  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 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?” LIVIN’ ON GOSPEL. Says I, “Josiah Allen you try to live on clear gospel “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, 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 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 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 “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. THE ENEMY ATTACKTED. Then at that minute I see the power of pure and cast iron principle as I never seen it before. Betsey Brother Minkley took out his red silk handkerchief and wiped his heroic, but sweaty face, for it was warm in the meetin’ house, and he bein’ a large portly man, principle had heat him up. And then such a sermon as he preached to Betsey Bobbet, it did my very soul good to hear, says he, “It is gamblin’, and gamblin’ of the very worst kind to, for it is gamblin’ in the name of God.” “Oh,” says Betsey, “deah and respected sir, the money is for you, and it is not gamblin’, for there is not any wicked papeh cards connected with it at all, it is only a sort of pious raffling in harmless pincushions and innocent rag children.” Then did I see pure principle mountin’ up higher and higher, his honest fat face grew fire red with it, We was right under the gallery, and at this minute a fish hook was let down not but a little ways from us, and Shakespeare Bobbet who stood by a basket full of things, hitched on a long huzzy all made of different kinds of calico, and it went up a danglin’ over our heads. As he ketched sight of it, Brother Wesley Minkley started up and says he, to Betsey in tones that would be replied to, “What does that mean?” Says Betsey in almost tremblin’ tones, “They pay ten cents for fishin’ once.” Then says he in tones that sounded some like distant thunder, “Do they know what they are goin’ to get for thier money?” “No sir,” says she, and she quailed to that extent that I almost pitied her. “More gamblin’!” he cried in fearful tones. And then he sprung for the huzzy, and shouted up the gallery to Shakespeare Bobbet, “I forbid you to draw up this huzzy another step. I forbid this huzzy to be drawed up an inch further.” He hung on to the THE ELDER ON THE ALERT. For the next half hour confusion rained. But pure principle conquered. In the language of scripture slightly altered to suit the occasion, “He overthrew the grab bags, and drove out the huzzies and fish hooks.” When peace rained agin, I grasped holt of his hand, and says I almost warmly, “You have done a good job brother, some folks may call it pious gamblin’, but I never believed in it.” Says I, “I never knew that Shakespeare Bobbet ever turned his mind that way,” and then says I in a cordial way, “I am real glad you have got home Whitfield, I guess I am about as glad to see you as any body, unless it is your ma, and one or two others.” He thanked me and said it seemed good to get home agin, and then says he, “I suppose Tirzah Ann is well.” His face as he said this was as red as his neck tie. But I didn’t seem to notice it. I talked with him quite a spell about her, and told him both the children would be to home Saturday, and he must come up then, for Thomas Jefferson would be awful disappointed not to see him. He looked awful tickled when I asked him to come, and he said he should certainly come, for he never wanted to see Thomas Jefferson so bad, in his life. I don’t make no matches, nor break none. But I hain’t a goin’ to deny, that sister Minkley and I have talked it over, and if things go on, as they seem to be a goin’ between her Whitfield and our Tirzah Ann, there won’t be no straws laid in their way, not a straw. Whitfield was called off by one of his sisters, and “Sister Allen, I am very much like you, I believe in actin’ up to our professions, and as I was about to remark in my twentiethly,” then that good, pure minded man begun agin jest where he left off. He had jest lifted up his left hand, and was pintin’ it off with his right fore finger, and I was jest thinkin’ that most likely I had got my night’s job in front of me, when unxpected the Editer of the Augur come to speak to me, and Brother Wesley Minkley bein’ a true gentleman, stopped preachin’ to once, and went to talkin’ to Josiah. I looked sadly into the face of the Editer of the Augur, and sithed, for I knew that Betsey would soon begin to encourage him, and I pitied him. He said “How de do?” to me, and I said in a absent minded way that “I was; and I hoped it was so with him.” And then I sithed agin. And my two gray eyes looked sadly into his’en (which was but’nut colored) for a spell, and then roamed off across the room onto Betsey. I seen her a fixin’ on her waterfall more securely, and a shakin’ out her greek bender, and tightnin’ her horse hair bracelets, and her lips moved as if she was beginnin’ to prey. And I knew he had got to be encouraged, and I felt for him. The Editer of the Auger followed my mournful gaze, and I was surprised to see the change in his but’nut “How sweet it is Josiah Allen’s wife for a noble but storm tosted bark to anchor in a beautiful calm. How sweet it is, when you see the ravenin’ tempest a smilin’ at you, I mean a lowerin’ at you, in the distance, to feel that it can’t harm you—that you are beyond its reach. To see it in its former dread power a drawin’ near—” (Betsey had started to come towards us,) “and feel that