The cars didn’t bust up nor break down, which surprised me some, but which I felt was indeed a blessin’, and at ½ past six Betsey and me stood on the platform of the depott at New York village. As we stood there I would have swapped my last new cross barred muslin night cap in my satchel bag on my arm for a pair of iron ears. I should have been glad of the loan of a old pair for 16 seconds, if I couldn’t got ’em no longer, the noise was so distractin’ and awful.

Says I to myself, “Am I Josiah Allen’s wife, or am I not?” some of the time I thought I was Josiah, I was so destracted. But though inwardly so tosted up and down, I kep’ a cool demeaniour outside of me. I stood stun still, firmly graspin’ my satchel bag, my umberell and my green cap box—with my best head dress in it, till I had collected myself together, recolected what my name was, and where I was a goin’. When my senses come back I thought to myself truly Josiah wasn’t so far out of the way when he worried over old Tammany, for of all the shameless and brazen set, on the face of the earth, that set a howlin’ round Betsey Bobbet and me was the shamelessest and brazenest.

Now I am naturaily pretty offish and retirin’ in my ways, with strange men folks. I think it is becomin’ in a woman to be so, instead of bold. Now when we sot sail from Jonesville, after we got well to ridin’, a man came through the cars, a perfect stranger to me, but he reached out his hand to shake hands with me, jest as friendly and famelier as if I was his step mother. But I didn’t ketch holt of his hand, as some wimmen would, I jest folded up my arms, and says I, coolly,

“You have got the advantage of me.”

But he never took the hint, there he stood stun still in front of me holdin’ out his hand. And seein’ there was a lot of folks lookin’ on, and not wantin’ to act odd, I kinder took holt of his hand and shook it slightly, but at the same time says,

“Who under the sun you are I don’t know—but you seem determined to get acquainted with me. Mebby you are some of his folks I haint never seen—are you related to Josiah on the Allen side or on the Daggett side?” Josiah’s mother was a Daggett.

But before I could say any more he spoke up and said all he wanted was my ticket. I was glad then I had acted offish. For as I say, I don’t believe in wimmen puttin’ themselves forward and actin’ bold. Not that that stands in the way of their modistly claimin’ their honest rights. I have seen enough boldness used by a passel of girls at one huskin’ bee, or apple cut, to supply 4 presedential elections, and the same number of female caurkusses, and then have 5 or 6 baskets full left. Havein’ these modest and reserved feelin’s in my soul—as firm as firm iron—what was my feelin’s as I stood there on that platform, when a great tall villian walked up to me and yelled right up close to my bunnet,

“Will you have a bus mom?”

If that man had the privilege of livin’ several hundred years, he would say at the last 100, that he never forgot the look I gave him as he uttered these infamous words to me. It was a look calculated to scorch a man to his very soul. It was a look calculated and designed to make a man sigh for some small knot hole to creep through and hide him from the gaze of wimmen. I’ll bet 2 cents that he won’t insult another women in that way very soon. I give him a piece of my mind that he won’t forget in a hurry. I told him plainly, “That if I wasn’t a married women and a Methodist, and, was free to kiss who I was a mind to, I had jest as lives kiss a anacondy, or a boyconstructor, as him,” and I says in conclusion, “mebby you think because Josiah haint here to protect me, you can talk to me as you are a mind to. But,” says I, “if I haint got Josiah with me I have got a good stout umberell.” He quailed silently, and while he was a quailin’ I turned to Betsey, and asked her if she was ready to start along, for as true as I live and breathe, I was afraid Betsey was so of that clingin turn, that she would be a kissen’ some of them men in spite of my teeth, for thier was a lot of ’em besettin’ her for a bus. A yellin’ round her “have a bus? Have a bus?” Jest as if that was jest what Betsey and me had come from Jonesville for. The miserable—lowlived creeters.

Betsey seemed to kinder hate to go, but I started her off. For no burdock bur ever stuck to a horse’s mane, as Josiah Allen’s wife sticks to a companion, a drawin’ ’em along with her in the cause of Right. As we wended our way along, walkin’ afoot, she wanted to know what tavern I was a goin’ to put up to, and I told her “Mr. and Miss Asters’es tavern.” Says she, “If it was not jest as it was, I would ask you to go to cousin Ebenezah’s with me. But in the future it may be I shall be freer to act, than I be now. If I was a married female and had a home of my own heah, how happy I should be to welcome Jonesville to its blessed presincts. As deah Tuppah observes—”

But I interrupted her by sayin’ coolly, “Betsey, I have made up my mind to put up to Mr. Aster’ses, for Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife, Josiah’s 2nd cousin, is Miss Aster’ses hired girl.”

