SIMON SLIMPSEY AND HIS MOURNFUL FOREBODIN’S.

Two or three weeks after this, Thomas Jefferson went to the school house to meetin’ one Sunday night, and he broke out to the breakfast table the next mornin’—

“Mother, I am sick of the Jews,” says he, “I should think the Jews had a hard enough time a wanderin’ for 40 years, it seems to me if I was in minister’s places I would let ’em rest a little while now, and go to preachin’ to livin’ sinners, when the world is full of ’em. There was two or three drunkards there last night, a thief, four hypocrites, and—”

“One little conceited creeter that thinks he knows more than his old minister,” says I in a rebukin’ tone.

“Yes, I noticed Shakespeare Bobbet was there,” says he calmly. “But wouldn’t it have been better, mother, to have preached to these livin’ sinners that are goin to destruction round him, and that ought to be chased up, and punched in the side with the Gospel, than to chase round them old Jews for an hour and a half? Them old men deserve rest, and ought to have it.”

Says I, “Elder Wesley Minkley used ’em as a means of grace to carry his hearers towards heaven.”

Says Thomas, “I can go out in the woods alone, and lay doun and look up to the sky, and get nearer to heaven, than I can by follerin’ up them old dead Jews.”

Says I in awful earnest tones, “Thomas Jefferson, you are gettin’ into a dangerous path,” says I, “don’t let me hear another word of such talk; we should all be willin’ to bear our crosses.”

“I am willin’ to bear any reasonable cross, mother, but I hate to tackle them old Jews and shoulder ’em, for there don’t seem to be any need of it.”

I put on about as cold a look onto my face as I could under the circumstances, (I had been fryin’ buckwheat pancakes,) and Thomas J. turned to his father—

“Betsey Bobbet talked in meetin’ last night after the sermon, father, she said she knew that she was religious, because she felt that she loved the bretheren.”

Josiah laughed, the way he encourages that boy is awful, but I spoke in almost frigid tones, as I passed him his 3d cup of coffee,

“She meant it in a scriptural sense, of course.”

“I guess you’d think she meant it in a earthly sense, if you had seen her hang on to old Slimpsey last night, she’ll marry that old man yet, if he don’t look out.”

“Oh shaw!” says I coolly, “she is payin’ attention to the Editer of the Augur.”

“She’ll never get him,” says he; “she means to be on the safe side, and get one or the other of ’em; how stiddy she has been to meetin’ sense old Slimpsey moved into the place.”

“You shall not make light of her religion, Thomas Jefferson,” says I, pretty severely.

“I won’t, mother, I shouldn’t feel right to, for it is light enough now, it don’t all consist in talkin’ in meetin’, mother. I don’t believe in folks’es usin’ up all their religion Sunday nights, and then goin’ without any all the rest of the week, it looks as shiftless in ’em as a three-year-old hat on a female. The religion that gets up on Sunday nights, and then sets down all the rest of the week, I don’t think much of.”

Says I in a tone of deep rebuke, “Instead of tendin’ other folks’es motes, Thomas Jefferson, you had better take care of your own beams, you’ll have plenty work, enough to last you one spell.”

“And if you have got through with your breakfast,” says his father, “you had better go and fodder the cows.”

Thomas J. arose with alacraty and went to the barn, and his father soon drew on his boots and follered him, and with a pensive brow I turned out my dishwater. I hadn’t got my dishes more than half done, when with no warnin’ of no kind, the door bust open, and in tottered Simon Slimpsey, pale as a piece of a white cotton shirt. I wildly wrung out my dishcloth, and offered him a chair, sayin’ in a agitated tone, “What is the matter, Simon Slimpsey?”

“Am I pursued?” says he in a voice of low frenzy, as he sunk into a wooden bottomed chair. I cast one or two eagle glances out of the window, both ways, and replied in a voice of choked doun emotion,

“There haint nobody in sight; has your life been attackted by burglers and incindiarys? speak, Simon Slimpsey, speak!”

He struggled nobly for calmness, but in vain, and then he put his hand wildly to his brow, and murmured in low and hollow accents—

“Betsey Bobbet.”

I see he was overcome by as many as six or seven different emotions of various anguishes, and I give him pretty near a minute to recover himself, and then says I as I sadly resumed my dishcloth,

“What of her, Simon Slimpsey?”

