I say, it should be the lesson that Christ and his disciples taught, that of all Heavenly graces, charity is the greatest. The way I looked at it was this. The South that had been so braggin’, and selfish, and overbearin’, stood at the door of the proud and victorious North, like a beggar, harmless, destitute and ragged. Where is the rich happy woman that wouldn’t give a nut-cake to a sick beggar? I don’t see myself how she could help givin’ one, if she had any generosity and nobility and—nut-cakes.
Jeff. Davis was all broke to pieces, and he wanted a bail put onto him so life could grip holt of him agin, and carry him I hope towards that heaven he turned his back to, when he was a fightin’ to uphold slavery. Horace helped put that bail on, and so did other noble men; and all the ministers in creation, of every persuasion, might all stand up in a row in our door yard, and preach to me 2 days, and then I wouldn’t believe that H. G. would turn his hand to anything he thought was wrong.
If there was any fault in him about this, it was on the side of charity and mercy, and as a general thing that end of the board don’t tip up any too fur in this selfish world. As a general thing, folks don’t teter on that end of the board so much as they do on the other.
So, as I said, when I heard that Horace was run up for President, I was so happy that my heart would have sung for joy if it had been anything of a singer, for now, thinks’es I, with that great and good and honest man for President, all he wants is the influence of Josiah Allen’s wife to make him all the sufferin’ nation needs. I felt that now the time had come for J. Allen’s wife to come out boldly and put her shoulder blades to the wheel. I felt that if Horace could be perswaded to draw and Josiah Allen’s wife to push, nothin’ could hender that wheel from movin’ right onward into Freedom. And so my principles, and the great doctrine so goared me, that I couldn’t get no rest, I felt that I must see Horace before he got sot doun in the high chair, because you know when any body gets sot doun they don’t love to nestle round and make no changes. So I atted Josiah about it, but he didn’t seem to be willin’. I didn’t come right out and tell him how I was xcercised on Wimmin’s Rights, knowin’ he was a unbeliever, but I says to him,
“Josiah, Jonesville is a good village, but nobody wants to be tied doun even to a barell of sale molasses. Josiah, I do want to see some other village, I do want to go to New York on a tower.”
Says he, “Samantha, what under the sun do you want to go for at your age, why do you want to start up and go a caperin’ round the country?”
I thought a minute, and then says I, “I want to see Miss Woodhull, and give her a real talkin’ to, about free love. I want to convince her she is in the wrong on it,” and then says I in a kind of a blind way, “I have got other business that I feel that it is my duty to tend to.”
But he didn’t seem to be willin’, and I wouldn’t go without his consent. And so it went on, Josiah hangin’ back, and my principles a goarin’ me. It wore on me. My dresses begun to hook up looser on me, and finally one mornin’, as I dallied over my second potato, and my third egg, not eatin’ ’em with no appetite, Josiah says to me, “What does ail you, Samantha, you don’t eat nothin’, and you seem to be a runnin’ doun.”
Then I broached the subject to him agin. I expected he would object. But he looked at me in a silent, melankolly way for about one minute, and half or three quarters of another, and then says he in a gentle but firm accent,
“Samantha if I can sell the old critter you can go.”