“Is she a widow?” says Betsey.

“She does a little in that line,” says I in a cautious tone. “She is a vegetable widow.” I wasn’t goin’ to say “grass widow” right out, though she is clear grass. For her husband, Johnothan Bean, run away with another woman 3 years ago this comin’ fall, it was all printed out in the World at the time. At that very minute we turned on to Broadway, and Betsey was a sailin’ on ahead of me in gay spirits, a laughin’, and a talkin’, and a quotin’ Tupper, jest as happy as you please. But as we turned the corner, I stopped her by ketchin’ holt of her Greek bender, and says I,

“I’d have a little respect into me, Betsey Bobbet,” says I. “Less stand still here, till the funeral procession goes by.”

So we put a funeral look onto our faces, and stood still a spell, and they streamed by. I thought my soul there was no end to the mourners. It seems as if we stood there decently and in order, with a solemn look onto our faces, becomin’ the solemn occasion, for pretty nigh ½ an hour. Finally I whispered to Betsey, and says I,

“Betsey, did you ever see such a gang of mourners in your life?”

I see her eyes looked kinder sot in her head, and she seemed to be not really sensin’ what I said. She looked strange. Finally says she, “It is a sorrowful time, I am composin’ a funeral owed, and I will repeat it to you soon.”

I wanted to get her mind off’en that idee, and I continued on a talkin’,

“It must be some awful big man that is dead. Like as not it is the Governor of the United States or some deacon or other. Do see ’em stringin’ along. But how some of the mourners are a behavin’, and how gay some of the wimmen are dressed. If I had known there was goin’ to be a funeral in the village, while I was here, some of the mourners might have had my black bombazeen dress, and my crape viel jest as well as not. I always make a practice of lendin’ ’em on funeral occasions.”

Jest then a little boy came sailin’ by, with a segar in his mouth almost as big as he was. And I ketched holt of him, and whispered to him,

“Bub who is dead?” and says I, “be you one of the mourners?”

“Yes, old lady,” says he, in a impudent tone, “I am out on a short mourn.”

If it hadn’t been for the mournful occasion, and for gettin’ off’en my dignity, I would have spanked him, then and there; he laughed so impudent at me. But I let him go on, and then I took out my snowy 25 cent linen handkerchief and wiped off my heated face, and says I to Betsey,

“I am wore out; there hain’t no end to this procession seemin’ly, we may as well go on, for I am beat out, we shall act as well as some of the mourners do any way, if we do walk on.” So we wended on. Betsey’s cousin lived not a great ways from Miss Asters’es, only it was down a little ways another street, up over a store. I told her “I guessed I wouldn’t climb up them grocery stairs, I was so tuckered out, and then Miss Aster would most probable have supper about ready, and I didn’t want to have her fuss to set the table over for me, or steep her tea over, and I felt that a cup of tea I must have.”

I was kinder dreadin’ goin’ in alone, not bein’ acquainted with Miss Aster, and I don’t know when I have been tickleder, than I was to meet Jonothan Beans’es ex-wife, right on the sidewalk. She was real glad to see me too, for I befriended her when she first went to grass, (as it was,) I took her right in for 3 weeks, and give her 2 pair of seamed stockin’s, and a lot of other things for her comfort.

She went right back with me. Of all the big houses I ever see, Mr. Asters’es house beat everything. I was determined not to act green and be a askin’ questions, and so I didn’t say a word. But I spose from the size of it, that Mr. Aster lets part of it for meetin’ houses, and mebby they have a few select schools in it, and a few lunatick asylums, I should think they would need ’em, such a noise. But I didn’t say a word.

