HARD AT WORK
“No, Victory; I haint one of you, I am Josiah Allen’s wife.” Then I sithed. And says I, “Victory you are in the right on it, and you are in the wrong on it,” and says I, “I come clear from Jonesville to try to set you right where you are wrong.” Says I, almost overcome with emotion. “You are younger than I Victory, and I want to talk with you jest as friendly as if I was your mother in law.”
Says she, “Where do you think I am in the right, and where do you think I am in the wrong?”
Says I, “You are right in thinkin’ what a solemn thing it is to bring up children as they ought to be. What an awful thing it is to bring the little creeters into the world without their votin’ on the subject at all, and then neglect ’em, and abuse ’em, and make their poor little days awful long in the world, and then expect them to honor you for it. You are right in your views of health, and wimmin’s votin’ and etcetery—but you are wrong Victory, and I don’t want you to get mad at me, for I say it with as friendly feelin’s as if I was your mother in law,—you are wrong in this free love business, you are wrong in keepin’ house with two husbands at the same time.”
“Two husbands! it is false; I was divorced from him, and my husband and I found him perishing in the streets, and we took him home and took care of him ’till he died. Which would the Lord have done Josiah Allen’s wife, passed by on the other side, or took pity on him?”
“I don’t know what the Lord would have done Victory, but I believe I should have sent him to a good horsepittle or tarven, and hired him took care of. I never could stand it to have another husband in the same house with me and Josiah. It would seem so kind o’ curious, somethin’ in the circus way. I never could stand it never.”
“There have been a good many things Josiah Allen’s wife that you have not been required to stand, God and man united you to a good husband whom you love. But in your happiness you shouldn’t forget that some other woman has been less fortunate. In your perfect happiness, and harmony—”
“Oh!” says I candidly, “I don’t say but what Josiah and me have had our little spats Victory. Josiah will go in his stockin’ feet considerable and—”
But she interrupted of me with her eyes a flashin’,
“What would you say to livin’ with a man that forgot every day of his life that he was a man, and sunk himself into a brute. Leaving his young wife of a week for the society of the abandoned? What would you say to abuse, that resulted in the birth of a idiot child? Would you endure such a life? Would you live with the animal that he had made himself? I married a man, I never promised God nor man that I would love, honor and obey the wild beast he changed into. I was free from him in the sight of a pure God, long enough before the law freed me.”
I let her have her say out, for Josiah Allen’s wife is one to let every man or mouse tell thier principles if they have got any. And if I was conversin’ with the overseer of the bottomless pit, (I don’t want to speak his name right out, bein’ a Methodist), I would give him a chance to get up and relate his experience. But as she stopped with her voice kinder choked up, I laid my brown cotton glove gently onto her shoulder, and says I,
“Hush up Victory,” says I “wimmen must submit to some things, they can pray, and they can try to let thier sorrows lift ’em nearer to heaven, makin’ angels of ’em.”
Here Mr. Tilton spoke up and says he, “I don’t believe in the angels exclusively, I don’t see why there shouldn’t be he angels, as well as she ones.”
I was tickled, and I looked at him approvin’ly, and says I,
“Theodore you are the first man with one exception that I ever see that felt that way, and I respect you for it.” Says I, “men as a general thing think that wimmen have got to do up all the angel business there is done. Men seem to get the idee that they can do as they are a mind to and the Lord will wink at ’em. And there are lots of things that the world thinks would be awful coarse in a woman, but is all right in a man. But I don’t believe a man’s cigar smoke smells any sweeter to the Lord than a woman’s would. And I don’t believe a coarse low song, sounds any sweeter and purer in the ears of angels, because it is sung in a base voice instead of a sulfereno. I never could see why men couldn’t do somethin’ in the angel line themselves, as well as to put it all on to the wimmen, when they have got everything else under the sun to do. Not but what,” says I, “I am willen’ to do my part. I never was a shirk, and Josiah Allen will tell you so, I am willin’ to do my share of the angel business.” And says I, in a generous way, “I would do it all, if I only had time. But I love to see justice and reason. Nature feathers out geese and ganders equally, or if there is any difference the gander’s wings are the most foamin’ lookin’. Men’s shoulders are made jest the same way that wimmen’s are; feathers would look jest as well on ’em as on a woman, they can cultivate wings with jest as little trouble. What is the purest and whitest unseen feathers on a livin’ angel’s hidden wing, Theodore and Victory? They are purity, goodness, and patience, and men can grow these unbeknown feathers jest as easy as a woman can if they only set out.”
