One bright, beautiful day, I had got my mornin’s work all done up, and had sot doun to double some carpet yarn, and Josiah sot behind the stove, blackin’ his boots, when Betsey come in for a mornin’s call. She hadn’t sot but a few minutes when says she,

“I saw you was not doun to the lecture night before last, Josiah Allen’s wife. I was sorry that I attended to it, but my uncle’s people where I was visitin’ went, and so I went with them. But I did not like it, I do not believe in wimmin’s havin’ any rights. I think it is real bold and unwomanly in her to want any rights. I think it is not her speah, as I remarked last night to our deah New Preacher. As we was a coming out, afteh the lecture, the fringe of my shawl ketched on to one of the buttons of his vest, and he could not get it off—and I did not try to, I thought it was not my place—so we was obleeged to walk close togatheh, cleah through the hall, and as I said to him, afteh I had enquired if he did not find it very lonesome here, says I, ‘It is not wimmin’s speah to vote,’ and says I, ‘do you not think it is woman’s nature naturally to be clingin’?’ ‘I do,’ says he, ‘Heaven knows I do.’ And he leaned back with such a expression of stern despaih on to his classic features, that I knew he felt it strongly. And I said the truth. I do not believe wimmin ought to vote.”

“Nor I nuther,” says Josiah, “she haint got the rekrisite strength to vote, she is too fraguile.”

Jest at this minute the boy that draws the milk came along, and Josiah, says he to me, “I am in my stockin’ feet, Samantha, can’t you jest step out and help Thomas Jefferson on with the can?”

Says I, “If I am too fraguile to handle a paper vote, Josiah Allen, I am too fraguile to lift 100 and 50 pounds of milk.”

He didn’t say nothin’, but he slipped on his rubbers and started out, and Betsey resumed, “It is so revoltin’ to female delicacy to go to the poles and vote; most all of the female ladies that revolve around in the high circles of Jonesville aristocracy agree with me in thinkin’ it is real revoltin’ to female delicacy to vote.”

“Female delicacy!” says I, in a austeer tone. “Is female delicacy a plant that withers in the shadder of the pole, but flourishes in every other condition only in the shadder of the pole?” says I in a tone of witherin’ scorn. “Female delicacy flourishes in a ball room, where these sensitive creeters with dresses on indecently low in the neck, will waltz all night with strange men’s arms round their waists,” says I. “You have as good as throwed it in my face, Betsey Bobbet, that I haint a modest woman, or I would be afraid to go and vote; but you ketch me with a low neck dress on, Betsey Bobbet, and you will ketch me on my way to the Asylum, and there haint a old deacon, or minister, or presidin’ Elder in the Methodist church, that could get me to waltz with ’em, let alone waltzin’ with promiscuus sinners. And,” says I in the deep, calm tone of settled principle, “if you don’t believe it, bring on your old deacons and ministers, and presidin’ Elders, and try me.”

“You are gettin’ excited, Samantha,” says Josiah.

“You jest keep blackin’ your boots, Josiah Allen, I haint a talkin’ to you. Betsey, is it any worse for a female woman to dress herself in a modest and Christian manner, with a braige viel over her face, and a brass mounted parasol in her hand, and walk decently to the pole and lay her vote on it, than to be introduced to a man, who for all you know may be a retired pirate, and have him walk up and hug you by the hour, to the music of a fiddle and a base violin?”

“But if you vote you have got to go before a board of men, and how tryin’ to delicacy that would be.”

“I went before a board of men when I joined the meetin’ house, and when I got the premium for my rag carpet, and I still live and call myself a respectable character, but,” says I in a vain of unconcealed sarcasm “if these delicate ball characters are too modest to go in broad daylight armed with a umbrell before a venerable man settin’ on a board, let ’em have a good old female board to take thier votes.”

“Would it be lawful to have a female board?” says Betsey.

“Wimmen can be boards at charity schools—poor little paupers, pretty hard boards they find ’em some times—and they can be boards at fairs, and hospitals, and penitentarys, and picnics, and African missions, and would it be any worse to be a board before these delicate wimmen,” says I, almost carried away with enthusiasm, “I would be a board myself.”

