AN UNMARRIED FEMALE.

TIRZAH ANN.

No! sentiment aint my style, and I abhor all kinds of shams and deceitfulness. Now to the table you don’t ketch me makin’ excuses. I should feel as mean as pusley if I did. Though once in a while when I have particuler company, and my cookin’ turns out bad, I kinder turn the conversation on to the sufferin’s of our four fathers in the Revolution, how they eat their katridge boxes and shoe leather. It don’t do us no hurt to remember their sufferin’s, and after talkin’ about eatin’ shoe leather most any kind of cake seems tender.

I spose that life runs along with Josiah and the children and me about as easy as it does with most men and female wimmen. We have got a farm of 75 acres of land all paid for. A comfortable story and a half yeller house—good barns, and a bran new horse barn, and health. Our door yard is large and shady with apple, and pear, and cherry trees; and Tirzah Ann has got posy beds under the winders that look first rate. And where there haint no posy beds nor shade trees, the grass grows smooth and green, and it is a splendid place to dry clothes. On the north side of the house is our orchard, the trees grow clear up to our kitchen winder, and when the north door is open in the spring of the year, and I stand there ironin’, the trees all covered with pink blows it is a pleasant sight. But a still pleasanter sight is it in the fall of the year to stand in the door and see Josiah and Thomas Jefferson pickin’up barells of the great red and yeller grafts at a dollar a bushel. Beyond the orchard down a little bit of a side hill runs the clear water of the canal. In front of the house towards the south—but divided from it by a good sized door yard and a picket fence, runs the highway, and back of the house, if I do say it that ortn’t to, there is as good a garden as there is in these parts. For I set my foot down in the first ont, that Iwouldhave garden sass of all kinds, and strawberrys, and gooseberrys, and currant, and berry bushes, and glad enough is Josiah now to think that he heard to me. It took a little work of course, but I believe in havin’ things good to eat, and so does Josiah. That man has told me more’n a hundred times sense that “of all the sass that ever was made, garden sass was the best sass.” To the south of the house is our big meadow—the smell of the clover in the summer is as sweet as anything, our bees get the biggest part of their honey there, the grass looks beautiful wavin’ in the sunshine, and Josiah cut from it last summer 4 tons of hay to the acre.

I suppose we are about as happy as the most of folks, but as I was sayin’, a few days ago to Betsy Bobbet a neighborin’ female of ours—“Every Station house in life has its various skeletons. But we ort to try to be contented with that spear of life we are called on to handle.” Betsey haint married and she don’t seem to be contented. She is awful opposed to wimmen’s rights, she thinks it is wimmen’s only spear to marry, but as yet she can’t find any man willin’ to lay holt of that spear with her. But you can read in her daily life and on her eager willin’ countenance that she fully realizes the sweet words of the poet, “while there is life there is hope.”

Betsey haint handsome. Her cheek bones are high, and she bein’ not much more than skin and bone they show plainer than they would if she was in good order. Her complexion (not that I blame her for it) haint good, and her eyes are little and sot way back in herhead. Time has seen fit to deprive her of her hair and teeth, but her large nose he has kindly suffered her to keep, but she has got the best white ivory teeth money will buy; and two long curls fastened behind each ear, besides frizzles on the top of her head, and if she wasn’t naturally bald, and if the curls was the color of her hair they would look well. She is awful sentimental, I have seen a good many that had it bad, but of all the sentimental creeters I ever did see Betsey Bobbet is the sentimentalest, you couldn’t squeeze a laugh out of her with a cheeze press.

BETSEY BOBBET.

As I said she is awful opposed to wimmin’s havein’ any right only the right to get married. She holds on to that right as tight as any single woman I ever see which makes it hard and wearin’ on the single men round here. For take the men that are the most opposed to wimmin’s havin’ a right, and talk the most about its bein’ her duty to cling to man like a vine to a tree, they don’t want Betsey to cling to them, theywon’t lether cling to ’em. For when they would be a goin’ on about how wicked it was for wimmin to vote—andit was her only spear to marry, says I to ’em “Which had you ruther do, let Betsey Bobbet cling to you or let her vote?” and they would every one of ’em quail before that question. They would drop their heads before my keen grey eyes—and move off the subject.

But Betsey don’t get discourajed. Every time I see her she says in a hopeful wishful tone, “That the deepest men of minds in the country agree with her in thinkin’ that it is wimmin’s duty to marry, and not to vote.” And then she talks a sight about the retirin’ modesty and dignity of the fair sect, and how shameful and revoltin’ it would be to see wimmen throwin’ ’em away, and boldly and unblushin’ly talkin’ about law and justice.

Why to hear Betsey Bobbet talk about wimmin’s throwin’ their modesty away you would think if they ever went to the political pole, they would have to take their dignity and modesty and throw ’em against the pole, and go without any all the rest of their lives.