I had spoke real eloquent, and I knew it, but I felt that I had been carried away slightly by my emotions, from the mission I had come on—to try to convince Miss Woodhull where she was wrong. And so after a minutes silence, I broke out agin mildly, for I felt that if I give way to anger or impatience my mission was lost.
“Another thing you are wrong in Victory, is to think you can be lawfully married without any minister or justice of the peace. I knew that all you needed was to have it set before you plain by some female that wished you well; you are wrong in it Victory, and I tell you so plain, and to show you that I am your well wisher, I thought after I had convinced you that you was in the wrong, I would make you this offer. That if you and Col. Blood will go home with Betsey and me, Elder Wesley Minkley shall marry you right in my parlor, and it shan’t cost you a cent, for I will pay him myself in dried apples.”
Says she, “I don’t want any ceremony, I want the only tie to hold me to my husband to be love, the one sacred tie.”
“Love is a first rate tie,” says I, mildly, holdin’ on to my temper first rate, “upwards of 15 years ago, I give one of the most remarkable proofs of it, that has ever been seen in this country;” (and for a minute my mind wandered off onto that old revery, why did I love Josiah Allen?) But collectin’ my mind together I spoke onwards, with firm and cast iron principle. “Still, although I felt that sacred tie unitin’ Josiah and me in a double beau knot that couldn’t be untwisted, the first time we met, still, if Elder Wesley Minkley hadn’t united us at the alter—or mother’s parlor, I should have felt dreadful floatin’ round in my mind. It would have seemed too curious and onstiddy kinder, as if Josiah and me was liable to fall all to pieces at any time, and waver off in the air like two kites that had broke loose from thier strings.” Says I, firmly, “Thier would be a looseness to it, I couldn’t stand.”
She said I would get accustomed to it, and that custom made many things seem holy that were unholy, and many things sinful that were pure in the sight of God.
But still I murmured with a sad look, but firm as old Bunker Hill, “I couldn’t stand it, Victory, it would seem too much like a circus.
“And then agin, Victory, you are in the wrong of it about divorces. ‘What God has joined togather let no man put asunder.’”
Says she, “Josiah Allen’s wife, if divorces were free to-morrow, would you get one from Josiah?”
“Never!” says I, and my best dress most bust open at the breast, (them biases always was took up a little too snug) at the idee of partin’ from Josiah.
“Well, what is it that would hold you so fast to each other that nothin’ but death could separate you? was it the few words you said before the minister?”
“It was love, Victory! love, that wouldn’t let me eat a mite, nor sleep a wink, if I couldn’t put my hand onto Josiah Allen any time day or night.”
“Then,” says she, “why not give other good men and women credit for bein’ actuated by the same sentiments? Those that God has joined togather, no man can put asunder. Those who are really married heart and sole, would never separate, it would only correct abuses, and separate those that man, and not God, had joined togather.”
Says I, “Victory, is there any particular need of folks lettin’ man join ’em togather, when God hasn’t?” says I; “if folks was obleeged to marry, there would be some sense in such talk,” says I, “they haint no business to marry if they don’t love each other. All sin brings its punishment, and them that commit the crime aginst thier own sole, of marryin’ without love, ought to be punished by unhappiness in thier domestic relations, what else can they expect?” says I. “Marriage is like baptism, now some folks say it is a savin’ audnence, I say nobody haint any right to be baptised unless they are saved already. Nobody haint any business to put on the outward form of marriage, if they haint got the inward marriage of the spirit.”
“Some folks marry for a home,” says she.
“Wall, they haint no business to,” says I warmly. “I had ruther live out doors under a umberell, all my days.”
“Those are my sentiments exactly, Josiah Allen’s wife. But you can’t deny that people are liable to be decieved.”
“If they are such poor judges the first time, what would hender ’em from bein’ decieved the next time, and so on, ad infinitum, to the twentieth and thirtieth time?” says I firmly. “Instead of folks bein’ tied together looser, they ought to be tied as tight agin. If folks knew they couldn’t marry agin, how many divorces do you suppose there would be? No doubt there are individual cases, where there is great wrong, and great sufferin’. But we ought to look out for the greatest good to the greatest number. And do you realize, Victory, what a condition society would be in, if divorces was absolutely free? The recklessness with which new ties would be formed, the lovin’ wimmen’s hearts that would be broken by desertion, the children that would be homeless and uncared for. When a fickle man or woman gets thier eyes onto somebody they like better than they do thier own lawful pardners, it is awful easy to think that man, and not God, has jined ’em. But let folks once get the idee into thier heads, that marriage is a solemn thing, and lasts as long as thier lives do, and they can’t get away from each other, they will be ten times as careful to live peacible and happy with thier companions.” Says I, “When a man realizes that he can if he wants to, start up and marry a woman before breakfast, and get divorced before dinner, and have a new one before supper time, it has a tendency to make him onstiddy and worrysome.”