Jonothan Beans’es ex-wife told me I must put my name down on the Register before I went to my room, I didn’t object, nor I didn’t ask no questions, but I kep’ a pretty good look out. “Register!” I knew I had heard somethin’ that sounded like that, connected with deeds, and I wasn’t goin’ to sign away my property. I didn’t know as it was so, but I did have my thoughts, that mebby somebody had told ’em I was comein’ to the village, and they was tryin’ to get me to sign away my thirds, there is so much iniquity in the world. But I kep’ my thoughts to myself, and kep’ my eyes open. I jest looked over the book pretty sharp, before I put my name down, and I see it was all right. My room was on the 5th story, and I told J. Beans’es ex-wife that how I was goin’ to climb up them stairs I didn’t know, I was so tuckered out, I was sorry the minute I said it, for I was afraid she would go and tell Miss Aster, and Miss Aster would give up her bedroom to me, or mebby she would make Mr. Aster sleep with one of the boys, and have me sleep with her, and I wouldn’t have her put herself out for the world. And I spoke up and says I,

“I guess I can weather it some way.”

And she spoke up and says she, “Here is the elevater, be carried up.”

There was a big nigger comin’ right towards us, and I thought she meant him, for they have been called such funny names ever since the war, that I thought likely “Elevater” was one of ’em. But I jest put my foot right doun to once, says I firmly,

“I haint a goin’ to be lugged up stairs by that nigger.” And then I was so afraid that he would hear it, and it would hurt his feelin’s, that I spoke right up pretty loud, and says I,

“It haint on account of the gentleman’s dark complexion at all, that I object. But I don’t think Josiah would like it, to have any other man carryin’ me round in his arms.”

But Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife explained it to me. There was a little room about as big as our smoke house, all fixed off neat as a pin, and all we had to do was to git in, and then we was histed right up in front of our room. I was awful glad to be carried up, but I have got some pity left into me, and I says to her, says I,

“Haint it awful hard for the man that is drawin’ us up?” Says I, “Is it Mr. Aster, or is it his hired man?” and says I, “does he do it with a windlass, like a well bucket? or hand over hand, like drawin’ up water out of a cistern with a pole?”

Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife said it was done by machinery, and she said, for I asked her the first thing, “that there wasn’t no funeral, that there was jest such a crowd every day.” I didn’t believe her, but I was too beat out to contend. And glad enough was I, to stretch my weary limbs in a rockin’ chair. J. Beans’es ex-wife said she would fetch me up a cup of tea, and my supper to me. She haint forgot the past.

She told me when she left me that night, to be dreadful careful about the gass, and not blow it out; she told me jest how it was done, and I’ll bet Mrs. Aster herself couldn’t do it any neater, for I thought of Josiah, and the thought of that man nerved me to do it right, so as not to die and leave him a gass widower, and a lonely man.

When I waked up in the mornin’ such a noise as I heard. Why, I have thought sometimes when I was sleepy, that our old rooster “Hail the Day” makes an awful sight of noise. But good land! if all the roosters in the United States and Boston, had roosted right under my window, they couldn’t have begun with it. My first thought as I leaped out of bed was, “Jonesville is afire.” Then recollectin’ myself, I grew calmer, and thought mebby Miss Aster had got breakfast ready, and was a hollerin’ to me. And growin’ still more composed, I gin up that the tramplin’ and hollerin’ was doun in the street. As I dressed me, I lay out my work for the day; thinks’es I, “Betsey Bobbet will be so took up with her mission to her cousin Ebenezer’s, that I shall be rid of her!” It was a sweet thought to me, and I smiled as I thought it. But alas! as the poet well observes, “How little we know what is ahead of us.” Thinks’es I, as I turned the screw and let the water outen the side of the house to wash me, (Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife had showed me how the night before,) I must do all I can this day in the cause of Right. If I get that destracted here that I am threatened with luny, and have to leave before my time comes, I will go where duty calls me first and most. I should have been glad to have looked round the village, and got acquainted with some of Miss Aster’ses neighbors, but though I felt that the neighborin’ wimmen might think I was real uppish and proud sperited, still I felt that I could better stand this importation than to desert the cause of Right for ½ a minute. I felt that Horace, although nearly perfect in every other respect, needed Josiah Allen’s wife’s influence on a subject dear to that female’s heart. And I felt that that deluded Miss Woodhull needed a true and pure principled female to show her plainly where she stood. Then I laid out to go to Isabella Beecher Hooker’ses. And the time was short, I knew with every fresh roar of destraction that come up from the street below, that the time of my stay in that village was short.

