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SWUET CICELY.

SWEET CICELY;

OR,

JOSIAH ALLEN

AB A

POLITIOIAN.

"JOSIAH ALLEN'S WIFE."

(MARIETTA HOLLEY).

, .k t, >>.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

TORONTO :
WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING STREET EAST.

1885.

FZ 3

2044

Bntkrbd accorditid^ to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one tliousand
eight hundred and eighty -five, by William Brioos, agent for Henry E. .lerrard,
of London, England, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa.

■?!'

THE SAD-EYED MOTHERS,

WHO, LIKE CICELY,

ARE LOOKING ACR0>3 THE CRADLE OF THEIU

BOYS INTO THE GREAT WORLD OP

TEMPTATION AND DANGER,

Zl}is )3ool( ts BeDtcatrlii.

PREFACE.

JosrAH and me got to talkin' it over. He said it wuzn't
right to think more of one child than you did of another.

And I says, " That is so, Josiah."

And he says, " Then, why did you say yesterday, that
you loved sweet Ci'cely better than any of the rest of
your thought-children? You said you loved 'em all, and
was kinder sorry for the hull on 'em, but you loved her
the best ; what made you say it ? "

Says I, « I said it, to tell the truth."

" Wall, what did you do it for .? " he kep' on, determined
to get a reason.

" I did it," says I, a comin' out still plainer, — " I did it
to keep from lyin'."

"Wall, when you say it hain't right to feel so, what
makes you?"

" I don't know, Josiah," says T, lookin* at him, and be-
yend him, way into the depths of emotions and feelin's
we can't understand nor help, —

" I don't know why, but I know I do."

And he drawed on his boots, and went out to the barn.

vil

/ >

SWEET CICELY.

CHAPTER I.

It was somewhere about the middle of winter, along in
the forenoon, that Josiah Allen was telegrafted to, unex-
pected. His niece Cicely and her little boy was goin*
to pass through Jonesville the next day on her way to
visit her aunt Mary (aunt on her mother's side), and she
would stop off, and make us a short visit if convenient.

We wuz both tickled, highly tickled ; and Josiah, before
he had read the telegraf ten minutes, was out killin' a hen.
The plumpest one in the flock was the order I give ; and
I wus a beginnin' to make a fuss, and cook up for her.

We loved her jest about as well as we did Tirzah Ann.
Sweet Cicely was what we used to call her Avhen she was
a girl. Sweet Cicely is a plant that has a pretty white
posy. And our niece Cicely was prettier and purer and
sweeter than any posy that ever grew: so we thought
then, and so we think still.

Her mother was my companion's sister, — one of a pair
of twins, Mary and M-iria, that thought the world of each
other, as twins will. Their mother died when they wus

i. i

JOSIAU TELL1>'<. TllK NEWS TO SA.MANTUA.

SWEET CICELY.

both of 'em babies ; and they wus adopted by a rich aunt,
who brought 'em up elegant, and likely too : that I will
say for her, if she wus a 'Pucopal, and I a Methodist.
I am both liberal and truthful — very.

Maria wus Cicely's ma, and she wus left a widow when
she wus a young woman ; and Cicely wus her only child.
And the two wus bound up in each other as I never see a
mother and daughter in my life before or sense.

The third year after Josiah and me wus married, Maria
wusn't well, and the doctor ordered her out into the
country for her health ; and she and little Cicely spent
the hull of that summer with us. Cicely wus about ten ;
and how we did love that girl ! Her mother couldn't bear
to brve her out of her sight ; and I declare, we all of us
wus jest about as bad. And from that time they used to
spend most all of their summers in Jonesville. The air
agreed with 'em, and so did I : we never had a word of
trouble. And we used to visit them quite a good deal in
the winter season : they lived in the city.

Wall, as Cicely got to be a young girl, I used often to
set and look at her, and wonder if the Lord could have
made a prettier, sweeter girl if he had tried to. She
looked to me jest perfect, and so she did to Josiah.

And she knew so much, too, and wus so woma.ily and
quiet and deep. I s'pose it wus bein' always with her
mother that made her seem older and more thoughtful
than girls usially are. It seemed as if her great dark eyes
wus full of wisdom beyend — fur beyend — her years, and
sweetness too. Never wus there any sweeter eyes under
the heavens than those of our niece Cicely.

She wus very fair and pale, you would think at first ;

SWEET CICELY.

but, when you would come to look closer, you would see
there was nothing sickly in her complexion, only it was
very white and smooth, — a good deal like the pure white
leaves of the posy Sweet Cicely. She had a gentle, tender
mouth, rose-pink; and her cheeks wnz, when she would
get rousted up and excited about any thing ; and then it
would all sort o' die out again into that pure white. And
over all her face, as sweet and womanly as it was, there
was a look of power, somehow, a look of strength, as if
she would venture much, dare much, for them she loved.
She had the gift, not always a happy one, of loving, — a
strength of cevotion that always has for its companion-
trait a gift of endurpnce, of martyrdom if necessary.

She would give all, dare all, endure all, for tl\em she
loved. You could see that in her face before you had
been with her long enough to see it in her life.

Her hair wus a soft, pretty brown, about the color of
her eyes. And she wus a little body, slender, and sort o'
plump too ; and her arms and hands and neck wus soft
and white as snow almost.

Yes, we loved Cicely : and no one could blame us, or
wonder at us for callin' her after the posy Sweet Cicely ;
for she wus prettier than any posy that ever blew, enough
sight.

Wall, she had always said she couldn't live if her
mother died.

But she did, poor little creeter ! she did.

Maria died when Cicely wus about eighteen. She had
always been delicate, and couldn't live no longer : so she
died. And Josiah and me went right after the poor child,
and brought her home with us.

SWEET CICELY.

She lived, Cicely did, because she wus young, and
couldn't die. And Josiah and me wus dretful good to

CICELY.

her ; and many's the nights that I have gone into her room
when I'd hear her cryin' way along in the night ; many's
the times I h, .e gone in, and took her in my arms, and

SWEET CICELY.

held her there, and cried with her, and sootlied her, and
got her to sleep, and held he^ in my arms like a baby till
mornin'.

Wall, she lived with us most a year that time ; and it
wus about two years after, while she wus to souie of her
father's folks'es (they wus very rich), that she met the
young man she married, — Paul Slide.

He wus a -handsome young man, well-behaved, only he
would drink a little once in a while : he'd got into the
habit at college, where his mate wus wild, and had his
turns. But he wus very pretty in his manners, Paul
was, — polite, good-natured, generous-dispositioned, — and
very rich.

And as to his looks, there wuzn't no earthly fault to
find with him, only jest his chin. And I told Josiah, that
how Cicely could marry a man with such a chin wus a
mystery to me.

And Josiah said, " What is the matter with his chin ? "

And I says, " Why, it jest sets x^i^ht back from his
mouth ; he hain't got no chin at all hardly," says I. "The
place where his chin ort to be is uothin' but a holler
place all filled up with irresolution and weakness. And I
believe Cicely will see trouble with that chin."

And then — I well remember it, for it was the very first
time after marriage, and so, of course, the very first time
in our two lives — Josiah called me a fool, a " dumb fool,"
or jest the same as called me so. He says, " I wouldn't
be a dumb fool if I was in your place."

I felt worked up. But, like warriors on a battle-field,
I grew stronger for the fray ; and the fray didn't scare me
none.

ih'

PAUL SLIDE.

•I

SWEET CICELY.

But I says, " You'll see if you live, Josiah Allen ; " and
he did.

But, as I said, I didn't see how Cicely ever fell in love
with a man with such a chin. But, as I learned after-
wards, she fell in love with him under a fur collar. It wus
on a slay-ride. And he wuz very handsome from his
mouth up, very : his mouth wuz ruther weak. It wus a
case of love at first sight, which I believe in considerable ;
and she couldn't help lovin' him, women are so queer.

I had always said that when Cicely did love, it would
go hard with her. Many's the offers she'd had, but didn't
care for 'em. But I knew, with her temperament and
nater, that love, if it did come to her, would come to
stay, and it would come hard and voyalent. '^nd so it
did.

She worshipped him, as I said at first, under a fur collar.
And then, when a woman once gets to lovin' a man as she
did, why, she san't help herself, chin or no chin. When
a woman has once thro wed herself in front of her idol, it
hain't so much matter whether it is stuffed full of gold, or
holler: it hain't so much matter what they be, I think.
Curius, hain't it ?

It hain't the easiest thing in the world for such a woman
as Cicely to love, but it is a good deal easier for her than
to unlove, as she found out afterwards. For twice b'^' re
her marriage she saw him out of his head with liquor ; and
it wus my advice to her, to give him up.

And she tried to unlove him, tried to give him up.

But, good land ! she might jest as well b' e took a piece
of her own heart out, as to take out of it h' 'ove for him :
it had become a part of her. And he told iier she could

SWEET CICELY.

save him, her influence could redeem him, and it wus the
only thing that could save him.

And Cicely couldn't stand such talk, of course ; and she
believed him — believed that she could love him so well,
throw her influence so around him, as to hold him back
from any evil course.

It is a beautiful hope, the very beautifulest and divinest
piece of folly a woman can commit. Beautiful enough in
the sublime martyrdom of the idee, to make angels smile ;
and vain enough, and foolish enough in its utter useless-
ness, to make sinners weep. It can't be done — not in 98
cases out of a 100 at least.

Why, if a man hain't got love enough for a won. an when
he is tryin' to win her affection, — when he is on proba-
tion, as you may say, — to stop and turn round in his
downward course, how can she expect he will after he has
got her, and has let down his watch, so to speak ?

But she loved him. And when I warned her with tears
in my eyes, warned her that mebby it wus more than her
own safety and happiness that wus imperilled, I could see
by the look in her eyes, though she didn't say much, that
it wusn't no use for me to talk ; for she wus one of the
constant natures that can't wobble round. And though I
don't like wobblin', still I do honestly believe that the
wobblers are happier than them that can't wobble.

I could see jest how it wuz, and I couldn't bear to have
her blamed. And I would tell folks, — some of the rela-
tions on her mother's side, — when they would say, " What
a fool she wus to have him ! " — I'd say to 'em, " Wall,
when a woman sees the man she loves goin' down to ruin-
ation, and tries to unlove him, she'll find out jest how

SWEET CICELY.

much harder it is to unlove liim than to love him in the
first place : they'll find out it is a tough job to tackle."

I said this to blamcis of Cicely (relatives, the best
blamers you can find anywhere). But, at the same time,

SAMAN rUA AXU THK *' BI.AMERS.

it would have been my way, when he had come a courtin'
me so far gone with liquor that he could hardly stand up —
why, I should have told him plain, that I wouldn't try
to set myself up as a rival to alcohol, and he might pay to
that his attentions exclusively hereafter.

But she didn't. And he promised sacred to abstain,

SWEET CICELY.

and could, and did, for most a year; and she married
him.

But, jest before the marriage, I got so rousted up
a thinkin' about what I had heard of liim at college, —
and I studied on his picture, which she had sent me, took
sideways too, and I could see plain (why, he hadn't no
chin at all, as you may say ; and his lips was weak and
waverin' as ever lips was, though sort o' amiable and fas-
cinating), — and I got to forebodin' so about that chin,
and my love for her wus a hunchin' me up so all the time,
that I went to see her on a short tower, to beset her on
the subject. But, good land! I might have saved my
breath, I might have saved my tower.

I cried, and she cried too. And I says to her before I
thought, —

" He'll be the ruin of you. Cicely."

And she says, " I would rather be beaten by his hand,
than to be crowned by another. Why, I love him, aunt
Samantha."

You see, that meant a awful sight to her. And as she
looked at me so earnest and solemn, with tears in them
pretty brown eyes, there wus in her look all that that
word could possibly mean to any soul.

But I cried into my white linen handkerchief, and
couldn't help it, and couldn't help sayin', as I see that
look, —

"Cicely, I am afraid he will break your heart — kiJ^
you" —

" Why, I am not afraid to die when I am with him. I
am afraid of nothing — of life, or death, or eternity."

Well, I see my talk was no use. I see she'd have him,

SWEET CICELY.

chin or no chin. If I could have taken her up in my
arms, and run a "'ay with her then and there, how much
misery I could have saved her from ! But I couldn't : I
had the rheunuitiz. And I had to give up, and go home
disappointed, but carryin' this thought home with me on
my tower, — that I had done my duty by our sweet
Cicely, and could do no more.

As I said, he promised firm to give up drinking. But,
good land! what could you expect from that chin? That
chin couldn't stand temptation if it came in his way.
At the same time, his love for Cicely was such, and his
good heart and his natural gentlemanly intuitions was
such, that, if he could have been kep' out of the way of
temptation, he would have been all right.

If there hadn't been drinking-saloons right in front of
that chin, if it could have walked along the road without
runnin' right into 'em, it would have got along. That
chin, and them waverin'-lookiii', amiable lips, wouldn't
have stirred a step out of their ways to get ruined and
disgraced : they wouldn't have took the trouble to.

And for a year or so he and the chin kep' out of the
way of temptation, or ruther temptation kep' out of their
way ; and Cicely was happy, — radiently happy, as only
such a nature as hern can be. Her face looked like a
mornin' in June, it wus so bright, and glowing with joy
and happy love.

I visited her, stayed 3 days and 2 nights with her ; and
I almost forgot to forebode about the lower part of his
face, I found 'em so happy and prosperous and likely.

Paul wus very rich. He wus the only child : and his
pa left 2 thirds of his property to him, and the other third

ir m

SWEET CICELY.

to his ma, which wus more than she could ever use while
she wus alive ; and at her death it wus to go to Paul and
his heirs.

They owned most all of the village they lived in. His
pa had owned the township the village was built on, and
had built most all the village himself, and rented the build-
ings. He owned a big manufactory there, and the buildings
rented high.

Wall, it wus in the second year of their marriage that
that old college chumb — (and I wish he had been chumbed
by a pole, before he had ever gone there). He had lost his
property, and come down in the world, and had to work for
a livin' ; moved into th.it village, and opened a drinking-
saloon and billiard-room.

He had been Paul's most intimate friend at college, and
his evil genius, so his mother said. But he was bright,
witty, generous in a way, unprincipled, dissipated. And
he wanted Paul's company, and he wanted Paul's money ,
and he had a chin himself, and knew how to manage them
that hadn't any.

