The rest on ’em wuz a-prowlin’ round and a-lookin’ at relicks—priceless ones, some on ’em—and I methought to myself volumes as I looked on ’em.
The clock of Marie Antoinette wuz there—what hours, what hours that clock ticked off for Marie!
And then there wuz the inkstand of Lord Byron—and what black, gloomy ink and sometimes kinder nasty, that poor creeter dipped his pen in a good deal of the time—but lofty and riz up, too, at times, very.
And then there wuz two gold bees took from Napoleon’s carriage—what bees buzzed and hummed in his ambitious brain as the carriage whirled him on! Then there wuz a crucifix that belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots; most probble held clost to her poor, frightened heart as the pretty creeter walked away to have her head cut off.
A miniature portrait of Prince Charlie, a box from Miss Edgeworth, a purse made by Joanna Baillie, a little case from Miss Martineau, a snuff-box of George IV., and lots, and lots, and lots of relicks from Egypt and Italy and everywhere else. But I d’no as I see any from Jonesville. But oversights will take place, and contrarytemps will occur.
Wall, in the armory we see bows, and arrers, and spears, and muskets, and rifles. A musket that belonged to Rob Roy, a sword gin by Charles 1st to the Marquis of Montrose, a pair of pistols that belonged to the 1st Napoleon, found after the battle of Waterloo. Poor creeter, how he must have felt! No wonder he lost ’em! James VI. hunting flask, the key of old Tolbooth prison. And then we see thumb-screws, and a gag for scoldin’ wives—I looked on that with scorn.
But Josiah jest peered and squinted at it, and walked all round it, and took out a piece of string out of his pocket and tried to measure it, and I sez, “What on earth are you a-doin’?”
“Wall,” sez he, “I believe I could make one of ’em after I got home, with a little of Ury’s help.”
“What do you want of one, Josiah Allen?” sez I coldly.