I was so almost lost in these thoughts, that I didn’t see how late it was a gettin’. I had overslept myself in the first place, bein’ so tuckered out the night before, and thinks’es I all of a sudden,

“What will Miss Aster think, my keepin’ her from eatin’ her breakfast so long?”

But inwardly, my mind was some composed by thinkin’ it was principle that had belated me. So I sailed doun stairs. I had put on my best clothes, my head-dress looked foamin’, my overskirt stood out noble round my form. And it was with a peaceful mind though some destracted by the noise, that I wended my way to the breakfast table.

But instead of all of us a settin’ to one table with Miss Aster to the head, a pourin’ out tea, there was I’ll bet, more’n a hundred little tables, with folks settin’ round ’em, a eatin’, and waiters a goin’ all round amongst ’em, a waitin’ on ’em. And every man waiter had got on one of his wives white bib aprons. Thinks’es I to myself, what a tussle I should have with Josiah, to get him to wear one of my aprons round the house when I had company; he is awful sot aginst wearin’ aprons, it is all I can do to get one on to him when he is a churnin’.

Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife ketched my eye, as I went in, and she came and sot me doun to a little table where there wasn’t nobody. And then she was drawed off by somebody and left me alone. And I spoke out loud to myself,

“I’d like to know what I am goin’ to eat, unless I lay to and eat stun china and glass ware.” And ketchin’ sight of the pepper box, I exclaimed almost convulsively,

“I never was much of a hand to eat clear pepper, and nothin’ else.”

A nigger come up to me at that minute, and said somethin’ in a frenchified accent about a cart bein’ on my plate, or somethin’ about a cart, and I see in a minute that he wanted to make out—because I come from the country—that I wanted a cart load of vittles. I don’t know when I have been madder. Says I,

“You impudent creeter, you think because I am from the country, and Josiah haint with me, that you can impose upon me. Talk to me, will you, about my wantin’ a cart load of vittles? I should be glad,” says I in a sarcastic tone, “I should be glad to get somethin’ a little more nourishin’ than a three tined fork and a towel to eat, but I don’t seem to run much chance of gettin’ on it here.”

Before he had time to say anything, J. Beans’es ex-wife came up, and said somethin’ to me about lookin’ at “Bill the Fair.” I looked down on the table, and noticed then for the first time that there was a piece of poetry layin’ there, seemin’ly cut out of some newspaper, I see that she wanted me to read it, but I told her, “That I wasn’t much of a hand for poetry anyway, and Betsey Bobbet wrote so much that it made me fairly sick of it,” and besides, says I, “I have left my specks up stairs, I forgot ’em till I got most down here.”

But jest then I happened to think, mebby she had wrote it herself, I don’t want to hurt nobody’s feelin’s, and says I, in a pleasant tone,

“I presume “Bill the Fair,” is a good piece of poetry, and if you haint no objection, I will take it home with me, and put it into Tirzah Ann’s scrap book.” She started off before I fairly got through speakin’ and I folded up the poetry and put it into my pocket, and in a minute’s time back she came with some first rate vittles. She knows what I like jest as well as I do, havin’ lived with us a spell, as I said, when she first went to grass. She knows jest what a case I am for store tea; but she asked me what kind of tea I wanted, and I spoke right out before I thought,

“Anything but sage tea, I can’t bear that.”

But then I happened to think I see they was all a drinkin’ coffee round me, I knew they was by the smell. And I thought mebby from her speakin’ to me in that way that she meant to give me a little hint that Miss Aster was out of store tea, and says I, kinder loud for she had started off. “If Miss Aster is short on it for store tea, she needn’t fuss for me, she needn’t borry any on my account, I can drink sage tea if I set out to.”

But I thought to myself, that I had rather have brought a drawin’ of tea in my pocket clear from Jonesville, than to have gone without it; while I was jest thinkin’ this, Jonothan Beans’es ex-wife came back with a first rate cup of tea, strong enough to bear up a egg.

The more I looked round and see the droves of hungry folks, the sorrier I felt for Miss Aster. And I spoke to J. Beans’es ex-wife as she brought me my last vittles, says I, “If there is a woman on the face of the hull earth I am sorry for, it is Miss Aster, how on earth can she ever cook enough to fill this drove of folks?” says I, “How can she ever stand up under it?” And carried almost away with my sympathy, I says to Jonothan Beans’es ex-wife,

“You tell Miss Aster from me that she needn’t make no fuss about the dinner at all, I will eat a picked up dinner, I had jest as lives as not, I didn’t come down here to put her out and make her any trouble.”