Wall, Cicely and his mother tried to keep Paul from that
bad influence. But he said it would look shabby to not
take ar notice of a man because he wus down in the
world. He wouldn't have much to do with him, but it
wouldn't do to not notice him at all. How curius, that
out of good comes bad, and out of bad, good. That was
a good-natured idee of Paul's if he had had a chin that
could have held up his principle ; but he didn't.

So he gradually fell under the old influence again. He
didn't mean to. He hadn't no idee of doin' so when he
begun. It was the chin.

BWEET CICELY.

He begun to drink hard, spent liis nights in the saloon,
gambled, — slipped right down the old, smooth track worn
by millions of jest such weak feet, towards ruin. And
(Cicely couldn't hold him back after he had got to slippin' :
her arms \\ uzn't strong enough.

She went to the saloon-keeper, and cried, and begged of
him not to sell her husband any more liquor. He was
very polite to her, very courteous: everybody was to
Cicely. But in a polite way he told her that Paul wus
his best customer, and he shouldn't offend him by refusing
to sell him liquor. She knelt at his feet, I hearn, — her
little, tender limbs on that rough floor before that evil
man, — find wept, and said, —

" For the sake of her boy, wouldn't he have mercy on
the boy's father."

But in a gentle way he gave her to understand that he
shouldn't make no change.

And he told her, speakin' in a dretful courteous way,
"that he had the law on his side: he had a license, and
he should keep right on as he was doing."

And so what could Cicely do ? And time went on, carry-
in' Paul further and further down the road that has but
one ending. Lower and lower he sunk, carryin' her heart,
her happiness, her life, down with him.

And they said one cold night Paul didn't come home at
all, and Cicely and his mother wus half crazy ; and they
wus too proud, to the last, to tell the servants more than
they could help: so, when it got to be most mornin', them
two delicate women started out through the deep snow, to
try to find him, tremblin' at every little heap of snow that
wus tumbled up in the path in front of 'em ; tremblin'

CICELY IN THE SALOON.

'IT^

SWEET CICELY.

and sick at heart with the agony and dread that v/us
rackin' their souls, as they would look over the cold fields
of snow stretching on each side of the road, and thinkin'
how that face would look if it wus lying there staring
with lifeless eyes up towards the cold moonlight, — the
face they had kissed, the face they had loved, — and think-
in', too, that the change that had come to it — was comin'
to it all the time — was more cruel and hopeless than the
change of death.

So they went on, clear to the saloon ; and there they
found him, — there he lay, perfectly stupid, and dead with
liquor.

And they both, the broken-hearted mother and the
broken-hearted wife, with the tears running down their
white cheeks, besought the saloon-keeper to let him alone
from ti.-.t night.

The mother says, "Paul is so good, that if you did
not tempt him, entice hira here, he would, out of pity to
us, stop his evil ways."

And the saloon-keeper was jest as polite as any man
wus ever seen to be, — took his hat off while he told 'em,
so I hearn, "that he couldn't go against his own in-
terests : if Paul chose to spend his money there, he should
take it."

" Will you break our hearts ? " cried the mother.

" Will you ruin my husband, the father of my boy ? "
sobbed out Cicely, her big, sorrowful eyes lookin' right
through his soul — if he had a soul.

And then the man, in a pleasant tone, reminded 'em, —

"That it wuzn't him that wu3 a doin' this. It wus the
law : if they wanted things changed, they must look fur-

SWEET CICELY.

ther than him. He had a license. The great Government
of the United States had sold him, for a few dollars, the
right to do just what he was doing. The law, and all
the respectability that the laws of our great and glorious
Republic can give, bore him out in all his acts. The law
was responsible for all the consequenses of his acts : the
men were responsible who voted for license — it was not
him."

" But you can do what we ask if you will, out of pity
to Paul, pity to us who love him so, and who are forced to
stand by powerless, and see him going to ruin — we who
would die for him willingly if it would do any good.
You can do this."

He was a little bit intoxicated, or he wouldn't have gii?
'em the cruel sneer he did at the last, — though he sneered
polite, — a holdin' his hat in his hand.

"As I said, my dear madam, it is not I, it is the law ; and
I see no other way for you ladies who feel so about it, only
to vote, and change the laws."

"Would to God I could!'''' said the old white-haired
mother, with her solemn eyes lifted to the heavens, in
which was her only hope.

" Would to God I could ! " repeated my sweet Cicely,
with her eyes fastened on the face of him who had prom-
ised to cherish her, and comfort her, and protect her, lay-
in' there at her feet, a mark for jeers and sneers, unable
to speak a word, or lift his hand, if his wife and mother
had been killed before him.

But they couldn't do any thing. They would have lain
their lives down for him at any time, but that wouldn't do
any good. The lowest, most ignorant laborer in their em-

15!

Ill

SWEET CICELY.

ploy had power in this matter, but they had none. They
had intellectual power enough, which, added to their utter
helplessness, only made their burden more unendurable ;
for tliey comprehended to the full the knowledge of what
was past, and what must come in the future unless help
came quickly. Tliey had the strength of devotion, tlie
strength of unselfish love.

They had the will, but they hadn't nothin' to tackle it
onto him with, to draw him back. For their prayers, tlieir
mi 'night watches, their tears, did not avail, as I said : they
Wi ut jest so far; they touched him, but they lacked tlie
tacklin'-power that was wanted to grip holt of him, and
draw him back. What they needed w.^s the justice of the
law to tackle the injustice ; and they hadn't got it, and
couldn't get holt of it: so they had to set with hands
folded, or lifted to the heavens in wild appeal, — either
way didn't help Paul any, — and see him a sinkin' and
a sinkin', slippin' further and further down ; and they had
to let him go.

He drunk harder and harder, neglected his business, got
quarrelsome. And one night, when the heavens was cur-
tained with blackness, like a pall let down to cover the ac-
cursed scene, he left Cicely with her pretty baby asleep on
her bosom, went down to the saloon, got into a quarrel
with that very friend of hisen, the saloon-keeper, over a
game of billiards, — they was both intoxicated, — and tlien
and there Paul committed murder^ and would have been
hung for it if he hadn't died in State's prison the night
before he got his sentence.

Awful deed ! Dreadful fate ! But no worse, as I told
Josiah when he wus a groanin' over it ; no worse, I told the

PAUL SHOOTING HIS FRIEND.

SWEET CICELY.

children when they was a cryin' over it ; no worse, I told
my own heart when the tears wus a runnin' down my
face like rain-water, — no worse because Cicely happened
to be our relation, and we loved her as we did our own
eyes.

And our broad land is full of jest such sufferin's, jest
such crimes, jest such disgrace, caused by the same cause ;
— as I told Josiah, suffering, disgrace, and crime made
legal and protected by the law.

And Josiah squirmed as I said it; and I see him squirm,
for he believed in it : he believed in licensing this shame
and disgrace and woe ; he believed in makin' it respect-
able, and wrappin' round it the mantilly of the law, to keep
it in a warm, healthy, llourishin' condition. Why, he had
helped do it himself ; he had helped the United States lift
up the mantilly ; he had voted for it.

He squirmed, but turned it off by usin' his bandana hard,
and sayin', in a voice all choked down with grief, —

•• Oh, poor Cicely ! poor girl ! "

" Yes," says I, " ' poor girl ! ' and the law you uphold
has made her * poor girl ' — has killed her ; for she won't
live through it, and you and the United States will see
that she won't."

He squirmed hard ; and my feelin's for him are such that
I can't bear to see him squirm voyalently, as much as I
blamed him and the United States, and as mad as I was at
both on 'em.

So I went to cryin' agin silently under my linen hand-
kerchief, and he cried into his bandana. It wus a awful
blow to both on us.

Wall, she lived, Cicely did, which was more than we any

SWEET CICELY.

one of us thought she could do. I went right there, and
stayed six weeks W'th her, hangin' right over her bed,
night and day ; and so did his mother, — she a broken-
hearted woman too. Her heart broke, too, by the United
States; and so I told Josiah, that little villain that got
killed was only one of his agents. Yes, her heart was
broke ; but she bore up for Cicely's sake and the boy's.
For it seemed as if she felt remorsful, and as if it was for
tliem that belonged to him who had ruined her life, to help
her all they could.

Wall, after about three weeks Cicely begun to live.
And so I wrote to Josiah that I guessed she would keep
on a livin' now, for the sake of the boy.

And so she did. And she got up from that bed a
shadow, — a faint, pale shadow of the girl that used to
brighten up our home for us. She was our sweet Cicely
still. But she looked like that posy after the frost has
withered it, and with the cold moonlight layin' on it.

Good and patient she wuz, and easy to get along with ;
for she seemed to hold earthly things with a dretful loose
grip, easy to leggo of 'em. And it didn't seem as if she
had any interest at all ia life, or care for any thing that
was a goin' on in the world, till the boy wus about four
years old ; and then she begun to get all rousted up about
him and his future. " She must live," she said : " she had
got to live, to do something to help him in the future.

"She couldn't die," she told me, "and leave him in a
world that was so hard for boys, where temptations and
danger stood all round her boy's pathway. Not only hid-
den perils, concealed from sight, so he might possibly es-
cape them, but open temptations, open dangers, made as

SWEET CICELY.

alluring as private avarice con d make them, and made as
respectable as dignified legal enac':ments could make them,
— all to draw her boy down tlie pathway his p(jor lallier

CICKLY AND THE BOY.

descended." For one of the curius things abou. "^'icely
wuz, she didn't seem to blame Paul hardly a mite, nor not
so very much the one that enticed him to drink. She

SWEET CICELY

as
!m,

lier

went back further tliaii them : she laid the blame onto our
laws; she laid the responsibility onto the ones that made
'cm, directly and indirectly, the legislators and the voters.

Curius tliat Cicely should feel so, when most every-
1)1 )dy saiv. that he could have stopped drinking if he had
wanted to. But then, I don't know as I could blame her
lor feelin' so when I thought of Paul's chin and lips.
Why, anybody tliat had them on 'em, and was made up
inside and outside accordin', as folks be that have them
k)oks; why, unless they was specially guarded by good
influences, and fenced off from bad ones, — why, they could
not exert any self-denial and control and firmness.

Why, I jest followed that chin and that mouth right
back through seven generations of the Slide family.
Paul's father wus a good man, had a good face ; took it
from his mother : but his father, Paul's grandfather, died
a drunkard. They have got a oil-portrait of him at Paul's
old home : I stopped there on my way home from Cicely's
one time. And for all the world he looked most exactly
like Paul, — the same sort of a irresolute, handsome, weak,
fascinating look to him. And all through them portraits
I could trace that chin and them lips. They would dis-
appear in some of 'em, but crop out agin further back.
And I asked the housekeeper, who had always lived in
the family, and wus proud of it, but honest; and she
knew the story of the hull Slide race.

And she said tliat every one of 'em that had that face
had traits accordin' ; and 'most every one of 'em got into
trouble of some kind.

One or two of 'em, specially guarded, I s'pose, by good
influences, got along with no further trouble than the loss

SWEET CICELY.

of the chin, and the feelin' they must have had inside of
'em, that they wuz liable to crumple right down any
minute.

And as they wus made with jest them looks, and jest
them traits, born so, entirely unbeknown to them, I
don't know as I can blame Cicely for feelin' as she did. If
temptation hadn't stood right in ihe road in front of
liim, why, he'd have got along, and lived happy. That's
Cicely's idee. And I don't know but she's in the right
ont.

But as I said, when her child wus about four years old,
Cicely took a turn, and begun to get all worked up and
excited by turns a worryin' about the boy. She'd talk
about it a sight to me, and I hearn it from others.

She rousted up out of her deathly weakness and heart-
broken, stunted calm, — for such it seemed to be for the
first two or three years after her husband's death. She
seemed to make an effort almost like that of a dead man
throwin' off the icy stupor of death, and risin' up with
numbed limbs, and shakin' off the death-robes, and livin'
agin. She rousted up with jest such a effort, so it
seemed, for the boy's sake.

She must live for the boy ; she must work ior the boy ;
she must try to throw some safeguards around his future.
What could she do to help him ? That wus the question
that was a hantin' her soul.

It wus jest like death for her to face the curius gaze of
the '/orld again ; for, like a wounded animal, she had
wanted to crawl away, and hide her cruel woe and dis-
grace in some sheltered spot, away from the sharp-sot eyes
of the babblin' world.

SWEET CICELY.

But she endured it. She came out of her quiet home,
wliere ])er heart liad bled in secret ; she came out into
society again ; and she did every thing she could, in her
gentle, quiet way. She joined temperance societies, —
helped push 'em forward with her money and her influ-
ence. With other white-souled wimmen, gentle and refined
as she was, she went into rough bar-rooms, and knelt on
their floors, and prayed what her sad heart wus full of, —
for pity and mercy for her boy, and other mothers' boys, —
prayed with that fellowship of suffering that made her
sweet voice as pathetic as tears, and patheticker, so I have
been told.

Hut oiiv'^ thing hurt her influence dretfully, and almost
broke her own heart. Paul had left a very large |)roperty,
but it wus all in the hands of an executor until the boy
wus of age. He wus to give Cicely a liberal, a very lib-
eral, sum every 3'ear, but wus to manage the property jest
as he thought best.

He wus a good business man, and one that meant to do
middlin' near right, but wus close for a bargain, and sot,
awful sot. And though he wus dretful polite, and made a
stiddy practice right along of callin' wimmen ""angels,"
still he would not brook a woman's interference.

Wall, he could get such big rents for drinkin'-saloons,
that four of Cicely's buildings wus rented for that pur-
pose ; and there wus one billiard-room. And what made
it worse for Cicely seemin'ly, it wus her own pro})erty, that
she brought to Paul when she wus married, that wus in-
vested in these buildings. At that time they wus rented
for dry-goods stores, and groceries. But the business
of the manufactories had increased greatly ; and there wus

SWEET CICELY.

three times the impuhition now tliere wiis when she went
there to live, and more saloons wus needed ; and tliese
hnildhi«;s wus handy ; and the executer had ])ig prices
ofil'ered to him, and he would rent 'em as he wanted to.
And then, he wus sonu'tliiug of a statesuian ; and he felt,
as many business men did, tliat they wus fairly sufferin'
for more saloons to enrich the government.