Says I, “Victory, men are dreadful tryin’ by spells, do you suppose I have lived with one for upwards of 15 years, and hain’t found it out? But suppose a mother deserts a child because he is wormy, and tears his breeches. She brought him into the world, and it is her duty to take care of him. Do you suppose a store keeper ought to take back a pink calico dress, after you have made it up, and washed it because the color washes out of it, you ought to have tried it before it was cut off. I married Josiah Allen with both eyes open, I didn’t wear spectacles then, I wasn’t starved to it nor thumbscrewed into it, and it is my duty to make the best of him.”
Says she, “When a woman finds that her soul is clogged and hampered, it is a duty she owes to her higher nature to find relief.”
Says I, “When a woman has such feelin’s, instead of leavin’ her lawful husband and goin’ round huntin’ up a affinitee, let her take a good thoroughwert puke. Says I, in 9 and ½ cases out of 10, it is folkes’es stomachs that are clogged up insted of their souls. Says I, there is nothin’ like keepin’ the stomach in good order to make the moral sentiments run good. Now our Tirzah Ann, Josiah’s girl by his first wife, I kinder mistrusted that she was fallin’ in love with—” I almost said it right out Shakespeare Bobbet, but I thought of Betsey, and turned it “with a little feller that hadn’t hardly got out of his roundabouts, she bein’ at the same time in pantalettes. Well I give her a good thoroughwert puke, and it cured her, and if his mother,” says I with a keen look onto Betsey, as I thought of my night of troubles, “If his mother had served him in the same way, it would have saved some folks a good deal of sufferin’.”
I see that agin I was wanderin’ off’en the subject, and I says in a deep solemn tone,
“I don’t believe in this divorcin’.”
Mr. Tilton spoke up for most the first time, and says he, “I think you are wrong in your views of divorce, Josiah Allen’s wife.”
I looked into his handsome face and my feelin’s rose up strong I couldn’t throw ’em, they broke loose and says I, in almost tremblin’ tones,
“It is you that are in the wrong on it, Theodore,” says I, “Theodore, I have read your poetry when it seemed as if I could ride right up to heaven on it, though I weigh 200 and 10 pounds by the steelyards. There is one piece by the name of “Life’s Victory.” I haint much of a hand for poetry, but I read it for the first time when I was sick, and it seemed as if it carried me so near to heaven, that I almost begun to feather out. And when I found out who the author was, he seemed as near to me as Thomas Jefferson, Josiah’s boy by his first wife. Theodore, I have kept sight of you ever sense, jest as proud of you, as if you was my own son-in-law, and when you went off into this free love belief I felt bad.” I took out my white 25 cent handkerchif, for a tear came within I should say half or three quarters of a inch from my eye-winkers. I held my handkerchif in my hand, the tear come nearer and nearer—he looked agitated—when up spoke Miss Woodhull.
“It is perfectly right; I believe in free divorce, free love, freedom in everything.”
I jest jammed my handkerchif back into my pocket, for that tear jest turned round and traveled back to where it come from. I thought I had used mildness long enough, and I says to her in stern tones,
“Victory, can you look me straight in the spectacles, and say that you think this abominable doctrine of free love is right?”
“Yes mom, I can, I believe in perfect freedom.”
Says I, “That is what burglers and incendiarys say,” says I, “that is the word murderers and Mormans utter,” says I “that is the language of pirates, Victory Woodhull.”
She pretty near quailed, and I proceeded on, “Victory, there haint but one true liberty, and that is the liberty of the Gospel, and it haint Gospel liberty to be surrounded by a dozen husbands’es and ex-husbands’es,” says I, “this marryin’ and partin’ every day or to, haint accordin’ to Skripter.”
Says she in a scornful tone, “What is skripter?” If I had been her mother I would have spanked her then and there. But I wasn’t, and I jest turned my back to her, and says I, “Mr. Tilton you believe the bible don’t you?”
“Yes mom, I do, but the bible justifies divorce.”
“Yes,” says I, “for one cause, and no other, and the Saviour says that whosoever marries a woman put away for any but the bible cause, commits adultery, and I don’t believe in adulteration, nor Josiah don’t either. But,” says I, convulsivly, “You know a man will part with a woman nowadays if the butter don’t come quick, and she will part with him if he don’t hang up the bootjack. Is that bible Theodore?” Says I, “don’t the bible say that except for that one reason, man and wife are married till death parts ’em.” Says I, “is a lawyer in a frock coat, with a lot of papers stickin’ out of his breast pocket, death?” Says I, “tell me Theodore is he death?”
