Truly last night was a night of troubles to us. We was kept awake all the forepart of the night with cats fightin’. It does beat all how they went on, how many there was of ’em I don’t know; Josiah thought there was upwards of 50. I myself made a calm estimate of between 3 and 4. But I tell you they went in strong what there was of ’em. What under heavens they found to talk about so long, and in such unearthly voices, is a mystery to me. You couldn’t sleep no more than if you was in Pandemonium. And about 11, I guess it was, I heard Thomas Jefferson holler out of his chamber winder, (it was Friday night and the children was both to home,) says he—

“You have preached long enough brothers on that text, I’ll put in a seventhly for you.” And then I heard a brick fall. “You’ve protracted your meetin’ here plenty long enough. You may adjourn now to somebody else’s window and exhort them a spell.” And then I heard another brick fall. “Now I wonder if you’ll come round on this circuit right away.”

Thomas Jefferson’s room is right over ourn, and I raised up in the end of the bed and hollered to him to “stop his noise.” But Josiah said, “do let him be, do let him kill the old creeters, I am wore out.”

Says I “Josiah I don’t mind his killin’ the cats, but I won’t have him talkin about thier holdin’ a protracted meetin’ and preachin’, I won’t have it,” says I.

“Wall,” says he “do lay down, the most I care for is to get rid of the cats.”

Says I, “you do have wicked streaks Josiah, and the way you let that boy go on is awful,” says I, “where do you think you will go to Josiah Allen?”

Says he, “I shall go into another bed if you can’t stop talkin’. I have been kept awake till midnight by them creeters, and now you want to finish the night.”

Josiah is a real even tempered man, but nothin’ makes him so kinder fretful as to be kept awake by cats. And it is awful, awfully mysterious too. For sometimes as you listen, you say mildly to yourself, how can a animal so small give utterance to a noise so large, large enough for a eliphant? Then sometimes agin as you listen, you will get encouraged, thinkin’ that last yawl has really finished ’em and you think they are at rest, and better off than they can be here in this world, utterin’ such deathly and terrific shrieks, and you know you are happier. So you will be real encouraged, and begin to be sleepy, when they break out agin all of a sudden, seemin’ to say up in a small fine voice, “We won’t go home till mornin’” drawin’ out the “mornin’” in the most threatenin’ and insultin’ manner. And then a great hoarse grum voice will take it up “We won’t Go Home till Mornin’” and then they will spit fiercely, and shriek out the appaulin’ words both together. It is discouragin’, and I couldn’t deny it, so I lay down, and we both went to sleep.

I hadn’t more’n got into a nap, when Josiah waked me up groanin’, and says he, “them darned cats are at it agin.”

“Well,” says I coolly, “you needn’t swear so, if they be.” I listened a minute, and says I, “it haint cats.”

Says he, “it is.”

Says I, “Josiah Allen, I know better, it haint cats.”

“Wall what is it,” says he “if it haint?”

I sot up in the end of bed, and pushed back my night cap from my left ear and listened, and says I,

“It is a akordeun.”

“How come a akordeun under our winder?” says he.

Says I, “It is Shakespeare Bobbet seranadin’ Tirzah Ann, and he has got under the wrong winder.”

He leaped out of bed, and started for the door.

Says I, “Josiah Allen come back here this minute,” says I, “do you realize your condition? you haint dressed.”

He siezed his hat from the bureau, and put it on his head, and went on. Says I, “Josiah Allen if you go to the door in that condition, I’ll prosicute you; what do you mean actin’ so to-night?” says I, “you was young once yourself.”

“I wuzzn’t a confounded fool if I was young,” says he.

Says I, “come back to bed Josiah Allen, do you want to get the Bobbets’es and the Dobbs’es mad at you?”

“Yes I do,” he snapped out.

“I should think you would be ashamed Josiah swearin’ and actin’ as you have to-night,” and says I, “you will get your death cold standin’ there without any clothes on, come back to bed this minute Josiah Allen.”

It haint often I set up, but when I do, I will be minded; so finally he took off his hat and come to bed, and there we had to lay and listen. Not one word could Tirzah Ann hear, for her room was clear to the other end of the house, and such a time as I had to keep Josiah in the bed. The first he played was what they call an involuntary, and I confess it did sound like a cat, before they get to spittin’, and tearin’ out fur, you know they will go on kinder meloncholy. He went on in that way for a length of time which I can’t set down with any kind of accuracy, Josiah thinks it was about 2 hours and a half, I myself don’t believe it was more than a quarter of an hour. Finally he broke out singin’ a tune the chorus of which was,

“No danger of our not thinkin’ on you,” says Josiah, “no danger on it.”