Now I don’t believe in no such stuff as that, I think a woman can be bold and unwomanly in other things besides goin’ with a thick veil over her face, and a brass mounted parasol, once a year, and gently and quietly dropping a vote for a christian president, or a religeous and noble minded pathmaster.

She thinks she talks dreadful polite and proper, shesays “I was cameing” instead of “I was coming,” and “I have saw” instead of “I have seen,” and “papah” for paper, and “deah” for dear. I don’t know much about grammer, but common sense goes a good ways. She writes the poetry for the Jonesville Augur, or “Augah,” as she calls it. She used to write for the opposition paper, the Jonesville Gimlet, but the editer of the Augur, a long haired chap, who moved into Jonesville a few months ago, lost his wife soon after he come there, and sense that she has turned Dimocrat, and writes for his paper stiddy. They say that he is a dreadful big feelin’ man, and I have heard—it came right straight to me—his cousin’s wife’s sister told it to the mother in law of one of my neighbor’s brother’s wife, that he didn’t like Betsey’s poetry at all, and all he printed it for was to plague the editer of the Gimlet, because she used to write for him. I myself wouldn’t give a cent a bushel for all the poetry she can write. And it seems to me, that if I was Betsey, I wouldn’t try to write so much, howsumever, I don’t know what turn I should take if I was Betsey Bobbet, that is a solemn subject and one I don’t love to think on.

I never shall forget the first piece of her poetry I ever see. Josiah Allen and I had both on us been married goin’ on a year, and I had occasion to go to his trunk one day where he kept a lot of old papers, and the first thing I laid my hand on was these verses. Josiah went with her a few times after his wife died,a 4th of July or so and two or three camp meetin’s, and the poetry seemed to be wrote about the timewewas married. It was directed over the top of it “Owed to Josiah,” just as if she were in debt to him. This was the way it read.

“OWED TO JOSIAH.Josiah I the tale have hurn,With rigid ear, and streaming eye,I saw from me that you did turn,I never knew the reason why.Oh Josiah,It seemed as if I must expiah.Why did you, Oh why did you blowUpon my life of snowy sleet,The fiah of love to fiercest glow,Then turn a damphar on the heat?Oh Josiah,It seemed as if I must expiah.I saw thee coming down the street,Sheby your side in bonnet bloo;The stuns that grated ’neath thy feetSeemed crunching on my vitals too.Oh Josiah,It seemed as if I must expiah.I saw thee washing sheep last night,On the bridge I stood with marble brow,The waters raged, thou clasped it tight,I sighed, ‘should both be drownded now—’I thought Josiah,Oh happy sheep to thus expiah.”

“OWED TO JOSIAH.

Josiah I the tale have hurn,With rigid ear, and streaming eye,I saw from me that you did turn,I never knew the reason why.Oh Josiah,It seemed as if I must expiah.

Josiah I the tale have hurn,

With rigid ear, and streaming eye,

I saw from me that you did turn,

I never knew the reason why.

Oh Josiah,

It seemed as if I must expiah.

Why did you, Oh why did you blowUpon my life of snowy sleet,The fiah of love to fiercest glow,Then turn a damphar on the heat?Oh Josiah,It seemed as if I must expiah.

Why did you, Oh why did you blow

Upon my life of snowy sleet,

The fiah of love to fiercest glow,

Then turn a damphar on the heat?

Oh Josiah,

It seemed as if I must expiah.

I saw thee coming down the street,Sheby your side in bonnet bloo;The stuns that grated ’neath thy feetSeemed crunching on my vitals too.Oh Josiah,It seemed as if I must expiah.

I saw thee coming down the street,

Sheby your side in bonnet bloo;

The stuns that grated ’neath thy feet

Seemed crunching on my vitals too.

Oh Josiah,

It seemed as if I must expiah.

I saw thee washing sheep last night,On the bridge I stood with marble brow,The waters raged, thou clasped it tight,I sighed, ‘should both be drownded now—’I thought Josiah,Oh happy sheep to thus expiah.”

I saw thee washing sheep last night,

On the bridge I stood with marble brow,

The waters raged, thou clasped it tight,

I sighed, ‘should both be drownded now—’

I thought Josiah,

Oh happy sheep to thus expiah.”

I showed the poetry to Josiah that night after he came home, and told him I had read it. He lookedawful ashamed to think I had seen it, and says he with a dreadful sheepish look,

“The persecution I underwent from that female can never be told, she fairly hunted me down, I hadn’t no rest for the soles of my feet. I thought one spell she would marry me in spite of all I could do, without givin’ me the benefit of law or gospel.” He see I looked stern, and he added with a sick lookin’ smile, “I thought one spell, to use Betsey’s language, ‘I was a gonah.’”