He looked convinced, and says he, “No mom, he haint.”
“Well then, what business has that little snip of a livin’ lawyer to go round tryin’ to make out he is death? tell me?” says I almost wildly.
I see my emotions was almost carryin’ me off, and I ketched holt of my dignity, and continued in deep solemn tones, “True marriage is a sacred thing, and it is a solemn thing, it is as solemn as bein’ baptized. And if you are baptized once in the way you ought to be, it is enough. But the best way you can fix it, it is a solemn thing Victory. To give your whole life and soul into the keepin’ of somebody else. To place all your hopes, and all your happiness in another human bein’ as a woman will. A true woman if she loves truly, never gives half of her heart or three quarters, she gives it all. She never asks how much shall I get back in money and housen and finery? or whether she could do better in another direction. No; True Love is a river that runs onward askin’ no questions of anybody, sweepin’ right on with a full heart. And where does that river empty Theodore and Victory?”
They both looked as solemn as a protracted meetin’, almost, as I looked at ’em, first one, then the other, through my specs; but they didn’t reply. Says I, in a deep solemn tone, “the name of the place where that river emptys is Eternity.” Says I, “That river of True Love as it flows through the world gets riley sometimes, by the earthly mud on its banks. Sometimes it gets mad and precipitates itself over precipices, and sometimes it seemin’ly turns backward a spell. But in its heart it knows where it is bound for, it keeps on growin’ broader, and deeper, and quieter like, and as it jines the ocian it leaves all its mud on the banks, for God cleanses it, and makes it pure as the pure waters it flows into.”
I felt real eloquent as I said this, and it seemed to impress ’em as I wanted it to. They both of ’em have got good faces. Though I didn’t like their belief, I liked their looks. They looked sincere and honest.
Agin I repeated, “Marriage is a solemn thing.”
I heard a deep sithe behind me, and a sorrowful voice exclaimed,
“It is solemn then both ways, you say it is solemn to marry, and I know”—here was another deep sithe “I know it is solemn not to.” It was Betsey, she was a thinkin’ of the Editer of the Augur, and of Ebineezer, and of all the other dear gazelles, that lay cold and lifeless in her buryin’ ground. I felt that I could not comfort her, and I was silent. Miss Woodhull is a well bread woman, and so to kinder notice Betsey, and make talk with her, says she,
“I believe you are the author of these lines
“Yes,” says Betsey, tryin’ to put on the true modesty of jenieus look.
Miss Woodhull said “she had heard it sung to several free love conventions.”
“How true it is,” says Betsey glancin’ towards Mr. Tilton, “that deathless fame sometimes comes by reason of what you feel in your heart haint the best part of you. Now in this poem I speak hard of man, but I didn’t feel it Miss Woodhull, I didn’t feel it at the time, I wrote it jest for fame and to please Prof. Gusheh. I love men,” says she, glancin’ at Mr. Tilton’s handsome face, and hitchin’ her chair up closer to his’en.
“I almost worship ’em.”
Theodore began to look uneasy, for Betsey had sot down close by the side of him and says she,
“Did you ever read the soul stirrin’ lines that Miss Woodhull refers to, I will rehearse them to you, and also three others of 25 verses apiece which I have wrote since on the same subject.”
I see a cold sweat begin to break on his white and almost marble forward, and with a agitated move he ketched out his watch and says he,
“I have a engagement.”
Says Betsey, beseechin’ly layin’ her hand on his coat sleeve, “I can rehearse them in 26 or 27 minutes, and oh how sweet your sympathy would be to me, let me repeat them to you deah man.”
A haggard look crept into his handsome eyes, and says he, wildly turnin’ ’em away, “It is a case of life and death,” and he hurried to the door.
But Betsey started up and got ahead of him, she got between him and the door, and says she, “I will let you off about hearin’ the poetry—but oh! listen to my otheh prayer.”
“I won’t listen to your prayer,” says he, firmly.
“In the name of the female wimmen of America who worship you so, pause, and heah my prayer.”
He paused deeply agitated, and says he. “In their name I will hear you, what is your request Betsey Bobbet?”
She clasped her hands in a devotional way, and with as beseechin’ and almost heart meltin’ a look as a dog will give to a bone held above its head, she murmured,
“A lock of youh haih deah man, that I may look at it when the world looks hollow to me, a lock of youh haih to make my life path easier to me.”
I turned my spectacles on which principle sot enthroned, towards ’em, and listened in awful deep interest to see how it would end. Would he yield or not? He almost trembled. But finally he spoke.
