His face looked red—he see I wasn’t to be imposed upon—and he pinted out the room where we should be apt to find him, he a goin’ most there with us; and anon, or about that time, I found myself in the presence of Gen. Hawley, a shakin’ hands with him and a introducin’ Josiah. He was lookin’ over a lot of papers, but he looked up dretful sort o’ pleasant, and in that tryin’ and almost curious time, I couldn’t help thinkin’ that Josiah was in the right on’t about his looks; for never, on a tower, or off on it, did I ever see a franker, nobler, honester, well meanin’er face than hisen. I never asked him whether he was enjoyin’ good health, or poor, but I says right out: “Joseph,” (I knew his name was Joseph, and I thought he would take it more friendly in me if I called him that, and it would look more familiar in me—as if my noble mission didn’t make me feel above him.) “Joseph,” says I, “I have come to advise you as a P. A. about what I have discovered as a P. I.”

He looked up at me from the awful pile of papers, sort o’ dreamy and wonderin’, and I come out plainer still, and says I, “Joseph, tell me; is it true that the Nation has licenced the Sentinal to git drunk, and not to keep no Sundays?” And says I, “Haint it the time for the Nation, if ever, for her to put her best foot forred, and if she has got any remnants of Puritan habits, and religion, and solid principles, to show ’em off? Haint it time to brush the dirt and dust off of Plymouth Rock, and let the world git a glimpse of the old original stun? Why,” says I, “if the Mayflower could float back again from the past, and them old Mayflowers should hear what this Nation is a doin’, they would say they was glad they was dead.”

Joseph looked as if he felt what I said deeply. But he went on in a sort of apologisin’ way, about his wantin’ to treat our fureign guests with courtesy—and some of them was accustomed to beer and wine-drinkin’ to home, and wasn’t in the habit of havin’ Sundays, and so 4th and so 4th.

“But,” says I in tremblin’ tones: “when a mother is weepin’ over the ruin of what was once her son, and tracin’ back his first love of strong drink to this place of beauty and enchantment, it wont remove her agony nor hisen, to think it was done to please the German, Dutch, or Tunicks, or even Turkeys.” Says I, “If the Nation gives her lawful consent and lets the Sentinal drink all the beer and wine it wants to in 1876, in 1976 she will reap the seed she is a plantin’ now; and if you happen to see me then, Joseph, you tell me if I haint in the right on’t. And then, not havin’ no Sundays! I never in my hull life see anything look so shiftless,—when we haint been out of Sundays for 1800 years, to all flat out now and not have none,—it would look poor as poverty in us.”

He said it was handier for some folks; they could come better Sundays than any other day.

“Handier!” says I, in a almost dry tone, “it would be awful handy for me sometimes, to do my week’s washin’ Sundays, or knit striped mittens, or piece up bed-quilts, but you don’t catch me at it.” Says I “Had we ort to begreech one day out of the week to Him who give us the hull of ’em?” And says I, “I don’t blame you a mite for wantin’ to make our fureign visitors feel to home, and use ’em well; but when I go a visitin’ I don’t expect ’em to kill off their grandmothers if I don’t happen to like the looks of the old lady and haint used to grandmothers. Good land! how simple it would be in me to expect it.”

Says Joseph, “Josiah Allen’s wife, you have presented the subject to me in a interestin’ and eloquent manner.” Says he, “The other matter is out of my power to change, but as for Sundays, I will get ’em back again; I will have ’em.”

Oh, how earnest and good he did look out of his eyes (a bright blueish-grey) as he said this, and how fearfully handsome. And I a thinkin’ to myself—here I be advisin’ the Nation for her good, and she a takin’ my advice. I felt noble, very. If I could have accomplished both of my undertakin’s, I don’t know but I should have felt too noble; but we all, like Mr. Paul, if we go to soarin’ up too high, have to have a thorn in the flesh to prick us and keep us down in our place. So I bid Joseph a almost affectionate good-bye, and Josiah and me started homewards.