nd cousins, and so 4th, till they dwindled out of bein’ any relations at all; descendants of the Daggets and Kidds,—Grandmother Allen was a Kidd—no relation of old Captain Kidd. No! if any of his blood had been in my Josiah’s veins, I would have bled him myself if I had took a darnin’ needle to it. No! the Kidd’ses are likely folks as I have heerd—and Josiah was rampant to go to cousin Sam Kidds (a Captain in the late war), through the Sentinal. But again I says to him calmly but firmly:

“No! Josiah Allen, no! anything but bringin’ grief and trouble onto perfect strangers jest because they happened to be born second cousin to you, unbeknown to ’em;” and I repeated with icy firmness—for I see he was a hankerin’ awfully,—“Josiah Allen I will not encamp upon Captain Kidd through the Sentinal.”

No! Miss Lampheare was my theme, and my gole, and all boyed up with hope we arrove at her dwellin’ place. Miss Lampheare met us at the door herself. She was a tall spindlin’ lookin’ woman, one that had seen trouble—for she had always kep’ boarders, and had had four husbands, and buried ’em in a row, her present one bein’ now in a decline. When I told her who I was, she met me with warmth and said that any friend of she that was Alminy Dickey was dear to her. But friendship, let it be ever so ardent can not obtain cream from well water, or cause iron bedsteads to stretch out like Injy Rubber. She had expected us sooner, if we come at all, and her house was overflowin’—every bed, lounge, corner and cupboard, being occupied, and the buro and stand draws made up nightly for childern.

What was we to do? Night would soon let down her cloudy mantilly upon Josiah and me, and what was to become of us. Miss Lampheare seemed to pity us, and she directed us to a friend of hers; that friend was full; he directed us to another friend; that friend was overflowin’. And so it went on till we was almost completely tired out. At last Josiah come out of a house, where he had been seekin’ rest and findin’ it not; says he:

“They said mebby we could git a room at the ‘Grand Imposition Hotel.’” So we started off there, Josiah a scoldin’ every step of the way, and a sayin’:

“I told you jest how it would be, we ort to have gone to Captain Kidd’s.”

I didn’t say nothin’ back on the outside for I see by his face that it was no time for parley. But my mind was firm on the inside, to board in grocery stores, and room under my umberell, before I threw myself onto a perfect stranger through the Sentinal.

But a recital of our agony of mind and body will be of little interest to the gay, and only sadden the tender hearted; and suffice it to say in a hour’s time, we was a follerin’ the hired man to a room in the “Grand Imposition Hotel.”

Our room was good enough, and big enough for Josiah and me to turn round in it one at a time. It had a bed considerable narrer, but good and healthy—hard beds are considered healthy, by the best of doctors—a chair, a lookin’ glass, and a wash-stand. Josiah made a sight of fun of that, because it didn’t have but three legs.

But says I firmly, “That is one more than you have got Josiah Allen.” I wouldn’t stand none of his foolin’.

The room bein’ pretty nigh to the ruff,—very nigh on the backside,—Josiah complained a sight about hittin’ his head ag’inst the rafters. I told him to keep out then where he belonged, and not go to prowlin’ round at the foot of the bed.

“Where shall I go to Samantha,” says he in pitiful axents. “I let you have the chair, and what will become of me, if I don’t set somewhere, on the bed, or sunthin’.”

“Well,” says I mildly, “less try to make the best of things. It haint reasonable to expect to be to home and on a tower at the same time, simultaneous.”

When we eat supper we had a considerable journey to the dinin’ room, which looked a good deal on the plan of Miss Astor’ses, with lots of colored folks a goin’ round, a waitin’ on the hungry crowd. I didn’t see the woman of the house—mebby she was laid up with a headache, or had gone out for an afternoon’s visit—but the colored waiters seemed to be real careful of her property; they’d catch a tea-spoon right out of their pocket and put it in your tea; she couldn’t have kep’ a closer grip on her tea-spoons herself.

I can truly say without stretchin’ the truth the width of a horse hair, that the chamber-maid was as cross as a bear, for every identical thing I asked her for was a extra—she couldn’t do it without extra pay, but she did git me some ice water once, without askin’ me a cent extra for it. After we got to bed Josiah would lay and talk. He would speak out all of a sudden:

“Grand Imposition Hotel!”

And I’d say, “What of it, what if it is?”

And then he’d say: “They have got a crackin’ good name, Samantha. I love to see names that mean sunthin’.” And then he’d ask me if I remembered the song about Barbara Allen, and if it would hurt my feelin’s if he should lay and sing a verse of it to me, the bed put him in mind of it so.

I asked him what verse—but there was that in my tone that made him say no more about singin’—he said it was the verse where Barbara wanted her mother to have her coffin made “long and narrer.” And then he’d begin again about the pillers, and say how he wished he had brought a couple of feathers from home, to lay on, so he could have got some rest. He had pulled out a little wad of cotton-battin’ before we went to bed to convince me of their ingredents.

But I says to him: “Josiah Allen, a easy conscience can rest even on cotton-battin’ pillers,” and I added in awful meanin’ tones, “I am sleepy, Josiah Allen, and want to go to sleep. It is time,” says I with dignity, “that we was both reposin’ in the arms of Morphine.”

Nothin’ quells him down quicker than to have me talk in a classical high learnt way, and in a few minutes he was fast asleep. But though, as I told Josiah, my conscience was at rest and I felt sleepy, the musquitoes was dretful, and I don’t know as a guilty conscience could roust anybody up much more, or gall anybody more fearfully. They was truly tegus. And then the partition bein’ but thin, I could hear folks a walkin’ all night—and take it with their trampin’ and the musquitoes payin’ so much attention to me, I never got no good sleep ’till most mornin’; but then I got a good nap, and felt considerable chirk when I got up. We eat our breakfast in pretty good season and laid out to git a early start.

