Thomas Jefferson is a good boy. His teacher to the Jonesville Academy told me the other day, says he,

“Thomas J. is full of fun, but I don’t believe he has a single bad habit; and I don’t believe he knows any more about bad things, than Tirzah Ann, and she is a girl of a thousand.”

This made my heart beat with pure and fervent emotions of joy, for I knew it was true, but I tell you I have had to work for it. I was determined from the first, that Thomas Jefferson needn’t think because he was a boy he could do anything that would be considered disgraceful if he was a girl. Now some mothers will worry themselves to death about thier girls, so afraid they will get into bad company and bring disgrace onto ’em. I have said to ’em sometimes,

“Why don’t you worry about your boys?”

“Oh things are winked at in a man that haint in a woman.”

Says I, “There is one woman that no man can get to wink at ’em, and that is Samantha Allen, whose maiden name was Smith.” Says I, “It is enough to make anybody’s blood bile in thier vains to think how different sin is looked upon in a man and woman. I say sin is sin, and you can’t make goodness out of it by parsin’ it in the masculine gender, no more’n you can by parsin’ it in the feminine or neutral.

“And wimmin are the most to blame in this respect. I believe in givin’ the D——I won’t speak the gentleman’s name right out, because I belong to the Methodist Meetin’ house, but you know who I mean, and I believe in givin’ him his due, if you owe him anything, and I say men haint half so bad as wimmen about holdin’ up male sinners and stompin’ down female ones.

“Wimmen are meaner than pusley about some things, and this is one of ’em. Now wimmen will go out and kill the fatted calf with thier own hands to feast the male prodigal that has been livin’ on husks. But let the woman that he has been boardin’ with on the same bundle of husks, ask meekly for a little mite of this veal critter, will she get it? No! She won’t get so much as one of the huffs. She will be told to keep on eatin’ her husks, and after she has got through with ’em to die, for after a woman has once eat husks, she can’t never eat any other vittles. And if she asks meekly, why is her stomach so different from the male husk eater, he went right off from husks to fatted calves, they’ll say to her ‘what is sin in a woman haint sin in a man. Men are such noble creatures that they will be a little wild, it is expected of ’em, but after they have sowed all thier wild oats, they always settle down and make the very best of men.’

“‘Can’t I settle down too?’ cries the poor woman. ‘I am sick of wild oats too, I am sick of husks—I want to live a good life, in the sight of God and man—can’t I settle down too?’

“‘Yes you can settle down in the grave,’ they say to her—‘When a woman has sinned once, that is all the place there is for her—a woman cannot be forgiven.’ There is an old sayin’ ‘Go and sin no more.’ But that is eighteen hundred years old—awful old fashioned.”

And then after they have feasted the male husk eater, on this gospel veal, and fell on his neck and embraced him a few times, they will take him into thier houses and marry him to their purest and prettiest daughter, while at the same time they won’t have the female husker in thier kitchen to wash for ’em at 4 cents an article.

I say it is a shame and a disgrace, for the woman to bear all the burden of sufferin’ and all the burden of shame too; it is a mean, cowardly piece of business, and I should think the very stuns would go to yellin’ at each other to see such injustice.

But Josiah Allen’s children haint been brought up in any such kind of a way. They have been brought up to think that sin of any kind is jest as bad in a man as it is in a woman. And any place of amusement that was bad for a woman to go to, was bad for a man.

Now when Thomas Jefferson was a little feller, he was bewitched to go to circuses, and Josiah said,

“Better let him go, Samantha, it haint no place for wimmin or girls, but it won’t hurt a boy.”

Says I, “Josiah Allen, the Lord made Thomas Jefferson with jest as pure a heart as Tirzah Ann, and no bigger eyes and ears, and if Thomas J. goes to the circus, Tirzah Ann goes too.”

That stopped that. And then he was bewitched to get with other boys that smoked and chewed tobacco, and Josiah was jest that easy turn, that he would have let him go with ’em. But says I—

“Josiah Allen, if Thomas Jefferson goes with those boys, and gets to chewin’ and smokin’ tobacco, I shall buy Tirzah Ann a pipe.”

And that stopped that.