Why, out of every hundred dollars that them poor
laboring-men had earned so hardly, and paid into the
saloons for that wliich, of course, wus ruinous to them-
selves and families, and, of course, rendered them inca-
pable of all labor for a great deal of the time, — wliy, out
of that hundreil dollars, as many as 2 cents N.ould go to
the government to enrich it.

Of course, tlie government had to use them 2 cents light
off towards buyin' tight-jackets to coniine tiie madmen
the whiskey had made, and ])oorhouse-doors for tiie idiots
it had breeded, to lean up aginst, and buryin' the paupers,
and buyin' ropes to hang the murderers it had created.

But still, in some strange way, too deep, fur too deej),
for a woman's mind to comprehend, it wus dretful profit-
able to the government.

Now, if them poor laborin'-men had paid that 2 cents
of thiern to the government themselves, in the first place,
in direct taxation, why, that wouldn't have been states-
manship. That is a deep study, and has a great many
curius performances, and it has to perform.

Cicely tried her very best to get the executor to change
in this one matter ; but she couldn't move him the width
of a horse-hair, and he a smilin' all the time at her, and
polite. He liked Cicely: nobody could help likin' the

UNCLE SAM ENRICHING THE GOVEIINMENT.

SWEKT CICELY.

gentle, saintly-soiiled little woman. Rut he wus sot : he
wus niakin money fast by it, and she liad to give up.

And rough men and women would sometimes twit her
of it, — of her property bein' used to advance the licjuor-
tralHc, and ruin men and wimmen ; and she a feelin' like
death about it, and her hands tied up, and powerless. No
wonder that her face got whiter and whiter, and her eyes
bigger and mournfuller-lookin'.

Wall, she kep' on, try in' to do all she could : she joined
the Woman's Temperance Union ; she spent her money
free as water, where she thought it would do any good,
and brought up the boy jest as near right as she could
possibly bring him up ; and she prayed, and wept right
when she wus a bringin' of him, a thinkin' that her prop-
erty wus a bein' used every day and every hour in ruinin'
other mothers' boys. And the boy's face almost breakin'
her heart every time she looked at it ; for, though he wus
jest as pretty as a child could be, the pretty rosy lips had
the same good-tempered, irresolute curve to 'em that the
boy inherited honestly. And he had the same weak, wa-
verin' chin. It was white and rosy now, with a dimple
right in the centre, sweet enough to kiss. But the chin
wus there, right under the rosy snow and the dimple ; and
I foreboded, too, and couldn't blame Cicely a mite for her
forebodin', and her agony of sole.

I noticed them lips and that chin the very minute
Josiah brought him into the settin'-room, and set him
down ; and my eyes looked dubersome at him through my
specks. Cicely see it, see that dubersome look, though
I tried to turn it off by kissin' him jest PS hearty as I
could after I had took the little black-robed figure of his

SWEET CICELY.

mother, and hugged her close lo my hecart, and kissed her
time and time agin.

She always dressed in the deepest of mournin', and
always would. I knew tliat.

Wall, we wus awful glad to see Cicely. I had had tlie
old fheplace fixed in the front spare room, and a crib
put in there for the boy; and I went right up to lier room
with her. And when we had got there, I took her riglit
in my arms agin, as I used to, and told her how glad I
wus, and how thankful 1 wus, to have her and the boy
with us.

The fire sparkled up on the old brass handirons as
warm as my welcome. Her bed and the boy's bed looked
wliite and cozy aginst the dark red of the carpet and th.e
cream-colored paper. And after I had lowered the pretty
ruflied muslin curtains (with red ones under 'em), and
pulled a stand forward, and lit a lamp, — it v/us sundown,
— the room looked cheerful enough for anybody, and it
seemed as if Cicely looked a little less white and broken-
hearted. She wus glad to be with me, and said she wuz.
But right there — before supper ; and we could smell tlie
roast chicken and coffee, havin' left the stair-door open —
right there, before we had visited hardly any, or talked a
mite about other wimmen, she begun on what she wanted
to do, and wliat she must do, for the boy.

I had told her how the boy had grown, and that sot her
off. And from that niglit, every minute of her time
almost, when she could without bein' impolite and trouble-
some (Cicely wus a perfect lady, inside and out), she
would talk to me about what she wanted to do for the boy,
what she must do. She must work for him ; she must try

■^ISS'./k

SWEET CICELY.

THE SPAKE IJOOM.

to have the laws changed before he grew up : she didn't
dure to let him go out into tlie world with the laws as
they was now, with temptation on every side of him.

SWEET CICELY.

"You know, aunt Samantha," she sa^^s to me, "that I
wanted to die when my husband died ; but I want to live
now. Why, I must live ; I cannot die ; I dare not die
until n.y boy is safer. I will work, I will die if necessary,
for him."

It wus the same old Cicely, I see, not enAn for herself,
but carin' only for them she loved. Lovin' little creeter,
gdod little creeter, she always wuz, and always would be.
And so I told eJosiah.

Wall, we had the boy set between us to the supper-table,
Josiah and me did, in Thomas Jefferson's litth^, high-chair.
I havl new covered it on purpose for him with b/ight cop-
per})late calico.

And that night at supper, and after supper, I judged,
and judged calmly, — we made the estimate after we went
to bed, Josiah and me did, — that the boy asked 3 thou-
sand and 85 questions about every thing under the sun and
moon, and things over 'em, and outside of 'em, and inside.

Why, I panted for breath, but wouldn't give in. I Avas
determined to use Cicely first-rate, and we loved the boy
too. But, oh ! it was a weary love, and a short-vvinded
love, and a hoarse one.

We went to bed tuckered completely out, but good-
natured: our love for 'em held us up. And whea we
made the estimate, it wuzn't in a cross tone, but amiable,
and almost winnin'. Josiah thought they went up into
the trillions. But I am one that never likes to set such
tilings too high; audi said calmly, 3,000 and 85. And
finally he gin in that mebbyit wuzn't no more than thav..

Cicely told me she couldn't stay with us very long now ;
for her aunt Mary wuz expectin' to go away to the Mich-

.; I

it:

SWEET CICELY.

igan

pretty soon, to see a daughter who wus out of
health, — had been out of it for some time, — and she
wanted a visit from her neice Cicely before she went. But
she promised to come back, and make a good visit on her
way home.

And so it was planned. The next day was Sunday, and
Cicely wus too tired with her journey to go to meetin'.
But the boy went. He sot up, lookin' beautiful, by the
side of me on tLo back seat of the Democrat ; his uncle
Josiah sot in front ; and Ury drove. Ury Henzy, he's oar
hired man, and a tolerable good one, as hired men go.
His name is Urias ; but we always call him Ury, — spelt
U-r-y, Ury, — with the emi)hasis on the U.

Wall, that day Elder Minkly preached. It wus a pow-
erful sermon, about the creation of the world, and how
man was made, and the fall of Adam, and about Noah and
the ark, and how the wicked wus destroyed. It wus a
middlin' powerful sermon ; and the boy sc^t up between
Josiah and me, and we wus proud enough of him. He
had on a little green velvet suit and a deep linen collar ;
and he sot considerable still for him, with his eyes on
Elder Minkly's face, a thinkin', I guess, how he would put
us through our catechism on the way home. And, oh !
didn't he, didn't he do it ? I s'pose things seem strange
to children, and they can't help askin' about 'em.

But 4,000 wus the estimate Josiah and me calculated on
our pillows that : light wus the number of questions the
boy asked on our way home, about the creation, how the
world wus made, and the ark — oh, how he harressed my
poor companion about the animals ! " Did they drive 2 of
all the animals in the world in that house, uncle Josiah ? "

SWEET CICELY

c
o

2
w

SWEET CICELY.

" Yes," savs Josiah.

" 2 elfants, and rinosterliorses, and snakes, and snakes,
and bears, and tigers, and cows, and camels, and hens ? "

" Yes, yes."

"And flies, uncle Josiah? — did they drive in two flies?
and mud-turkles ? and bumble-bees ? and muskeeters ?
Say, uncle Josiah, did they drive in muskeeters ? "

" I s'pose so."

" How could they drive in two muskeeters ? "

" Oh I less stop talkin' for a spell — shet up your little
mouth," says Josiah in a winnin' tone, pattin' him on his
head.

" I can shut up my mouth, uncle Josiah, but I can't shut
up my thinker."

Josiah sithed ; and, right Avhile he wus a sithin', the boy
commenced agin on a new tack.

" What for a lookin' place was paradise ? " And then
follered 800 questions about paradise. Josiah sweat, and
offered to let the boy come back, and set with me. He
had insisted, when we started from the meetin'-house, on
havin' the boy set on the front seat between him and Ury.

But I demurred about any change, and leaned back,
and eat a sweet apple. I don't think it is wrong Sundays
to eat a sweet apple. And the boy kep' on.

"What did Adam fall off of? Did he fall out of the
apple-tree ? "

" No, no ! he fell because he sinned."

But the boy went right on, in a tone of calm convic-
tion, —

" No big man would be apt to fall a walking right along.
He fell out of the apple-tree."

SWEET CICELY.

And then lie says, after a minute's still thought, —

"I believe, if I had been there, and had a string round
Adam's leg, I could kep' him fnmi fallin' off; — and say,
where was the Lord? Couldn't He have kept him? say,
couldn't He?"

'• Yes : He can do any thing."

"Wall, then, why dicVi't He?"

Josiah groaned, low.

" If Adam hadn't fell, I wouldn't have fell, would I ? —
nor you — nor U ry — nor anybody ? "

" No : I s'pose not."

"Wall, wouldn't it have paid to kept Adam up? Say,
uncle Josiah, say ! "

"Oh I less talk about sunthin' else," says my poor
Josiah. " Don't you want a sweet apple ? "

"Yes; and say ! what kind of a apple was it that Adam
eat ? Was it a sweet apple, or a greening, or a sick-no-
further? And say, was it riffht for all of us to fall down
because Adam did? And how did I am just because a
man eat an apple, and fell out of an apple-tree, when I
never saw the apple, or poked him offen the tree, or jog-
gled him, or any thing — vdien I wasn't there ? Say, how
was it wrong, uncle Josiah ? When I wasn't there ! "

My poor companion, I guess to sort o' i)acify him, broke
out kinder a singin' in a tone full of fag, " ' In Adam's
fall, we sinnM all.' " Josiah is sound.

"And be I a sinning now, uncle Josiah? and a falling?
And is everybody a sinning and a falling jest because that
one man eat one apple., and fell out of an apple-tree?
Say, is it right., uncle Josiah, for you and me, and every-
body that is on the earth, to keep a falling, and keep

1 M

I i

• I

i ;

SWEET CICELY.

a falling, and bein' blamed, and every thing, when we
hadn't done any thing, and wasn't there? And «««/, will
folks always keep a falling?"

" Yes, if they hain't good.'*

" How can they keep a falling ? If Adam fell out of the
aj^ple-tree, wouldn't he have struck on the ground, and got

JOSIAH CLOSING THE CONVKKSATION.

up agin ? And if anybody falls, why, why, mustn't they
come to the bottom sometime ? If there is something to
fall off of, mustn't there be something to hit against?
And say " —

Here the boy's eyes looked dreamier than they had
looked, and further off.

"Was I made out of dirt, uncle Josiah?"

SWEET CICELY.

•;»

" Yes : we are all made out of dust."

"And did God breathe our souls into us? Was it His
own self, His own life, that was breathed into us?"

" Yes," says Josiah, in a more fagged voice than he had
used durin' the intervue, and more hopelesser.

" \Vall, if God is in us, how can He lose us again ?
Wouldn't it be a losing His own self? And how could
God lose Himself? And what did He find us for, in the
first place, if He wus going to lose us again ? "

Here Josiah got riglit up in the Democrat, and lifted the
boy, and sot him over on the seat with me, and took the
lines out of Dry's hands, and drove the old mair at a rate
that I told him wus shameful on Sunday, for a perfessor.

IT wus ON A SLAY-KIDE " (p. 8).

CHAPTER IT.

Wall, Cicely and the boy staid till Tuesday night.
Tuesday afternoon the children wus all to home on a
invitation. (I had a chicken-pie, and done well by 'em.)

And nothin' to do but what Cicely and the boy must go
home with 'em : tljey jest think their eyes of Cicely. And
I couldn't blame em for wantin' her, though I hated to
give her up.

She laid out to stay a few days, and then come back to
our house for a day or two, and then go on to her aunt
Mary's. But, as it turned out, the children urged her so,
she stayed mof-t two weeks.

And the vevy next day but one after Cicely went to the
children's — And don't it beat all how, if visitors get to
comin', they'll keep a comin'? jest as it is if you begin
to have trials, you'll have lots of 'em, or broken dishes,
or any thing.

Wall, it wus the very next mornin' but one after Civ^ely
had gone, and my voice had actually begun to sound
natural agin (the boy had kep' me hoarse as a frog
answerin' questions). I wus whitewashin' the kitchen,
havin' put it off while Cicely wus there ; and there wus a
man to work a patchin' up the wall in one of the chambers,

SWEET CICELY.

and right there and then, Elburtus Smitli Gansey come.

And truly, we found him as clever a critter as ever walked
the earth.

It wus jest before korkuss ; and he wus kinder visatin'
round amongst his relations, and makin' himself agreable.
He is my 5th cousin, — 5th or 6th. I can't reely tell
which, and I don't know as I care much ; for I think, that,
after you get by the 5th, it hain't much matter anyway.
I sort o' pile 'em all in promiscous. Jest as it is after any-
body gets to be 70 years old, it hain't much matter how
much older they be : they are what you may call old, any-
way.

But I think, as I said prior and beforehand, that he wus
a 5th. His mother wus a Butrick, and her mother wus a
Smith. So he come to make us a visit, and sort o' ellec-
tioneer round. He wanted to get put in county judge ;
and so, the korkuss bein' held in Jonesville, I s'pose he
thought he'd come down, and endear himself to us, as they
all do.

I am one that likes company first-rate, and I always try
to do well by 'em ; but I tell Josiah, that somehow city
folks (Elburtus wus brought up in a city) are a sort of a
bother. They require so much, and give you the feelin',
that, when you are a ,doin' your very best for 'em, they
hain't satisfied. You see, some folks'es best hain't nigh so
good as other folks'es 8d or 4th.