I didn’t have but one drawback worth mentionin’ and that was, I had lost one eye out of my specks somewhere on our way from Melankton Spicer’ses, and I told Josiah I felt mortified, after I had lotted so on seein’ the Sentinal, to think I had got to see him with one eye out; says he: “I guess you’ll see enough with one eye before night.”

Then I put on my things and we sot sail. It was a lovely mornin’ though considerable warm, and I felt well, and almost gay in spirits as we wended our way on our long and tegus journey from our room to the outside of the house; (we was goin’ to walk afoot to the Sentinal, the distance bein’ but short and triflin’) but at last we reached the piazza, and emerged into the street; I see that every man, woman and child was there in that identical street, and I thought to myself, there haint no Sentinal to-day, and everybody has come out into this street for a walk. I knew it stood to reason that if there had been a Sentinal there would have been one or two men or wimmin attendin’ to it, and I knew that every man woman and child on the hull face of the globe was right there before me, and behind me, and by the side of me, and fillin’ the street full, walkin’ afoot, and up in big covered wagons, all over ’em, on the inside, and hangin’ on to the outside, as thick as bees a swarmin’. Some of the horses was hitched ahead of each other, I s’pose so they could slip through the crowd easier. I couldn’t see the village hardly any owin’ to the crowd a crushin’ of me; but from what little I did see, it was perfectly beautiful. I see they had fixed up for us, they had whitewashed all their door-steps, and winderblinds, white as snow, and trimmed the latter all off with black ribbin strings.

Everything looked lovely and gay, and I thought as I walked along, Jonesville couldn’t compare with it for size and grandeur. I was a walkin’ along, crowded in body, but happy in mind, when all of a sudden a thought come to me that goared me worse than any elbo or umberell that had pierced my ribs sense we sot out from the tarvern. Thinks’es I all of a sudden; mebby they have put off the Sentinal ’till I come: mebby I have disappointed the Nation, and belated ’em, and put ’em to trouble.

This was a sad thought and wore on my mind considerable, and made me almost forget for the time bein’ my bodily sufferin’s as they pushed me this way and that, and goared me in the side with parasols and umberells, and carried off the tabs of my mantilly as far as they would go in every direction, and shoved, and stamped, and crowded. I declare I was tore to pieces in mind and body, when I arrove at last at the entrance to the grounds. The crowd was fearful here, and the yells of different kinds was distractive; one conceited little creeter catched right holt of the tabs of my mantilly, and yelled right up in my face: “Wont you have a guide? Buy a guide mom to the Sentinal.” And seven or eight others was a yellin’ the same thing to me, the impudent creeters; I jest turned round and faced the one that had got holt of my cape, and says I:

“Leggo of my tabs!”

He wouldn’t leggo; he stood and yelled out right up in my face, “Buy a guide, you haint got no guide!”

Says I with dignity, “Yes I have; duty is my guide and also Josiah; and now,” says I firmly, “if you don’t leggo of my tabs, I’ll make you leggo.” My mean skairt him; he leggo, and I follered on after my Josiah; but where was Josiah? I couldn’t see him; in tusslin with that impudent creeter over my cape, my companion had got carried by the crowd out of my sight. Oh! the agony of that half a moment; I turned and says to a policeman in almost agonizin’ tones:

“Where is my Josiah?”

He looked very polite at me, and says he:

“I don’t know.”

Says I, “Find him for me instantly! Have you the heart to stand still and see husbands and wives parted away from each other? Have you any principle about you? Have you got entirely out of pity?”

Says he with the same polite look, “I don’t know.”

“Have you a wife?” says I in thrillin’ axents: “Have you any childern?”

Says he, “I don’t know.”

I had heerd that there wasn’t no information to be extracted from ’em as a class, and I give up; and I don’t know what my next move would have been, if I hadn’t catched sight of that beloved face and that old familiar hat in front of me; I hastened forred and kep’ considerable calm in mind, while my body was bein’ crowded and pushed round, for I thought if my conjectures was true they would have reason enough to goar me.

IN THE CROWD.

But presently, or about that time we found ourselves carried by the crowd, and stranded (as it were) before some little places that looked some like the place the ticket agent looked from at Betsey Bobbet and me, when we bought our tickets for New York village; and I begun to feel easier in my mind, for they seemed to be purchasin’ tickets for the Sentinal. There was one place for wimmen, and one for men, not but a little ways apart; and my Josiah and me kinder divided up and waited our turn, and when he got a chance I see him step up in a peaceable way and ask how much a ticket cost.

“Fifty cents for a adult,” says the man.

Says Josiah, “I haint a adult.”

Says the man, “You be.”

Josiah looked as if he would sink to be accused—right there in company—of sunthin’ he never was guilty of in the world; it took him so aback that he couldn’t say another word to defend himself; he looked as mortified and sheepish as any black sheep I ever laid eyes on; and I jest stepped forred and took his part—for it madded me to see my pardner so brow-beat and imposed upon. Again Josiah says in a meachin’ way, for as mortified as he felt he seemed determined to stick to the truth, and not own up to what he wasn’t guilty of. “I haint a adult,” says he.

“No!” says I, “anybody that says that of my pardner, says what they can’t prove. Josiah Allen is a likely man; his character stands firm; he never had no such name, and it can’t be proved onto him; he is as sound moralled a man as you will find in Jonesville or the world!”

“I mean,” says the man, “50 cents for everybody except childern carried in the arms.”