“She’ll be the death on me,” says he, “and that haint the worst on it, my sole is jeopardized on account of her. Oh,” says he, groanin’ in a anguish, “could you believe it, Miss Allen, that I—a member of a Authodox church and the father of 13 small children—could be tempted to swear? Behold that wretch. As I come through your gate jest now, I said to myself ‘By Jupiter, I can’t stand it so, much longer.’ And last night I wished I was a ghost, for I thought if I was a apperition I could have escaped from her view. Oh,” says he, groanin’ agin, “I have got so low as to wish I was a ghost.”

He paused, and in a deep and almost broodin’ silence, I finished my dishes, and hung up my dishpan.

“She come rushin’ out of Deacon Gowdey’s, as I come by jest now, to talk to me, she don’t give me no peace, last night she would walk tight to my side all the way home, and she looked hungry at the gate, as I went through and fastened it on the inside.”

Agin he paused overcome by his emotions, and I looked pityingly on him. He was a small boned man of about seventy summers and winters. He was always a weak, feeble, helpless critter, a kind of a underlin’ always. He never had any morals, he got out of morals when he was a young man, and haint been able to get any sense. He has always drinked a good deal of liquor, and has chawed so much tobacco that his mouth looks more like a old yellow spitoon than anything else. As I looked sadly on him I see that age, who had ploughed the wrinkles into his face, had turned the furrows deep. The cruel fingers of time, or some other female, had plucked nearly every hair from his head, and the ruthless hand of fate had also seen fit to deprive him of his eye winkers, not one solitary winker bein’ left for a shade tree (as it were) to protect the pale pupils below; and they bein’ a light watery blue, and the lids bein’ inflamed, they looked sad indeed. Owin’ to afflictive providences he was dressed up more than men generally be, for his neck bein’ badly swelled he wore a string of amber beads, and in behalf of his sore eyes he wore ear rings. But truly outside splendor and glitter won’t satisfy the mind, and bring happiness. I looked upon his mournful face, and my heart melted inside of me, almost as soft as it could, almost as soft as butter in the month of August. And I said to him in a soothin’ and encouragin’ tone,

“Mebby she will marry the Editer of the Augur, she is payin’ attention to him.”

“No she won’t,” says he in a solemn and affectin’ way, that brought tears to my eyes as I sot peelin’ my onions for dinner. “No she won’t, I shall be the one, I feel it. I was always the victim, I was always down trodden. When I was a baby my mother had two twins, both of ’em a little older than me, and they almost tore me to pieces before I got into trowses. Mebby it would have been better for me if they had,” says he in a mewsin’ and mournful tone—I knew he thought of Betsey then—and heavin’ a deep sigh he resumed,

“When I went to school and we played leap frog, if there was a frog to be squshed down under all the rest, I was that frog. It has always been so—if there was ever a underlin’ and a victim wanted, I was that underlin’ and that victim. And Betsey Bobbet will get round me yet, you see if she don’t, wimmen are awful perseverin’ in such things.”

“Cheer up Simon Slimpsey, you haint obleeged to marry her, it is a free country, folks haint obleeged to marry unless they are a mind to, it don’t take a brass band to make that legal.” I quoted these words in a light and joyous manner hopin’ to rouse him from his dispondancy, but in vain, for he only repeated in a gloomy tone,

“She’ll get round me yet, Miss Allen, I feel it.” And as the dark shade deepened on his eye brow he said,

“Have you seen her verses in the last week’s Augur?”

“No,” says I “I haint.”

In a silent and hopeless way, he took the paper out of his pocket and handed it to me and I read as follers:—

“Wall,” says I in a encouragin’ tone, “that haint much different from the piece she printid a week or two ago, that was about woman’s spear.”

“It is that spear that is a goin’ to destroy me,” says he mournfully,

“Don’t give up so, Simon Slimpsey, I hate to see you lookin’ so gloomy and depressted.”

“It is the awful detarmination these lines breathe forth that appauls me,” says he. “I have seen it in another. Betsey Bobbet reminds me dreadfully of another. And I don’t want to marry again Miss Allen, I don’t want to,” says he lookin’ me pitifully in the face, “I didn’t want to marry the first time, I wanted to be a bachelder, I think they have the easiest time of it, by half. Now there is a friend of mine, that never was married, he is jest my age, or that is, he is only half an hour younger, and that haint enough difference to make any account of, is it Miss Allen?” says he in a pensive, and enquirin’ tone.