“Yes you would make a pretty board,” says Josiah, “you would make quite a pile of lumber.” I paid no attention to his sarkastic remark, and Betsey went on.

“It would be such public business Josiah Allen’s wife for a woman to recieve votes.”

“I don’t know as it would be any more public business, than to sell Episcopal pin cushiens, Methodist I scream, or Baptist water melons, by the hour to a permiscuus crowd.”

But says Betsey, “’twould devouh too much of a female’s time, she would not have time to vote, and perform the other duties that are incumbient upon her.”

Says I, “Wimmen find time for thier everlastin’ tattin’ and croshain’. They find plenty of time for thier mats, and their tidys, their flirtations, thier feather flowers, and bead flowers, and hair flowers, and burr flowers, and oriental paintin’s, and Grecian paintin’s, and face paintin’s. They spend more time a frizzin’ thier front hair than they would, to learn the whole constitution by heart; and if they get a new dress they find plenty of time to cut it all up into strips, jest to pucker it up and set it on agin. They can dress up in thier best and patrol the streets as regular as a watchman, and lean over the counter in dry good stores till they know every nail in ’em by heart. They find plenty of time for all this, and to go to all the parties they can hear of, and theatres and conserts, and shows of all kinds, and to flirt with every man they can lay holt of, and to cover their faces with their fans and giggle; but when it comes to an act as simple and short as puttin’ a letter into the post office, they are dreadful short on it for time.”

But says Betsey, “The study that would be inevitable on a female in ordeh to make her vote intelligably, would it not be too wearing on her?”

“No! not a single bit; s’posin these soft, fashionable wimmen should read a little about the nation she lives in, and the laws that protects her if she keeps ’em, and hangs and imprisons her if she breaks ’em? I don’t know but it would be as good for her, as to pore over novels all day long,” says I; “these very wimmen that think the President’s bureau is a chest of draws where he keeps his fine shirts, and the tariff is a wild horse the senators keep to ride out on,—these very wimmen that can’t find time to read the constitution, let ’em get on to the track of a love-sick hero and a swoonin’ heroine, and they will wade through half a dozen volumes, but what they will foller ’em clear to Finis to see ’em married there,” says I, warmin’ with my subject, “Let there be a young woman hid in a certain hole, guarded by 100 and 10 pirates, and a young man tryin’ to get to her, though at present layin’ heavily chained in a underground dungeon with his rival settin’ on his back, what does a woman care for time or treasure, till she sees the pirates all killed off with one double revolver, and the young woman lifted out swoonin’ but happy, by the brave hero?” Says I, in a deep camp meetin’ voice, “If there had been a woman hid on the Island of Patmos, and Paul’s letters to the churches had been love letters to her, there wouldn’t be such a thick coat of dust on bibles as there is now.

“But if wimmen don’t read about the laws they’ll know as much as some other folks do. I have seen men voters,” says I, and I cast a stern glance onto Josiah as I spoke, “whose study into national affairs didn’t wear on ’em enough to kill ’em at all. I have seen voters,” says I with another cuttin’ look at him, “that didn’t know as much as their wives did.” Josiah quailed a very little as I said this, and I continued on—“I have seen Irish voters, whose intellects wasn’t tiresome to carry round, and whose knowledge concernin’ public affairs wasn’t so good as it was about rum, and who would sell their votes for a drink of whiskey, and keep it up all day, votin’ and drinkin’ and then drinkin’ and votin’, and I guess wimmen won’t do any worse.”

Betsey almost quailed before my lofty glance and voice, but continued on cleavin’ to the subject—“How awful and revolting it would sound to hear the faih and softeh sex talking about tariffs and caurkusses.”