“Well,” says I out of all manner of patience with him, “why didn’t you say so in the first on’t, and not go to hintin’ and insinuatin’.”

He tried to turn it off in a laugh, but his face turned red as blood, and well it might; tryin’ to break down a likely man’s character and gettin’ found out in the mean caper. Josiah took out a dollar bill and handed it to him, and he handed back sunthin’ which was tickets as Josiah s’posed; but when he handed me one soon afterwards or thereabouts, I see they was two fifty cent bills. Josiah was dumbfounded and so was I; but I spoke right out and says I, “That mean creeter is tryin’ to make us trouble, or else he is tryin’ to hush it up, and bribe us not to tell of his low lived conduct.” Says I firmly, “Less go right back and give him back his money and command him to give us a lawful ticket, and tell him we haint to be bought or sold; that our principles are elevated and we are on a tower.”

GOOD LAND! GOOD LAND! AND GOOD LAND!

So we went back again; and oh the sufferin’s of that season; if our agony was great when we was bore along by the crowd, what was our sufferin’s when we was stemmin’ our way ag’inst it. Two or three times my companion would have sunk beneath his burdens, but boyed up by my principle I held him up (as it were) and at last almost completely exhausted and wore out, and our faces covered with prespiration we stood before him again. He looked mad and cross, but tried to turn it off in a laugh when Josiah told him our business, and handed him back the money. He said it was all right and told us to give the money to a man near the turn stile and go in. I see he was in earnest, so I told Josiah we would go back and try it, and we did, and found it was jest as he said, but there was a great mystery to it; we handed out fifty cents a piece to a man, and he dropped it down through a little slit in a counter; and a gate that looked some like my new fashioned clothes bars, sort o’ turned round with us and let us in one at a time; and the minute I was inside I see my gloomy forebodin’s had been in vain—they hadn’t put off the Sentinal for me! That was my first glad thought; but my very next thought was, Good land! and Good land! and Good land! Them was my very first words, and they didn’t express my feelin’s a half or even a quarter. Why, comin’ right out of that contracted and crushin’ crowd, it seemed as if the place we found ourselves in was as roomy and spacious as the desert of Sarah, s’posen she, the desert, was fixed off into a perfect garden of beauty, free for anybody to wander round and git lost in.

And the majestic Main Buildin’ that nearly loomed up in front of us! Why! if old Ocian herself, had turned into glass, and wood-work, and cast-iron, and shinin’ ruffs, and towers, and flags, and statutes, and everything, and made a glitterin’ palace of herself, it couldn’t, (as it were) have looked any more grand and imposin’ and roomy; and if every sand by the seashore had jumped up and put on a bunnet or hat as the case may be, there couldn’t have been a bigger crowd (seeminly) than there was a passin’ into it, and a passin’ by, and a paradin’ round Josiah and me.

Under these strange and almost apaulin’ circumstances, is it any wonder that I stood stun still, and said, out of the very depths of my heart, the only words I could think of, that would any where nigh express my feelins, and they was “Good land!”

But as my senses begun to come back to me, my next thought was, as I looked round on every side of me, “Truly did my Josiah say, that I could see enough with one eye;” and jest then a band commenced playin’ the “Star Spangled Banner.” And hearin’ that soul stirrin’ music, and seein’ that very banner a wavin’ and floatin’ out, as if all the blue sky and rainbows sense Noah’s rainbow was cut up into its glorious stripes, with the hull stars of heaven a shinin’ on ’em,—why, as my faculties come back to me, a seein’ what I see—and hearin’ what I heerd, I thought of my 4 fathers, them 4 old fathers, whose weak hands had first unfurled that banner to the angry breeze, and thinks’es I, I would be willin’ to change places with them 4 old men right here on the spot, to let ’em see in the bright sunshine of 1876, what they done in the cloudy darkness of 1776.

I felt these feelin’s for I persume most a minute. But nobody—however strong principle may soar up in ’em—can be willin’ to die off when it haint a goin’ to be any particular benefit to anybody; they can’t feel so for any length of time, especially in such a strange and almost curious time as this was; souls may soar, but heart clings to heart—I thought of Josiah and without sayin’ a word to him, or askin’ his consent, I jest reached out my arm and locked arms with him for the first time in goin’ on thirteen years—not sense we had went to grandfather Smith’s funeral, and walked in the procession.

He begun to nestle round and wiggle his arm to make me leggo, but I hung on tight and never minded his worrysome actions, and finally he come out plain and says he:

“What is the use of lockin’ arms Samantha, it will make talk.”

Says I in a deep warnin’ voice, “Do you keep still, or you will be a lost Josiah.” Says I, firmly, “I think more of my pardner than I do of the speech of people, and if this endless host and countless multitude swallers us down, and we are never heard from again in Jonesville or the world, we will be swallered down together Josiah Allen,—a sweet thought to me.”

PATRONIZIN’ THE RAILROAD

So we walked round, lockin’ arms, and not sensin’ of it, (as it were) a lookin’ on the grandeur and imposin’ doins on every side of us. Presently, or not fur from that time—for truly I could not keep a correct run of the time of day, feelin’ as I did—I told Josiah that we would take the cars and ride round the Sentinal; there was a little railroad a purpose. So we crossed a square—green as green grass could make it—and all of a sudden I felt Josiah give a shudder, and heerd his teeth chatter; he was lookin’ at that fearfully wonderful statute of Washington crossin’ the Deleware. Oh dear! what a situation George was in.

