I looked at the piece of iron with feelin’s, as I say, beyend description.
And I wondered out loud if the iron wuz now dug out of the sile that would make jest sech a horrible instrument for America.
I groaned deep as I wondered it.
And Josiah sez, “You talk like a fool, Samantha!”
And I sez, “I hope I do, Josiah—I hope so!
“But what hammered this piece of iron out to its terrible use wuz the fiery hammers of jealousy, and fury, and hunger, and want, and the gay multitude went on in its gayety and extravagancies, and didn’t heed the sullen hammerin’s onto that iron, and laughed at ’em that called attention to it—jest as you are a-doin’ now, Josiah Allen.”
Sez he, “You can talk about my extravagancies if you want to, Samantha Allen, but I hain’t half the clothes you have, and they hain’t trimmed off anywhere nigh as high as yourn are.”
But I went on, not heedin’ his triflin’ words.
Sez I, “The same furies are loose in the streets of our American cities to-day—foolish suspicion driv by mistaken zeal, jealousy, heartburnin’, honest want, and need on one side; injestice, wrong, oppressions, extravagance, indifference, anger, contempt, etc., etc., etc., on the other side, all a-flamin’ up and a-holdin’ up a light for jest sech a axe to be ground out. How long will I hear the sullen thunderin’ of the silent hammerin’s on the forge of ignorant malice and hatred and jest anger—how long?” And I sithed deep and heavey.
And Josiah sez, “What you hear is the thud of folks a-walkin’ through the Chamber of Horrows.”