“And about drinkin’,” says I. “Thomas Jefferson, if it should ever be the will of Providence to change you into a wild bear, I will chain you up, and do the best I can by you. But if you ever do it yourself, turn yourself into a wild beast by drinkin’, I will run away, for I never could stand it, never. And,” I continued, “if I ever see you hangin’ round bar-rooms and tavern doors, Tirzah Ann shall hang too.”

Josiah argued with me, says he, “It don’t look so bad for a boy as it does for a girl.”

Says I, “Custom makes the difference; we are more used to seein’ men. But,” says I, “when liquor goes to work to make a fool and a brute of anybody it don’t stop to ask about sect, it makes a wild beast and a idiot of a man or a woman, and to look down from Heaven, I guess a man looks as bad layin’ dead drunk in a gutter as a woman does,” says I; “things look different from up there, than what they do to us—it is a more sightly place. And you talk about looks, Josiah Allen. I don’t go on clear looks, I go onto principle. Will the Lord say to me in the last day, ‘Josiah Allen’s wife, how is it with the sole of Tirzah Ann—as for Thomas Jefferson’s sole, he bein’ a boy it haint of no account?’ No! I shall have to give an account to Him for my dealin’s with both of these soles, male and female. And I should feel guilty if I brought him up to think that what was impure for a woman, was pure for a man. If man has a greater desire to do wrong—which I won’t dispute,” says I lookin’ keenly on to Josiah, “he has greater strength to resist temptation. And so,” says I in mild accents, but firm as old Plymouth Rock, “if Thomas Jefferson hangs, Tirzah Ann shall hang too.”

I have brought Thomas Jefferson up to think that it was jest as bad for him to listen to a bad story or song, as for a girl, or worse, for he had more strength to run away, and that it was a disgrace for him to talk or listen to any stuff that he would be ashamed to have Tirzah Ann or me hear. I have brought him up to think that manliness didn’t consist in havin’ a cigar in his mouth, and his hat on one side, and swearin’ and slang phrases, and a knowledge of questionable amusements, but in layin’ holt of every duty that come to him, with a brave heart and a cheerful face; in helpin’ to right the wrong, and protect the weak, and makin’ the most and the best of the mind and the soul God had given him. In short, I have brought him up to think that purity and virtue are both masculine and femanine gender, and that God’s angels are not necessarily all she ones.

Tirzah Ann too has come up well, though I say it, that shouldn’t, her head haint all full, runnin’ over, and frizzlin’ out on top of it, with thoughts of beaux and flirtin’. I have brought her up to think that marriage wasn’t the chief end of life, but savin’ her soul. Tirzah Ann’s own grandmother on her mother’s side, used to come visatin’ us and stay weeks at a time, kinder spyin’ out I spose how I done by the children,—thank fortune, I wasn’t afraid to have her spy, all she was a mind too, I wouldn’t have been afraid to had Benedict Arnold, and Major Andre come as spys. I did well by ’em, and she owned it, though she did think I made Tirzah Ann’s night gowns a little too full round the neck, and Thomas Jefferson’s roundabouts a little too long behind. But as I was a sayin’, the old lady begun to kinder train Tirzah Ann up to the prevailin’ idee of its bein’ her only aim in life to catch a husband, and if she would only grow up and be a real good girl she should marry.

I didn’t say nothin’ to the old lady, for I respect old age, but I took Josiah out one side, and says I,

“Josiah Allen, if Tirzah Ann is to be brought up to think that marriage is the chief aim of her life, Thomas J. shall be brought up to think that marriage is his chief aim.” Says I, “it looks just as flat in a woman, as it does in a man.”

Josiah didn’t make much of any answer to me, he is an easy man. But as that was the old lady’s last visit (she was took bed rid the next week, and haint walked a step sense), I haint had no more trouble on them grounds.

When Tirzah Ann gets old enough, if a good true man, a man for instance, such as I think Whitfield Minkley, our minister’s oldest boy is a goin’ to make, if such a man offers Tirzah Ann his love which is the greatest honor a man can do a woman, why Tirzah will, I presume, if she loves him well enough, marry him. I should give my consent, and so would Josiah. But to have all her mind sot onto that hope and expectatin’ till she begins to look wild, I have discouraged it in her.