It was a long piece and he played and sung it in a slow, and affectin’ manner. He then played and sung the follerin’:

He then broke out into another piece, the chorus of which was,

“No you won’t,” says Josiah, “you won’t never get away, I will get up Samantha.”

Says I, in low but awful accents, “Josiah Allen, if you make another move, I’ll part with you,” says I, “it does beat all, how you keep actin’ to-night; haint it as hard for me as it is for you? do you think it is any comfort for me to lay here and hear it?” says I, “that is jest the way with you men, you haint no more patience than nothin’ in the world, you was young once yourself.”

“Throw that in my face agin will you? what if I wuz! Oh do hear him go on,” says he shakin’ his fist. “‘Curb oh curb thy bosom’s pain,’ if I was out there my young feller, I would give you a pain you couldn’t curb so easy, though it might not be in your bosom.”

Says I “Josiah Allen, you have showed more wickedness to-night, than I thought you had in you;” says I “would you like to have your pastur, and Deacon Dobbs, and sister Graves hear your revengeful threats? if you was layin’ helpless on a sick bed would you be throwin’ your arms about, and shakin’ your fist in that way? it scares me to think a pardner of mine should keep actin’ as you have,” says I “you have fell 25 cents in my estimation to-night.”

“Wall,” says he, “what comfort is there in his prowlin’ round here, makin’ two old folks lay all night in perfect agony?”

“It haint much after midnight, and if it was,” says I, in a deep and majestic tone. “Do you calculate, Josiah Allen to go through life without any trouble? if you do you will find yourself mistaken,” says I. “Do be still.”

“I won’t be still Samantha.”

Just then he begun a new piece, durin’ which the akordeun sounded the most meloncholly and cast down it had yet, and his voice was solemn, and affectin’. I never thought much of Shakespeare Bobbet. He is about Thomas Jefferson’s age, his moustache is if possible thinner than his’en, should say whiter, only that is a impossibility. He is jest the age when he wants to be older, and when folks are willin’ he should, for you don’t want to call him Mr. Bobbet and to call him “bub” as you always have, he takes as a deadly insult. He thinks he is in love with Tirzah Ann, which is jest as bad as long as it lasts as if he was; jest as painful to him and to her. As I said he sung these words in a slow and affectin’ manner.

He didn’t sing but one more piece after this. I don’t remember the words for it was a long piece. Josiah insists that it was as long as Milton’s Paradise Lost.

Says I, “don’t be a fool Josiah, you never read it.”

“I have hefted the book,” says he, “and know the size of it, and I know it was as long if not longer.”

Says I agin, in a cool collected manner, “don’t be a fool Josiah, there wasn’t more than 25 or 30 verses at the outside.” That was when we was talkin’ it over to the breakfast table this mornin’, but I confess it did seem awful long there in the dead of the night; though I wouldn’t encourage Josiah by sayin’ so, he loves the last word now, and I don’t know what he would be if I encouraged him in it. I can’t remember the words, as I said, but the chorus of each verse was

As I said I never set much store by Shakespeare Bobbet, but truly everybody has their strong pints; there was quavers put in there into them “Oh’s” that never can be put in agin by anybody. Even Josiah lay motionless listenin’ to ’em in a kind of awe. Jest then we heard Thomas Jefferson speakin’ out of the winder overhead.

“My musical young friend, haven’t you languished enough for one night? Because if you have, father and mother and I, bein’ kept awake by other serenaders the forepart of the night, will love to excuse you, will thank you for your labers in our behalf, and love to bid you good evenin’, Tirzah Ann bein’ fast asleep in the other end of the house. But don’t let me hurry you Shakespeare, my dear young friend, if you haint languished enough, you keep right on languishin’. I hope I haint hard hearted enough to deny a young man and neighbor the privilege of languishin’.”

I heard a sound of footsteps under the winder, followed seemin’ly instantaneously by the rattlin’ of the board fence at the extremity of the garden. Judgin’ from the sound, he must have got over the ground at a rate seldom equaled and never outdone.

A button was found under the winder in the mornin’, lost off we suppose by the impassioned beats of a too ardent heart, and a too vehement pair of lungs, exercised too much by the boldness and variety of the quavers durin’ the last tune. That button and a few locks of Malta fur, is all we have left to remind us of our sufferin’s.