Then he hunched me again, to look at a fountain made they say to show off light and water. Three handsome female girls a holdin’ up a bowl or rather a platter, bigger than any platter I ever see, to catch the water other female wimmin’ was a pourin’ down into it; and as many as ten globe lamps, a bein’ held up by beautiful arms. I’ll bet the hull on it was forty feet high, and I don’t know but more. Josiah would have staid there some time if I had encouraged him in it; he said with a dreamy look, that them girls was first-rate lookin’, but he should think their arms would ache a holdin’ up that platter and them big lamps. But says I, “Josiah Allen you haint no time to spend a pityin’ cast-iron wimmen in such a time as this, or admirin’ of em;” so I hurried him onwards to one of the stations of the railroad, and we paid five cents apiece and they let us up into the cars, and oh, how lovely everything did look as we rode onwards, drawed by as stiddy and smart a little enjun as ever I see hitched to a car. How cool and wet the lake did look on that hot day, with its great fountain sprayin’ out the water in so many different sprays, as we passed between it and the green, level grass all flowered off with gorgeous flower beds.

Anon, (or nearly that time) the enjun stopped before the Woman’s Pavilion—a noble big buildin’ that filled me with such proud and lofty emotions as I looked at it, that I don’t know to what height I should have soared up to a gazin’ on it, and thinkin’ of the sect that built it, if one of them very sect weighin’ about three hundred and fifty, in gittin’ out of the car, hadn’t stepped on my foot and crushed it so fearfully that instinctively my emotions was brought right down to the ends of my toes. In two minutes more, or two and a-half, we went round the head of the dell, and though my foot still felt the effects of tramplin’, I didn’t sense it, as I looked down the beautiful shady paths, all a seemin’ to lead to some handsome buildin’ and then up at the Agricultural Buildin’, big enough (seeminly) for old Agriculture and all his family all over the country to settle down and live in; and then we went on a little further by a cheese and butter house, and Brewers’ Hall. And then the enjun turned round and we went back most to the Woman’s Pavilion, and then sailed off down the avenue of State Buildins, by Machinery Hall (big enough for every machine in the world, and several of the planetary system’s machines, as it were) clear the hull length of this buildin’, back to the place we started from.

Here Josiah would have got out, ruther than paid five cents more; but I says to him, “Never before, Josiah Allen did five cents buy pleasure for me any where near the size and heft of this pleasure;” and I added kindly but firmly, “I am goin’ round again Josiah Allen.” He argued some, but I stood firm, and round we went again’, and then twice more which made four. I paid for the two last rides out of my own pocket, and didn’t begreech the money. No sooner would we go by one grand majestic buildin’ and mebby a few smaller ones, but perfectly beautiful, than another one would rise up before us seeminly still more majesticer than the last one.

And we wouldn’t no more than git our mouths well open with great astonishment and admiration and almost extacy, and our specks well sot on ’em, before another one would rise up before us, and we with our mouths not yet shet up from the last one. Oh dear! what a time we did have in our 2 minds. And seein’ what I see wouldn’t have been half so much, if I hadn’t had such a immense quantity of emotions; and every one of ’em the very biggest and noblest size they make. Eloquent, happy emotions of patriotism and grand pride in my Nation’s honor, and majesty, and power, and glory.

Oh! what a time I did have a settin’ there crowded in body but soarin’ in soul; the eye of my speck a calmly gazin’ into the faces environin’ of me round, and not seein’ of em, (as it were) but seein’ with my mind’s eye the Spirit of ’76, a risin’ up through the ghastly clouds of war, a misty shape that Hope could jest make out; a pale face, and shadowy hands with a little handful of stars and stripes most slippin’ out of ’em.

And then to see that face growin’ brighter and brighter, and more loftier and inspired; to see both of them hands reached heavenward in triumph, holdin’ firm clasped above her head the stars and the stripes a floatin’ out over the hull land; to see them eyes full of glory and mystery bent forever onwards and outwards, a lookin’ on sunthin’ I couldn’t see if I had both eyes to my specks; to see that lofty brow crowned with the Star of Empire, and that majestic form a floatin’ in triumph from the Atlantic over the Rocky mountains, clear to the Golden Gate, while the radiance of that star, a burnin’ on that almost inspired forward, sheds a light ahead over the deep waters to some still grander future; and then to see them deep mysterious eyes of glory and prophecy a follerin’ that light outward and onward, a seein’ what I couldn’t see, nor Josiah, nor anybody.

I kep’ a feelin’ nobler and nobler every minute, and finally I told Josiah of my own accord that I wanted to git out of that little contracted car, and walk afoot again. So we got out and roamed round, walkin’ afoot down the broad noble paths, by buildins some that looked you square in the face, some a steppin’ off sideways, (seeminly) some sot down flat on the ground, sort o’ solid and heavy as if they had sot down for good, and some standin’ up on tip-toe (as it were) on the top of big high steps, as if they was a startin’ off somewhere a visitin’; and some of the curiousest shaped ones I ever see, with their ruffs pinted up, with flags a flyin’ like big darnin’ needles threaded with red, white, and blue; some sort o’ leanin’ over as if they was a meditatin’; some ruffs shaped like a sheep’s head night-cap, with a cross standin’ up out of the crown; some long ruffs supportin’ hull rows of little ruffs like offsprings. Some Gabriel ends loftier and majesticer than you can think on; some dretful kinder peaked up and polite lookin’.

Some of the housen was plain and glossy on the sides, some criss-crossed off, some up and down, some sideways. There was housen of every color that ever was colored, with winders of every shape that ever a pain was cut into, and every sort of ornament that ever a house was trimmed off with. Why some of ’em seemed to be clear ornament, and nothin’ else. There was one in particular, with a flight of stairs on each side and some little slender pillows, that seemed to be clear trimmin’. It looked as light as if it was made of air and sunshine and ornament—which it was mostly. I says to Josiah: “That would be a beautiful home for summer, Josiah, but it would be too cold and windy in the winter season for me.” A young woman, sort o’ vacant lookin’, but dressed up slick spoke out to me, and says in a sort of a uppish tone:

“It haint a house, it is a music stand.”