I have told her that goodness, truth, honor, vertue and nobility come first as aims in life. Says I,

“Tirzah Ann, seek these things first, and then if a husband is added unto you, you may know it is the Lord’s will, and accept him like any other dispensation of Providence, and—” I continued as dreamy thoughts of Josiah floated through my mind, “make the best of him.”

I feel thankful to think they have both come up as well as they have. Tirzah Ann is more of a quiet turn, but Thomas J., though his morals are sound, is dreadful full of fun, I worry some about him for he haint made no professions, I never could get him forred onto the anxious seat. He told Elder Minkley last winter that “the seats were all made of the same kind of basswood, and he could be jest as anxious out by the door, as he could on one of the front seats.”

Says Elder Minkley, “My dear boy, I want you to find the Lord.”

“I haint never lost him,” says Thomas Jefferson.

It shocked Elder Minkley dreadfully—but it sot me to thinkin’. He was always an odd child, always askin’ the curiousest questions, and I brought him up to think that the Lord was with him all the time, and see what he was doin’, and mebby he was in the right of it, mebby he felt as if he hadn’t never lost Him. He was always the greatest case to be out in the woods and lots, findin’ everything—and sometimes I have almost thought the trash he thinks so much of, such as shells and pieces of rock and stun, and flowers and moss, are a kind of means of grace to him, and then agin I don’t know. If I really thought they was I don’t suppose I should have pitched ’em out of the winder so many times as I have, clutterin’ up the house so.

I worry about him awfully sometimes, and then agin I lay holt of the promises. Now last Saturday night to have heard him go on, about the Jonesville quire, you’d a thought he never had a sober, solemn thought in his head. They meet to practice Saturday nights, and he had been to hear ’em. I stood his light talk as long as I could, and finally I told him to stop it, for I would not hear him go on so.

“Wall,” says he, “you go yourself mother sometime, and see thier carryin’s on. Why,” says he, “if fightin’ entitles anybody to a pension, they ought to draw 96 dollars a year, every one of ’em—you go yourself, and hear ’em rehearse if you don’t believe me—” and then he begun to sing,

“I’ll be hanged if I would rehearse,” says Josiah, “what makes ’em?”

“Let ’em rehearse,” says I sternly, “I should think there was need enough of it.”

It happened that very next night, Elder Merton preached to the red school house, and Josiah hitched up the old mare, and we went over. It was the first time I had been out sense the axident. Thomas J. and Tirzah Ann walked.

Josiah and I sot right behind the quire, and we could hear every word they said, and while Elder Merton was readin’ the hymn, “How sweet for brethren to agree,” old Gowdey whispered to Mr. Peedick in wrathful accents,

“I wonder if you will put us all to open shame to-night by screechin’ two or three notes above us all?”

He caught my keen grey eye fixed sternly upon him, and his tone changed in a minute to a mild, sheepish one, and he added smilin’ “as it were, deah brother Peedick.”

Mr. Peedick designed not to reply to him, for he was shakin’ his fist at one of the younger brethrin’ in the quire, and says he,

“Let me catch you pressin’ the key agin to-night, you young villain, if you think it is best.”

“I shall press as many keys as I am a minter for all you. You’re always findin’ fault with sunthin’ or other,” muttered he.

Betsey Bobbet and Sophronia Gowdey was lookin’ at each other all this time with looks that made one’s blood run cold in thier vains.

Mr. Peedick commenced the tune, but unfortunately struck into short metre. They all commenced loud and strong, but couldn’t get any further than “How sweet for bretherin.” As they all come to a sudden halt there in front of that word—Mr. Gowdey—lookin’ daggers at Mr. Peedick—took out his pitch fork, as if it was a pistol, and he was goin’ to shoot him with it, but applyin’ it to his own ear, he started off on the longest metre that had ever been in our neighborhood. After addin’ the tune to the words, there was so much tune to carry, that the best calculator in tunes couldn’t do it.