“No,” says I in a reasonable accent. “No, Simon Slimpsey, it haint.”

“Wall that man has always been a bachelder, and you ought to see what a head of hair he has got, sound at the roots now, not a lock missing. I wanted to be one, she, my late wife, came and kept house for me and married me. I lived with her for 18 years, and when she left me,” he murmured with a contented look, “I was reconciled to it. I was reconciled for sometime before it took place. I don’t want to say anything against nobody that haint here, but I lost some hair by my late wife,” says he puttin’ his hand to his bald head in a abstracted way, as gloomy reflections crowded onto him, “I lost a good deal of hair by her, and I haint much left as you can see,” says he in a meloncholy way “I did want to save a lock or two for my children to keep, as a relict of me. I have 13 children as you know, countin’ each pair of twins as two, and it would take a considerable number of hairs to go round.” Agin he paused overcome by his feelin’s, I knew not what to say to comfort him, and I poured onto him a few comfortin’ adjectives.

“Mebby you are borrowin’ trouble without a cause Simon Slimpsey! with life there is hope! it is always the darkest before daylight.” But in vain. He only sighed mournfully.

“She’ll get round me yet Miss Allen, mark my words, and when the time comes you will think of what I told you.” His face was most black with gloomy aprehension, as he reflected agin. “You see if she don’t get round me!” and a tear began to flow.

I turned away with instinctive delicacy and sot my pan of onions in the sink, but when I glanced at him agin it was still flowin’. And I said to him in a tone of about two thirds pity and one comfort,

“Chirk up, Simon Slimpsey, be a man.”

“That is the trouble,” says he “if I wasn’t a man, she would give me some peace.” And he wept into his red silk handkerchief (with a yellow border) bitterly.

FREE LOVE LECTURES.

It was a beautiful mornin’ in October. The trees in the woods nigh by, had all got their new fall suits on, red and purple and orange, while further back, the old hills seemed to be a settin’ up with a blue gauze vail on. There was a little mite of a breeze blowin’ up through the orchard, where the apples lay in red and yellow heaps in the green grass. Everything looked so beautiful and fresh, that as I went out on the doorstep to shake the table-cloth, my heart fairly sung for joy. And I exclaimed to Josiah in clear, happy tones,

“What a day it is, Josiah, to gather the winter apples and pull the beets.”

He says, “Yes, Samantha, and after you get your work done up, don’t you s’pose you could come out and pick up apples a spell?”

I told him in the same cheerful tones I had formally used, “that I would, and that I would hurry up my dishes as fast as I could, and come out.”

But alas! how little do we know what trial a hour may bring forth; this hour brought forth Betsey Bobbet. As I went to the door to throw out my dishwater, I see her comin’ through the gate. I controlled myself pretty well, and met her with considerable calmness. She was in awful good spirits. There had been a lecture on Free Love to Jonesville; Prof. Theron Gusher had been a lecturin’ there, and Betsey had attended to it, and was all full of the idee. She begun almost before she sot down, and says she,

“Josiah Allen’s wife you can’t imagine what new and glorious and soaring ideahs that man has got into his head.”

“Let him soar,” says I coldly, “it don’t hurt me.”

Says she, “He is too soaring a soul to be into this cold unsympathizing earth, he ought by good right to be in a warmeh speah.”

Says I coldly, and almost frigidly, “From what I have heard of his lecture I think so too, a good deal warmer.”

Says she, “He was to our house yesterday, he said he felt dreadful drawed to me, a kind of a holy drawing you know, I neveh saw such a saintly, heavenly minded man in my life. Why he got into such a spirutal state—when motheh went out of the room a minute—he kissed me moah than a dozen times; that man is moah than half a angel, Josiah Allen’s wife.”

I gave her a look that pierced like sheet lightnin’ through her tow frizzles and went as much as half through her brain.

“Haint Theron Gusher a married man?”

“Oh yes, some.”

“Some!” I repeated in a cold accent, “He is either married or he haint married one or the other,” and again I repeated coldly “is he a married man Betsey?”

“Oh yes, he has been married a few times, or what the cold world calls marrying—he has got a wife now, but I do not believe he has found his affinity yet, though he has got several bills of divorcement from various different wimmen trying to find her. That may be his business to Jonesville, but it does not become me to speak of it.”