But this feller — why ! I liked him from the first
minute I sot my eyes on him. I hadn't seen him before
sence I wus a child, and so didn't feel so awful well ac-
quainted with him ; or, that is, I didn't, as it were, feel
intimate. You know, when

you

lybody

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SWEET CICELY.

the time you are ])al)ies till you arc married, and have lost
a good many teeth, and eonsidorabh^ hair, you can't I'ccl
over and above intimate with 'em at first sight.

But I liked him, he wus so unassuming and friendly,
and took every thing so peaceable and pleasant. And he
deserved better things than what hai)pcned to him.

You see, I wus a cleanin' house when he come, cleanin'
the kitchen at tiiat out-of-the-way time of year on account
of Cicely's visit, and on account of repairin' that had i)rom-
ised to be done by Josiah Allen, and delayed from week
to week, and month to month, as is the way with men.
But finally he had got it done, and I wus ready to the
minute with my brush and scourin'-cloth.

I wus a whitewashin' when he come, and my pail of
whitewash wus hung up over the kitchen-door; and I
stood up on a table, a whitewashin' the ceilin, when I
heard a buggy drive up to the door, and stop. And I stood
still, and listened ; and then I heard a awful katouse and
rumpus, and then I heard hollerin' ; and then I heard
Josiah' voice, and somebody else's voice, a talkin' back
and forth, sort o' quick and excited.

Now, some wimmen would have been skairt, and acted
skairt; but I didn't. I jest stood up on that table, cool
and calm as a statue of Repose sculped out of marble, and
most as white (I wus all covered with whitewash), with
my brush held easy and firm in my right hand, and my
left ear a listenin'.

Pretty soon the door opened right by the side of the
table, and in come Josiah Allen and a strange man. He
introduced him to me as Elburtus Gansey, my 4th cousin ;
and I made a handsome curchy. I s'pose, bein' up on the

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EXCEM-ENT LIME.

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table, the curchy showed off to better advantage than it
would if I hud been on the floor: it looked well. But I
felt that I ort to shake hands with him ; and, as I went to
step down into a ehair to get down (entirely unl)eknown
to me), my brush hit against that i)ail, and down come
that pail of whitewash right onto his back. (If it had
been his head, it would have brt)ke it.)

I felt as if I should sink.

But he took it the best that ever wus. lie said, when
Josiah and me wus a sweepin' him off, and a rubbin' him
off with wet towels, that "* it wasn't no matter at all."
And he spoke up so polite and courteous, that "it seemed
to be first-rate whitewash : he never see better, whiter
lime in his life, than that seemed to be." And tlr "^ he
sort o' felt of it between his tluunb and finger, and asked
Josiah "where did he get that lime, and if they had any
more of it. He didn't believe they could get such lime
outside of Jonesville." He acted like a perfect gentle-
man.

And he told me, in that same polite, pleasant tone, how
Josiah's old sheep had knocked him over 3 times while he
wus a comin' into the house. He said, with that calm,
gentle smile, "that no sooner would he get up, than he
would stand off a little, and then rush at him with his head
down, and push him right over."

Says I, " It is a perfect shame and a disgrace," says I.
" And I have told you, Josiah Allen, that some stranger
would get killed by that old creeter; and I should think
you would get rid of it."

" Wall, I lay out to, the first chance I get," says he.

Elburtus said "it would almost seem to be a pity, it

SWEET CICELY.

was so strong and healthy a sheep." He said he never
met a sheep under any circumstances that seemed to have
a sounder, stronger constitution. He said of course the
sheep and lie hadn't met under the pleasantest of circum-
stances, and it wusn't over and above pleasant to be
knocked down by it three or four times; but he had
found that he couldn't have every thing as he wanted it
in this world, and the only way to enjoy ourselves wus to
take things as they come.

Says I, " I s'pose that wus the way you took the sheep ; "
and he said, "It was."

And then he went on to say in that amiable way of hisen,
•' that it probably made it a little harder for him jest at
that time, as he wus struck by lightnin' that morn in'."
(There had been a awful thunder-storm.)

Says Josiah, all excitement, "Did it strike you sensible ?"

Says I, "You mean senseless, Josiah Allen."

" Wall, I said so, didn't I ? Did it strike you senseless,
Mr. Gansey?"

"No," he said: it only stunted him. And then he went
on a praisin' up our Jonesville lightnin'. He said it wus
about the cleanest, quickest lightnin' he ever see. He said
he believed we had the smartest lightnin' in our county
that you could find in the nation.

So good he acted about every thing. It beat all. Why,
he hadn't been in the house half an hour when he offered
to help me whitewash. I told him I wouldn't let him, for
it would spile his clothes, and he hadn't ever been there
a visitin' before, and I didn't want to put him to work.
But he hung on, and nothin' to do but what he had got
to take hold and whitewash. And I had to give up and

SWEET CICELY.

let him ; for I thought it wiis better manners to put a
visiter to work, than it wus to (Iif5})ute and quarrel Avith
'em : and, of course, he wusn't used to it, and he filled one
eye most full of lime. It wus dretful painful, dretful.

But I swabbed it out with viniger, and it got easier
about the middle of the afternoon. It bein' work that he
never done before, the whitewashiii' looked like fury ;
but I done it all over after him, and so I got along with
it, though it belated me. But his of(erin' to do it showed
his good will, anyway.

I shouldn't have done any more at all after Elburtus had
come, only I had got into the job, and had to finish it ;
for I always think it is better manners, when visitors come
unexpected, and ketch you in some mean job, to go on and
finish it as quick as you can, ruther than to set down in the
dirt, and let them, ditto, and tl same.

And Josiah was ketched jest as I wus, for he had a piece
of whiter wheat that wus s;ilin' to be cut; and he had
got the most of it d;)wn, and had to finish it: it wus
lodged so he had to cut it by hand, — the machine
wouldn't work on it. And jest as quick as Elburtus had
got so he could see out of that eye, nothhi' to do but what
he had got to go out and help Josiah cut that wheat. He
hadn't touched a scythe for years and years, and it wusn't
ten minutes before his hands wus blistered on the inside.
But he Avould keep at it till the blisters broke, and then
he had to stop anyway.

He got along quite well after that : only the lot where
Josiah wus to work run along by old Bobbet'ses, and he
had carried a jug of sweetened water and viniger and
ginger out into the lot, and Elburtus had talked so polite

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rl-

ELBUUTUS KNDKAKIN' HIMSELF TO MI{. ItOIIUKT.

and cordial to him, a conversiu' on politics, that he got
attaclied to him, and treated him to the sweetened water.

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And Elbiirtus, not wantin' to hurt his feelin's, drinked
about 3 quarts. It made him deathly sick, for it went
aginst liis stomach from the first : he never loved it. And
Miss Bobbet duz fix it dretful sickish, — sweetens it with
sale mollasses for one thing.

Oh, how sick that feller wus when he come in to supper !
had to lay right down on the lounge.

Says I, "Elburtus, what made you drink it, when it
went aginst your stomach ? " says I.

" Why," says he in a faint voice, and pale round his lips
as any thing, "I didn't want to hurt his feelin's by
refusin'."

Says I, out to one side, "Did you ever, Josiah Allen,
see such goodness in your life ? "

"• I never see such dumb foolishness," says he. "I'd love
to have anybody ketch me a driukin' three or four quarts
of such stuff out of politeness."

"No," says I coldly: "you hahi't good enough."

Wall, t^at night his bed got a fire. It seemed as if
every thhig under the sun wus a goin' to happen to that
man while he wus here. You see, the house wus all tore
U[) a repairin', and I had to put him up-stairs : and the bed
had been moved out by carpenters, to plaster a spot behind
the bed ; and, unbeknown to me, they had set it too near
the stove-pipe. And the hot pipe run right up by the side
of it, right by the bed-clothes. It took fire from the
piller-case.

We smelt a dretful smudge, and Josiah run right up-stairs :
it had only jest ketched a fire, and Elburtus was sound
asleep ; and Josiah, the minute he see what wus the mat-
ter, he jest ketched up the water-pitcher, and throwed the

SWEET CICELY.

water over him ; and bein' skairt and tremblin', the pitcher
flew out of his hand, and went too, and hit Elburtus on
the end of his nose, and took a piece of skin right off.

He waked up sudden ; and there he wus, all drownded
out, and a piece gone off of his nose.

Now, most any other man would have acted mad.
Josiah would have acted mad as a mad dog, and madder.
But you ort to see how good Elburtus took it, jest as quick
as he got his senses back. Josiah said he could almost
take his oath that he swore out as cross a oath as he ever
heavd swore the first minute before he got his eyes opened,
but I believe he wus mistaken. But anyway, the minute
his senses come back, and he see where he wuz, you ort to
see how he behaved. Never, never did I hear of such
manners in all my born days ! Josiah told me all about it.

There Elburtus stood, with his nose a bleedin', and his
whiskers singed, and a drippin' like a mushrat. But, in-
stead of jawin' or complainin', the first thing he f 1 wuz,
" What a splendid draft our stove must have, or els*, the
stove-pipe wouldn't be so hot ! " (I had done some cook-
in' late in the evenin', and left a fire in the stove.)

And he said our stove-wood must be of the very best
quality ; and he asked Josiah where he got it, and if he
had to pay any thing extra for that kind. He said he'd
give any thing if he could get holt of a cord of such wood
as that !

Josiah said he felt fairly stunted to see such manners ;
and he went to apologisin' about how awful bad it was
for him to get his whiskers singed so, and how it wus a
pure axident his lettin' the pitcher slip out of his hand,
and he wouldn't have done it for nothin' if he could have

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SWEET CICELY.

helped it, and he wiis afraid it liad hurt him more tlian lie
thought for.

And such manners as that clever critter showed then I
He said he was a calculatin' to get his whiskers cut that
very day, and it was all for the hest ; he persunied they
wus singed off in jest the shape he wanted 'em : and as for
his nose, he wus always ashamed of it ; it wus alwnys too
long, and he should he glad if there wus a j)iece gone off
of it: Josiali had done him a favor to help him get rid of
a piece of it.

Why, when Josiah told it all over to me after he come
down, I told him "I believed sunthin' would hap[)on to
that man before long. I believed he wus too good f(,r
earth."

Josiah can't bear to hear me praise up any mortal man
only himself, and he muttered sunthin' about "he bet lie
wouldn't be so tarnel good after 'lection."

But I wouldn'^ hear no such talk ; and says I, —

"If there wus ever a saint on earth, it is Elburtus Smilii
Gansey ; " and bays I, " If you try to vote for anybody e'se,
I'll know the reason why."

" Wall, wall ! who said I wus a goin' to? I shall pn.b-
able vote in the family ; but he hain't no more saint tluui
I be."

I gin him a witherin' look ; but, as it wus dark as pitcli
in the room, he didn't act withered any. And I spoke
out agin, and says I, in a low, deep voice, —

" If it wus one of the relations on your side, Josiah
Allen, you would say he acted dretful good."

And he says, " There is such a thing, Samantha, as bein'
too good — too dumb good."

SWEET CICELY.

I didn't multiply any more words with him, and we
went to sleep.

Wall, that is jest the way that feller acted for tlie next
\ five days. Why, the neighbors all got to lovin' hiin so,
wliy, they jest about worshipped him. And Josiali said
tliat there wuzn't no use a talkin', Elburtus would get the
nomination unanimous ; for everybody that had seen him
appear (and he had been all over the town appearin' to
'em, and endearin' himself to 'em, cleer out beyond Jones-
ville as far as Spoon Settlement and Loontown), wliy,
they jest thought their eyes of him, he wus so thoughtful
and urbane and helpful. Why, there hain't no telliu' how
much helpfuler he v/uz than common folks, and urbaiicr.

Why, Josiah and me drove into Jonesville one diiy
towards night; and Elburtus had been there all day. Jo-
siah had some cross-gut saws that he wanted to get filed,
and had happened to mention it before Elburtus ; and
nothin' to do but he must go and carry 'em to the man i;i
Jonesville that wus goin' to do it, and help him file 'em.
Josiah told him we wus goin' over towards night with the
team, and could carry 'era as well as not ; and he hadn't
better try to help, filin' saws wus such a sort of a raspin'
undertakin'. But Elburtus said " he should probably go
through more raspin' jobs before he died, or got the nom-
ination ; and Josiah could have 'em to bring home that
night." So he sot out with 'em walkin' a foot.

Wall, when we drove in, I see Elburtus a liftin' and a
luggin', a loadin' a big barrell into a double wagon for
a farmer ; and I sayi^ —

" What under the sun is Elburtus Gansey a doin' ? "

And Josiah says, in a gay tone, —

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ELBUBTUS APPEABIN*.

SWEET CICELY.

" He is a electionerin', Samantlia : see him sweat,"
says he. " Salt is heavy, and political life is wearin', when
anybody goes into it deep, and tackles it in the way El-
hiirtus tackles it."

He seemed to think it wus a joke ; but I says, —

" He is jest a killin' himself, Josiah Allen ; and you
would set here, and see him."

" I hain't a runnin'," says he in a calm tone.

" No," says I : *' you wouldn't run a step to help any-
body. And see there," says I. "How good, how good
that man is ! "

Elburtus had finished loadin' the salt, and now he wus
a holdin' the horses for the man to load some spring-beds.
And the horses wus skairt by 'em, and wuz jest a liftin'
Elburtus right up offen his feet. Why, they pranced, and
tore, and lifted him up, and switched him round, and then
tliey'd set him down with a crash, and whinner.

But that man smiled all the time, and took off his hat,
and bowed to me : we went by when, he wus a swingin'
right up in the air. I never see the beat of his goodness.
Why, we found out afterwards, that, besides filin' them
saws, he had loaded seven barrells of salt that day, besides
other heavy truck. That night he wus perfectly beat out
— but good.

Josiah said that Philander Dagget'ses wive's brother
wouldn't have no chance at all. He wanted the nomina-
tion awful, and Philander had been a workin' for him all
he could ; and if Elburtus hadn't come down to Jonesville,
and showed off such a beautiful demeanor and actions,
why, we all thought that Philander's wive's brother would
have got it. And I couldn't help feelin' kind o' sorry for

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him, though highly tickled for Elburtiis. We both of lis,
Josiah and me, felt very pleased and extremely tickled to
think that Elbiirtus wus so sure of it ; for there wus a
good deal of money in the office, besides honor, sights of
honor.