“I don’t know,” says I, “but I had as lives hear ’em talk about caurkusses, as to hear ’em backbitin’ thier neighbors and tearin’ the charicters of other wimmen into bits, or talkin’ about such little things as wimmen will; why in a small place, a woman can’t buy a calico apron without the neighborhood holdin’ a inquest over it. Some think she ort to have it, some think it is extravagant in her, and some think the set flower on it is too young for her, and then they will all quarrel agin whether she ort to make it with a bib or not.” Says I “the very reason why men’s talk as a general thing is nobler than wimmen’s, is because they have nobler things to think about.” Says I “Betsey Bobbet, when did you ever know a passel of men to set down and spend a whole afternoon talkin’ about each other’s vest, and mistrustin’ such a feller painted; fill a woman’s mind with big, noble sized thoughts, and she won’t talk such little back bitin’ gossip as she does now.”

“Josiah Allen’s wife,” says Betsey, “I shall always say it is not woman’s speah to vote.”

“No,” says Josiah, “it hain’t; wimmen would vote for the handsomest men, and the men that praised thier babys, they wouldn’t stand up onto principal as men do, and then, how they would clog up the road ’lection day, tryin’ to get all the news they could, wimmen have got such itchin’ ears.”

“Itchin’ ears!” says I, “principle!” says I, in low but awful deep tones of voice, “Josiah Allen, it seems to me, that I wouldn’t try to stand up onto principle agin, till the pantaloons are wore out you hired a man with to vote your ticket.” He begun to look sheepish at once, and I continued in still more awful accents, “talk about itchin’ ears, Josiah Allen! here you have sot all the mornin’ blackin’ your boots, you have rubbed them boots till you have most rubbed holes through ’em, jest for an excuse to set here and hear me and Betsey Bobbet talk. And it hain’t the first time nuther, for I have known you Josiah Allen, when I have had female visitors, to leave your work and come in and lay on that lounge behind the stove till you was most sweltered, pretendin’ you was readin’.”

“I wuz a readin’,” says Josiah drawin’ on his boots.

“I have ketched you laughin’ over a funeral sermon, and a President’s message, what is there highlarious in a funeral sermon Josiah Allen? What is there exhileratin’ in a President’s message?”

“Wall,” says he, “I guess I’ll water the steers.”

“I should think you had better,” says I coolly, and after he went out, Betsey resumed,

“Josiah Allen’s wife, I still say it is not woman’s speah to vote,” and she continued, “I have got a few verses in my pocket, which I composed that night aftah I returned from the lecture, which embody into them the feelings of my soul concerning woman’s speah. I went to my chamber, and let down my back haih, and took out my teeth, I always feel more free somehow, and poetic, with my hair down and my teeth out, and there I wrote these stanzeys, and seeing it is you, I will read them to you.”

My firm and cast iron principles forbid my wishin’ in a reckless way that I wasn’t myself, and I was in my own house, and horspitality forbid my orderin’ her in stern accents, not to read a word of ’em, so I submitted, and she read as follows:

“The above are my sentiments,” says she, as she folded up the paper.

“I am a married woman,” says I, “and I hain’t got nothin’ to say aginst marryin’, especally when Josiah’s back is turned, I don’t believe in bein’ underhanded. But there are a great many widows and unmarried wimmen in the world, what are they to do?”

“Let them take heed to these glorious and consoling words,

“Shet up about your speahs,” says I, gettin wore out, “You may sing it Betsey Bobbet, and ministers may preach it, and writers may orate about it, that it is women’s only speah to marry, but what are you goin’ to do? Are you goin’ to compel men to marry all the wimmen off?” says I, with a penetratin’ look onto Betsey.

“I have seen wimmen that was willin’ to marry, but the men wasn’t forthcomin’, what are they to do? What are the wimmen to do whose faces are as humbly as a plate of cold greens?” Says I, in stern tones, “Are men to be pursued like stricken dears by a mad mob of humbly wimmen? Is a woman to go out into the street and collar a man and order him to marry her? I am sick of this talk about its bein’ a woman’s only speah to marry. If it is a woman’s only speah to marry, the Lord will provide her with a man, it stands to reason he will. One that will suit her too, one that will come jest as nateral for her to leave all of the rest of the world and foller, as for a sunflower to foller on after the sun. One that she seems to belong to, jest like North and South America, joined by nature unbeknown to them ever sense creation. She’ll know him if she ever sees him, for their two hearts will suit each other jest like the two halves of a pair of shears. These are the marriages that Heaven signs the certificates of, and this marryin’ for a home, or for fear of bein’ called a old maid, is no more marriage in the sight of God, no more true marriage, than the blush of a fashionable woman that is bought for ten cents an ounce and carried home in her pocket, is true modesty.”