you are safe from it. Josiah Allen’s wife I feel safe and happy to night.” Betsey was stopped for the minute by Deacon Gowdey, but I knew it was only a momentary respite, and knowin’ her design, how could I answer? I could only look gloomy into his face, and think sadly, Ah! how little we know when trials and dangers are ahead of us, how little we know when we are goin’ to be encouraged. But he continued on in the same sweet happy triumphin’ tones, “Josiah Allen’s wife, I believe you are my friend.” “Yes! and your well wisher,” and says I almost wildly, “whatever comes, whatever may happen to you, remember that I wished you well, and I pitied you.” “Instead of pityin’ me, wish me joy,” and he held out his right hand towards me. I haint no hypocrite, and knowin’ what I knew, how could I be so deceitful? I hung back and gripped holt of a breadth of my dress with my right hand. Says he, “I am married, Josiah Allen’s wife, I was married a week ago to-night.” I grasped holt of his right hand which he still held out, with my right hand, and says I, “you take a load off’en my mind. Who too?” Says he, “the prettiest girl in Log London where father lives.” My emotions paralyzed me for nearly a quarter of a minute, and then says I, “Where is she?” “To her folks’es,” says he, “But she will be here next week.” Betsey drew near. He looked calmly and fearlessly at her, but he murmured gently, “The twins will be a wakin’ up; I must be a goin’,” and he gently retreated. The first words Betsey said to me was, “Ketch hold of me Josiah Allen’s wife, ketch hold of me, I am on Then I knew what Deacon Gowdey had been a tellin’ her. She looked like a blue ghost, trimmed off with otter color, for she had on a blue parmetta dress all trimmed with annato colored trimmin’s. She murmured in almost incoherent words, somethin’ about “her dearest gazelle bein’ a dyin’, and her wantin’ to be took off to her buryin’ ground.” But I knew it was no time for me to show my pity; true friendship demanded firmness and even sternness, and when she asked me wildly agin to “ketch hold of her,” I says to her coldly, “Ketch holt of yourself, Betsey Bobbet.” “My lost, my dearest gazelle is a dyin’! my hopes are witherin’!” says she, shettin’ up her eyes and kinder staggerin’ up against the wall. Says I in tones as cold as old Zero, or pretty nigh as cold as that old man, “Let ’em wither.” But I see I must come out still more plainer, or she would make a public circus of herself, and says I pushin’ her into a corner, and standin’ up in front of her, so as to shet off the audience from her face, for she was a cryin’, and she did indeed look ghostly, “Betsey Bobbet the gazelle is married, and their hain’t no use in your follerin’ on that trail no longer. Now,” says I, “take your bunnet and go home, and collect yourself together. And,” says I, generously “I will go with you as far as the door.” So I got her started off, as quick, and as quiet as I could, and I guess there wasn’t mor’n seven men and 14 wimmen that asked me as I came back in, “If it was the Editer of the Augur, that Betsey was a cryin’ about, and if I ever see such a idiot in my life?” I answered ’em in a kind of blind way, and it broke up pretty soon. BETSEY SEEKS RELIEF. When Josiah and me went home, as we passed Mr. Bobbet’ses, I looked up into Betsey’s winder which fronted the road, and I see Betsey set by her table a writin’. Her lips were firmly closed and she was a cryin’, her cheeks looked holler and I knew that her teeth was out, so I felt that she was writin’ poetry. I was right, for in the next weeks Gimlet these verses “We do not wish to encourage the feeling of revenge in our fair contributor’s fair breast, but this we will say, that on some occasions, revenge is a noble feeling and almost leans over against virtue’s side. And though we do not wish to be personal—no one could scorn it more than we do—but we say, and we say it with the kindest feelings towards him, that the E—— of the A—— is a villian.” Editor of the Gimlet. A Desiah. BY BETSEY BOBBET. Methinks I soon shall pass away, I have seen my last gazelle expiah; Deah friends I do not wish to stay; To be a ghost is my desiah. Revenge is sweet as honey a most— Methinks ’twere sweet to be a ghost. I would not be a seraphim, For far a sweeter sight would be On bedpost sitting, twitting him, Of his deceit and perfide; I’d rathah be a dreadful ghost, A sitting on a certain post. I can give up my heavenly claim, My seat upon the heavenly quiah; I feel anotheh, wildeh aim— To be a ghost is my desiah. Ah, yes! I’d ratheh be a ghost, And sit upon a certain post. Methinks he’d coveh up his head And groan and rithe, and maybe swear, And sithe, “I wish she wasn’t dead;” But still I’ll keep a sittin’ theah. As long as I remain a ghost, I’ll hang around a certain post. Anotheh certain person may, With terror wish she hadn’t had The wretch who made me pass away; Maybe she’ll wish I wasn’t dead. In vain! for still my dreadful ghost, Shall glare on her from a certain post. To think how I my brain have racked On lays for him. My stomach cramp; My bended form; my broken back; My blasted hopes; my wasted lamp. Oh, then I long to be a ghost, To hang around a certain post. My soul it pants, my crazed brain spins, To think how gushed my fond heart’s flow, My sympathy for certain twins, And then to think he used me so. But soon! ah soon I’ll be a ghost, A haunting round a certain post. |
|