Wall, when the mornin' of town-meetin' came, that crit-
ter wus so awful clever that nothin' to do but what he
must help Josiah do the chores.

And amongst other chores Josiah had to do that morn-
in', wus to carry home a plow that belonged to old Dagget.
And old Dt'gget wanted Josiah, when he had got through
with it, to carry it to his son Philander's : and Philander
had left word that he wanted it that mornin' ; and he
wanted it carried down to his lower burn, that stood in a
meadow a mile away from any house. Philander'ses land
run in such a way that he had to build it there to store
his fodder.

Wall, time run along, and it got time to start for town-
meetin', and Elburtus couldn't be found. I hollered to
him from the back stoop, and Jcsiah went out to the barn
and hollered ; but nothin' could be seen of him. And
Josiah got all ready, and waited, and waited : and I told
him that Elburtus had probable got in such a hurry to get
there, that he had started on a foot, and he had better
drive on, and he would overtake him. So finally he did ;
and he drove along clear to Jonesville, expectin' to over-
take him every minute, and dian't. And the hull day
passed off, and no Elburtus. And nobody had seen him.
And everybody thought it looked so curius in him, a dis-
apearin' as he did, when they all knew that he had come
down to our part of the county a purpose to get the nom-

KLBURTUS HOLDING THE HOUSES.

SWEET CICELY.

ination. Why, his disapearin' as he did looked so awful
strange, that they didn't know what to make of it.

And the opposition side. Philander l^aggets'es wivc's
brother's friends, started the story that he wus arrested for
stealin' a sheep, and wus dragged off to jail that niornin'.

Of course Josiah tried to dispute it ; but, as he wus as
much in the dark as any of 'em as to where he wuz, his
(lisj)utin' of it didn't amount to any thing. And then,
Josiah's feelin' so strange about Elburtus made his eyes
look kinder glassy and strange when they wus talkin' to
him about it ; and they got up the story, so I hearn, that
Josiah helped him off with the sheep, and wus feelin' like
death to have him found out.

And the friends of Philander Daggets'es wive's brother
had it all thier own way, and he wus elected almost unan-
imous.

Wall, Josiah come home early, he wus so worried about
Elburtus. He thought mebby he had come back home
after he had got away, and wus took sick sudden. And
his first words to me wuz, —

"Where is Elburtus? Have you seen Elburtus?"

And then wus my time to be smit and horrow-struck.
And the more we got to thinkin' about it, the more won-
derful did it seem to us, that that man had dissapeared
right in broad daylight, jest as sudden and luysterious as if
the ground had opened, and swallowed him down, or as if
he had spread a pair of wings, and flown up into the sky.

Not that I really thought he had. I couldn't hardly as-
sociate the idee of heaven and endless repose with a short
frock-coat and boots, and a blue necktie and a stiff shirt-
collar.

SWEET CICELY.

But, oil ! how strange and mysterious it did seem to be !
We talked it over and over, and we could not think of any
thing tliat could happen to liim. He knew enough to keep
out of the creek; and there wusn't no woods nigh where
he could get lost, and he wus too old to be stole. And so
we thought and thought, iind racked our 2 brains.

And finally I says, " Wall ! it hain't happened for sev-
eral thousand years, but I don't know what to think. We
read of folks bein' translated up to heaven when they get
too good for earth, and you know I have told you several
times that he wus too clever for earth. I have thought he
wus not of the earth, earthy."

" And I have thought," says he, sort o' snappish, " that
he wus of politics, politicky."

Says I, " Josiah Allen, I should be afraid, if I wus in your
place, to talk in that way in such a time as this," says I.
" I have felt, when I see his actions when he wus knocked
over by that sheep, and covered with lime, and sot fire to,
I have felt as if we wus entertainin' a angel uaawares."

" Yes," says he, " it wuz unawares, entirely unawares to
me."

His axent wus dry, dry as chaff, and as full of ironrj'^ as
a oven-door or flat-iron.

"Wall," says I, "mebby you will see the time, before
the sun rises on your bald head again, that you will be
sorry for such talk." Says I, " If it wus one of the rela-
tion on your side, mebby you would talk different about
him." That touched him ; and he snapped out, —

"What do you s'pose I care which side he wus on?
And I should think it wus time to have a little sunthin'
to eat : it must be three o'clock if it is a minute."

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SWEET CICELY.

Says I, " Can you eat, Josiali Allen, in such a time as
this?"

"I could if I could get any thing to eat," says he ; "but
there d(>n't seem to be much prospect of it."

Says I, " The best thing you can do, Josiah Allen, is to
foller his tracks. The ground is kinder soft and spongy,
and you can do it," says I. " Where did he go to last
from here ? "

"Down to Philander Daggets'es, to carry home his
plow."

" That angel man ! " says I.

" That angel fool ! " says Josiah. " Who asked him
to go?"

Says I, " When a man gets too good for earth, there is
other ways to translate him besides chariots of fire. Who
knows but what he has fell down in a fit ! And do you
go this minute, Josiah Allen, and foller liis tracks I "

" I sha'n't foller nobody's tracks, Samantha Allen, till I
have sunthin' to eat."

I knew there wuzn't no iise of reasonin' no further with
him then ; for when he said Samantha Allen in that axent,
I knew he wus as sot as a hemlock post, and as hard to
move as one. And so my common sense bein' so firm and
solid, even in such a time as this, I reasoned it right out,
he wouldn't stir till he had sunthin' to eat. and so the
sooner I got his supper, the sooner he would go and foller
Elburtus'es tracks. So I didn't spend no more strength
a arguin', but kep' it to hurry up ; and my reason is such,
strong and vigorous and fur-seein', that I knew the better
supper he had, the more animated would be his search.
So I got a splendid supper, but quick.

il*I

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HUNTING FOK KLBU11TU8.

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SWEET CICELY.

But, oh ! all the time I wus a gettin' it, this solemn and
awful question wus a hantin' me, — What had become of
Elburtus Smith Gansey? What had become of tlie rela-
tion on my side? Oh, the feelin's I felt I Oh, tlie emo-
tions I carried round with me, from buttery to teakettle,
and from teapot to table I

But finally, after eatin' longer than it seemed to me he
ever eat before (such wus my fee in's), Josiah started (-lit'
acrost the lot, towai'ds Daggets'es barn. And 1 stood in
the west door, with my hand over my eyes, a watchin'
him most every minute he wus gone. And when that
man come back, he come a laughin'. And I wus that
madded, to have him look in tliat sort of a scorlin' way,
tbiit I wouldn't say a word to him ; and he come into the
house a laugliin', and sot down and crossed his legs
a laughin', and says he, —

"What do you s'pose has become of the relation on your
side ? " And says he, snickerin' agin, —

" You wus in the right on it, Samantha, — he did ass-
cend : he went up ! " And agin lie snickered loud. And
says I coldly, cold as ice almost, —

"If I wuzn't a perfect luny, or idiot, I'd talk as if I
knew sunthin'. You know I said that, as one who alle-
gores. If you have found Elburtus Gansey, I'd say so,
and done with it."

" Wall," says he, " you wuz in the right of it, and that is
what tickles me. He got locked up in Dagget's barn.
He asscended, jest as I told you. He went up the ladder
over the hay, to throw down fodder, and got locked up
axidentaiy And, as he said "axidental," he snickered
worse than ever.

SWEET CICELY.

And I says, " It is a mean, miserable, good for nothiu',
low-lived caper ! And Philander Dagget done it a pur-
pose to keep Elbiirtus from the town-meetin', so his wive's
brother would get the election. And, if I wus Elburtus
Gansey, I'd sue him, and serve a summons on him, and
prosicute him."

" Why," says Josiah, in the same hilarious axent, and
the same scorfin' look onto him, " Philander says he never
felt so worked up about any thing in his life, as he did
when he unlocked the barn-door tv^-night, and found Elbur-
tus there. He said he felt as if he should sink, for he .vus
so afraid that some evil-minded person might say he done
it a purpose. And he said what made him feel the worst
about it wuz to think that he should have shut him up
axidental when he wus a helpin' so good."

Says I, "The mean, impudent creeter! As good as
Elburtus wuz!"

" Wall," says Josiah, " you know what I told you, —
there is such a thing as bein' too good."

I wouldn't multiply no more words on the subject, I
wus that wrought up and excited and mad ; and I wouldn't
give in a mite to Josiah Allen, and wouldn't want it re-
peated now «o he could hear it, but I do s'pose thirt wus
the great trouble with Elburtus, — ^^he wus a leetle too
good.

And, come U> think it over, I don't s'pose Philander had
laid any plot to keep him away from 'lection ; but he is a
great case for fun, and he had laughed and tickled about
Elburtus bein' so polite and helpful, and had made a good
deel of fun of him. And then, he thinks a awful sight of
his wive's brother, and wanted him to get the election.

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SWEET CICELY.

And I s'pose the idee come to him after Elburtus had
got down to the barn where he wus a fodderin' his sheep.

You see, if Elburtus had let well enough alone, and not
been too good, everj'^ thing would have gone off right then ;
but he wouldn't. Nothin' to do but he must help Philan-
der get down his fodder. And I s'pose then the idee come
to him that he would shet him up, and keep him there till
after 'lection wus over. For I don't believe a word about
its bein' a axident. And I don't believe Josiah duz,
though he pretends he duz. But every time he says that
word "axident," he will laugh out so sort o' aggravatin'.
That is what mads me to this day.

But, as Josiah says, who would have thought that El-
burtus would have offered to carry that plow home, and
throw down the fodder?

But, at any rate. Philander turned the key on him while
he wus up over-head, and locked him in there for the
day. A meaner, low-liveder, miserabler caper, I never see
nor hearc' of.

But the way Philander gets out of it (he is a natural
liar, and has had constant practice), he don't deny lockin'
the door, but he says he wus to work on the outside of
the barn, and he s'posed Elburtus had gone out, and gone
home ; and he locked the door, and went away.

He says (the mean, sneakin', hippocritical creeter !) that
he feels like death about it, to think it happened so, and
on that day too. And he says what makes him feel the
mear st is, to think it was his wive's brother that wus up
on the other side, and got the nomination. He says it
leaves room for talk.

And there it is. You can't sue a man for lockin' his

SWEET CICELY.

own barn-door. And Elburtus wouldn't want it brought
into court, anyway ; for folks would be a wonderin' so
what under the sun he wus a prowlin' round for up over-
head in Philander Daggets'es barn.

So he wus obliged to let the subject drop, and Philander
lias it all his own way. And they say his wive's brother
give him ten silver dollars for his help. And that is pretty
good pay for turnin' one lock, about 2 seconts' work.

Wall, anyway, that wus the last thing that happened
to Elburtus in Jonesville ; and whether he took '. polite
and easy, or npt, I don't know. For that night, when
Philander went down to the barn to fodder, jest before
Josiah went there, and let him out (and acted perfectly
suprised and horrified at findin' him there, Philander did,
so I have been told), Elburtus started a bee-line for the
depo, and never come back here at all ; and he left a good
new handkerchief, and a shirt, and 3 paper collars.

And whether he has kep' on a sufferin', or not, I don't
know. Mebby he had his trials in one batch, as you may
say, and is now havin' a spell of enjoyments. I am sure,
I hope so ; for a cleverer, good-natureder, polite-appearin'er
creeter, / never see, nor don't expect to see agin in my
life ; and so I tell Josiah.

kMiA

CHAPTER III.

The next evenin' follerin' after the exodus of Elburtus
Gansey, Josiah and I, thinkin' that we needed a relaxation
to relax our two minds, rode into Jonesville. We went
in the Democrat, at my request ; for I wus in hopes Cicely
would come home with us.

And she did. We had a good ride. I sot in front with
Josiah at his request ; and what made it pleasanter wuz,
the boy stood up in the Democrat behind me a good deal
of the way, with his arms round my neck, a kissin' me.

And when I waked up in the mornin', I wus glad to
think they wus there. Though Cicely wuzn't well: I
could see she wuzn't. I felt sad at the breakfast-table to
see how her fresh young beauty wus bein' blowed away
by the sharp breath of sorrow's gale.

But she wus sweet and gentle as ever the posy wus we
had named her after. No Sweet Cicely blow wus ever
sweeter and purer than she wuz. After I got my work all
done up below, — she offerin' to help me, and a not lettin'
her lift her finger, — I went up into her room, where there
wus a bright fire on the hearth, and every thing looked
cozy and snug.

The boy, havin' wore himself out a harrowin' his uncle

SWEET CICELY.

Josiah and Ury with questions, had laid down on the
crimson rii«^ in front of the fire, and wus fast asleep, get-
tin' strength for new labors.

And Cicely sot in a little low rockin'-chair by the side
of him. She had on a white flannel mornin'-dress, and a
thin white zephyr worsted shawl round her ; and her silky
brown hair hung down her back, for she had been a brushin'
it out ; and she looked sweet and pretty enough to kiss ; and
I kissed her right there, before I sot down, or any thing.

And then, thinks'es I as I sot down, we will have a
good, quiet visit, and talk some about other wimmen. (No
runnin' 'era : I'd scorn it, and so would she.)

But I thought I'd love to talk it over with her, about
what good housekeepers Tirzah Ann and Maggie wuz.
And I wanted to hear what she thought about the babe,
and if she could say in cander that she ever see a little
girl equal her in graces of mind and body.

And I wanted to hear all about her aunt Mary and her
aunt Melissa (on her father's side). I knew she had had
letters from 'em. And I wanted to hear how she that was
Jane Smith wuz, that lived neighbor to her aunt Mary's
oldest daughter, and how that oldest daughter wuz, who
wus s'posed to be a runnin' down. And I wanted to hear
about Susan Ann Grimshaw, who had married her aunt
Melissy's youngest son. There wus lots of news that I
felt fairly suiferin' for, and lots of news that I felt like
disseminatin' to her.

But, if you'll believe it, jest as I had begun to inquire,
and take comfort, she branched right off, a lady-like branch,
and a courteous one, but still a branch, and begun to talk
about "what should she do — what could she do — for
the boy."

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SWr^T CICELY.

And she looked down on him as he lay there, witli such
a boundless love, and a awful dread in her eyes, that it
was pitiful in the extreme to see her ; and says she, —

" What will become of him in tlie future, aunt Sainan-
tha, with the laws as they are now?'"

