PREFACE.
Which is to be read, if it haint askin’ too much of the kind hearted reader.
In the first days of our married life, I strained nearly every nerve to help my companion Josiah along and take care of his children by his former consort, the subject of black African slavery also wearin’ on me, and a mortgage of 200 and 50 dollars on the farm. But as we prospered and the mortgage was cleared, and the children were off to school, the black African also bein’ liberated about the same time of the mortgage, then my mind bein’ free from these cares—the great subject of Wimmen’s Rites kept a goarin’ me, and a voice kept a sayin’ inside of me,
“Josiah Allen’s wife, write a book givin’ your views on the great subject of Wimmen’s Rites.” But I hung back in spirit from the idea and says I, to myself, “I never went to school much and don’t know nothin’ about grammer, and I never could spell worth a cent.”
But still that deep voice kept a ’swaiden me—“Josiah Allen’s wife, write a book.”
Says I, “I can’t write a book, I don’t know no underground dungeons, I haint acquainted with no haunted houses, I never see a hero suspended over a abyss by his gallusses, I never beheld a heroine swoon away, I never see a Injun tommy hawked, nor a ghost; I never had any of these advantages; I can’t write a book.”
But still it kept a sayin’ inside of my mind, “Josiah Allen’s wife write a book about your life, as it passes in front of you and Josiah, daily, and your views on Wimmen’s Rites. The great publick wheel is a rollin’ on slowly, drawin’ the Femail Race into liberty; Josiah Allen’s wife, put your shoulder blades to the wheel.”
And so that almost hauntin’ voice inside of me kept a ’swaidin me, and finally I spoke out in a loud clear voice and answered it—
“I will put my shoulder blades to the wheel.”