Says I “Betsey Bobbet!” and I spoke in a real solemn camp meetin’ tone, for I was talkin’ on deep principle; says I, “you say he is a married man—and now to say nothin’ of your own modesty if you have got any and stand up onto clear principle, how would you like to have your husband if you had one, round kissin’ other wimmen?”

“Oh,” says she, “His wife will neveh know it, neveh!”

“If it is such a pious, heavenly, thing, why not tell her of it?”

“Oh Prof. Gusheh says that some natures are too gross and earthly to comprehend how souls can meet, scorning and forgetting utterly those vile, low, clay bodies of ours. He does not think much of these clay bodies anyway.”

“These clay bodies are the best we have got,” says I, “And we have got to stay in ’em till we die, and the Lord tells us to keep ’em pure, so he can come and visit us in ’em. I don’t believe the Lord thinks much of these holy drawin’s. I know I don’t.”

Betsey sot silently twistin’ her otter colored bonnet strings, and I went on, for I felt it was my duty.

“Married men are jest as good as them that haint married for lots of purposes, such as talkin’ with on the subject of religeon, and polytix and miscelanious subjects, and helpin’ you out of a double wagon, and etcetery. But when it comes to kissin’, marryin’ spiles men in my opinion for kissin’ any other woman only jest their own wives.”

“But suppose a man has a mere clay wife?” says Betsey.

Says I, “Betsey, Josiah Allen was goin’ to buy a horse the other day that the man said was a 3 year old; he found by lookin’ at her teeth that she was pretty near 40; Josiah didn’t buy it. If a man don’t want to marry a clay woman, let him try to find one that haint clay. I think myself that he will have a hard time to find one, but he has a perfect right to hunt as long as he is a mind to—let him,” says I in a liberal tone. “Let him hire a horse and sulkey, and search the country over and over. I don’t care if he is 20 years a huntin’ and comparin’ wimmin a tryin’ to find one to suit him. But when he once makes up his mind, I say let him stand by his bargain, and make the best of it, and not try afterwards to look at her teeth.”

Betsey still sot silently twistin’ her bunnet strings, but I see that she was a mewsin’ on some thought of her own, and in a minute or so she broke out: “Oh, what a soaring sole Prof. Gusheh is; he soared in his lecture to that extent that it seemed as if he would lift me right up, and carry me off.”

For a minute I thought of Theron Gusher with respect, and then agin my eye fell sadly upon Betsey, and she went on,

“I came right home and wrote a poem on the subject, and I will read it to you.” And before I could say a word to help myself, she begun to read.

“You see it repeats some,” says Betsey as she finished readin’. “But Prof. Gusheh wanted me to write a him to sing at thier Free Love conventions, and he wanted a chorus to each verse, a sort of a war-cry, that all could join in and help sing, and he says these soul stirrin’ lines:

have got the true ring to them. I had to kind o’ speak against men in it. I hated too, awfully, but Prof. Gusheh said it would be necessary, in ordeh to rouse the masses. He says the almost withering sarcasm of this noble song is just what they need. He says it will go down to posterity side by side with Yankee Doodle, if not ahead of it. I know by his countenance that he thought it was superior to Mr. Doodle’s him. But what think you of it, Josiah Allen’s wife?”

“I think,” says I in a cautious tone, “that it is about off’n’ a piece with the subject.”

“Don’t you think Josiah Allen’s wife that it would be real sweet to get bills from men. It is a glorious doctrine for wimmen, so freein’ and liberatin’ to them.”

“Sweet!” says I hautily “it would be a pretty world wouldn’t it Betsey Bobbet, if every time a woman forgot to put a button onto a shirt, her husband would start up and say she wasn’t his affinitee, and go to huntin’ of her up, or every time his collar choked him.”

“Oh, but wimmen could hunt too!”

“Who would take care of the children, if they was both a huntin’?” says I sternly, “it would be a hard time for the poor little innocents, if there father and mother was both of ’em off a huntin’.”

Before I could free my mind any further about Prof. Gusher and his doctrine, I had a whole houseful of company come, and Betsey departed. But before she went she told me that Prof. Gusher had heard that I was in faver of wimmen’s rights and he was comin’ to see me before he left Jonesville.

The next day he came. Josiah was to the barn a thrashin’ beans, but I received him with a calm dignity. He was a harmless lookin’ little man, with his hair combed and oiled as smooth as a lookin’ glass. He had on a bell-crouned hat which he lifted from his head with a smile as I come to the door. He wore a plad jacket, and round his neck and hangin’ doun his bosom was a bright satten scarf into which he had stuck 2 big headed pins with a chain hitched onto each of ’em, and he had a book under his arm. He says to me most the first thing after he sot down,

“You believe in wimmin havin’ a right don’t you?”