I didn’t smile—oh no, for the deep principle of my sect was reared up—I says to him in a tone cold enough to almost freeze his ears, “Josiah Allen, shet up, of all the cowardly things a man ever done, it is goin’ round braggin’ about wimmen’ likin’ em, and follerin’ em up. Enny man that’ll do that is little enough to crawl through a knot hole without rubbing his clothes.” Says I, “I suppose you made her think the moon rose in your head, and set in your heels, I dare say you acted foolish enough round her to sicken a snipe, and if you make fun of her now to please me I let you know you have got holt of the wrong individual.” Now, says I, “go to bed,” and I added in still more freezing accents, “for I want to mend your pantaloons.” He gathered up his shoes and stockin’s and started off to bed, and we haint never passed a word on the subject sence. I believe when you disagree with your pardner, in freein’ yourmindin the firston’t, and then not be a twittin’ about it afterwards. And as for bein’ jealous, I should jest as soon think of bein’ jealous of a meetin’-house as I should of Josiah. He is a well principled man. And I guess he wasn’t fur out o’ the way about Betsey Bobbet, though I wouldn’t encourage him by lettin’ him say a word on the subject, for I always make it a rule to stand up for my own sect; but when I hear her go on about the editor of the Augur, I can believe anything about Betsey Bobbet. She came in here one day last week, it was about ten o’clock in the mornin’. I had got my house slick as a pin, and my dinner under way, (I was goin’ to have a biled dinner, and a cherry puddin’ biled, with sweet sass to eat on it,) and I sot down to finish sewin’ up the breadth of my new rag carpet. I thought I would get it done while I hadn’t so much to do, for it bein’ the first of March, I knew sugarin’ would be comin’ on, and then cleanin’ house time, and I wanted it to put down jest as soon as the stove was carried out in the summer kitchen. The fire was sparklin’ away, and the painted floor a shinin’ and the dinner a bilin’, and I sot there sewin’ jest as calm as a clock, not dreamin’ of no trouble, when in came Betsey Bobbet.

I met her with outward calm, and asked her to set down and lay off her things. She sot down, but she said she couldn’t lay off her things. Says she, “I was comin’ down past, and I thought I would call and letyou see the last numbah of the Augah, there is a piece in it concernin’ the tariff that stirs men’s souls, I like it evah so much.”

READING POETRY.

She handed me the paper, folded so I couldn’t see nothin’ but a piece of poetry by Betsey Bobbet. I see what she wanted of me and so I dropped my breadths of carpetin’ and took hold of it and began to read it.

“Read it audible if you please,” says she, “Especially the precious remahks ovah it, it is such a feast for me to be a sitting, and heah it reheahsed by a musical vorce.”

Says I, “I spose I can rehearse it if it will do you any good,” so I began as follers:

“It is seldem that we present to the readers of the Augur (the best paper for the fireside in Jonesville orthe world) with a poem like the following. It may be by the assistance of the Augur (only twelve shillings a year in advance, wood and potatoes taken in exchange) the name of Betsey Bobbet will yet be carved on the lofty pinnacle of fame’s towering pillow. We think however that she could study such writers as Sylvanus Cobb, and Tupper with profit both to herself and to them.

Editor of the Augur.”

Here Betsey interrupted me, “The deah editah of the Augah had no need to advise me to read Tuppah, for he is indeed my most favorite authar, you have devorhed him havn’t you Josiah Allen’s wife?”

“Devoured who?” says I, in a tone pretty near as cold as a cold icicle.

“Mahten, Fahyueah, Tuppah, that sweet authar,” says she.

“No mom,” says I shortly, “I hain’t devoured Martin Farquhar Tupper, nor no other man, I hain’t a cannibal.”

“Oh! you understand me not, I meant, devorhed his sweet, tender lines.”

“I hain’t devoured his tenderlines, nor nothin’ relatin’ to him,” and I made a motion to lay the paper down, but Betsey urged me to go on, and so I read.

GUSHINGS OF A TENDAH SOUL.Oh let who will,Oh let who can,Be tied ontoA horrid male man.Thus said I ’ere,My tendah heart was touched,Thus said I ’ereMy tendah feelings gushed.But oh a changeHath swept ore me,As billows sweepThe “deep blue sea.”A voice, a noble form,One day I saw;An arrow flew,My heart is nearly raw.His first pardner liesBeneath the turf,He is wandering now,In sorrows briny surf.Two twins, the littleDeah cherub creechahs,Now wipe the teahs,From off his classic feachahs.Oh sweet lot, worthyAngel arisen,To wipe the teahs,From eyes like his’en.

GUSHINGS OF A TENDAH SOUL.

Oh let who will,Oh let who can,Be tied ontoA horrid male man.

Oh let who will,

Oh let who can,

Be tied onto

A horrid male man.

Thus said I ’ere,My tendah heart was touched,Thus said I ’ereMy tendah feelings gushed.

Thus said I ’ere,

My tendah heart was touched,

Thus said I ’ere

My tendah feelings gushed.

But oh a changeHath swept ore me,As billows sweepThe “deep blue sea.”

