  Scene.—Samantha’s kitchen, with a great deal of work about.—Enter Editor of the Augur leading a twin by each hand. Ed. My hired girl has left me, Mrs. Allen, and I want to go to Shackeville this morning and see if I can find one. And I called to see if I could leave a twin or two with you while I am gone. And Mr. Allen invited me to come back to dinner; I told him I would, and I would read to you a political argument I have written for the next week’s Augur. It is as long as the President’s message, and is in blank verse. (Samantha groans) Mr. Allen told me that the Widder Doodle and Tirzah Ann had gone a visiting, and you had sights of work to do. I hated to ask you to take care of the twins; but I really didn’t know what to do; I was at my wit’s end. Sam. Probable, there has been longer journeys took than that was; but I will keep the twins. I will try to do just as my friend John Rogers would have done. Ed. Who? Sam. The first martyr in Queen Mary’s reign. Here children let me take off your things. But I have got sights and sights of work to do to-day, and I have got to go up into the wood-house chamber to do some work, and you will have to stay here with the twins till I come back. Here is a picture book they may take to recreate on while I am gone. It is Foxe’s book of martyrs; and oh what a comfort that book is to me on days like this. Anybody may say they are patient and unselfish, and are willing to be martyrs; but I tell you you can’t tell what principles folks are made of till they are sot fire to. Now the religion and self-denial and sound principles of them old martyrs of Foxes, they couldn’t burn up, they couldn’t make a fire hot enough. And when I am tied to different stakes of martyrdom, I tell you it keeps my mind cool and calm, to think of the patience of them old martyrs of Foxes, and compare my sufferin’s with thiern, and meditate on this fact, that fire hain’t no hotter now than it was then, and though the soul may boy the body up triumphant, there couldn’t be any body burnt up without smartin’. Yes, I will keep the twins, and I will hear your blank verses; I will be down shortly. Exit Samantha; Enter Betsey Bobbett. Bet. Good morning, deah sir. Ed. Good morning. Bet. I saw you coming in here and I hurried over to bring some poetry that I have been composing for your paper. It is called “Gushings of a Tender Soul.” And would it be any more soothing and comforting to you if I should sign my name Bettie Bobbett, or Betsey as I always have? I asked Josiah Allen’s wife if she liked the “Bettie,” and she said she expected Ed. (Aside) Gracious Heavens! What shall I do! Oh let who will, oh let who can, Be tied unto, a horrid male man. Thus said I ere my tendeh heart was touched; Thus said I ere my tendeh feelings gushed; But, oh! a change hath swept o’er 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. His first pardner sweetly lies beneath the turf. He is wandering, now, in sorrow’s briny surf; Two twins—the deah little cherub creeters, Can wipe the tears from off his classic features; Oh! sweet lot, worthy angel risen, To wipe the tears from eyes like hisen. "(Editor groans.)" Bet. May I ask you, deah man, if the twin has got oveh swallowing the thimble? I heard it swallowed the hired girl’s thimble the very day she hired out to another place, and left you alone. Ed. It did, and I wish it had swallowed the hired girl! I feel reckless, and bad. Bet. Oh! deah man; you need to be soothed. Poetry is soothing, and comforting, when rehearsed by a tendeh female voice. I have a few lines here, composed “On a Twin Swallowing a Side Thimble.” It is more on a mournful plan; but I will read it to you. Ed. (Aside) Did Heaven ever witness such tribulations? (And while Betsey is reading he takes a pistol out of his pocket, aims it at her, and then replaces it. Betsey reads): Bet. Oh, when side thimbles swallowed be, How can the world look sweet to he Who owns the twins, fair babe, heaven bless it, Who hath no own mother to caress it. Its own mother hath sweetly gone above, Oh, how he needs a mother’s love, My own heart runs o’er with tenderness, And its own noble father tries to do his best. But housework, men can’t perfectly understand, Oh, how it needs a helping hand. Ah! when twins are sick, and hired girls have flown, It is sad for a deah man to be alone. Thos. J. Good morning, editor, good morning, Betsey; I have got a poem of yours here, Betsey, that I found in father’s tin trunk the other day. I hav’nt seen you before since I found it. Bet. (delighted) Is it possible; your pa probably cut it out of some paper and has been treasuring it up. Thos. J. Shall I read it? Bet. Oh, yes; do read it, Thos. Jefferson. Thos. J. 