“Never! Betsey Bobbet! never!” and he continued in low, agitated tones, “I have got jest enough to look well now.”
My heart throbbed proudly, to see him comin’ so nobly through the hot furnace of temptation, without bein’ scorched. To see him bein’ lifted up in the moral steelyards, and found full weight to a notch. But alas! Jest as small foxes will gnaw into a grape vine, jest so will dangerous and almost loose principles gnaw into a noble and upright nature unbeknown to them.
Agin Betsey says in harrowin’ tones, at the same time ketchin’ holt of his coat skirts wildly,
“If you can’t part with any more, give me one haih, to make my life path smootheh.”
BETSEY’S PRAYER.
Alas! that my spectacles was ever bought to witness the sad sight. For with a despairin’, agonized countenance such as Lucifer, son of Mr. Mornin’ might have wore as he fell doun, Theodore plucked a hair out of his foretop, threw it at Betsey’s feet, and rushed out doors. Betsey with a proud, haughty look, picked it up, kissed it a few times, and put it into her port-money.
But I sithed.
I hadn’t no heart to say anything more to Victory. I bid her farewell. But after we got out in the street, I kept a sithin’.
A WIMMEN’S RIGHTS’ LECTURER.
As we wended our way back to Miss Asters’es to dinner, Betsey said she guessed after all she would go and take dinner to her cousin Ebeneezer’s, for her Pa hadn’t give her much money. Says she,
“I hate to awfully. It is revoltin’ to all the fineh feelings of my nature to take dinneh theah, afteh I have been so—” she stopped suddenly, and then went on agin. “But Pa didn’t make much this yeah, and he didn’t give me much money, he nor Ma wouldn’t have thought they could have paid my faih heah on the cars, if they hadn’t thought certain, that Ebeneezah’s wife would be took from us, and I—should do my duty by coming. So I guess I will go theah and get dinneh.”
Thinks’es I to myself, “If your folks had brought you up to emanual labor, if they had brought you up to any other trade only to get married, you might have money enough of your own to buy one dinner independent, without dependin’ on some man to earn it for you.” But I didn’t say nothin’, but proceeded onwards to the tavern where I put up. When I got there I met Johnothan Beans’es ex wife, and says she,
“Oh, I forgot, there is a lady here that wanted to see you when you got back.”
“Who is it,” says I.
“It is a female lecturer on wimmen’s rights,” says she.
Well, says I, “Principle before vittles, is my theme, fetch her on.”
Says she, “Go into your room and I’ll tell her you have come, and bring her there. She is awful anxious to see you.”
Well, says I, “I’m visible to the naked eye, she won’t have to take a telescope,” and in this calm state of mind I went into my room and waited for her.
Pretty soon she came in.
Jonothan Beans’es ex wife introduced us, and then went out. I rose up and took holt of her hand, but I give it a sort of a catious shake, for I didn’t like her looks. Of all the painted, and frizzled, and ruffled, and humped up, and laced down critters I ever see, she was the cap sheaf. She had a hump on her back bigger than any camel’s I ever see to a managery, and no three wimmen ever grew the hair that critter had piled on to her head.
I see she was dissapointed in my looks. She looked dreadful kinder scornful down onto my plain alpaca, which was made of a sensible length. Hers hung down on the carpet. I’ll bet there was more’n a bushel basket of puckers and ruffles that trailed down on to the floor behind her, besides all there was on the skirt and waist.
She never said a word about my dress, but I see she looked awful scornful on to it. But she went on to talk about Wimmen’s Rights, and I see she was one of the wild eyed ones, that don’t use no reason. I see here was another chance for me to do good—to act up to principle. And as she give another humiliatin’ look onto my dress, I become fully determined in my own mind, that I wouldn’t shirk out from doin’ my duty by her, and tell her jest what I thought of her looks. She said she had just returned from a lecturin’ tower out in the Western States, and that she had addressed a great many audiences, and had come pretty near gettin’ a Wimmen’s Rights Governor chosen in one of the States. She got to kinder preachin’ after a while, and stood lookin’ up towards the cealin’, and her hands stretched out as if she was a lecturin’. Says she,
“Tyrant man shan’t never rule us.” Says I, “I haint no objection to your makin’ tyrant man better, if you can—there is a chance for improvement in ’em—but while we are handlin’ ‘motes,’ sister, let us remember that we have got considerable to do in the line of ‘beams.’” Says I, “To see a lot of immortal wimmen together, sometimes, you would think the Lord had forgot to put any brains into their heads, but had filled it all up with dress patterns, and gossip, and beaux, and tattan.”