But oh a change

Hath swept ore me,

As billows sweep

The “deep blue sea.”

A voice, a noble form,One day I saw;An arrow flew,My heart is nearly raw.

A voice, a noble form,

One day I saw;

An arrow flew,

My heart is nearly raw.

His first pardner liesBeneath the turf,He is wandering now,In sorrows briny surf.

His first pardner lies

Beneath the turf,

He is wandering now,

In sorrows briny surf.

Two twins, the littleDeah cherub creechahs,Now wipe the teahs,From off his classic feachahs.

Two twins, the little

Deah cherub creechahs,

Now wipe the teahs,

From off his classic feachahs.

Oh sweet lot, worthyAngel arisen,To wipe the teahs,From eyes like his’en.

Oh sweet lot, worthy

Angel arisen,

To wipe the teahs,

From eyes like his’en.

“What think you of it?” says she as I finished readin’.

I looked right at her most a minute with a majestic look. In spite of her false curls, and her new white ivory teeth, she is a humbly critter. I looked at her silently while she sot and twisted her long yeller bunnet strings, and then I spoke out,

“Hain’t the Editor of the Augur a widower with a pair of twins?”

“Yes,” says she with a happy look.

Then says I, “If the man hain’t a fool, he’ll think you are one.”

“Oh!” says she, and she dropped her bunnet strings, and clasped her long bony hands together in her brown cotton gloves, “oh, we ahdent soles of genious, have feelin’s, you cold, practical natures know nuthing of, and if they did not gush out in poetry we should expiah. You may as well try to tie up the gushing catarack of Niagarah with a piece of welting cord, as to tie up the feelings of an ahdent sole.”

“Ardent sole!” says I coldly. “Which makes the most noise, Betsey Bobbet, a three inch brook or a ten footer? which is the tearer? which is the roarer? deep waters run stillest. I have no faith in feelin’s that stalk round in public in mournin’ weeds. I have no faith in such mourners,” says I.

“Oh Josiah’s wife, cold, practical female being, you know me not; we are sundered as fah apart as if you was sitting on the North pole, and I was sitting on the South pole. Uncongenial being, you know me not.”

“I may not know you, Betsey Bobbet, but I do know decency, and I know that no munny would tempt me to write such stuff as that poetry and send it to a widower, with twins.”

“Oh!” says she, “what appeals to the tendah feeling heart of a single female woman more, than to see a lonely man who has lost his relict? And pity never seems so much like pity as when it is given to the deah little children of widowehs. And,” says she, “I think moah than as likely as not, this soaring soul of genious did not wed his affinity, but was united to a weak women of clay.”

“Mere women of clay!” says I, fixin’ my spektacles upon her in a most searchin’ manner, “where will you find a woman, Betsey Bobbet, that hain’t more or less clay? and affinity, that is the meanest word I ever heard; no married woman has any right to hear it. I’ll excuse you, bein’ a female, but if a man had saidit to me, I’d holler to Josiah. There is a time for everything, and the time to hunt affinity is before you are married; married folks hain’t no right to hunt it,” says I sternly.

“We kindred souls soah above such petty feelings, we soah fah above them.”

“I hain’t much of a soarer,” says I, “and I don’t pretend to be, and to tell you the truth,” says I, “I am glad I hain’t.”

“The Editah of the Augah,” says she, and she grasped the paper off’en the stand and folded it up, and presented it at me like a spear, “the Editah of this paper is a kindred soul, he appreciates me, he undahstands me, and will not our names in the pages of this very papah go down to posterety togathah?”

Then says I, drove out of all patience with her, “I wish you was there now, both of you, I wish,” says I, lookin’ fixedly on her, “I wish you was both of you in posterity now.”

The very next Saturday after I had this conversation with Betsey, I went down to Jonesville to have my picture took, Tirzah Ann bein’ to home so she could get dinner for the menfolks. As for me I don’t set a great deal of store by pictures, but Josiah insisted and the children insisted, and I went. Tirzah Ann wanted me to have my hair curled, but there I was firm, I give in on the handkerchief pin, but on the curl business, there I was rock.

Mr. Gansey the man that takes pictures was in another room takin’ some, so I walked round the aunty room, as they call it, lookin’ at the pictures that hang up on the wall, and at the people that come in to have theirs took. Some of ’em was fixed up dreadful; it seemed to me as if they tried to look so that nobody wouldn’t know whose pictures they was, after they was took. Some of ’em would take off their bunnets and gaze in the lookin’-glass at themselves andtry to look smilin’, and get an expression onto their faces that they never owned.

PREPARING FOR A PICTURE.