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 expire! (Betsey, as he begins to read, is lost in thought, and does not seem to hear, then springs up.) Bet. Thomas Jefferson this is cruel. Give it to me; don’t read it, don’t! Ed. (in low tone) Go on. Thos. J. I saw thee coming down the street, She by your side in bonnet blue, The stones that grated ’neath thy feet, Seemed crunching on my vitals too. Oh! Josiah, it seems as if I must expire. Bet. (mildly) Don’t read any more, don’t! Ed. Go on! go on! Thos. J. I saw thee washing sheep last night, On the bridge I stood with marble brow; The water raged, thou clasped it tight I sighed, “Should both be drounded now,” I thought Josiah, Oh, happy sheep, to thus expire. (Enter Samantha, carrying a pair of swifts with some skeins of yarn on it) Bet. Josiah Allen’s wife, shall your cruel boy be allowed to injure a cause, and bleed a tendeh heart? Sam. Thomas Jefferson what have you been up to now? Ed. He has done nobly; but I must go at once. Hired girls must be seen to immediately. Thos. J. And I must go and fodder the steers. Exit Editor and Thos. J. Bet. If there is any object on earth, Josiah Allen’s wife, that I warm to, it is the sweet little children of widowers. I have always felt that I wanted to comfort them, and their deah pa’s. I have always felt that it was women’s highest speah, her only mission, to soothe, to cling, to smile, to coo. I always felt that it was women’s greatest privilege, her crowning blessing to soothe lacerations, to be a sort of a poultice to the manly breast when it is torn with the cares of life. Do you not think so? Sam. Am I a poultice, Betsey Bobbett? Do I look like one? Am I in a condition to be one? I have done a big ironing to-day, churned ten pounds of butter, scalded two hens and picked ’em, made seven pies and a batch of nut-cakes, two pans of cookies, and mopped all over. And now I have got these twins on my hands, all this carpet yarn to double, blank verses, ahead on me, and dinner to get, and now I am called on to be a poultice. What has my sect done that they have got to be lacerator-soothers and poultices, when they have got everything else under the sun to do. Everybody says that men are stronger than wimmen, and why should they be treated like glass-china, liable to break to pieces every minute? And if they have got to be soothed, why can’t they git some man to soothe ’em? They have as much agin time as wimmen have. Evenin’s they don’t have anything else to do, they might jest as well be a soothin’ each other as to be a hangin’ round grocery stores, or settin’ by the fire whittlin’. Bet. Oh! it must be so sweet, so strangely sweet, to soothe the manly breast: to soothe, to smile, to coo. Sam. I am perfectly willing to coo if I had time; and I had jest as lives soothe lacerations as not, if I hadn’t everything else under the sun to do. I had jest as lives sit down and smile at Josiah Allen by the hour, and smooth down his bald head affectionately, but who would fry the nut-cakes, and make the ginger cookies. I could coo at him day in, and day out, but who would skim milk, and wash pans, and darn, and fry, and bake, and bile, while I was a cooin’? Bet. Oh! Josiah Allen’s wife; we shall always diffeh on the subject of coos. But I wish to crave your advice on a deep and solemn subject. Martin Farquieh Tuppeh is one of the sweetest poets of the ages. My sentiments have always blended in with his sentiments. I have always flew with his flights, and soared with his soars. And last night after I had retired, one of his sublime ideahs come to me with a power I neveh felt before. It knocked the bolted door of my heart open, and said: “Betsey Bobbett, you have not neveh done it.” He remarks Sam. Are you going to pray for a husband, or about one? Bet. (mournfully) A little of both. Sam. Wall, I don’t know as it would no any hurt, Betsey. Bet. I will begin to pray to-night, but that is not all. Folks must work as well as pray; I am going to take a decided stand. Be you a going to the quire meeting to-morrow night? Sam. I am layin’ out to go if I hain’t too lame. Bet. 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 whatever you set your hands to, and I want to know will you stand by me to-morrow night? Sam. What undertakin’ have you got into your head now, Betsey Bobbett? Bet. I am going to encourage the editor of the Augur. That man needs a companion. Men are offish and bashful and do not always know what is best for them. I have seen horses hang back in 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 their noses to make them. The editor of the Augur needs a companion, and I am going to encourage that man to-morrow night, and I want to know Josiah Allen’s wife, if you will stand by me? Sam. You know, Betsey, that I can’t run; I’m too fat and lame; and then I’m gettin’ too old. Mebby I might walk up and help you corner him, but you know I can’t run for anybody. Enter Josiah. Jos. The Editor has come, and wants me to fetch out the twins. Sam. Why I thought he was coming back to take dinner, and read his blank verses. Jos. Wall, he was unhitchin’ his horse, and I happened to mention that I guessed Betsey would be here to dinner too; and he jumped into that buggy agin’ like lightnin’, and hollered out: “Fetch out the twins!” He acted sort o’ crazy like, and skairt. Bet. So sweetly sensitive, he fears to be forward and intrusive. (Samantha goes to putting on the children’s wraps) Bet. Oh, do not be in such haste, Josiah Allen’s wife. The editor may come in to dinner if you don’t hurry so, and I will stay too. (Betsey fixes her hair, arranges her neck-tie and looks anxiously from the window; then goes and walks from the window to the door peering out in hopes he will come in.) Jos. There hain’t no use on waiting, you won’t ketch him in here. Hear him now. (A voice from behind the scenes): Ed. Fetch out the twins. CURTAIN FALLS. |
|