And with such a chin and mouth as he has got, says I

f 5i

to myself, lookin' down on him ; but I didn't say it out
loud. I am too well bread.

"It must be we can get the laws changed before he
grows up. I dare not trust him in a world that has sueli
temptations, such snares set ready for him. Why," says
she — And she fairly trembled as she said it. She would
always throw her whole soul into any thing she undertook ;

SWEET CICELY.

and in this she had throwed her hull heart, too, and her
hull life — or so it seemed to me, to look at her juilo face,
and her big, glowin' eyes, full of sadness, full of resolve
too.

"Why, just think of it! How he will be coaxed into
those drinking-saloons ! how, with his easy, generous,
good-natured ways, — and I know he will liave such ways,
and be popular, — a bright, handsome young man, and
with plenty of money. Just think of it I how, with tliose
open saloons on every side of him, when he can't walk
down the street without those gilded bars shining on every
hand; and the friends he will make, gay, rich, thoughtless
young men like himself — they will laugh at him if he
refuses to do as they do ; and with my boy's inherited
tastes and temperament, his easiness to be led by th(jse he
loves, Avhat will hinder him from going to ruin as his poor
father did ? What will keep him, aunt Samantha ? "

And she busted out a cryin'.

I says, " Hush, Cicely," layin' my hand on hern. It wus
little and soft, and trembled like a leaf. Some folks would
have called her nervous and excitable ; but I didn't,
thinkin' what she had went through with the boy's father.

Says I, " There is One who is able to save him. And,
instead of gettin' yourself all worked up over what may
never be, I think it would be better to ask Him to save
the boy."

" I do ask Him, every day, every hour," says she, sobbin'
quieter like.

" Wall, then, hush up. Cicely."

And 'sometimes she would hush up, and sometimes she
wouldn't.

fA ;J

SWEET CICELY.

But how she would talk about what she wanted to do
for him ! I heard her talkin' to her uncle Josiah one
day.

You see, she worried about the boy to that extent, and
loved him so, that she would have been willin' to have
had her head took right off, if that would have helped
him, if it would have insured him a safe and happy future ;
but it wouldn't : and so she was willin' to do any other
hard job if there wus any prospect of its helpin' the
boy.

She wus willin' to vote on the temperance question.

But Josiah wus more sot than usial that mornin' aginst
wimmen's votin' ; and he had begun himjrelf on the subject
to Cicely ; had talked powerful aginst it, but gentle : he
loved Cicely as he did his eyes.

He had been to a lecture the night before, to Toad
Holler, a little place between Jonesville and Loontown.
He and uncle Nate Burpy went up to hear a speech aginst
wimmen's suffrage, in a Democrat.

Josiah said it wus a powerful speech. He said uncle
Nate said, " The feller that delivered it ort to be President
of the United States : " he said, " That mind ort to be in
the chair."

And I said I persumed, from what I had heard of it,
that his mind wuz tired, and ort to set down and rest.

I spoke light, because Josiah Allen acted so high-
headed about it. But I do s'pose it wus a powerful effort,
from what I hearn.

He talked dretful smart, they say, and used big words.

The young feller that gin the lecture, and his sister,
wus left orphans and poor ; and she wus a good deal the

ciJLn^

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A GBEAT EFFOKT.

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SWEET CICELY.

oldest, and she set her eyes by him. She had took care
of the old folks, supported 'em and lifted 'em round her-
self; took all the care of 'em in every way till they died:
and then this boy didn't seem to have mucli faculty for
gettin' along ; so she educated him, sewed for tailors'
shops, and got money, and sent him to school and college,
so he could talk big.

And it was such a comfort to that sister, to sort o' rest
off for an evenin' from makin' vests and pantaloons, cheap,
to furnish him money! — it was so sort o' restful to her to
set and hear him talk large aginst winnnen's suffrage and
the weakness and ineficiency of wimmen !

He said, the young chap did, and proved it right out, so
they said, "that the franchise was too tuckerin' a job for
wimmen to tackle, and that wimmen hadn't the earnest-
ness and persistency and deep forethought to make her
valuable as a franchiser — or safe."

You see, he had his hull strength, the young chap did ;
for his sister had clothed him, as well as boarded him, and
educated him: so he could talk powerful. He could use up
quantities of wind, and not miss it, havin' all his strength.

His speech made a deep impression on men and wim-
men. His sister bein' so wore out, workin' so hard, wept
for joy, it was so beautiful, and affected her so powerful.
And she said "she never realized till that minute how
weak and useless wimmen really was, and how strong and
powerful men was."

It wus a great effort. And she got a extra good supper
for him that night, I heard, wantin' to repair the waste in
his system, caused by eloquence. She wus supportin* him
till he got a client : he wus a studyin' law.

SWEET CICELY.

Wall, Josiah wus jest full of his arguments; and he
talked 'em over to Cicely that mornin'.

But she said, after lieariu' 'em all, "that she wus willin'
to vote on the temperance question. She had thought it
all over,'' she said. " Thought how the nation lay uuder
the curse of African slavery until that race of slaves were
freed. And she believed, that when women who were now
in legal bondage, were free to act as their heart and reason
dictated, that they, who suffered most from intemperance,
would be the ones to strike the blow that would free t)ie
land from the curse."

Curius that she should feel so, but you couldn't get the
idee out of her head. She had i)ondered over it day and
niglit, she said, — pondered over it, and prayed over it.

And, come to think it over, I don't know as it wus so
curius after all, when T thought how Paul had ruined
himself, and broke her heart, and how her money wus
bein' used now to keep grog-shops open, four of her
buildin's rented to liquor-dealers, and she couldn't help
herself.

Cicely owned lots of other landed property in the village
where she lived ; and so, of course, her property wus all
taxed accordin' to its worth. And its bein' the biggest
property there, of course it helped more than any thing
else did to keep the streets smooth and even before tlie
saloon-doors, so drunkards could get there easy ; and to get
new street-lamps in front of the saloons and billiard-rooms,
so as to make a real bright light to draw 'em in and ruin
'em.

There wus a few — the doctor, who knew how rum
ruined men's bodies; and the minister, he knew how it

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SWEET CICELY.

ruined men's souls — they two, and a few others, worked
awful hard to get the saloons shut up.

But the executor, who wanted the town to go license,
so's lie could make money, and thinkin' it would be for
her interest in the end, hired votes with her money. Her
money used to hire liquor-votes! So she heard, and
l)elieved. Tlie idee !

So her mone}', and his influence, and the influence of
low ai)i)etites, carried the day; and the liquor-traffic won.
The men who rented her houses, voted for license to a
nuui. Her property used agin to spread the evil! She
labored with these men with tears in her eyes. And they
liked her. She was dretful good to 'em. (As I say, she
held the things of this world with a loose gri^).)

They listened to her respectful, stood with their hats in
their hands, answerin' her soft, and went soft out of her
presence — and voted license to a man. You see, they
wus all willin' to give her love and courtesy and kindness,
but not the right to do as her heaven-learnt sense of right
and wrong wanted her to. She had a fine mind, a pure
heart: she had been through the highest schools of the
land, and that higher, heavenly school of sufferin', where
God is the teacher, and had graduated from 'em with her
lofty purposes refined and made luminous with somethin'
like the light of Heaven.

But those men — many of 'em who did not know a
letter of the alphabet, whose naturally dull minds had
become more stupified by habitual vice — those men, who
wus her inferiors, and her servants in every thing else,
wus each one of 'em her king here, and she his slave ;
and they compelled her to obey thier lower wills.

SWEET CICELY.

Wall, Cicely didn't think it wiis light. Curius she
should think so, some folks thought, but she did.

But all this that wore on her wus as nothin' to what
she felt about the bov, — her fears for his future. "What
could she do — what could she do for the boy, to make it
safer for him in the future?"

And I had jest this one answer, that I'd say over and
over agin to her, —

" Cicely, you can pray ! That is all that wimmen can
do. And try to influence him right now. God can take
care of the boy."

"But I can't keep him with me always; and other influ-
ences will come, and beat mine down. And I have prayed,
but God don't hear my prayer."

And I'd say, calm and soothin', "How do you know,
Cicely?"

And she says, " Why, how I prayed for help when my
poor Paul went down to ruin, through the open door of
a grog-shop I If the women of the land had it in their
power to do what their hearts dictate, — what the poorest,
lowest man has the right to do, — every saloon, every low
grog-shop, would be closed.'*

She said this to Josiah the mornin* after the lecture I
speak of. He sot there, seemin'ly perusin* the almanac ;
but he spoke up then, and says, —

" You can't sliet up human nater, Cicely : that will jump
out any way. As the poet says, ' Nater will caper.' "

But Cicely went right on, with her eyes a shinin', and
a red spot in her white cheeks that I didn't like to see.

" A thousand temptations that surround my boy now,
could be removed, a thousand low influences changed into

. a

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SWEET CICELY.

better, helpful ones. There are drunkards who long, who
pray, to have temptations removed out of their way, —
those who are trying to reform, and who dare not jiass
the door of a saloon, the very smell of the liquor cra/ing
them witli the desire for drink. They want helj), tliey
J ray to be saved; and we wlio are praying to help tliein
are powerless. What if, in the future, my boy should
be like one of them, — weak, tempt(3d, longing foi help,
and getting nothing but help towards vice and ruin ?
H.iven't mothers a right to help those they h/Ve in everj/
way, — by prayer, by influence, by legal right and
might?"

" It would be a dangerous experiment. Cicely," sa3's
Josiah, crossin' his right leg over his left, and turnin' the
almanac to another month. "It seems to me sunthin' un-
womanly, sunthin' aginst nater. It is turnin' the laws of
nater right round. It is perilous to the domestic nature
of wimmen."

" I don't think so," says I. " Don't you remember, Josiah
Allen, how you worried about them hens that we carried
to the fair ? They wus so handsome, and such good lay-
lers, that I really wanted the influence of them hens to
spread abroad. I wanted other folks to know about 'em,
so's to have some like 'em. But you worried awfully.
You wus so afraid that carryin' the hens into the turmoil
of public life would have a tendency to keep 'em from
wantin' to make nests and hatch chickens ! But it didn t.
Good land ! one of 'em made a nest right there» in the
coop to the fair, with the crowd a shoutin' round 'em, and
laid two eggs. You can't br^ak up nature's laws; thei/
are laid too deep and strong for any hammer we can get

SWEET CICELY.

holt of to toiicli 'em ; all the nations and emph'cs of the
world can't move 'em round a notch.

"A true woman's dee})est love and desire are for her
home and he loved ones, and planted right in by the side

1 '!'

samantiia's hens.

of these two loves of hern is a deathless instinct and desire
to protect and save them from danger.

" Good land ! I never heard a old hen called out of her
spear, and unhenly, because she would fly out at a hawk,
and cackle loud, and cluck, and try to lead her chickens

-if '.

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SWEET CICELY.

off into safety. And while the rooster is a steppin' high,
and struttin' round, and lookin' surprised and injured, it
is the old hen that saves the chickens, nine times out of ten.

"It is against the evil hawks, — men-hawks, — that are
ready to settle down, and tear the young and innocent out
of the home nest, that wimmen are tryin' to defend thier
children from. And men may talk about wimmen's gettin'
too excited and zealous ; but they don't cluck and cackle
half so loud as the old hen docs, or llutter round half so
earnest and fierce.

" And the chicken-hawk hain't to be compared for dan-
ger to the men-hawks ('icely is tryin' to save her boy
from. And I say it is domestic love in her to want to
protect nim, and tenderness, and nature, and grace, and —
and — every thing."

I wus wrought up, and felt deeply, and couldn't ex-
press half what I felt, and didn't much care if I couldn't.
I wus so rousted up, I felt fairly reckless about carin'
whether Josiah or anybody understood me or not. I knew
the Lord understood nie, and I knew what I felt in my
own mind, and I didn't much care for any thing else.
Wimmen do have such spells. They get fairly wore out
a tryin' to express what they feel in thier souls to a gain-
sayin' world, and have that world yell out at 'em, " Unwo-
manly ! unwomanly ! " I say. Cicely wuzn't unwomanly.
I say, that, from the very depths of her lovin' little soul, she
wus pure womanly, affectionate, earnest, tender-hearted,
good ; and, if anybody tells me she wuzn't, I'll know the
reason vhy.

But, V Ae I wus a reveryin' this, my Josiah spoke out
agin', anu says, —

SWEET CICELY.

" Influence the world through your child, Cicely ! influence
him, and let him influence the world. Let him make the
world better and purer by your influencein' it through him."

"Why not use that influence now, myself? I have it
here right in my heart, all that I could hope to teach to my
boy, at the best. And why wait, and set my hopes of
influencing the world through him, when a thousand things
may happen to weaken that influence, and death and
change may destroy it? Why, my one great fear and
dread is, that my boy will be led away by other, stronger
influences than mine, — the temptations that have over-
thrown so many other children of prayer — how dare I
hope that my boy will withstand them ? And death may
claim him before he could bear my influence to the world.
Why not use it now, myself, to help him, and other
mothers' boys ? If it is, as you say, an experiment, why
not let mothers try it ? It could not do any harm ; and it
would ease our poor, anxious hearts some, to make the
effort, even if it proved useless. No one can have a deeper
interest in the children's welfare than their mothers.
Would they be apt to do any thing to harm them?"

And then I spoke up, entirely unbeknown to myself,
and says, —

" Selfishness has had its way for years and years in
politics, and now why not let unselfishness have it for a
change ? For, Josiah Allen," says I firmly, " you know,
and I know, that, if there is any unselfishness in this
selfish world, it is in the heart of a mother."

" It would be apt to be dangerous," says Josiah, crossin'
his left leg over his right one, and turnin' to a new month
in the almanac. " It would most likely be apt to be."

TT-

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SWEET CICELY.

" WhTjf'' says Cicely. " Why is it dangerous? Why is
it wrong for a women to try to help them she would die
for ? Yes," says she solemnly, " I would die for Paul any
time if I knew it would smooth his pathway, make it
easier for him to be a good man."

" Wall, you see, Cicely," says Josiah in a soft tone, — ■
his love for her softenin' and smoothin' out his axent till
it sounded almost foolish and meachin', — " you see, it
would be dangerous for wimmen to vote, because votin'
would be apt to lower wimmen in the opinion of us men
and the public generally. In fact, it would be apt to lower
wimmen down to mingle in a lower class. And it would
gaul me dretfully," says Josiah, turnin' to me, " to have
our sweet Cicely lower herself into a lower grade of
society : it would cut me like a knife."