In one corner of the room was a bewrow, with a lookin’-glass and hair brushes onto it, and before it stood a little man dreadful dressed up, with long black hair streamin’ down over his coat coller, engaged in pouring a vial of oil onto his head, and brushing his hairwith one of the brushes. I knew him in a minute, for I had seen him come into the meetin’ house. Afterwards when I was jest standin’ before the picture of a dreadful harmless lookin’ man—he looked meek enough to make excuses to his shadder for goin’ before it, and I was jest sayin’ to myself, “There is a man who would fry pancakes without complainin’,” I heard a voice behind me sayin’,

“So the navish villian stalks round yet in decent society.”

I turned round imegiately and see the little man, who had got through fixin’ his hair to have his pictur took, standin’ before me.

“Who do you mean?” says I calmly. “Who is stalkin’ round?”

“The Editor of the Gimlet,” says he, “whose vile image defiles the walls of this temple of art, the haunt of Aglia, Thalia, and Euphrosine.”

“Who?” says I glancin’ keenly at him over my specks, “the haunt of who?”

Says he “The daughters of Bachus and Venus.”

Says I “I don’t know anything about Miss Bachus, nor the Venus girls,” and says I with spirit, “if they are any low creeters I don’t thank you for speakin’ of ’em to me, nor Josiah won’t neether. This room belongs to Jeremiah Gansey, and he has got a wife, a likely woman, that belongs to the same meetin’ house and the same class that I do, and he haint no businessto have other girls hauntin’ his rooms. If there is anything wrong goin’ on I shall tell Sister Gansey.”

Says he “Woman you mistake, I meant the Graces.”

“Graces!” says I scornfully, “what do I care for their graces. Sister Gansey had graces enough when he married her,” says I. “That is jest the way, a man will marry a woman jest as pretty as a new blown rose, and then when she fades herself out, till she looks more like a dead dandyline than a livin’ creeter, cookin’hisvittles, washin’hisdishes, and takin’ care ofhischildren; then he’ll go to havin’ other girls hauntin’ him, there haint no gospel in it,” says I.

I looked him keenly in the face all the time I spoke, for I thought he was kinder’ upholdin’ Sister Gansey’s husband, and I wanted my words to apaul him, but I suppose he made a mistake, and thought I was admirin’ of him I looked so earnest at him, for he spoke up and says he,

“I see by your stiddy glance that you have discovered who I be. Yes Madam, you see before you the Editor of the Augur, but don’t be nervous, don’t let it affect you more than you can help, I am a mortal like yourself.”

I looked at him with my most majestic look, and he continued.

“The masses who devoured my great work ‘Logical Reveries on the Beauties of Slavery,’ are naturally anxious to see me. I don’t wonder at it, not at all.”

I was austerely silent and withdrawed to a winder and set down. But he followed me and continued on.

“That tract as you are doubtless aware, was written just before the war, and a weaker minded man might have been appalled by the bloodshed that followed its publication. But no! I said calmly, it was written on principle, and if it did bring ruin and bloodshed on the country, principle would in the end prevail. The war turned out different from what I hoped, chains broke that I could have wept to see break—but still I hung on to principle. Might I ask you Madam, exactly what your emotions were when you read ‘Logical Reveries’ for the first time? I suppose no President’s message was ever devoured as that was.”

“I never see nor heard of your ‘Logical Reveries,’” says I coldly. “And thank fortune nobody can accuse me of ever touchin’ a President’s message—unless they belie me.”

He rolled up his eyes toward the cielin’ and sithed hevily, and then says he, “Is it possible that in this enlightened community there is still such ignorance amongst the masses. I have got a copy in my pocket, I never go without one. And I will read it to you and it may be pleasant for you to tell your children and grandchildren in the future, that the author of “Logical Reveries on the Beauties of Slavery” told you with his own lips, how the great work came to bewritten. A poem was sent me intended as a satire on the beautiful and time hallowed system of slavery, it was a weak senseless mass of twaddle, but if the author could have foreseen the mighty consequences that flowed from it, he might well have trembled, for senseless as it was it roused the lion in me, and I replied. I divided my great work into two parts, first, that slavery was right, because the constitution didn’t say it was wrong, and then I viewed the subject in a Bible and moral light, but the last bein’ of less importance, of course I didn’t enlarge on it, but on the first I come out strong, there I shone. I will read you a little of the poem that was sent me, that you may understand the witherin’ allusions I make concernin’ it. I won’t read more than is necessary for that purpose, for you may get sleepy listenin’ to it, but you will wake up enough when I begin to read the “Logical Reveries,” I guess there couldn’t anybody sleep on them. The poem I speak of commenced in the following weak illogical way.