ON A LECTURIN’ TOWER.
“Tyrant man has encouraged this weakness of intellect. He has for ages made woman a plaything; a doll; a menial slave. He has encouraged her weakness of comprehension, because it flattered his self love and vanity, to be looked up to as a superior bein’. He has enjoyed her foolishness.”
“No doubt there is some truth in what you say, sister, but them days are past. A modest, intelligent woman is respected and admired now, more than a fool. It is so in London and New York village, and,” says I with some modesty, “it is so in Jonesville.”
“Tyrant man,” begun the woman agin. “Tyrant man thinks that wimmen are weak, slavish idiots, that don’t know enough to vote. But them tyrants will find themselves mistaken.”
The thought that Josiah was a man, came to me then as it never had before. And as she looked down from the cealin’ a minute on to my dress with that scornful mene, principle nerved me up to give her a piece of my mind.
Says I, “No wonder men don’t think that we know enough to vote when they see the way some wimmen rig themselves out. Why says I, a bachelder that had always kept house in a cave, that had read about both and hadn’t never seen neither, would as soon take you for a dromedary as a woman.”
She turned round quicker’n lightnin’, and as she did so, I see her hump plainer’n ever.
Says she, “Do you want to insult me?”
“No,” says I, “my intentions are honorable, mom.
“But,” says I, puttin’ the question plain to her, “would you vote for a man, that had his pantaloons made with trails to ’em danglin’ on the ground, and his vest drawed in to the bottom tight enough to cut him into, and his coat tails humped out with a bustle, and somebody else’s hair pinned on the back of his head? Would you?” says I solemnly fixin’ my spectacles keenly onto her face. “Much as I respect and honor Horace Greeley, if that pure-minded and noble man should rig himself out with a bustle and trailin’ pantaloons, I wouldn’t vote for him, and Josiah shouldn’t neither.”
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT?
But she went right on without mindin’ me—“Man has always tried to dwarf our intellects; cramp our souls. The sore female heart pants for freedom. It is sore! and it pants.”
Her eyes was rolled up in her head, and she had lifted both hands in a eloquent way, as she said this, and I had a fair view of her waist, it wasn’t much bigger than a pipe’s tail. And I says to her in a low, friendly tone. “Seein’ we are only females present, let me ask you in a almost motherly way, when your heart felt sore and pantin’ did you ever loosen your cosset strings? Why,” says I, “no wonder your heart feels sore, no wonder it pants, the only wonder is, that it don’t get discouraged and stop beatin’ at all.”
She wanted to waive off the subject, I knew, for she rolled up her eyes higher than ever, and agin she began “Tyrant man”—
Agin I thought of Josiah, and agin I interrupted her by sayin’ “Men haint the worst critters in the world, they are as generous and charitable agin, as wimmen are, as a general thing.”
“Then what do you want wimmen to vote for, if you think so?”
“Because I want justice done to every human bein’. Justice never hurt nobody yet, and rights given through courtesy and kindness, haint so good in the long run, as rights given by law. And besides, there are exceptions to every rule. There are mean men in the world as well as good ones. Justice to wimmen won’t prevent charitable men from bein’ charitable, generous men from bein’ generous, and good men from bein’ good, while it will restrain selfishness and tyrany. One class was never at the mercy of another, in any respect, without that power bein’ abused in some instances. Wimmen havin’ the right to vote haint a goin’ to turn the world over to once, and make black, white, in a minute, not by no means. But I sincerely believe it will bring a greater good to the female race and to the world.”
Says I, in my most eloquent way, “There is a star of hope a risin’ in the East for wimmen. Let us foller on after it through the desert of the present time, not with our dresses trailin’ down onto the sandy ground, and our waists lookin’ like pismires, and our hair frizzled out like maniacs. Let us go with our own hair on our heads, soberly, decently, and in order; let us behave ourselves in such a sober, christian way, that we can respect ourselves, and then men will respect us.”
“I thought,” says she, “that you was a pure Wimmen’s Righter! I thought you took part with us in our warfare with our foeman man! I thought you was a firm friend to wimmen, but I find I am mistaken.”
FEMALE STATESMANSHIP.
“I am a friend to wimmen,” says I, “and because I am, I don’t want her to make a natural born fool of herself. And I say agin, I don’t wonder sometimes, that men don’t think that wimmen know enough to vote, when they see ’em go on. If a woman don’t know enough to make a dress so she can draw a long breath in it, how is she goin’ to take deep and broad views of public affairs? If she puts 30 yards of calico into a dress, besides the trimmin’s, how is she goin’ to preach acceptably on political economy? If her face is covered with paint, and her curls and frizzles all danglin’ down onto her eyes, how can she look straight and keenly into foreign nations and see our relations there? If a woman don’t know enough to keep her dress out of the mud, how is she goin’ to steer the nation through the mud puddle of politics? If a woman humps herself out, and makes a camel of herself, how is she goin’ through the eye of a needle?”