Says I, “It haint a stand.”

Says she, “It is.”

But I wasn’t a goin’ to be brow-beat by her, so I says in a dignified tone:

“Young woman I have seen furniture and housen stuff when you was in Nonentity, and I guess I know a stand when I see it.” Says I, “I had two black cherry stands with curly maple drawers, with my settin’ out, and I helped Josiah pick out a noble bass-wood stand for Tirzah Ann when she was married and I say that haint a stand.”

Says she, “It is; don’t you see the Muse on top with the lyre.”

But I wouldn’t look up, I had too much dignity, and I resented deeply her tryin’ to lie to me so, and I jest looked at her keenly, and says I: “I can see liars without searchin’ for ’em on the top of housen.”

Says she, “I meant one of the Muses; one of Jupiter and Mnemosyne’s daughters, with her lyre?”

Says I firmly, “I don’t care whose daughters they be. I don’t think no more of a liar because they happen to have a likely father and mother. I abominate ’em, and always did.”

I looked very sharp at her, and she felt it; her face looked red as blood, and all swelled up with mortification. But truly I had no time to waste on story tellers, or muse on their lies. Such sights as I see, such grand and imposin’ grandeur, such beautiful and soarin’ beauty; I wondered whether Paradise could have looked much better, and more foamin’; and if it did, I wondered more and more how Eve (a distant relative of mine on my mother’s side) could have done what she did do. As we walked along a broad and shady path I says:

“Never, never did I feel towards E Pluribus as I do to-day, Josiah. When I think of that old map of Grandfather Smith’s, and think how E Pluribus was huddled down there close to the shore, so insignificant and skairt lookin’ that it seemed as if it wouldn’t take but a very few more war-whoops and hatchets to tumble him right off into the Atlantic to drownd himself. And then to think how that old man has got up and spread himself out from ocian to ocian, to look round here and see this Sentinal a tellin’ to all the world how he has prospered;” says I, “never never did I feel towards E Pluribus U, as I do to-day;” and says I in tones tremblin’ with pride and thankfulness, “how do you feel Josiah Allen?”

Says he firmly, “I feel as hungry as a bear.”

I calmly took two cookies out of my pocket and handed them to him, and kep’ right on: “Never! never, did I realize the size, the grandeur, the loftiness, of E Pluribus as I do now; how high and lofty he stands, Josiah Allen; how forehanded he has got.”

My lofty episodin’ tone was ruther loud, and a by stander who had been a standin’ behind me unbeknown to me spoke up and says he:

“Yes, E Pluribus has got pretty well off, but what do you think Madam of the rings he wears on his honored fingers? What do you think of his choosin’ Tweed for raiment? What do you think of his wearin’ such dirty clothin’ as he has wore of late, and so thin too, so awfully thin.”

I declare for’t, I was most mad to think of anybodys tryin’ to bring me down from the height I stood upon, by talkin’ about store clothes and jewelry; but bein’ very polite in my demeanor, I answered him mildly, that I didn’t believe in anybodys wearin’ dirty clothes, and I never had no opinion of Tweed, nor none of that kind of cloth; it was slazy, and liable to drop all to pieces, and I’d ruther look further and pay more for cloth that was firmer and would stand more of a strain.

“Yes,” says he, “that is jest my opinion, and I think if E Pluribus wants to preserve his health he must keep cleaner, and be a little more careful about the material he chooses to protect his honored form; and in my opinion, he would look fur better if he didn’t wear so many rings on his venerable fingers; money rings; and wheat rings; and railroad rings.” He went on and named over a hull lot of jewelry, but I thought to myself that he was makin’ a little too free to talk with a perfect stranger, and I answered him in pretty cold tones:

Says I, “I never approved of old men’s wearin’ jewelry;” and says I, in still more frigid tones, “I never, even in my young days thought a man looked any the better for wearin’ ear-rings;” then I drew Josiah onwards down a path that looked shady, and considerable still and quiet; but jest as we moved on a man standin’ in front of us spoke up in a awe struck tone, and says he:

“That gentleman that jest spoke to you was a English Lord.”

“Well,” says I, “Lord or no lord, I don’t over and above like his looks; he looks smart, but kinder mean.”

Jest then all of a sudden, on happenin’ to turn the eye of my speck onto a little bench under a shade tree, I see settin’ there a friend I knew; I see a face that telescopes are bein’ aimed at by the envious to spy out every little freckle, spot and wrinkle; (and where is there a complexion however light, that can stand firm under a telescope, and the strong glarin’ light of the present time, without showin’ a wrinkle?) It was the face of a man I respected, and almost loved, (a meetin’ house love, calm, yet firm as a settin’ hen.)

Without sayin’ a word, I jest drawd Josiah right up in front of him. At the first glance he didn’t know me, but I jest made him a noble curchy, and says I: “Ulysses how do you?” Says I, “The last time I see you I had the honor to rescue you from pain and poetry and Betsey Bobbet.”

Before I could say another word he took the cigar he had in his lips with one hand and reached out the other, and shook hands with me almost warmly.

“Josiah Allen’s wife, my preserver! I am glad to meet you.”