Here was a pause, durin’ which Betsey quailed some, and I then resumed again, in the same lofty tones and I don’t know but a little loftier, “There is but one thing that makes marriage pure and holy in the sight of God.”

“And what is that?” says Betsey in an enquirin’ tone.

“Love,” says I, in a full clear tone, “Love, such as angels feel for one another, love, such as Samantha Smith felt for Josiah Allen, though why I loved him, Heaven knows, I don’t. But I couldn’t help it, and I would have lived single till them days we read of, if I hadn’t. Though for what reason I loved him—” I continued mewsin’ly, and almost lost in deep retrospectin’,—“I don’t know. I don’t believe in rehearsin’ privacies and braggin’ about such things, but in the name of principle I speak. A richer man wanted me at the same time, a man that knew half as much agin, at least, as Josiah. I no need to have wet the ends of my fingers in dishwater if I had married the other one, but I couldn’t do it, I loved Josiah, though why”—and agin I plunged down into deep abstraction as I murmured to myself,—“though why I did, I don’t know.”

“In them days,” says I, risin’ up agin out of my revery, “In them days to come, when men and wimmen are independent of each other, marriage will be what it ought to be, for folks won’t marry unless God unites their hearts so close they can’t get ’em apart nohow. They won’t be tackled together by any old rotton ropes of interest and accomidation, that are liable to break in to pieces any minute, and in them days, the hands of divorce writers won’t be so lame as they be now.”

“I cannot comprehend,” says Betsey “how wimmen’s votin’, will change the reprehensible ideah of marryin’ for a home, or for fear of being ridiculed about, if it will, I cannot see.”

“Can’t you see daylight Betsey Bobbet, when the sun is mountin’ up into the clear horizeon?” Says I in a eloquent voice, “it stands to reason that a woman won’t marry a man she don’t love, for a home, if she is capable of makin’ one for herself. Where’s the disgrace of bein’ a old maid, only wimmen are kinder dependent on men, kinder waitin’ to have him ask her to marry him, so as to be supported by him? Give a woman as many fields to work in as men have, and as good wages, and let it be thought jest as respectable for ’em to earn thier livin’ as for a man to, and that is enough. It riles me to hear ’em talk about wimmen’s wantin’ to wear the breeches; they don’t want to; they like calico better than broadcloth for stiddy wear, they like muslin better than kersey mear for handsome, and they have a nateral hankerin’ after the good opinion and admiration of the other sect, but they can do better without that admiration than they can without vittles.”

“Yes,” says Betsey “men do admire to have wimmen clingin’ to ’em, like a vine to a stately tree, and it is indeed a sweet view.”

“So ’tis, so ’tis,” says I, “I never was much of a clinger myself. Still if females want to cling, I haint no objection. But,” says I, in reasonable tones, “as I have said more’n a hundred times, if men think that wimmen are obleeged to be vines, they ought to feel obleeged to make trees of themselves, for ’em to run up on. But they won’t; some of ’em, they will not be trees, they seem to be sot against it. And as I have said what if a vine haint no tree convenient to cling to? or if she has, what if the tree she clings to happens to fall through inherient rotteness at the core, thunder and lightnin’ or etcetery? If the string breaks what is to become of the creeper if it can’t do nothin’ but creep? Says I, “it is all well enough for a rich woman to set in a velvet gown with her feet on the warm hearth and wonder what makes the poor drunkard’s wife down in the street, shiver. Let her be out once with her bare feet in the snow, and she’d find out. It haint the rich, happy, comfortable clingers I am talkin’ in behalf of, but the poor shiverers outside who haint nothin’ to cling to.”

“Women’s speah”—began Betsey.