SLAVERY.So held my eyes I could not seeThe righteousness of slavery,So blind was I, I could not seeThe ripe fruit hang on wisdom’s tree;But groping round its roots did range,Murmuring ever, strange, oh strangeThat one handful of dust should dareEnslave another God had made,From his own home and kindred tear,And scourge, and fetter, steal and trade.If ’twas because they were less wiseThan our wise race, why not arise,And with pretext of buying teas,Lay in full cargoes of Chinese.Let Fee Fo Fum, and Eng, and Chen,Grow wise by contact with wise men;If weakness made the traffic right,Why not arise in manhood’s might,And bind old grandmothers with gyves,And weakly children, and sick wives.If ’twas the dark hue of their face,Then why not free our noble raceForever from all homely men?With manly zeal, and outstretched hand,Pass like a whirlwind o’er the land.Let squint eyed, pug-nosed women beOnly a thing of memory.Though some mistakes would happen then,For many bond servants there are,Fair faced, blue eyed, with silken hair.How sweet, how pleasant to be soldFor notes in hand, or solid gold,To benefit a brotherBoth children of one father,With each a different mother.One mother fair and richly clothed,One worn with toil and vain despairDown sunken to a life she loathed;Both children with proud saxon blood,In one breast mixed with tropic flame,One, heir to rank and broad estatesAnd one, without even a name.

SLAVERY.

So held my eyes I could not seeThe righteousness of slavery,So blind was I, I could not seeThe ripe fruit hang on wisdom’s tree;But groping round its roots did range,Murmuring ever, strange, oh strange

So held my eyes I could not see

The righteousness of slavery,

So blind was I, I could not see

The ripe fruit hang on wisdom’s tree;

But groping round its roots did range,

Murmuring ever, strange, oh strange

That one handful of dust should dareEnslave another God had made,From his own home and kindred tear,And scourge, and fetter, steal and trade.If ’twas because they were less wiseThan our wise race, why not arise,And with pretext of buying teas,Lay in full cargoes of Chinese.Let Fee Fo Fum, and Eng, and Chen,Grow wise by contact with wise men;If weakness made the traffic right,Why not arise in manhood’s might,And bind old grandmothers with gyves,And weakly children, and sick wives.

That one handful of dust should dare

Enslave another God had made,

From his own home and kindred tear,

And scourge, and fetter, steal and trade.

If ’twas because they were less wise

Than our wise race, why not arise,

And with pretext of buying teas,

Lay in full cargoes of Chinese.

Let Fee Fo Fum, and Eng, and Chen,

Grow wise by contact with wise men;

If weakness made the traffic right,

Why not arise in manhood’s might,

And bind old grandmothers with gyves,

And weakly children, and sick wives.

If ’twas the dark hue of their face,Then why not free our noble raceForever from all homely men?With manly zeal, and outstretched hand,Pass like a whirlwind o’er the land.Let squint eyed, pug-nosed women beOnly a thing of memory.Though some mistakes would happen then,For many bond servants there are,Fair faced, blue eyed, with silken hair.How sweet, how pleasant to be soldFor notes in hand, or solid gold,To benefit a brotherBoth children of one father,With each a different mother.One mother fair and richly clothed,One worn with toil and vain despairDown sunken to a life she loathed;Both children with proud saxon blood,In one breast mixed with tropic flame,One, heir to rank and broad estatesAnd one, without even a name.

If ’twas the dark hue of their face,

Then why not free our noble race

Forever from all homely men?

With manly zeal, and outstretched hand,

Pass like a whirlwind o’er the land.

Let squint eyed, pug-nosed women be

Only a thing of memory.

Though some mistakes would happen then,

For many bond servants there are,

Fair faced, blue eyed, with silken hair.

How sweet, how pleasant to be sold

For notes in hand, or solid gold,

To benefit a brother

Both children of one father,

With each a different mother.

One mother fair and richly clothed,

One worn with toil and vain despair

Down sunken to a life she loathed;

Both children with proud saxon blood,

In one breast mixed with tropic flame,

One, heir to rank and broad estates

And one, without even a name.

Jest as he arrived to this crysis in the poem, Mr. Gansey came out into the aunty room, and told me he was ready to take my picture. The Editer seein’ hewas obleeged to stop readin’ told me, he would come down to our house a visitin’ in sugarin’ time, and finish readin’ the poetry to me. I ketched holt of my principles to stiddy ’em, for I see they was a totterin’ and says to him with outward calmness,

“If you come fetch the twins.”

He said he would. I then told Mr. Gansey I was ready for the picture. I believe there haint nothin’ that will take the expression out of anybody’s eyes, like havin’ poetry read for a hour and a half, unless it is to have your head screwed back into a pair of tongs, and be told to look at nothin’ and wink at it as much as you are a mind to. Under both of these circumstances, it didn’t suprise me a mite that one of my eyes was took blind. But as Mr. Gansey said as he looked admirin’ly on it, with the exception of that one blind eye, it was a perfect and strikin’ picture. I paid him his dollar and started off home, and I hope now that Josiah and the children will be satisfied.

THE PICTURE.

About one week after this picture eppysode, there was a surprise party appointed. They had been havin’ ’em all winter, and the children had been crazy to have me go to ’em—everybody went, old and young, but I held back. Says I: “I don’t approve of ’em, and I won’t go.”