I said these last words in a real solemn camp meetin’ tone, but they seemed to mad her, for she started right up and went out, and I didn’t care a cent if she did, I had seen enough of her. She ketched her trail in the door and tore off pretty nigh a yard of it, and I didn’t cry about that, not a mite. I don’t like these bold brazen faced wimmen that go a rantin’ round the country, rigged out in that way, jest to make themselves notorious. Thier names hadn’t ought to be mentioned in the same day, with true earnest wimmen who take thier reputations in thier hands, and give thier lives to the cause of Right, goin’ ahead walkin’ afoot through the wilderness, cuttin’ down trees, and diggin’ out stumps, makin’ a path for the car of Freedom, that shall yet roll onward into Liberty.
As soon as she was gone, I went down and eat my dinner, for I was hungry as a bear. At the dinner table Jonothan Beans’es ex wife asked me “what I would like for desert.”
I told her “I hadn’t turned my mind much that way, for I hadn’t no idee of goin’ into the desert business, I wouldn’t buy one any way, and I wouldn’t take one as a gift if I had got to settle down, and live on it. But from what I had heard Thomas Jefferson read about it, I thought the desert of Sarah was about as roomy and raised as much sand to the acre as any of ’em.”
Says she, turnin’ the subject, “will you have pie or puddin’.”
I couldn’t see then, and I have thought about it lots sense, I don’t see what started her off onto Gography all of a sudden.
After dinner I thought I would rest a spell. My talk with that female lecturer had tired me out. Principle is dreadful tuckerin’ to any body, when you make it a stiddy business. I had rather wash, any time, than to go off on a tower of it as I was. So I went to my room and sot down real comfortable. But I hadn’t sot more’n a minute and a half, when Betsey Bobbet came, and nothin’ to do, but I must go to Stewarts’es store with her. I hung back at first, but then I happened to think, if Alexander should hear—as of course he would—that I had been to the village and hadn’t been to his shop, he would have reason to feel hurt. Alexander is a real likely man, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelin’s, and it haint my way to want to slight anybody. And then I had a little tradin’ I wanted to do. So take it all together, I finally told Betsey I would go with her.
ALEXANDER’S STORE.
I had heard it was considerable of a store, but good land! it was bigger than all the shops of Jonesville put together, and 2 or 3 10 acre lots, and a few meetin’ housen. But I wouldn’t have acted skairt, if it had been as big as all Africa. I walked in as cool as a cowcumber. We sot down pretty nigh to the door and looked round a spell. Of all the sights of folks there was a comin’ in all the time, and shinin’ counters all down as fur as we could see, and slick lookin’ fellers behind every one, and lots of boys runnin’ round, that they called “Cash.” I says to Betsey,
“What a large family of boys Mr. Cash’es folks have got, and they must some of ’em be twins, they seem to be about of a size.”
I was jest thinkin’ in a pityin way of their mother: poor Mrs. Cash, and how many pantaloons she would have to put new seats into, in slidin’ down hill time, when Betsey says to me,
“Josiah Allen’s wife, hadn’t you better be purchasing your merchandise?” Says she, “I will set here and rest ’till you get through, and as deah Tuppah remarked, ‘study human nature.’” She didn’t have no book as I could see to study out of, but I didn’t make no remarks, Betsey is a curious critter, anyway. I went up to the first counter—there was a real slick lookin’ feller there, and I asked him in a cool tone, “If Mr. Stewart took eggs, and what they was a fetchin’ now?”
He said “Mr. Stewart don’t take eggs.”
“Well,” says I, “what does he give now for butter in the pail?”
He said “Mr. Stewart don’t take butter.”
“Well,” says I, in a dignified way, “It haint no matter, I only asked to see what they was a fetchin’ here. I haint got any with me, for I come on a tower.” I then took a little roll out of my pocket, and undone ’em. It was a pair of socks and a pair of striped mittens. And I says to him in a cool, calm way,
“How much is Mr. Stewart a payin’ for socks and mittens now. I know they are kinder out of season now, but there haint no danger but what Winter will come, if you only wait long enough.”
He said “we don’t take em.”