And then I spoke right up, for I can't stand too much
foolishness at one time from man or woman ; and I says, —

" I'd love to have you speak up, Josiah Allen, and tell
me how wimmen would go to work to get any lower in
the opinion of men ; how they could get into any lower
grade of society than they are minglin' with now. They
are ranked now by the laws of the United States, and the
will of men, with idiots, lunatics, and criminals. And
how pretty it looks for you men to try to scare us, and
make us think there is a lower class we could get into !
There hain't any lower class that we can get into than the
ones we are in now ; and you know it, Josiah Allen. And
you sha'n't scare Cicely by tryin' to make her think there

: , "
IS.

He quailed. He knew there wuzn't. He knew he had
said it to scare us, Cicely and me, and he felt considerable

SWEET CICELY.

meacliin' to think he had got found out in it. But he
went on in ruther of a meek tone, —

" It would be apt to make talk, Cicely."

"What do I care for talk?" says she. "What do I
care for honor, or
praise, or blame? I
only want to try to
save my boy."

And she kep' right
on with her tender,
earnest voice, and
her eyes a shinin'
like stars, —

"Have I not a
right to help him?
Is he not mi/ child?
Did not God give me
a right to him, when
I went down into the
darkness with God
alone, and a soul was
given into my hands ?
Did I not suffer for
him ? Have I not
been blessed in him ?
Why, his little hands
held me back from
the gates of death.
By all the rights of heavenliest joy and deepest agony —
is he not mine? Have I not a right to heb^ iiim in his
future ?

CICELY AND HEU PEERS.

-> immm mmmmmimi mi i iM t mmm

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SWEET CICELY.

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" Now I hold him in my arms, my flesh, my blood, my
life. I hold him on my heart noAv : he is mine. I can
shield him from danger : if he should fall into the flames,
I could reach in after him, and die with him, or save him.
God and man give me that right now : I do not have to
ask for it.

" But in a few years he will go out from me, carrying
my own life with him, my heart will go with him, to joy
or to death. He will go out into dangers a thousand-fold
worse than death, — dangers made respectable and legal,
— and I can't help him.

"i^ his mother, who would die for him any hour — I
must stand with my eyes open, but my hands bound, and
see him rushing headlong into flames tenfold hotter than
lire ; see him on the brink of earthly and eternal ruin, and
can't reach out my hand to hold him back. My boy / My
oicn ! Is it right ? Is it just ? "

And she got up, and walked the room back and forth,
and says, —

" How can I bear the thought of it ? How can I live
and endure it? And how can I die, and leave the
boy?"

And her eyes looked so big and bright, and that spot of
red would look so bright on her white cheeks, that I would
get skairt. And I'd try to sooth her down, and talk
gentle to her. And I says, —

" All things are possible with God, and you must wait
and hope."

But she says, " What will hope do for me when my boy
is lost ? I want to save him now."

It did beat all, as I told Josiah, out to one side, to see

SWEET CICELY.

such hefty principles and emotions in such a little body.
Why, she didn't weigh much over 90, if she did any.

And Josiah whispered back, "All women hain't like
Cicely."

And I says in the same low, deep tones, " All men hain't
like George Washington ! Now get me a pail of water."

And he went out. But it did beat all, how that little
thing, when she stood ready, seemin'ly, to tackle the na-
tion — I've seen her jump up in a chair, afraid of a mice.
The idee of anybody bein' afraid of a mice, and ready to
tackle the Constitution !

And she'd blush up red as a rosy if a stranger would
speak to her. But she would fight the hull nation for
her boy.

And I'd try to sooth her (for that red spot on her cheeks
skairt me, and I foreboded about her). I said to her after
Josiah went out, a holdin' her little hot hands in mine, —
for sometimes her hands would be hot and feverish, and
then, agin, like two snowflakes, —

" Cicely, women's voting on intemperance would, as
your uncle Josiah says, be a experiment. I candidly think
and believe that it would be a good thing, — a blessin' to
the youth of the land, a comfort to the females, and no
harm to the males. But, after all, we don't know what
it would do " —

" JA;»iow^," says she. And her eyes had such a far-off,
prophetic look in 'em, that I declare for't, if I didn't al-
most think she did know. I says to myself, —

" She's so sweet and unselfish and good, that I believe
she's more than half-ways into heaven now. The Holy
Scriptures, that I believe in, says, ' Blessed are the pure

SWEET CICELY.

in heart, for they shall see God.' And it don't say where
tiiey shall see IJim, or when. And it don't say that the
H<»ht that fell from on higli upon the blessed mother of onr
l^ord, shall never fall again on other heart-broken mothers,
on other pure sonls beloved of Ilim."

And it is the honest truth, that it would not have sur-
prised me much sometimes, as she wus settin' in the twi-
light with the boy in her arms, if I had seen a lialo round
her head ; and so I told Josiah one night, after she liad
been a settin' there a holdin' the boy, and a singin' low to
him, —

** ' A charge to keep I have, —
A God to glorify ;
A never-dying soul to save,
And fit it for the sky.' "

It wuzn't her soul she wus a thinkin' of, I knew. Sl»e
didn't think of herself : she never did.

And after she went to bed, I mentioned the halo. Aid
Josiah asked what that was. And I told him it was " tl.o
inner glory that shines out from a pure soul, and crowns a
holy life."

And he said "he s'posed it was some sort of a hciid-
dress. Wimmen was so full of new names, he thought it
was some new kind of a crowfar."

I knew what he meant. He didn't mean crowfar, 1 e
meant croufure. That is French. But I woukln't hut
his feelin's by correctm' him; for I thought "fur" cr
" fure," it didn't make much of any difference.

Wall, the very next day, when Josiah came from Jones-
ville, — he had been to mill, — he brought Cicely a letter

"A CHABOE TO KEEP I HAVE."

J^!*v

' ! it

ijii!

SWEET CICELY.

from her aunt Mary. She wanted her to come on at once;
for her daughter, who wus a runnin' down, wus supposed
to be a runnin' faster than she had run. And her aunt
Mary was goin' to start for the Michigan very soon, — as
soon as she got well enough : she wasn't feelin' well when
she wrote. And she wanted Cicely to come at once.

So she went the next day, but promised that jest as
quick as she got through visitin' her aunt and her other
relations there, she would come back here.

So she went ; and I missed her dretfully, and should
have missed her more if it hadn't been for the state my
companion returned in after he had carried Cicely to the
train.

He come home rampant with a new idee. All wrought
up about goin' into politics. He broached the subject to
me before he onharnessed, hitchin' the old mair for the
purpose. He wanted to be United-States senator. He
said he thought the nation needed him.

" Needs you for what ? " says I coldly, cold as a ice
suckle.

" Why, it needs somebody it can lean on, and it needs
somebody that can lean. I am a popular man," says he.
" An I if I can help the nation, I will be glad to do it ; and
if the nation can help me, I am willin'. The change from
Jonesville to Washington will be agreeable and relaxin',
and I lay out to try it."

Says I, in sarkastick tones, " It is a pity you hain't got
your free pass to go on : — you remember that incident,
don't you, Josiah Allen ? "

What of it ? " he snapped out. " What if I do ? "
Wall, I thought then, that, when you got high-headed

((

SWEET CICELY.

and haughty on any subject agin, mebby you would re-
member that pass, and be more modest and unassuming."

He riz right up, and hollered at me, —

" Throw that pass in my face, will you, at this time of
year ? "

And he started for the barn, almost on the run.

But I didn't care. I wus bound to break up this idee
of hisen at once. If I hadn't been, I shouldn't have men-
tioned the free pass to him. For it is a subject so gnulin'
to him, that I never allude to it only in cases of extreme
clanger and peril, or uncommon high-headedness.

Now T have mentioned it, I don't know but it will be
expected of me to tell about this pass of hisen. But, if I
do, it mustn't go no further ; for Josiah would be mad, mad
as a hen, if he knew I told about it.

I will relate the history in ancther epistol.

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CHAPTER IV.

This free pass of Josiah Allen's wus indeed a strange
incident, and it made sights and sights of talk.

But of course there wus considerable lyin' about it, as
you know the way is. Why, it does beat all how stories
will grow.

Why, when I hear a story nowadays, I always allow a
full half for shrinkage, and sometimes three-quarters ; and
a good many times that hain't enough. Such awful lyin'
times ! It duz beat all.

But about this strange thing that took place and hap-
pened, I will proceed and relate the plain and unvarnished
history of it. And what I set down in this epistol, you
can depend upcn. It is the plain truth, entirely unvar-
nished : not a mite of varnish will there be on it.

A little over two years ago Josiah Allen, my companion,
had a opportunity to buy a wood-lot cheap. It wus about
a mild and a half from here, and one side of the lot run
along by the side of the railroad. A Irishman had owned
it previous and prior to this time, and had built a little
shanty on it, and a pig-pen. But times got hard, the pig
died, and owing to that, and other financikal difficulties,
the Irishman had to sell the place, "ten acres more or

8WEET CICELY.

less, runnin' up to a stake, and back again," as the law
directs.

Wall, he beset my companion Josiah to buy it ; and as
he had plenty of money in the Jonesville bank to pay
for it, and the wood on our wood-lot wus gettin' pretty
well thinned out, I didn't make no objection to the enter-
prize, but, on the other hand, I encouraged him in it.
And so he made the bargain with him, the deed wus made
out, the Irishman paid. And Josiah put a lot of wood-
choppers in there to work; and they cut, and drawed the
wood to Jonesville, and made money. Made riore than
enough the first six months to pay for the expenditure
and outlay of money for the lot.

He did well. And he calculated to do still better; for
he said the place bein' so near Jonesville, he laid out,
after he had got the wood off, and sold it, and kep' what
he wanted, he calculated and laid out to sell the place for
twice what he give for it. Josiah Allen hain't nobody's
fool in a bargain, a good deal of the time he hain't. He
knows how to make good calculations a good deal of the
time. He thought somebody would want the place to
build on.

Wall, I asked him one day what he laid out to do with
the shanty and the pig-pen that wus on it. The pig-pen
wus right by the side of the railroad-track.

And he said he laid out to tear 'em down, and draw the
lumber home: he said the boards would come handy to
use about the premises.

Wall, I told him I thought that would be a good plan,
or words to that effect. I can't remember the exact words
I used, not expectin' that I would ever have to remember

SWEET CICELY.

! !! i

back, and lay 'em to heart. Which I should not had it
not been for the strange and singular things that occuired
and took place afterwards.

Then I asked my companion, if I remember rightly,
"When he laid out to draw the boards 'iome^" For
I mistrusted there would be some planks amongst 'em,
and I wanted a couple to lay down from the back-door to
the pump. The old ones was gettin' all cracked up and
broke in spots.

And he said he should draw 'em up the first day he
could spare the team. Wall, this wus alor ^ in the first
week in April that we had this talk: warm j.id pleasant
the weather wus, exceedingly so, for the time of year.
And I proposed to him that we should have the children
come home on the 8th of April, which wus Thomas J.'s
birthday, and have as nice a dinner as we could get, and
buy a handsome present for him. And Josiah was very
agreeable to the idee (for when did a man ever look
scornfully on the idee of a good dinner?).

And so the next day I went to work, and cooked up
every thing I could think of that would be good. I made
cakes of all kinds, and tarts, and jellys. And I wus
goin' to have spring lamb and a chicken-pie (a layer of
chicken, and a layer of oysters. I can make a chicken-
pie that will melt in your mouth, though 1 am fur from
bein' the one that ort to say it) ; and I wus goin' to have
a baked fowl, and vegetables of all kinds, and every thing
else I could think of that wus good. And I baked a largo
plum-cake a purpose for Whitfield, with " Our Son " on it
in big red sugar letters, and the dates of his birth and the
present date on each side of it.

8WEET CICELY.

;< I

I do well by the children, Josia-h says I do ; and they
see it now, the children do ; they see it plainer every day,
they say they do. They say, that since they have gone
out into the world more, and seen more of the coldness
and selfishness of the world, they appreciate more and
more the faithful affection of h3r whose name wus once
Smith.

Yes, they like me better and better every year, they
say they do. And they treat me pretty, dretful pretty.
I don't want to be treated prettier by anybody than the
children treat me.

And their affectionate devotion pays me, it pays me
richly, for all the care and anxiety they caused me.
There hain't no paymaster like Love : he pays the best
wages, and the most satisfyin', of anybody I ever see.
But I am a eppisodin', and to resoom and continue on.

Wall! the dinner passed off perfectly delightful and
agreeable. The children and Josiah eat as if — Wall,
suffice it to say, the way they eat wus a great compliment
to the cook, and I took it so.

Thomas J. wus highly delighted with his presents. I
got him a nice white willow rockin '-chair, with red ribbons
run all round the back, and bows of the same on top,
and a red cushion, — a soft feather cushion that I made
myself for it, covered with crimson rep (wool goods, very
nice). Why, the cushion cost me above 60 cents, besides
my work and the feathers.

Josiah proposed to get him a acordeun, but I talked
him out of that ; and then he wanted to get him a bright
blue necktie. But I perswaided him to give him a hand-
some china coffee cup and saucer, with " To My Son "

^ I

SWEET CICELY.

painted on it ; and I urged him to give him that, with ten
new silver dollars in it. Says I, " He is all the son you
have got, and a good son." And Josiah consented after a
parlay. Why, the chair I give him cost about as much as
that ; and it wuzn't none too good, not at all.

Wall, he had a lovely day. And what made it pleas-
anter, we had a prospect of havin' another jest as good.
For in about 2 months' time it would be Tirzah's Ann's
birthday ; and we both told her, Josiah and me, both did,
that she must get ready for jest another such a time. For
we laid out to treat 'em both alike (which is both Christian
and common sense). And we told 'em they must all be
ready to come home that day. Providence and the weather
permittin'.

Wall, it wus so awful pleasant when the children got
ready to go home, that Josiah proposed that he and me
should go along to Jonesville with 'em, and carry little
Samantha Joe. And I wus very agreeable to the idee,
be in' a little tired, and thinkin' such a ride would be both
restful and refreshin'.