At that very minute when it looked dark, and gloomy indeed for the quire, an old lady, the best behaved in the quire, who had minded her own business, and chawed caraway peacefully, come out and started it to the tune of “Oh that will be joyful.”

They all joined in at the top of their voice, and though they each one put in flats and sharps to suit thier own taste, they kinder hung together till they got to the chorus, and then Mr. Gowdey looked round and frowned fiercely at Shakespeare Bobbet who seemed to be flattin’ most of any of ’em, and Betsey Bobbet punched Sophronia Gowdey in the side with her parasol, and told her she was “disgracin’ the quire—and to sing slower,” and then they all yelled

It seemed as if the very feather on my bunnet stood up straight, to hear ’em, it was so awful. Then they collected their strength, and drawin’ long breaths, they yelled out the next verses like wild Indians round sufferin’ whites they was murderin’. If any one had iron ears, it would have went off well, all but for one thing—there was an old man who insisted on bein’ in the quire, who was too blind to see the words, and always sung by ear, and bein’ a little deaf he got the words wrong, but he sung out loud and clear like a trembone,

Elder Merton made a awful good prayer, about trials purifyin’ folks and makin’ ’em better, and the same heroic patient look was on his face, when he give out the next him.

This piece begun with a long duett between the tenor and the alto, and Betsey Bobbet by open war and strategim had carried the day, and was to sing this part alone with the tenor. She knew the Editer of the Augur was the only tenor singer in the quire. She was so proud and happy thinkin’ she was goin’ to sing alone with him, that not rightly sensin’ where she was, and what she was about, she pitched her part too low, and here was where I had my trial with Josiah.

There is no more sing to Josiah Allen than there is to a one horse wagon, and I have tried to convince him of it, but I can’t, and he will probably go down to the grave thinkin’ he can sing base. But thier is no sing to it, that, I will contend for with my last breath, it is nothin’ more nor less than a roar. But one thing I will give him the praise of, he is a dreadful willin’ man in the time of trouble, and if he takes it into his head that it is his duty to sing, you can’t stop him no more than you can stop a clap of thunder, and when he does let his voice out, he lets it out strong, I can tell you. As Betsey finished the first line, I heard him say to himself.

“It is a shame for one woman to sing base alone, in a room full of men.” And before I could stop him, he struck in with his awful energy, you couldn’t hear Betsey’s voice, nor the Editer’s, no more than you could hear two flies buzzin’ in a car whistle. It was dreadful. And as he finished the first verse, I ketched hold of his vest, I didn’t stand up, by reason of bein’ lame yet from the axident—and says I,

“If you sing another verse in that way, I’ll part with you,” says I, “what do you mean Josiah Allen?”

Says he, lookin’ doun on me with the persperation a pourin’ down his face,

“I am a singin’ base.”

Says I, “Do you set down and behave yourself, she has pitched it too low, it hain’t base, Josiah.”

Says he, “I know better Samantha, it is base, I guess I know base when I hear it.”

But I still held him by the vest, determined that he shouldn’t start off again, if I could hender it, and jest at that minute the duett begun agin, and Sophronia Gowdey took advantage of Betsey’s indignation and suprise, and took the part right out of her mouth, and struck in with the Editer of the Augur—she is kinder after him too, and she broke out with the curiousest variations you ever heard. The warblin’s and quaverin’s and shakin’s, she put in was the curiousest of any thing I ever heard. And thankful was I that it took up Josiah’s attention so, that he sunk down on his seat, and listened to ’em with breathless awe, and never offered to put in his note at all.

I waited till they got through singin’ and then I whispered to him, and says I,

“Now do you keep still for the rest of this meetin’ Josiah Allen.”

Says he, “As long as I call myself a man, I will have the privilege of singin’ base.”

“Sing,” says I in a tone almost cold enough to make his whiskers frosty, “I’d call it singin’ if I was you.” It worried me all through meetin’ time, and thankful was I when he dropped off into a sweet sleep jest before meetin’ was out. He never heard ’em sing the last time, and I had to hunch him for the benediction.

In the next week’s Augur came out a lot of verses, among which were the following: they were headed

There was 13 verses and Josiah read them all, but I wouldn’t read but 7 of ’em. I don’t like poetry.