But finally they got their father on their side; says he: “It won’t hurt you Samantha, to go for once.”

Says I: “Josiah, the place for old folks is to home; and I don’t believe in surprise parties anyway, I think they are perfect nuisances. It stands to reason if you want to see your friends, you can invite ’em, and if anybody is too poor to bake a cake or two, and a pan of cookies, they are too poor to go into company at all.” Says I: “I haint proud, nor never was called so, but I don’t want Tom, Dick and Harry, that I never spoke to in my life, feel as if they was free to break into my house at any time they please.” Says I: “it would make me feel perfectly wild, to think there was a whole drove of people, liable to rush inhere at any minute, and I won’t rush into other people’s housen.”

“It would be fun, mother,” says Thomas J.; “I should love to see you and Deecon Gowdey or old Bobbet, playin’ wink ’em slyly.”

“Let ’em wink at me if they dare to,” says I sternly; “let me catch ’em at it. I don’t believe in surprise parties,” and I went on in about as cold a tone as they make. “Have you forgot how Mrs. Gowdey had her parlor lamp smashed to bits, and a set of stun china? Have you forgot how four or five stranger men got drunk to Peedicks’es, and had to be carried up stairs and laid out on her spare bed? Have you forgot how Celestine Wilkins fell with her baby in her arms, as she was catchin’ old Gowdey, and cracked the little innocent creeter’s nose? Have you forgot how Betsey Bobbet lost out her teeth a runnin’ after the editor of the Augur, and he stepped on ’em and smashed ’em all to bits? Have you forgot these coincidences?” Says I: “I don’t believe in surprise parties.”

“No more do I,” says Josiah; “but the children feel so about our goin’, sposen’ we go, for once! No livin’ woman could do better for children than you have by mine, Samantha, but I don’t suppose you feel exactly as I do about pleasin’ ’em, it haint natteral you should.”

Here he knew he had got me. If ever a womanwanted to do her duty by another woman’s children, it is Samantha Allen, whose maiden name was Smith. Josiah knew jest how to start me; men are deep. I went to the very next party, which was to be held two miles beyond Jonesville; they had had ’em so fast, they had used up all the nearer places. They had heard of this family, who had a big house, and the women had been to the same meetin’ house with Betsey Bobbet two or three times, and she had met her in a store a year before, and had been introduced to her, so she said she felt perfectly free to go. And as she was the leader it was decided on. They went in two big loads, but Josiah and I went in a cutter alone.

We got started ahead of the loads, and when we got to the house we see it was lit up real pleasant, and a little single cutter stood by the gate. We went up to the door and knocked, and a motherly lookin’ woman with a bunch of catnip in her hand, came to the door.

“Good evenin’,” says I, but she seemed to be a little deaf, and didn’t answer, and I see, as we stepped in, through a door partly open, a room full of women.

“Good many have got here,” says I a little louder.

“Yes, a very good doctor,” says she.

“What in the world!”—I begun to say in wild amaze.

“No, it is a boy.”

I turned right round, and laid holt of Josiah; saysI, “Start this minute, Josiah Allen, for the door.” I laid holt of him, and got him to the door, and we never spoke another word till we was in the sleigh, and turned round towards home; then says I,

“Mebby you’ll hear tome, another time, Josiah.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so agravatin’,” says he.

Jest then we met the first load, where Tirzah Ann and Thomas Jefferson was, and we told ’em to “turn round, for they couldn’t have us, they had other company.” So they turned round. We had got most back to Jonesville, when we met the other load; they had tipped over in the snow, and as we drove out most to the fence to get by ’em, Josiah told ’em the same we had the other load.

Says Betsey Bobbet, risin’ up out of the snow with a buffalo skin on her back, which made her look wild,

“Did they say wemust notcome?”

“No, they didn’t say jest that,” says Josiah. “But they don’t want you.”

“Wall then, my deah boys and girls,” says she, scramblin’ into the sleigh. “Let us proceed onwards, if they did not say weshould notcome.”

Her load went on, for her brother, Shakespeare Bobbet, was the driver. How they got along I haint never enquired, and they don’t seem over free to talk about it. But they kep’ on havin’ ’em, most every night. Betsey Bobbet as I said was the leader, and she led ’em once into a house where they had the smallpox, and once where they was makin’ preparations for a funeral. Somehow Tirzah and Thomas Jefferson seemed to be sick of ’em, and as for Josiah, though he didn’t say much, I knew he felt the more.

This coinsidense took place on Tuesday night, and the next week a Monday I had had a awful day’s work a washin’, and we had been up all night the night before with Josiah, who had the new ralegy in his back. We hadn’t one of us slept a wink the night before, and Thomas Jefferson and Tirzah Ann had gone to bed early. It had been a lowery day, and I couldn’t hang out my calico clothes, and so many of ’em was hung round the kitchen on lines and clothes bars, and nails, that Josiah and I looked as if we was a settin’ in a wet calico tent. And what made it look still more melancholy and sad, I found when I went to light the lamp, that the kerosene was all gone, and bein’ out of candles, I made for the first time what they call a “slut,” which is a button tied up in a rag, and put in a saucer of lard; you set fire to the rag, and it makes a light that is better than no light at all, jest as a slut is better than no woman at all; I suppose in that way it derived its name. But it haint a dazzlin’ light, nothin’ like so gay and festive as gas.

