I declare I didn’t hardly know where I was, nor who I was, I was so almost lost and carried away some distance by my emotions. But I was soon drawed back to the realities of this life by Zebulin Coffin. His mind was a roamin’ back to the subject on which he had went on, and again he spoke out with a groan: “To think! to think I have lived to see and hear a church member uphold dancin’.”
“I haint a holdin’ it up,” says I, coldly. “With the firm cast-iron principles I have got, I never would dance a step with anybody but my Josiah; and it haint much likely we shall begin to learn the trade now, as old as we be, and most dead with the rheumatiz, both on us. Why, if we should waltz together, as lame as I be, I couldn’t keep my feet half a minute; and if I should fall on my pardner, he would be a dead man, and I know it; I am hefty, very, and he is small boneded, and weighs but little by the steelyards. I love that man devotedly, and I don’t want to dance; but I say and I contend for it, if I was a follerin’ up ‘Wink-em-Slyly’ and etcetery, I wouldn’t have too much to say ag’inst other kinds of caperin’ round the floor, such as dancin’ and so 4th.”
“I say all this to you, Uncle Zebulin, not as Josiah Allen’s wife, but as a woman with a vow on her. When folks set out on towers as Promiscous Advisors, they set out as sufferers and martyrs; they set out expectin’ to be burnt up on various stakes of the same. I have locked arms with Principle, I am keepin’ stiddy company with Duty, and they are a drawin’ me along and a hunchin’ of me in the side, a makin’ me say to you, that you are as self-righteous as the Old Harry; that you are more sot on makin’ a pattern of yourself than in makin the world ’round you happier and brighter; that instead of reflectin’ heaven’s peace and glory back again upon a sad earth as Christians ort to, you have made a damper of yourself, shettin’ off all warmth and light and happiness; a damper for sinners to set down and freeze to death by.”
“To think!” he groaned out, “that anybody should dare to find fault with me when I haint committed a sin in thirty-five years, nor smiled in over forty.”
“Not laughin’ haint no sign of religion Uncle Zeb; because a man makes himself disagreeable and repulsive, that haint another sign; gloom and discomfort haint piety; because a man is in pain it haint no sign he is enjoyin’ religion. I wouldn’t give two or three straws for a religion that didn’t make folks happier as well as better; more tender and charitable and pitiful; more loving and helpful to all humanity. Bigotry and intolerance never was religion, Uncle Zeb, nor never will be, though they have been called so time and again; religion is sunthin’ different, it is as beautiful as they are hegus; it is gentle, full of joy and peace, pure, easily entreated, full of good works, mercy, and charity—which is love.
“It is not Samantha, but a woman on the battle-field of Right, who is a rakin’ you down with the arrers of Truth; it is a Promiscous Advisor who says to you, that you have for years been doin’ what a great many do in the name of religion; you have wrapped yourself in your own dignity and self-righteousness, and worshipped yourself instead of God.”
I didn’t say no more then to the old Deacon in a martyr way; I pulled in the reins and dismounted down from the war horse that was a canterin’ away nobly with me, and a snortin’ in the cause of Right. Though ready and willin’ in spirit to mount this war horse and foller on where Principle leads, without saddle or bridle, and to suffer as a Promiscous Advisor, still it is a tuckerin’ business, and if anybody don’t believe it, let em ride off this war-horse on a tower.
And the very hardest and most tuckerin’ place it ever cantered into, the most gaulin’ and awfulest place it ever pranced round in, is other folks’es housen. When it comes to advisin’ folks promiscously, under their own “vials and mantletrees,” never, never do I feel such temptations to give up my shield and fall offen his back. Oh, John Rogers! you never, never suffered more excruciatin’ly than does Josiah Allen’s wife in such moments. Nothin’, nothin’ but principle could nerve me up to the agonizin’ effort. As I said, I didn’t say no more to the old Deacon that night in a martyr way, and oh! what a relief it was to dismount from the prancin’ steed of Duty, throw off the sharp moral spur from my achin’ feet, curl in my lofty principle tone, and assume again the gentle and almost affectionate axents of Samantha.
And another reason why I thought I would be kinder easy with the old Deacon and not say anything to git him mad, was my determination to mollyfy him about Molly—and a plan I had in my head growin’ bigger and stronger every minute—to marry that girl to Tom Pitkins, myself, before I left that house.
The hired girl had told me—I went out to wash my hands to the sink and I happened to ask her in a polite way if she was goin’ to see the Sentinal, and she said she was, that the old Deacon had told her that day he was goin’ to be married in two weeks to Miss Horn, and shouldn’t want her no longer—and if he was a goin’ to marry that Horn what good was Molly a goin’ to do there, only in a martyr way. Some gentle souls seem to be born martyrs, not to principles and idees, but ready to be offered up on a Horn or anything; ready to be pricked and scattered over with snuff in their pinnin’ blankets, and grow up ready to sacrifice themselves to any idol that calls on ’em to—crumple right down and be sot fire to—such was Molly. And it is for some strong hearted friend to snatch ’em away from the fagots and the kindlin’ wood,—such a friend is Samantha. Some see happiness right in front of ’em, and are too weak to grasp holt of it; such need the help of a hand like hers.