“Yes Sir,” says I keenly lookin’ up from my knitin’ work. “Jest as many rights as she can get holt of, rights never hurt any body yet.”

“Worthy statements,” says he. “And you believe in Free Love, do you not?”

“How free?” says I cooly.

“Free to marry any body you want to, and as long as you want to, from half a day, up to 5 years or so.”

“No Sir!” says I sternly, “I believe in rights, but I don’t believe in wrongs, of all the miserable doctrines that was ever let loose on the world, the doctrine of Free Love is the miserable’st. Free Love!” I repeated in indignant tones, “it ought to be called free devlitry, that is the right name for it.”

He sunk right back in his chair, put his hand wildly to his brow and exclaimed,

“My soul aches, I thought I had found a congenial spirit, but I am decieved, my breast aches, and siths, and pants.” He looked so awful distressed, that I didn’t know what did ail him, and I looked pityin’ on him from over my spectacles and I says to him jest as I would to our Thomas Jefferson,

“Mebby your vest is too tight.”

“Vest!” he repeated in wild tones, “would I had no worse trammels than store clothes, but it is the fate of reformers to be misunderstood. Woman the pain is deeper and it is a gnawin’ me.”

His eyes was kinder rolled, and he looked so wilted and uncomfortable, that I says to him in still more pityin’ accents,

“Haint you got wind on your stummuck, for if you have, peppermint essence is the best stuff you can take, and I will get you some.”

“Wind!” he almost shouted, “wind! no, it is not wind,” he spoke so deleriously that he almost skairt me, but I kep’ up my placid demeaner, and kep’ on knittin’.

“Wimmen,” said he, “I would right the wrongs of your sect if I could. I bear in my heart the woes and pains of all the aching female hearts of the 19 centurys.”

My knittin’ dropped into my lap, and I looked up at him in surprise, and I says to him respectfully,

“No wonder you groan and sithe, it must hurt awfully.”

“It does hurt,” says he, “but it hurts a sensitive spirit worse to have it mistook for wind.”

He see my softened face, and he took advantage of it, and went on.

“Woman, you have been married, you say, goin’ on 15 years; hain’t you never felt slavish in that time, and felt that you would gladly unbind yourself?”

“Never!” says I firmly, “never! I don’t want to be unbound.”

“Hain’t you never had longings, and yearnings to be free?”

“Not a yearn,” says I calmly, “not a yearn. If I had wanted to remain free I shouldn’t have give my heart and hand to Josiah Allen. I didn’t do it deleriously, I had my senses.” Says I, “you can’t set down and stand up at the same time, each situation has its advantages, but you can’t be in both places at once, and this tryin’ to, is what makes so much trouble amongst men and wimmen. They want the rights and advantages of both stations to once—they want to set down and stand up at the same time, and it can’t be did. Men and wimmen hain’t married at the pint of the bayonet, they go into it with both their eyes open. If anybody thinks they are happier, and freer from care without bein’ married, nobody compels ’em to be married, but if they are, they hadn’t ought to want to be married and single at the same time, it is onreasonable.”

He looked some convinced, and I went on in a softer tone,

“I hain’t a goin’ to say that Josiah hain’t been tryin’ a good many times. He has raved round some, when dinner wasn’t ready, and gone in his stockin’ feet considerable, and been slack about kindlin’ wood. Likewise I have my failin’s. I presume I hain’t done always exactly as I should about shirt buttons, mebby I have scolded more’n I ort to about his keepin’ geese. But if men and wimmen think they are marryin’ angels, they’ll find out they’ll have to settle down and keep house with human critters. I never see a year yet, that didn’t have more or less winter in it, but what does it say, ‘for better, for worse,’ and if it turns out more worse than better, why that don’t part us, for what else does it say? ‘Till death does us part,’ and what is your little slip of paper that you call a bill to that? Is that death?” says I.

He quailed silently, and I proceeded on.

“I wouldn’t give a cent for your bills, I had jest as lives walk up and marry any married man, as to marry a man with a bill. I had jest as lives,” says I warmin’ with my subject, “I had jest as lives join a Mormon at once. How should I feel, to know there was another woman loose in the world, liable to walk in here any minute and look at Josiah, and to know all that separated ’em was a little slip of paper about an inch wide?”

