“No you won’t,” says Josiah, “you won’t never get away, I will get up Samantha.”

Says I, in low but awful accents, “Josiah Allen, if you make another move, I’ll part with you,” says I, “it does beat all, how you keep actin’ to-night; haint it as hard for me as it is for you? do you think it is any comfort for me to lay here and hear it?” says I, “that is jest the way with you men, you haint no more patience than nothin’ in the world, you was young once yourself.”

“Throw that in my face agin will you? what if I wuz! Oh do hear him go on,” says he shakin’ his fist. “‘Curb oh curb thy bosom’s pain,’ if I was out there my young feller, I would give you a pain you couldn’t curb so easy, though it might not be in your bosom.”

Says I “Josiah Allen, you have showed more wickedness to-night, than I thought you had in you;” says I “would you like to have your pastur, and Deacon Dobbs, and sister Graves hear your revengeful threats? if you was layin’ helpless on a sick bed would you be throwin’ your arms about, and shakin’ your fist in that way? it scares me to think a pardner of mine should keep actin’ as you have,” says I “you have fell 25 cents in my estimation to-night.”

“Wall,” says he, “what comfort is there in his prowlin’ round here, makin’ two old folks lay all night in perfect agony?”

“It haint much after midnight, and if it was,” says I, in a deep and majestic tone. “Do you calculate, Josiah Allen to go through life without any trouble? if you do you will find yourself mistaken,” says I. “Do be still.”

“I won’t be still Samantha.”

Just then he begun a new piece, durin’ which the akordeun sounded the most meloncholly and cast down it had yet, and his voice was solemn, and affectin’. I never thought much of Shakespeare Bobbet. He is about Thomas Jefferson’s age, his moustache is if possible thinner than his’en, should say whiter, only that is a impossibility. He is jest the age when he wants to be older, and when folks are willin’ he should, for you don’t want to call him Mr. Bobbet and to call him “bub” as you always have, he takes as a deadly insult. He thinks he is in love with Tirzah Ann, which is jest as bad as long as it lasts as if he was; jest as painful to him and to her. As I said he sung these words in a slow and affectin’ manner.

When I think of thee, thou lovely dame,

I feel so weak and overcame,