Then and there I introduced Josiah; but I was sorry to see at that moment that the knowledge that he was a talkin’ with the President of the United States, made him act bashful and meachin’; but I was that inspired and lifted up, that even my pardner’s meachin’ and almost foolish mean didn’t seem to have no effect on me. I spoke right out and says I:

“Ulysses, I never was so proud of my Nation before in my hull life as I be now, and never did I feel such feelin’s for my 4 fathers. What a undertakin’ they undertook! When a thing is done, and you are a standin’ up on the results safe and happy, then you feel well, and at rest; but the curious time, and the solemn time, is when the thing haint done, and you are a settin’ out to do it, with the risk and the uncertainty before you. When you are a steppin’ off in the darkness and don’t have no idee whether you are a steppin’ on sunthin’, or on nothin’; no idee where you are a comin’ to next. I’ve got lost in our suller several times when my candle went out, and it was a curious feelin’, Ulysses, to grope our way along in the dark not knowin’ whether we would come out all right to the bottom of the stairs, or come up sudden ag’inst the wall, or the pork barrell. I’ve fell flat a number of times, when I thought I was a steppin’ high, and doin’ the best I could; when you have reached the stairs and git holt of ’em, and Josiah has opened the door and stands there with a candle in his hand, then you feel well and safe, but you can’t forgit your curious feelin’s when you was in the dark, a gropin’ and a feelin’ and not knowin’ where you was a goin’ to.

“Now, there was a time when the colonies was a gropin’ their way along in the dark, not knowin’ where the next step would take ’em to—whether they would come out to the stairs that led up to Freedom and Liberty and happiness, or come up sudden and hard ag’inst the wall of defeat. They was walkin’ a slender, slippery pathway, and if they slipped off they knew black waters was under ’em, deep black waters, to drownd them and their posterity in. They fell a number of times, but they got up again nobly; they held firm, and stepped high, and at last they groped their way to the stairs that led up to Liberty. And by God’s help, by prayer and hard work, they mounted them stairs; and then another long flight of lofty stairs was before ’em; and they rose them stairs, and have gone up on ’em, higher and higher, ever sense to national power, and honor, and glory. And now let ’em hold firm and examine the platform they are a standin’ on.”

Ulysses smoked his cigar with a very thoughtful and attentive smoke. And oh! how sort o’ solemn and martyr-like my tone was as I went on a talkin’ to him, and a thinkin’ to myself: Here I be, advisin’ the Nation for its good—a performin’ my mission, and advisin’ the United States, E Pluribus Unim, through its chief magistrate. I felt noble and curious, fearfully so, as I continued on:

“Oh! how awful it would be for ’em, Ulysses, a standin’ up on the height they stand up on, if political rottenness should crumble away any of the tall proud ladder that holds ’em up. Oh! how it would hurt ’em to fall down flat, and lay on their backs with the ladder and platform on top of ’em. Let ’em be careful, and let ’em be prayerful; let ’em examine every inch of the lumber that they are a standin’ on; if there is a rotten spot in it, or a weak spot, or a suspicious spot, let ’em spurn it nobly; let ’em not ask wildly and blindly: ‘Did this board grow in Republican forests, or did it grow in Democratic swamps?’ Let ’em throw that question down, and trample on it; and let ’em ask this question only, and let ’em ask it in a firm loud voice: ‘Is it a sound board?’

“And let ’em git a straight plain answer to it, before they set foot on it. Good land! The idee of shettin’ your eyes blindly, and runnin’ up a rascal because he happens to belong to your party. As for me, when I hold a rose I don’t care a cent whether it grew in a marble basin, or in the corner of a rail fence; I only ask myself calmly, is it fresh and sweet? If it is, I treasure it highly; if it is wormy and rotten at the heart, I spurn it from me almost indignantly.

“I advise this Nation as a friend and well wisher, to worship the true God, and not make a God of party and bow down to it. I advise it to choose men for leaders, who are true, and honest and God-fearin’. Men who are more careful of their character than of their reputation; more careful to have the National capitol clean on the inside than to flower off the front gate with brass nails; more sot on the Nation’s well-bein’ and prosperity, than on a big pocket-book, or a post-office and some minin’ and railroad shares for that brother-in-law; more anxious to have a white soul, than to white-wash their sepulchres. If the Nation votes for bad men, how does it expect to have good laws?” says I almost wildly. “Tell me, Ulysses, and tell me plainly; how can you expect to be led onward in a straight path by a blind man? How can you obtain figs from thistles, or anything to carry from an ort?

“If this Nation trusts God, and prizes the great gift our 4 fathers died to leave us as it ort to be prized, who can paint the glory and splendor before it. It is the home of the oppressed, and (when its laws relatin’ to wimmen are changed slightly) the true and only land of liberty and freedom; its virtues ort to be grand and lofty and picturesque—on a big noble New World plan. It ort to be as rich in goodness, as its earth is rich in gold and silver and preciousness. Its dignity and calmness ort to be wide and level and even, like its boundless praries; and at the same time, it ort to have brilliant, unexpected streaks and flashes of dazzlin’ generosities, jest like its flashin’ water-falls. Its principles ort to be as firm and solid and high toned and soarin’ as the biggest mountain peaks on the Yo Semitry; and these solid virtues ort to be trimmed and ornamented off with consideration for the rights of others, humanity, charity, courtesy and etcetery, and they ort to be jest as pinted and as ever-green as the big pines them firm old mountains have trimmed themselves off with. It should be jest as set on follerin’ the right, and headed jest as strong that way, and be jest as deep and earnest in that flow as Niagara is in hern; turnin’ not to the right hand nor to the left, not multiplyin’ words nor foolin’, but jest keep on a mindin’ its own business, and floodin’ right on.”

SAMANTHA ADVISIN’ PRESIDENT GRANT.