My voice was loud and excited, for I felt deeply what I said, and says he in soothin’ tones,

“I presume that you and your husband are congenial spirits, but what do you think of soarin’ soles, that find out when it is too late that they are wedded to mere lumps of clay.”

I hadn’t fully recovered from my excited frame of mind, and I replied warmly, “I never see a man yet that wasn’t more or less clay, and to tell you the truth I think jest as much of these clay men as I do of these soarers, I never had any opinion of soarers at all.”

He sank back in his chair and sithed, for I had touched him in a tender place, but still clinging to his free love doctrine, he murmered faintly,

“Some wimmen are knocked down by some men, and dragged out.”

His meek tones touched my feelin’s, and I continued in more reasonable accents.

“Mebby if I was married to a man that knocked me down and dragged me out frequently, I would leave him a spell, but not one cent would I invest in another man, not a cent. I would live alone till he came to his senses, if he ever did, and if he didn’t, why when the great roll is called over above, I would answer to the name I took when I loved him and married him, hopin’ his old love would come back again there, and we would have all eternity to keep house in.”

He looked so depressted, as he sot leanin’ back in his chair, that I thought I had convinced him, and he was sick of his business, and I asked him in a helpful way,

“Hain’t there no other business you can get into, besides preachin’ up Free Love? Hain’t there no better business? Hain’t there no cornfields where you could hire out for a scare-crow—can’t you get to be United States Senator? Hain’t there no other mean job not quite so mean as this, you could get into?”

He didn’t seem to take it friendly in me, you know friendly advice makes some folks mad. He spoke out kinder surly and says he, “I hain’t done no hurt, I only want everybody to find their affinitee.”

That riled up the blood in me, and says I with spirit,

“Say that word to me agin if you dare.” Says I “of all the mean words a married woman ever listened to, that is the meanest,” says I “if you say “affinitee” here in my house, agin, young man, I will holler to Josiah.”

He see I was in earnest and deeply indignent, and he ketched up his hat and cane, and started off, and glad enough was I to see him go.

ELDER WESLEY MINKLE’S DONATION PARTY.

About four weeks afterwards, I had got my kitchen mopped out, clean as a pin and everything in perfect order and the dinner started, (I was goin’ to have beef steak and rice puddin’,) and then I took a bowl of raisons and sot doun to stun ’em, for I was goin’ to bake a plum cake for supper. I will have good vittles as long as my name is Josiah Allen’s wife. And it haint only on my own account that I do it, but I do it as I have observed before, from deep and almost cast iron principle. For as the greatest of philosiphers have discovered, if a woman would keep her table spread out from year to year, and from hour to hour, filled with good vittles, that woman would have a clever set of men folks round.

As I sot serenely stunnin’ my raisons, not dreamin’ of no trouble, I heard a rap at the door, and in walked Betsey Bobbet. I see she looked kinder curious, but I didn’t say nothin’, only I asked her to take off her things. She complied, and as she took out her tattin’ and begun to tat, says she—

“I have come to crave your advise, Josiah Allen’s wife. I am afraid I have been remissin’ in my duty. Martin Farquar Tupper is one of the most sweetest poets of the ages. My sentiments have always blended in with his beautiful sentiments, I have always flew with his flights, and soahed with his soahs. And last night afteh I had retiahed to bed, one of his sublime ideahs come to me with a poweh I neveh befoah felt. It knocked the bolted doah of my heart open, and said in low and hollow tones as it entered in, ‘Betsey Bobbet, you have not nevah done it.’”

Betsey stopped a minute here for me to look surprised and wonderin’, but I didn’t, I stunned my raisons with a calm countenance, and she resumed—

“Deah Tuppah remarks that if anybody is goin’ to be married, thier future companion is upon the earth somewhere at the present time, though they may not have met him or her. And he says it is our duty to pray for that future consort. And Josiah Allen’s wife, I have not neveh done it.”

She looked agonized, as she repeated to me, “Josiah Allen’s wife, I have neveh preyed for him a word. I feel condemned; would you begin now?”

Says I coolly, “Are you goin’ to prey for a husband, or about one?”

Says she mournfully, “A little of both.”

“Wall,” says I in a cautious way, “I don’t know as it would do any hurt, Betsey.”