I felt dissapointed, for I did want Alexander to have ’em, they was knit so good. I was jest thinkin’ this over, when he spoke up agin, and says he, “we don’t take barter of no kind.” I didn’t know really what he meant, but I answered him in a blind way, that it was jest as well as if they did, as fur as I was concerned, for we hadn’t raised any barter that year, it didn’t seem to be a good year for it, and then I continued on—“Mebby Mr. Stewart would take these socks and mittens for his own use.” Says I, “do you know whether Alexander is well off for socks and mittens or not?”
DON’T TAKE BARTER.
The clerk said “he guessed Mr. Stewart wasn’t sufferin’ for ’em.”
“Well,” says I in a dignified way, “you can do as you are a mind to about takin’ ’em, but they are colored in a good indigo blue dye, they haint pusley color, and they are knit on honor, jest as I knit Josiah’s.”
“Who is Josiah?” says the clerk.
Says I, a sort of blindly, “He is the husband of Josiah Allen’s wife.”
I would’t say right out, that I was Josiah Allen’s wife, because I wanted them socks and mittens to stand on their own merits, or not at all. I wasn’t goin’ to have ’em go, jest because one of the first wimmen of the day knit ’em. Neither was I goin’ to hang on, and tease him to take ’em. I never said another word about his buyin’ ’em, only mentioned in a careless way, that “the heels was run.” But he didn’t seem to want ’em, and I jest folded ’em up, and in a cool way put ’em into my pocket. I then asked to look at his calicos, for I was pretty near decided in my own mind to get a apron, for I wasn’t goin’ to have him think that all my property lay in that pair of socks and mittens.
He told me where to go to see the calicos, and there was another clerk behind that counter. I didn’t like his looks a bit, he was real uppish lookin’. But I wasn’t goin’ to let him mistrust that I was put to my stumps a bit. I walked up as collected lookin’ as if I owned the whole caboodle of ’em, and New York village, and Jonesville, and says I,
“I want to look at your calicos.”
“What prints will you look at?” says he, meanin’ to put on me.
Says I, “I don’t want to look at no Prince,” says I, “I had ruther see a free born American citizen, than all the foreign Princes you can bring out.” Says I, “Americans make perfect fools of themselves in my mind, a runnin’ after a parcel of boys, whose only merit is, they happened to be born before thier brothers and sisters was.” Says I, “If a baby is born in a meetin’ house, it don’t make out that he is born a preacher. A good smart American boy like Thomas Jefferson, looks as good to me as any of your Princes.” I said this in a noble, lofty tone, but after a minute’s thought I went on,
“Though, if you have got a quantity of Princes here, I had as lives see one of Victory’s boys, as any of ’em. The widder Albert is a good housekeeper, and a first-rate calculator, and a woman that has got a Right. I set a good deal of store by the widder Albert, I always thought I should like to get acquainted with her, and visit back and forth, and neighbor with her.”
I waited a minute, but he didn’t make no move towards showin’ me any Prince. But, says he,
“What kind of calico do you want to look at?”
I thought he come off awful sudden from Princes to calico, but I didn’t say nothin’. But I told him “I would like to look at a chocklate colored ground work, with a set flower on it.”
“Shan’t I show you a Dolly Varden,” says he.
I see plainly that he was a tryin’ to impose on me, talkin’ about Princes and Dolly Varden, and says I with dignity,
“If I want to make Miss Varden’s acquaintance, I can, without askin’ you to introduce me. But,” I continued coldly, “I don’t care about gettin’ acquainted with Miss Varden, I have heard her name talked over too much in the street. I am afraid she haint a likely girl. I am afraid she haint such a girl as I should want my Tirzah Ann to associate with. Ever sense I started from Jonesville I have heard that girl talked about. ‘There is Dolly Varden!’ and ‘Oh look at Dolly Varden!’ I have heard it I bet more’n a hundred times sense I sot out. And it seems to me that no modest girl would be traipsin’ all over the country alone, for I never have heard a word about old Mr. and Miss Varden, or any of the Varden boys. Not that it is anything out of charicter to go off on a tower. I am off on a tower myself,” says I, with quite a good deal of dignity, “but it don’t look well for a young girl like her, to be streamin’ round alone. I wish I could see old Mr. and Miss Varden, I would advise the old man and woman to keep Dolly at home, if they have any regard for her good name. Though I’m afraid,” I repeated, lookin’ at him keenly over my specs, “I’m afraid it is too late for me to interfere, I am afraid she haint a likely girl.”
His face was jest as red as blood. But he tried to turn it off with a laugh. And he said somethin’ about her “bein’ the style,” and “bein’ gay,” or somethin’. But I jest stopped him pretty quick. Says I, givin’ him a awful searchin’ look,
“I think jest as much of Dolly as I do of her most intimate friends, male or female.”