I ADVISE THE NATION THOUGH ITS GREAT MEN

And then I advised the Nation (through Ulysses,) what to do in the great cause of Wimmen’s Rights. I talked eloquent on that subject, and in closin’ up I drawed his mind back a few years to the time when a great war was goin’ on between justice and injustice, and how God wrought out of it the freedom of a race, before He gave the victory. I reminded him that another great battle was goin’ on now between temperance and intemperance, and how, in that warfare, I believed God was helpin’ another race of human female beins to liberty; by showin’ to man how He enabled them to win greater victories than had ever crowned man’s efforts, and provin’ what they would do for God and humanity if the power was given them. I told him I didn’t want to scare him or the Nation, but still it wouldn’t do no hurt for ’em to think back how God had kep’ that oppressed race from all harm while the warfare for ’em was a goin’ on, while thousands of them who had unjestly denied them their rights went down on the battle-field; and I hinted to him in a kind of a blind way, that it wouldn’t do no harm for the Nation once in a while to read over that old story of Pharioh; I told him—not knowin’ how well off they was for such readin’ in Washington—that he would find that story in the Bible.

I talked about the Heathen Chinee; I told him it seemed jest about as impossible to git a stun to keep company with a turnip, and make it its bride as to git a Chinee to fall in love with our institutions and foller ’em; and after a man had tried to git water and oil to mix in a friendly and sociable way—after he has sot and stirred ’em, and sweat over ’em for weeks and weeks, I don’t know as he would be to blame to empty the basin out for good; but then when I’d think again, I’d know it was cruel and awful to turn anybody out doors, (as it were) especially a heathen. And I knew I never could have the heart to do it, never in the world. So says I, “I cannot advise the Nation what to do. It must try to git along in this thing, without my tellin’ it what to do; it must think it over and do the very best it can.”

But on the warlike fightin’ question, I come out strong; I knew jest what advice to give the Nation, and I give it freely without money, and without price.

Says I, “I should think the Nations would all be perfectly ashamed of themselves to git together to show off their civilization and progress, when they hold on to that most barbarious of all barbarism, that ever come from Barbery. The most cruel and awful and the most simple too; why,” says I, “you’d whip a lot of school childern that would go to settlin’ their quarrels with their jack knives; you’d make ’em leave it out to their teacher, or the trustees, or somebody; you’d spank ’em till their nose bled if they didn’t, and,” says I, “childern ort to grow wiser as they grow older instead of foolisher; it haint a mite handsomer in grown folks than it is in childern.”

Says I, “Think how those bloody warfares are powerful for all sorts of evils and crimes; how they turn human beins into wild beasts of prey; think how humanity, and mercy, and purity and all goodness are trod down under the feet of the great armys; and how the more ghastly army of pestilence, and disease, and crime, and want, foller on after them—a phantom host shadderin’ the land for years, mightier for evil than the army they foller. Why Ulysses, I couldn’t begin to tell all the horrers and evils of war, not if I should stand here and talk to you till the year 1900; for it can’t be told not by mortal tongue. It is a language writ in broken hearts, and despair, and want, and agony, and madness, and crime, and death, and it takes them to read it.”

Ulysses haint much of a talker, but he took his cigar out of his mouth, and says he mildly: “How will Nations settle their difficulties then?”

“Why,” says I, “leave it out to some good man to decide upon. Let ’em have a honorable-minded Peace Commissioner. Why,” says I, “if it wasn’t for havin’ everything else under the sun on my hands, I would be one myself, and not charge a cent for my trouble.”

The Nation, (through Ulysses) seemed to take my advice first-rate; he stood it like a major, and sot peacefully and smoked that cigar in as friendly and meditatin’ a way as I ever see one smoked, and he said I spoke his mind about the Peace Commissioners. And then I spoke up and says I:

“Ulysses, I must also speak to you about Lo.”

“Lo who?” says he.

“Why,” says I, “Lo, the poor Injun.”

The minute I said Injun, he give a kind of a groan, and begun to look as fractious and worrysome as I ever see Josiah look, and says he:

“Darn Lo, anyway.”

“Well,” says I, “when I look round here, and see how nobly Uncle Sam has stood up and spread himself out here, see what wonders of glory and enchantment he has wrought for his own race, it don’t seem to me that I can bear to see him a settin’ down on the Injun race, a tryin’ to choke ’em to death. Samuel never took a posture that I hated to see worse than that posture. It haint Christian nor even dignified.”

He looked very fractious, very, and he snapped out:

“He has got to take that posture or be scalped.”

“If Samuel would let me pick out postures for him, I would have him stand up so far above Lo—in mercy, and justice, and patience, and truth,—that he couldn’t reach up to his scalp; and standin’ up on that height, he might deal less in glass beads, and more in common honesty,” says I mildly.

But again Ulysses looked me full in the eye of my speck, and says he firmly:

“Darn Lo, anyway;” and at that same minute Josiah whispered to me: “Lo haint no nearer starvin’ than I am this minute.”

He did look almost famishin’; and so tellin’ Ulysses to give my love to Julia, and my best respects to Mr. Dents’es folks, and Fred and his wife, and be sure and take good care of Nelly’s baby, I curchied to him nobly and bid him good-bye.

So we wended our way along, the eye of my speck takin’ in the heavenly beauty of the scene, when all of a sudden Josiah spoke up, and says he: “What a pity it is that they are a goin’ to licence the Sentinal.”

I stopped stun still, leggo of his arm, and turned right round and faced my pardner. “Licence the Sentinal, Josiah Allen!” says I.

“Yes,” says he, “they be, and they are tryin’ hard not to have no Sunday neither.”

“A tryin’ to have the Sentinal not keep Sunday?”

“Yes,” says he.

Says I firmly, “Who is the man to go to, to advise the Nation through in this matter? Never! never! did my mission as a Advisor soar up before me more promiscously. Who is the man Josiah Allen?”