Says she, “I will begin to prey to-night. But that is not all I wished to crave your advise about. Folks must work as well as prey. Heaven helps them that help themselves. I am goin’ to take a decided stand.” Then she broke off kinder sudden, and says she, “Be you a goin’ to the Faih and Donation to the Methodist church to-morrow night?”

“Yes,” says I, “I am a layin’ out to go.”

“Well, Josiah Allen’s wife, will you stand by me? There is not another female woman in Jonesville that I have the firm unwaverin’ confidence in, that I have in you. You always bring about whateveh you set youh hands to do—and I want to know, will you stand by me to-morrow night?”

Says I in a still more cautious tone “what undertakin’ have you got into your head now, Betsey Bobbet?”

“I am going to encourage the Editah of the Augah. That man needs a companion. Men are bashful and offish, and do not always know what is the best for them. I have seen horses hang back on the harness before now, I have seen geese that would not walk up to be picked. I have seen children hang back from pikery. The horses ought to be made to go! The geese ought to be held and picked! The children ought to take the pikery if you have to hold thieh noses to make them. The Editah of the Augah needs a companion, I am going to encourage that man to-morrer night and I want to know Josiah Allen’s wife if you will stand by me.”

I answered her in reasonable tones. “You know Betsey that I can’t run, I am too fat, and then I am gettin’ too old. Mebby I might walk up and help you corner him, but you know I can’t run for anybody.”

Jest then Josiah came in and the conversation dropped down viz: on the fare. Says Josiah, says he, “Brother Wesley Minkley is a honest, pure minded man and I shall go, and shall give accordin’ to my ability, but I don’t believe in ’em, I don’t believe in doin’ so much for ministers. The bible says let them live on the gospel; why don’t they? The old ’postles wasn’t always havin’ donations and fares to get up money for ’em, and big sallerys. Why don’t they live like the ’postles?”

Says I, “Josiah Allen you try to live on clear gospel a spell, and see if your stommack wouldn’t feel kinder empty.” Says I, “The bible says the ‘Laborer is worthy of his hire.’” Says I, “folks are willin’ to pay their doctors and lawyers, and druggers, and their tin-peddlers, and every body else only ministers, and if any body has a slave’s life, it is a good conscientious minister.” Says I, “Brother Wesley Minkley works like a dog.”

“I don’t deny it,” says Josiah, “but why don’t he live like the ’postle Paul?”

Says I, “the ’postle Paul didn’t have to buy 40 or 50 yards of merymac callico and factory cloth every year. He didn’t have to buy cradles and cribs, and soothin’ syrup, for he didn’t have any babys to be cribbed and soothed. He didn’t have to buy bunnets, and gographys, and prunella gaters, and back combs, and hair pins, and etcetery, etcetery. He didn’t have a wife and seven daughters and one son, as Brother Wesley Minkley has got.” Says I, almost warmly, “Every other man, only jest ministers, has a hope of layin’ up a little somethin’ for their children, but they don’t think of doin’ that, all they expect is to keep ’em alive and covered up,” and says I, “The congregation they almost slave themselves to death for, begrech that, and will jaw too if they hain’t covered up, and dressed up slick. Sister Minkley wants her girls to look as well as the rest of the girls in the Church.” Says I, “The ’postle Paul wasn’t a mother, Josiah, not that I have anything against him,” says I more mildly.

The conversation was interupted here by Shakespeare Bobbet comin’ after Betsey, they had company. Betsey returned with him, but her last words to me was, in a low awful voice,

“Will you stand by me Josiah Allen’s wife?” I sithed, and told her in a kind of a bland way, “I would see about it.”

The donatin and fare occured Wednesday night, and Josiah and me went early, Thomas J. and Tirzah Ann bein’ off to school. And I carried as much and as good as anybody there, though I say it that shouldn’t. I carried as good vittles too as there was and I didn’t scrimp in quantity neither.

We was a layin’ out to carry ’em half a barrel of pork, and I made a big jar of butter and sold it, and got the money for it, five dollars, and I atted Josiah to sell the pork and get the money for that. Says I, “Brother Minkley and his wife have both come to years of understandin’, and it stands to reason that they both know what they want better than we do, and money will buy anything.”