I heard a little noise to one side of me, and I looked round and there was a feller and two girls a snickerin’ and laughin’, right at me. They was rigged out awful fashionable, but I guess their brains had run to their hair mostly, the girls on their heads, and his’en on his face, such sights of it. But I don’t believe they was very well off, for every one of ’em had broke one eye off’en their spectacles, and they lifted up that one eye, and looked at me through it, a laughin’ at the same time as if they would split. But it didn’t put me out a bit, I glared back at ’em, as sharp as they did at me, and says I,

“Laugh away if you want to, I know what it is to cook over a hot cook stove in the summer time, it tuckers anybody out, even if they have got good help, and I am sorry for Miss Aster.”

They snickered worse than ever, and I got mad, and says I,

“I don’t wonder you laugh! there haint no more pity and humanity in the whole lot on you, than there is in a three tined pitchfork, and no wonder when you see somebody that has got a little pity and generosity into ’em, it is more of a amusement and novelty to you than a circus would be.”

As I said this, I rose up in almost fearful dignity, and sailed away from the table up to my room.

As I opened the door I heard a dreadful curious noise, a kind of a gurglin’ gushin’ sound, and when I opened the door, of all the freshets I ever see, I had forgot to turn back the little screw, and the water was a gushin’ out all over. Jonothen Beans’es ex wife, happened to come along jest then, and she sent up a nigger with a mop, and a lot of cloths, and I turned to, and helped him, she told me not to, but says I,

“Josiah Allen’s wife haint one to shirk when there is work to do,” and says I, “you tell Miss Aster, after I get through here, I had jest as lives come down and help her wash up the breakfast dishes as not,” says I, lookin’ thoughtfully at my overskirt, “I don’t really want to put my hands into the dish water on account of my dress, but I had jest as lives wipe ’em as not.”

But J. Beans’es ex wife said there wasn’t no need of my helpin’, and so after I got my room all slicked up and my bed made (she told me to leave my bed, but I wusn’t goin’ to act so slack) I sot down a minute to rest, before I set sail in the cause of Right.

I was jest a thinkin’ that Betsey Bobbet was safe in the house of mournin’, and there was a sweet and satisfied smile on my face, as I thought it, when all of a sudden the door opened, and in she walked. My heart sunk pretty near ½ an inch. But I ketched holt of my principles, and says I,

“What is the matter Betsey?” For she looked as if she had been cryin’ her eyes out. “Is your cousin no more? has Ebineezah suicided himself?”

“No moah!” says she in a indignant tone. “She is gettin’ well, and Ebineezah is as happy as a king about it, she has been takin’ cod liveh oil, and “Cherry Pectorial,” and they have cured her, I hate Cherry Pectorial, and cod liveh oil, they are nasty stuffs.”

Says I, in a insinuatin’ tone, “you are goin’ back there haint you?”

“No!” says she indignantly, “I won’t stir a step back, they are so tickled about her gettin’ bettah, that they don’t use me with no respect at all.” And there was a tear in her eye as she added in sorrowful tones, “Ebineezah told me that if it hadn’t been for that cod liveh oil, he should have been a widowah, and a lonely man to-day. No!” says she takin’ off her hat and throwin’ it in a angry fierce way onto the bed, “I won’t stir a step back, I won’t stay anotheh minute in the same house with cod liver oil, I perfectly despise it.”

I see there was no use a arguin’ with her, the arrow had struck too deep, I see my fate, Betsey had got to accompany me on my high and lofty mission. For a minute I thought wildly of escape, of gettin’ her out of the room on some errent for a minute, and then tyin’ the sheets together and lowerin’ myself down from the winder. But better feelin’s rose inside of me, Betsey was a human bein’, I, belonged to the meetin’ house. All these nobler emotions tied up my tongue, I said nothin’ but I turned and concluded the wild tumult of my feelin’s, by takin’ the gingham case off’en my umberell I was goin’ to carry with me, and puttin’ on my bunnet we started out for our promenade.

ON THE STREET.