Says Josiah, “I have heerd that Gen. Hawley is the head one. But it haint his doin’s; he has been tewed at, night and day.”

I drawed my companion onwards, almost wildly, he a hangin’ back and in pitiful axents, sayin’ to me:

“Do less go back to the tarvern Samantha and git sunthin’ to eat before we traipse off any further; do you want me to faint away on your hands?”

Says I, “You must have a different appetite from what I have, Josiah Allen, if you can swaller your conscience and set down at your ease, while the Nation is a destroyin’ herself. I must advise her about this matter instantly and at once, before it is too late. But you can go home if you want to. Principle will be my pardner, and go a lockin’ arms with me.”

“I shall go if you do,” says he in a cross surly voice. “I s’pose I can starve it out;” and then he says almost mekanically, (as it were,) “Gen. Hawley is a handsome feller, they say.”

“Well,” says I in a almost dry tone, “you needn’t worry about that; what if he is? I should be ashamed of myself Josiah Allen, to go to bein’ jealous in such a time as this.”

“Who said I was?” says he.

I didn’t multiply no more words, and a policeman happenin’ to come along that minute, I says to him:

“Can you tell me where to find Gen. Hawley?”

Says he, “You will probably find him in the ‘Buro of Installation.’”

“In a buro!” says I coldly. “Do you s’pose young man, that I am a goin’ to crawlin’ and creepin’ round into buro draws? Do you s’pose, at my age, and with my dignity I’m a goin’ to foller any man into a buro? Gropin’ round, tryin’ to find somebody in a buro draw.”

INTERVIEW WITH GEN. HAWLEY

His face looked red—he see I wasn’t to be imposed upon—and he pinted out the room where we should be apt to find him, he a goin’ most there with us; and anon, or about that time, I found myself in the presence of Gen. Hawley, a shakin’ hands with him and a introducin’ Josiah. He was lookin’ over a lot of papers, but he looked up dretful sort o’ pleasant, and in that tryin’ and almost curious time, I couldn’t help thinkin’ that Josiah was in the right on’t about his looks; for never, on a tower, or off on it, did I ever see a franker, nobler, honester, well meanin’er face than hisen. I never asked him whether he was enjoyin’ good health, or poor, but I says right out: “Joseph,” (I knew his name was Joseph, and I thought he would take it more friendly in me if I called him that, and it would look more familiar in me—as if my noble mission didn’t make me feel above him.) “Joseph,” says I, “I have come to advise you as a P. A. about what I have discovered as a P. I.”

He looked up at me from the awful pile of papers, sort o’ dreamy and wonderin’, and I come out plainer still, and says I, “Joseph, tell me; is it true that the Nation has licenced the Sentinal to git drunk, and not to keep no Sundays?” And says I, “Haint it the time for the Nation, if ever, for her to put her best foot forred, and if she has got any remnants of Puritan habits, and religion, and solid principles, to show ’em off? Haint it time to brush the dirt and dust off of Plymouth Rock, and let the world git a glimpse of the old original stun? Why,” says I, “if the Mayflower could float back again from the past, and them old Mayflowers should hear what this Nation is a doin’, they would say they was glad they was dead.”

INTERVIEW WITH GOV. HAWLEY

Joseph looked as if he felt what I said deeply. But he went on in a sort of apologisin’ way, about his wantin’ to treat our fureign guests with courtesy—and some of them was accustomed to beer and wine-drinkin’ to home, and wasn’t in the habit of havin’ Sundays, and so 4th and so 4th.

“But,” says I in tremblin’ tones: “when a mother is weepin’ over the ruin of what was once her son, and tracin’ back his first love of strong drink to this place of beauty and enchantment, it wont remove her agony nor hisen, to think it was done to please the German, Dutch, or Tunicks, or even Turkeys.” Says I, “If the Nation gives her lawful consent and lets the Sentinal drink all the beer and wine it wants to in 1876, in 1976 she will reap the seed she is a plantin’ now; and if you happen to see me then, Joseph, you tell me if I haint in the right on’t. And then, not havin’ no Sundays! I never in my hull life see anything look so shiftless,—when we haint been out of Sundays for 1800 years, to all flat out now and not have none,—it would look poor as poverty in us.”

He said it was handier for some folks; they could come better Sundays than any other day.

“Handier!” says I, in a almost dry tone, “it would be awful handy for me sometimes, to do my week’s washin’ Sundays, or knit striped mittens, or piece up bed-quilts, but you don’t catch me at it.” Says I “Had we ort to begreech one day out of the week to Him who give us the hull of ’em?” And says I, “I don’t blame you a mite for wantin’ to make our fureign visitors feel to home, and use ’em well; but when I go a visitin’ I don’t expect ’em to kill off their grandmothers if I don’t happen to like the looks of the old lady and haint used to grandmothers. Good land! how simple it would be in me to expect it.”

Says Joseph, “Josiah Allen’s wife, you have presented the subject to me in a interestin’ and eloquent manner.” Says he, “The other matter is out of my power to change, but as for Sundays, I will get ’em back again; I will have ’em.”

Oh, how earnest and good he did look out of his eyes (a bright blueish-grey) as he said this, and how fearfully handsome. And I a thinkin’ to myself—here I be advisin’ the Nation for her good, and she a takin’ my advice. I felt noble, very. If I could have accomplished both of my undertakin’s, I don’t know but I should have felt too noble; but we all, like Mr. Paul, if we go to soarin’ up too high, have to have a thorn in the flesh to prick us and keep us down in our place. So I bid Joseph a almost affectionate good-bye, and Josiah and me started homewards.