Josiah kinder hung back, but I carried the day. And so we carried 15 dollars in a envelop, and told sister Minkley to open it after we got home. I didn’t want ’em to thank us for it—it makes me feel just as mean as pusley. But some folks carried the litlest things. There was a family of 7 hearty men and women, and all they carried was a book mark out of perforated paper, and a plate of cookeys. There was 7 book marks, for I counted ’em, and 14 pair of slips for the minister’s only boy, who is home from school. And this same young man, Whitfield Minkley, had 24 neck ties. Of course there was some other things, a few sassige or so, a little flour, and some dried blackberrys.

But it does beat all what simple things some folks will carry. Shakespeare Bobbet carried the minister a pair of spurs. Thinks I to myself, “What is he goin’ to use ’em on, the saw horse or the front gate?” For they have kep’ him doun so low, that he is too poor to own any other steeds.

And Betsey Bobbet brought him a poem of hers all flowered off round the edges, and trimmed with pink ribbon. I haint nothin’ aginst poetry, but with a big family like Brother Minkley’s, it did seem to me that there was other things that would be more nourishin’ and go further.

After we had left our vittles in the procession room where we was goin’ to eat, I marched into the meetin’ house room which was full of folks, and Brother Minkley came up to talk with me. I felt low spirited, for Betsey’s design wore on me. And when Brother Minkley took my hand in his’en, and shook it in the purest and most innocent manner, and said, “Sister Allen, what is the matter? are you havin’ a xercise in your mind?”

Says I to him, “Yes, Brother Minkley, I be.”

I turned the subject quickly then, for I abhor hippocrites, and I felt that I was a deceivin’ him. For whereas he thought I was havin’ a religous xcercise performin’ in my mind, I was not; it was Betsey Bobbet’s design that was a wearin’ on me. So I waved off the subject quickly, though I knew that like as not he would think I was a backslidin’ and was afraid he would ketch me at it. Thinks’es I, better let him think I am a slidin’ back, I can endure false importations better than I can let myself out for a hyppocrite. I waved off the subject and says I,

“That was a beautiful sermon of yours last Sunday, Brother Minkley.”

“You mean that from the text ‘He overthrew the tables of the money changers,’ and so forth; I am glad it pleased you, sister Allen. I meant to hit a blow at gamblin’ that would stagger it, for gamblin’ is a prevailin’ to a alarmin’ extent.” And then says he, plantin’ himself firmly before me, “Did you notice, sister Allen, the lucid and logical manner in which I carried up the argument from the firstly to the twenty-thirdly?”

I see then I was in for it. Brother Wesley Minkley haint got another fault on earth as I know on—only jest a catchin’ his church members and preachin’ his sermons over to ’em. But I have said 100 times that I am glad he has got that, for it sets me more at rest about him on windy days. Not that I really s’pose he will ascend, but if he hadn’t got that fault I should be almost tempted to examine his shoulder blades occasionally, (on the outside of his coat,) to see if his wings was a spoutin’, he is so fine and honest and unsuspiceious.

When his sermons are so long that they get up into the twentiethlies, and thirtiethlies, as they jinerally do, I can’t say but what it is a little wearin’ on you, to stand stun still whenever he happens to catch you, in the store, or street, or doorstep, and have him preach ’em all over to you alone. You feel kinder curious, and then sometimes your feet will get to sleep. But on the present occasion I rejoiced, for it freed me for the time bein’ from Betsey’s design. He laid holt of that sermon, and carried it all up before me through the firstlys and the tenthlys, just as neat and regular as you could hist a barel up the chamber stairs, and had just landed it before the ninteenthly which was, “That all church members had ort to get together, and rastle with the awful vice of gamblin’ and throw it, and tread onto it,” when Betsey Bobbet appeared before us suddenly with a big bag before her and says she,

“Here is the grab bag, you must grab.”

I never heard of the thing before, and it come so kind of sudden on me that I hung back at first. But there wus a whole lot of folks lookin’ on, and I didn’t want to act odd, so I laid holt of it, and grabbed it with both hands as tight as I could towards the bottom. Betsey said that wasn’t the way, and then her design so goaded her, that she bent forward and whispered in my ear,

“The Editah of the Augah got home to-night, he is expected here in half an hour, I expect you to stand by me Josiah Allen’s wife.”

I sithed heavy, and while I was a sithin’ Betsey asked Elder Minkley to grab, and he, thinkin’ no hurt, bein’ so pure minded and unsuspicious, and of such a friendly turn, he threw both arms around the bag grabbed it, and held it tight. And then Betsey explained it to us—you had to pay 25 cents and then you run your hand into the bag, and had jest what you happened to grab first.