MISS MARIETTA HOLLEY.
(“JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE.”)
HE poetic declaration that “genius unbidden rises to the top” is fully verified in the now famous “Josiah Allen’s Wife.” Miss Holley commenced to write at an early age both verses and sketches, but was so timid that she jealously hid them away from every eye until she had accumulated quite a collection of manuscript. This most famous humorist among women was born in a country place near Adams, New York, where she still lives, and where five generations of her ancestors have resided. Her first appearance in print was in a newspaper published in Adams. The editor of the paper, it is said, praised her article, and she was also encouraged by Charles J. Peterson, for whom she wrote later. She wrote also for “The Independent” and other journals. Most of her early articles were poems, and were widely copied both in America and Europe.
Miss Holley’s first pen-name was [♦]“Jemyma.” It was not until she wrote a dialectic sketch for “Peterson’s Magazine” that she began to sign her name as “Josiah Allen’s Wife.” This sketch brought her into prominence, and [♠]Elijah Bliss, President of The American Publishing Company, of Hartford, Connecticut, it is said, against the protests of his company, published “Josiah Allen’s Wife” in book form, and encouraged her to write another book, which he issued under the name of “My Opinions and Betsy Bobbet’s” (1872). Since this Miss Holley’s fame has steadily increased, and she has issued a book every few years. “Samantha at the Centennial” appeared in 1877, describing the experiences of herself and Josiah at that great international exhibition. It is extremely humorous and added to her already great fame. “My Wayward Pardner” appeared in 1880. In 1882 she published “Miss Richards’ Boy,” a book of stories, but not written in dialect. All of the above works were issued by her Hartford publisher, as was also her illustrated poem entitled “The Mormon Wife.” In 1885 “Sweet Cicely, or Josiah Allen’s Wife as a Politician,” appeared in New York. In 1887 her famous book, “Samantha at Saratoga,” was issued in Philadelphia, for the manuscript of which she was paid $10,000 in cash, in addition to which sum she also received a considerable amount from the “Ladies’ Home Journal” for parts of the work published in serial form in that magazine. Nearly a quarter of a million copies of her “Samantha at Saratoga” have already been sold. During the same year she issued a book of poems in New York, and further popularized her nom-de-plume by “Samantha Among the Brethren” in 1891. In 1893 “Samantha on the Race Problem” created considerable amusement by the mixture of grotesque humor and philosophy on this much discussed and serious problem, the illustrations in the work adding no small quota to its popularity. In 1894 appeared “Samantha at the World’s Fair” in which the experiences of herself and her partner, Josiah, are even more amusing than those at the Centennial in 1876.
[♦] ‘Jemyme’ replaced with ‘Jemyma’
[♠] ‘Elija’ replaced with ‘Elijah’
Through all of Miss Holley’s works there runs a vein of homely philosophy and practical common sense. It is in a most delightfully good-humored manner that she takes off the foibles and follies of “racin’ after fashion.” Her humor is remarkably wholesome, and while it is not remiss in laughter-provoking quality, is always clear, and above all things pure. Her books have been widely circulated both in America and in Europe, and some of them have been translated into other languages.
JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE CALLS ON THE PRESIDENT.[¹]
Josiah Alien has a violent attack of political fever and his wife being greatly exercised over it finally concludes to visit Washington, and take the advice of the President on the disturbing question. This interview with the President is a fair example of the author’s style.
[¹] From “Sweet Cicely.” Permission of Funk & Wagnalls.
ND so we wended our way down the broad, beautiful streets towards the White House. Handsomer streets I never see. I had thought Jonesville streets wus middlin’ handsome and roomy. Why, two double wagons can go by each other with perfect safety, right in front of the grocery-stores, where there is lots of boxes too; and wimmen can be a-walkin’ there too at the same time, hefty ones.
But, good land! loads of hay could pass each other here, and droves of dromedaries, and camels, and not touch each other, and then there would be lots of room for men and wimmen, and for wagons to rumble, and perioguers to float up and down—if perioguers could sail on dry land.
Roomier, handsomer, well-shadeder streets I never want to see, nor don’t expect to. Why Jonesville streets are like tape compared with ’em; and Loontown and Toad Holler, they are like thread, No. 50 (allegory).
Bub Smith wus well acquainted with the President’s hired man, so he let us in without parlay.
I don’t believe in talkin’ big as a general thing. But think’es I, Here I be, a-holdin’ up the dignity of Jonesville: and here I be, on a deep, heart-searchin’ errent to the Nation. So I said, in words and axents a good deal like them I have read of in “Children of the Abbey” and “Charlotte Temple,”—
“Is the President of the United States within?”