I, beat out with work and watchin’, thought I would soak my feet before I went to bed, and so I put some water into the mop pail, and sot by the stove with my feet in it. The thought had come to me after I gotmy night-cap on. Josiah sot behind the stove, rubbin’ some linament onto his back; he had jest spoke to me, and says he,

“I believe this linament makes, my back feel easier, Samantha, I hope I shall get a little rest to-night.”

Says I, “I hope so too, Josiah.” And jest as I said the words, without any warning the door opened, and in come what seemed to me at the time to be a hundred and 50 men, wimmen, and children, headed by Betsey Bobbet.

Josiah, so wild with horror and amazement that he forgot for the time bein’ his lameness, leaped from his chair, and tore so wildly at his shirt that he tore two pieces right out of the red flannel, and they shone on each shoulder of his white shirt like red stars; he then backed up against the wall between the back door and the wood box. I rose up and stood in the mop pail, too wild with amaze to get out of it, for the same reason heedin’ not my night-cap.

“We have come to suprize you,” says Betsey Bobbet, sweetly.

I looked at ’em in speechless horror, and my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth; no word did I speak, but I glared at ’em with looks which I suppose filled ’em with awe and dread, for Betsey Bobbet spoke again in plaintive accents,

“Will you not let us suprize you?”

Then I found voice, and “No! no!” says I wildly. “I won’t be suprized! you sha’n’t suprize us to-night! We won’t be suprized! Speak, Josiah,” says I, appealin’ to him in my extremity. “Speak! tell her! will we be suprized to-night?”

“No! no!” says he in firm, decided, warlike tones, as he stood backed up against the wall, holdin’ his clothes on—with his red flannel epaulettes on his shoulders like a officer, “no, we won’t be suprized!”

“You see, deah friends,” says she to the crowd, “she will not let us suprize her, we will go.” But she turned at the door, and says she in reproachful accents, “May be it is right and propah to serve a old friend and neighbah in this way—I have known you a long time, Josiah Allen’s wife.”

“I have known you plenty long enough,” says I, steppin’ out of the pail, and shettin’ the door pretty hard after ’em.

Josiah came from behind the stove pushin’ a chair in front of him, and says he,

“Darn suprize parties, and darn—”

“Don’t swear, Josiah, I should think you was bad enough off without swearin’—”

“Iwilldarn Betsey Bobbet, Samantha. Oh, my back!” he groaned, settin’ down slowly, “I can’t set down nor stand up.”

“You jumped up lively enough, when they come in,” says I.

THE SURPRISE PARTY.

“Throw that in my face, will you? What could I du? And there is a pin stickin’ into my shoulder, do get it out, Samantha, it has been there all the time, only I haint sensed it till now.”

“Wall,” says I in a kinder, soothin tone, drawin’ it out of his shoulder, where it must have hurt awfully, only he hadn’t felt it in his greater troubles—“Less be thankful that we are as well off as we be. Betsey might have insisted on stopin’. I will rub your shoulders with the linament, and I guess you will feel better; do you suppose they will be mad?”

“I don’t know, nor I don’t care, but I hope so,” says he.

And truly his wish come to pass, for Betsey was real mad; the rest didn’t seem to mind it. But she was real short to me for three days. Which shows it makes a difference with her who does the same thing, for they went that night right from here to the Editor of the Augur’s. And it come straight to me from Celestine Wilkins, who was there, that he turned ’em out doors, and shet the door in their faces.

The way it was, his hired girl had left him that very day, and one of the twins was took sick with wind colic. He had jest got the sick baby to sleep, and laid it in the cradle, and had gin the little well one some playthings, and set her down on the carpet, and he was washin’ the supper dishes, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and a pink bib-apron on that belongedto his late wife. They said he had jest finished, and was wringin’ out his dishcloth, when he heard a awful screamin’ from the well twin, and he rushed out with his dishcloth hangin’ over his arm, and found that she had swallowed a side-thimble; he ketched her up, and spatted her back, and the thimble flew out half way across the floor. She screamed, and held her breath, and the sick one waked up, and sot up in the cradle and screamed fearfully, and jest then the door bust open, and in come the suprize party headed by Betsey Bobbet. They said that he, half crazy as he was, told Betsey that “if she didn’t head ’em off that minute, he would prosecute the whole of ’em.” Some of ’em was mad about it, he acted so threat’nin’, but Betsey wasn’t, for in the next week’s Augur these verses came out:

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