“Women’s speah,” says I interuptin’ her in a magestic tone before which Betsey quailed imperceptably. “Women’s speah is where she can do the most good; if God had meant that wimmen should be nothin’ but men’s shadders, He would have made gosts and fantoms of ’em at once. But havin’ made ’em flesh and blood, with braens and souls, I believe He meant ’em to be used to the best advantage. And the talk about wimmen havin’ to fight, and men wash dishes, if wimmen vote, is all shear nonsense. In the Baptist church where wimmen vote, I don’t see as they act different from other wimmen, and I don’t see as the Baptist men act any more sheepish than common men.” Says I “it is jest as ridiculous to say it would make a woman act coarse and rampage round to vote, as to say that kissin’ a pretty baby, or lovin’ books and music and pictures, makes a man a hen huzzy.”

Says I, carried away with powerful emotions, “you may shet a lion up for years, in a room full of cambric needles and tattin shettles, and you can’t get him to do anything but roar at ’em, it haint a lion’s nature to do fine sewin’,” says I. “And you may tie up a old hen as long as you please, and you can’t break her of wantin’ to make a nest, and scratch for her chickens.” Says I—wavin’ my right hand, slow and magestically—“you may want a green shade onto the front side of your house, and to that end and effect you may plant a acorn, and set out a rose bush, but all the legeslaters in creation can’t make that acorn tree blow out with red posys, no more can they make that rose bush stand up straight as a giant. And thier bein’ planted by the side of each other—on the same ground and watered out of the same waterin’ jug—don’t olter thier natural turn. They will both help shade the winder, but do it in their own way which is different. And men and wimmen votin’ side by side, would no more alter their natural dispositions than singin’ one of Watts’es hymns together would. One will sing base, and the other air, so long as the world stands.”

“Josiah Allen’s wife,” says Betsey, “I think your views are uronieus. We cannot think alike about clinging, we also diffeh in our views about caurkusses. When I consideh that ’lections and caurkusses come once every yeah, then comes home the solemn feelin’, how wearin’ it would be for a female to drop all her domestic labohs and avocations, and be present at them. Josiah Allen’s wife, let us sposen’ the case, sposen’ a women is a washin’, or churnin’ buttah, how could she leave this laboh to go and vote?” I was so wore out, that says I, “we will sposen’ the case, sposen’ a women is a fool, how can she talk common sense?” Says I, with so impatient a gesture that I broke off a thread, and had to tie it on agin “you are goin’ over the same old ground agin of a woman’s time,” says I “wimmen can drop all thier domestic labors and go to fares—town fares, and county fares, and state fares if she can get to ’em. She will be on the ground in time to see the first punkin and bedquilt carried on to it, and she will stay to see the last horse, trot his last trot; she can find time for picnics and pleasure exertions, and celebrations, and 4th of July—that last, all day—and it would take about half a minute to vote. But,” says I, in the most grand and noble tone I had used yet. “Men haint took by the coat collar and dragged off to caurkusses and ’lections, they don’t go unless they are a mind to, and I don’t suppose wimmen would be drove there like a flock of sheep. They wouldn’t want to go; only, when some great law was up concerning right and wrong, or her own intrinsick interests, as givin a mother a equal right to her children, a right she earnt naturally, a deed God himself stamped with the great seals of fear and agony. Or bein’ taxed without representation; which breaks the old constitution right into, in the middle, every time it is done. Or concernin’ equal pay, for equal labor. I spose every female clerk and teacher and operator, who have half starved on about one third what men get for doin’ the same work would be on hand. Like wise concerning Temperance, I spose every drunkards wife and mother and girl would go to the pole, that could get there. Poor things, under the Legislator they have enjoyed the right of sufferin’; sposen’ it lets ’em enjoy the right of suffragin’ a spell, mebby they would find it as easy if not easier.”

Jest at this minute we see the new Local Preacher, comin’ down the road in a open buggy, and Betsey said to once she must be goin’, for her folks would be a worryin’ after her. Says I, as she hurried to the door,

“Mebby you will get a ride.”

“Oh no,” says she, “I had a great deal rather walk afoot, I think there is nothing like walking afoot for strengthenin’ the mussles.”

I am glad she felt so, for I see he didn’t ask her to ride. But as she said, health is a blessing, and it is a treat indeed to have strong mussles.