He said he was, but said sunthin’ about his not receiving calls in the mornings.
But I says in a very polite way,—for I like to put folks at their ease, presidents or peddlers or anything,—
It hain’t no matter at all if he hain’t dressed up; of course he wuzn’t expectin’ company. Josiah don’t dress up mornin’s.”
And then he says something about “he didn’t know but he was engaged.”
Says I, “That hain’t no news to me, nor the Nation. We have been a-hearin’ that for three years, right along. And if he is engaged, it hain’t no good reason why he shouldn’t speak to other wimmen,—good, honorable married ones too.”
“Well,” says he, finally, “I will take up your card.”
“No, you won’t!” says I, firmly. “I am a Methodist! I guess I can start off on a short tower without takin’ a pack of cards with me. And if I had ’em right here in my pocket, or a set of dominoes, I shouldn’t expect to take up the time of the President of the United States a-playin’ games at this time of the day.” Says I, in deep tones, “I am a-carrien’ errents to the President that the world knows not of.”
He blushed up red; he was ashamed; and he said, “he would see if I could be admitted.”
I was jest a-thinkin’ this when the hired man came back, and said,—
“The President would receive me.”
“Wall,” says I, calmly, “I am ready to be received.”
So I follered him; and he led the way into a beautiful room, kinder round, and red-colored, with lots of elegant pictures and lookin’-glasses and books.
He then shook hands with me, and I with him. I, too, am a perfect lady. And then he drawed up a chair for me with his own hands (hands that grip holt of the same hellum that G. W. had gripped holt of. O soul! be calm when I think on’t), and asked me to set down; and consequently I sot.
I leaned my umberell in a easy, careless position against a adjacent chair, adjusted my long green veil in long, graceful folds,—I hain’t vain, but I like to look well,—and then I at once told him of my errents. I told him—
“I had brought three errents to him from Jonesville,—one for myself, and two for Dorlesky Burpy.”
He bowed, but didn’t say nothin’: he looked tired. Josiah always looks tired in the mornin’ when he has got his milkin’ and barn-chores done, so it didn’t surprise me. And havin’ calculated to tackle him on my own errent first, consequently I tackled him.
I told him how deep my love and devotion to my pardner wuz.
And he said “he had heard of it.”
And I says, “I s’pose so. I s’pose such things will spread, bein’ a sort of a rarity. I’d heard that it had got out, ’way beyend Loontown, and all round.”
“Yes,” he said, “it was spoke of a good deal.”
“Wall,” says I, “the cast-iron love and devotion I feel for that man don’t show off the brightest in hours of joy and peace. It towers up strongest in dangers and troubles.” And then I went on to tell him how Josiah wanted to come there as a senator, and what a dangerous place I had always heard Washington wuz, and how I had felt it was impossible for me to lay down on my goose-feather pillow at home, in peace and safety, while my pardner was a-grapplin’ with dangers of which I did not know the exact size and heft. Then, says I, solemnly, “I ask you, not as a politician, but as a human bein’, would you dast to let Josiah come?”
The President didn’t act surprised a mite. And finally he told me, what I had always mistrusted, but never knew, that Josiah had wrote to him all his political views and aspirations, and offered his help to the government. And says he, “I think I know all about the man.”
“Then,” says I, “you see he is a good deal like other men.”
And he said, sort o’ dreamily, “that he was.”
And then again silence rained. He was a-thinkin’, I knew, on all the deep dangers that hedged in Josiah Allen and America if he come. And a-musin’ on all the probable dangers of the Plan. And a-thinkin’ it over how to do jest right in the matter,—right by Josiah, right by the nation, right by me.
Finally the suspense of the moment wore onto me too deep to bear, and I says, in almost harrowin’ tones of anxiety and suspense,—
“Would it be safe for my pardner to come to Washington? Would it be safe for Josiah, safe for the nation?” Says I, in deeper, mournfuller tones,—
“Would you—would you dast to let him come?”
Pity and good feelin’ then seemed to overpower for a moment the statesman and courteous diplomat.
And he said, in gentle, gracious tones, “If I tell you just what I think, I would not like to say it officially, but would say it in confidence, as from an Allen to an Allen.”
“Says I, “It shan’t go no further.”
And so I would warn everybody that it must not be told.
Then says he, “I will tell you. I wouldn’t dast.”
Says I, “That settles it. If human efforts can avail, Josiah Allen will not be United States Senator.” And says I, “You have only confirmed my fears. I knew, feelin’ as he felt, that it wuzn’t safe for Josiah or the nation to have him come.”
Agin he reminded me that it was told to me in confidence, and agin I want to say that it must be kep’.