And, oh ! how beautiful every thing looked as we rode
along ! The sun wus goin' down in glory ; and Jonesville
layin' to the west of us, we seemed to be a ridin' along
right into that glory — right towards them golden palaces,
and towers of splendor, that riz up from the sea of gold.
And behind them shinin' towers wus shadowy mountain
ranges of softest color, that melted up into the tender blue
of the April sky. And right in the east a full moon wuz
sailin', lookin' down tenderly on Josiah and me and the
babe — and Jonesville and the world. And the comet sot
there up in the sky like a silent and shinin' mystery.

:H;

!i?

SWEET CICELY.

> i

The babe's eyes looked big and dreamy and thoughtful.
She has got the beautifulest eyes, little Samantha Joe has.
You can look down deep into 'em, and see yourself in 'em ;
but, beyond yourself, what is it you can see ? I can't tell,
nor nobody. The ellusive, wonderful beauty that lays in

god's comma.

the innocent baby eyes of little Samantha Joe. The
swofit, fur-off look, as if she wus a lookin' right through
this world into a fairer and more peaceful one.

And how smart they be, who can answer their question-
ing, — questionin' about every thing. Nobody can't —

[

SWEET CICELY.

Josiah can't, nor I, nor nobody. Pretty soon she looked
up at the comet ; and says she, " Nama," — she can't say
grandma, — " Nama, is that God's comma ? "

Now, jest see how deep that wuz, and beautiful, very.
The heavens wuz full of the writin' of God, writin' we
can't read yet, and translate into our coarser language ;
and she, with her deep, beautiful eyes, a readin' it jest as
plain as print, and puttin' in all the marks of punctuation.
Readin' the marvellous poem of glory, with its tremblin'
pause of flame.

Josiah says, it is because she couldn't say comet ; but I
know better. Says I, "Josiah Allen, hain't it the same
shape as a comma ? "

And he had to gin it up that it was. And in a minute
or two she says agin, —

" Nama, what is the comma up there for ? "

Now hear that, how deep that wuz. Who could answer
that question ? I couldn't, nor Josiah couldn't. Nor the
wisest philosopher that ever walked the earth, not one of
'em. From them that kept their night-watches on the
newly built pyramids, to the astronimers of to-day who
are spending their lives in the study of the heavens. If
every one of them learned men of the world, livin' and
dead, if they all stood in rows in our door-yard in front
of little Samantha Joe, they would have to bow their
haughty heads before her, and put their finger on their
lips. Them lips could say very large words in every lan-
guage under the sun ; but they couldn't answer my baby's
question, not one of 'em.

But I am eppisodin' fearfully, fearfully; and to re-
soom.

SWEET CICELY.

We left the children and the babe safe in their respec-
tive housen', and happy ; and we went on placidly to
Jonesville, got our usual groceries, and stopped to the
post-office. Josiah went into the office, and come out
with his " World," and one letter, a big letter with a blue
envelope. I thought it had a sort of a queer look, but I
didn't say nothin'. And it bein' sort o' darkish, he didn't
try to open it till we got home. Only I says, —

"Who do you s'pose your letter is from, Josiah Allen?"

And he says, " I don't know : the postmaster had a
awful time a tryin' to make out who it was to. I should
think, by his tell, it wus the dumbdest writin' that ever
wus seen. I should think, by his tell, it went ahead of
yourn."

"Wall," says I, "there is no need of your swearin'."
Says I, "If I wus a grandfather, Josiah Allen, I would
choose my words with a little more decency, not to say
morality." '

" Wall, wall I your writin' is enough to make a man
sweal, and you know it."

" I hadn't disputed it," says I with dignity. And havin*
laid the blame of the bad writin' of the letter he had got,
off onto his companion, as the way of male pardners is,
he felt easy and comfortable in his mind, and talked agree-
able all the way home, and affectionate, some.

Wall, we got home ; and I lit a light, and fixed the fire
so it burnt bright and clear. And I drawed up a stand in
front of the fire, with a bright crimson spread on it, for
the lamp ; and I put Josiah's rockin'-chair and mine, one
on each side of it ; and put Josiah's slippers in front of
the hearth to warm. And then I took my knittin'-work,

SWEET CICELY.

JOSIAU BEADINO TUE LETTEB.

SWEET CICELY.

and went to knittin' ; and by that time Josiah had got his
barn-chores all done, and come in.

And the very first thing he did after he come in, and
drawed off his boots, and wondered "why under the
gracious heavens it was, that the bootjack never could be
found where he had left it " (which was right in the mid-
dle of the settin'-room floor). But he found it hangin'
up in its usual place in the closet, only a coat had got
hung up over it so he couldn't see it for half a minute.

And after he had his warm slippers on, and got sot
down in his easy-chair opposite to his beloved companion,
lie grew calmer again, and more placider, and drawed out
that letter from his pocket.

Ana I sot there a knittin', and a watchin' my compan-
i;)n's face at the same time ; and I see that as he read the
letter, he looked smut, and sort o' wonder-struck : and
s.iys I, —

*' Who is your letter from, Josiah Allen ? "

And he says, lookin' up on top of it, —

" It is from the headquarters of the Railroad Company ; "
and says he, lookin' close at it agin, "As near as I can
make out, it is a free pass for me to ride on the rail-
road."

Says I, " Why, that can't be, Josiah Allen. Why should
they give you a free pass? "

" I don't know," says he. " But I know it is one. The
more I look at it," says he, growin' excited over it, —
" the more I look at it, the plainer I can see it. It is a
free pass." '

Says I, " I don't believe it, Josiah Allen."

" Wall, look at it for yourself, Samantha Allen " (when

SWEET CICELY.

he is dretful excited, he always calls me Samantha Allen),
" and see what it is, if it hain't that ; " and he throwed it
into my lap.

I looked at it close and severe, but not one word could
I make out, only I thought I could partly make out the

^ *-»»- ^ t-»/^

COPT OF THE LETTBB: FREE PASS.

word "remove," and along down the sheet the word
" place," and there wus one word that did look like " free."
And Josiah jumped at them words ; and says he, —

" It means, you know, the pass reads like this, for me to
remove myself from place to place, free. Don't you see
through it?" says he.

SWEET CICELY.

\ \

1 f

" No," says I, holdin' the paper np to the hght. " No,
I don't see through it, far from it."

" Wall," says he, highly excited and tickled, " I'll try
it to-morrow, anyway. I'll see whether I am in the right,
or not."

And he ''^ nt on dreamily, "Lemme see — I have got
to move tha. lumber in the mornin' up from my wood-lot.
But it won't take me more'n a couple of hours, or so, and
in the afternoon I'll take a start."

Says I, " What under the sun, Josiah Allen, should the
Railroad Company give you a free pass for ? "

"Wall," says he, "I have my thoughts."

lie spoke in a dretful sort of a mysterious way, but
proud; and I says, —

" What do you think is the reason, Josiah Allen ? "

And he says, "It hain't always best to tell what you
think. I hain't obleeged to," says he.

And I says, "No. As the poet saith, nobody hain't
obleeged to use common sense unless they have got it ; "
and I says, in a meauin' tone, "No, I can't obleege you to
tell me."

Wall, sure enough, the next day, jest as quick as he
got that lumber drawed up to the house, Josiah Allc?i
dressed up, and sot off for Jonesville, and come home at
night as tickled a man as I ever see, if not tickleder.

And he says, " Now what do you think, Samantha
Allen ? Now what do you think about my ridin' on that
pass?"

And I says, " Have you rode on it, Josiah Allen ? "

And he says, " Yes, mom, I have. I have rode to Loon-
town and back ; and I might have gone ten times as fur,
and not a word been said."

\ .■ t

SWEET CICELY.

i»»

And I says, "What did the conductor say?'

And he says, "He didn't say nothin'. When he asked

me for my fare, I told him I had a free pass, and I showed

\ it to him. And he took it, and looked at it close, and

LOOKING DUBERSOME.

took out his specks, and looked and looked at it for a
number of minutes ; and then he handed it back to me,
and I put it into my pocket ; and that wus all there was
of it."

■5 : ! ,

,98

SWEET CICELY.

Says I, "How did the conductor look when he Wcas
a readin' it?"

And he owned up that he looked dubersome. But,
says he, "I rode on it, and I told you that I could."

" Wall," says I, sithin', " there is a great mystery about
It."

Says he, " There hain't no mystery to me."

And then I beset him agin to tell me what he thought
the reason wus they give it to him.

And he said "he thought it was because he was so
smart." Says he, " I am a dumb smart feller, Samantha,
though I never could make you see it as plain as I wanted
to." And then says he, a goin' on prouder and prouder
every minute, —

"I am pretty-lookin'. 1 am what you might call a
orniment to any ciar on the track. I kinder set a car off,
and make *em look respectable and dressy. And I'm what
you might call a influential man, and I s'pose the rail-
road-men want to keep the right side of me. And they
have took the right way to do it. T shall speak well of
'em as long as I can ride free. And, oh ! what solid com-
fort I shall take, Samantha, a ridin' on that pass ! I
calculate to see the world now. And there is nothin'
under the sun to hender you from goin' with me. As
long as you are the wife of such a influential and popular
man as I be, it don't look well for you to go a mopein'
along afoot, or with the old mare. We will ride in the
future on my free pass." > .. -

"No," says I. "I sha'n't ride off on a mystery. I
prefer a mare.'* -

Says he, for he wus that proud and excited that you
couldn't stop him nohow, —

SWEET CICELY.

" It will be a dretful savin' of money, but that hain't
what I think of the most. It is the honor they are a
heapin' onto me. To think that they think so much of
me, set such a store by me, and look up to me so, that
they send me a free pass without my makin' a move to
ask for it. Why, it shows plain, Samantha, that I am one
of the first men of the age."

And so he would go on from hour to hour, and from
day to day ; and I wus that dumbfoundered and wonderin'
about it, that I couldn't for my life tell what to think of
it. It worried me.

But froin that day Josiah Allen rode on that pass, every
chance he got. Why, he went to the Ohio on it, ^>n a
visit to his first wive's sister; and he went to Michigan on
it, and to the South, and everywhere he could think of.
Why, he faliiy hunted up relations on it, and I told him
so.

And after he got 'em hunted up, he'd take them onto
that pass, and ride round with 'em on it.

And he told every one of 'em, he told everybody, that
he thought as much agin of the honor as he did of the
money. It showed that he wus thought so much of, not
only in Jonesville, but the world at large.

Why, he took such solid comfort in it, that it did hon-
estly seem as if he grew fat, he wus so puffed up by it,
and proud. And some of the neighbors that he boasted
so before, wus eat up with envy, and seemed mad to think
he had come to such honor, and they hadn't. But the
madder they acted, the tickleder he seemed, and more
prouder, and high-headeder. "

But I could not feel so. I felt that there wus sunthin'

100

SWEET CICELY.

strange and curius about it. And it wus very, very
seldom that Josiah could get me to ride on it. Though I
did take a few short journeys on it, to please him. But
I felt sort o' uneasy while I was a ridin' on it, same as
you feel when you are goin' up-hill with a heavy load and
a little horse. You kinder stand on your feet, and lean
forward, as if your bein' oncomforiable, and standin' up,
helped the horse some.

1 had a good deal of that restless feelin', and oneasy.
And as I told Josiah time and time again, "that for stiddy
ridin' I preferred a mare to a mystery."

Wall, it run along for a year ; and Josiah said he s'posed
he'd have to write on, and get the pass renewed. As near
as he could make out, it run out about the 4th day of
April. So he wrote down to the head one in New-York
village ; and the answer came back by return mail, and
wrote in plain writin' so we could read it.

It seemed there wus a mistake. It wuzn't a free pass,
it wus a order for Josiah Allen to remove a pig-pen from
his place on the railroad-track within three days.

There it wuz, a order to remove a nuisence ; and Josiah
Allen had been a ridin' on it for a year, with pride in his
mean, and haughtiness in his demeanor.

Wall, I never see a man more mortified and cut up than
Josiah Allen wuz. If he hadn't boasted so over its bein'
gin to him on account of his bein' so smart and popular
and etcetery, he wouldn't have felt so cut up. But as it
was, it bowed down his bald head into the dust (allegory).

But he didn't stay bowed down for any length of time :
truly, men are constituted in such a way that mortification
don't show on 'em for any length of time. . ,,^ . ^. ^

SWEET CICELY.

101

But it made sights and sights of talk in Jonesville. The
Jonesvillians made sights and sights of fun of him, poked
fun at him, and snickered. I myself didn't say much : it
hain't my way. I merely says this : says I, —

" You thought you wus so awful popular, Josiah Allen,
mebby you won't go rouna with so haughty a mean onto
you right away."

" Throw my mean in my face if you want to," sa3'^s he.
" But I guess," says he, " it will learn 'em another time to
take a little more pains with their duck's tracks, dumb
'em ! "

Says I, " Stop instantly." And he knew what I meant,
and stopped.

L I

JOSIAU AND UIS JUELATIONS OX THE PASS (p. 00).

CHAPTER V.

JosTATi is as kind-hearted a man as was ever made.
And he loves me with a devotion, that though hidden some-
times, like volcanic fires, and other married men's affec-
tions for their wives, yet it bursts out occasionally in
spurts and jets of unexpected tenderness.

Now, the very next mornin' after Cicely left for her aunt
Mary's, he gave me a flaming proof of that hidden fire that
burns but don't consume him.

A agent come to our dwelling, and with the bland and
amiable air of their sect, asked me, —

" If I would buy a encyclopedia ? "

I was favorable to the idee, and showed it by my looks
and words ; but Josiah wus awful set against it. And the
more favorable I talked about it, the more horrow-struck
and skairt Josiah Allen looked. And finally he got behind
the agent, and winked at me, and made motions for me to
foUer him into the buttery. He wunk several times be-
fore I paid much attention to 'em ; but finally, the winks
grew so violent, and the motions so imperious, yet clever,
that I got up, and foUered him into the buttery. He
shet the door, and stood with his back against it ; and says
to me, with his voice fairly trembliu' with his emotions, —

102

SWEET CICELY.

103

" It will throw you, Samantha I you don't want to buy
it."

" What will throw me ? and when ? " says I.

" Why," says he, " you can't never ride it ! How should
I feel to see you on one of 'em ! It skairs me most to
death to see a boy ride 'em ; and at your age, and with
your rheumatiz, you'd get throwed, and get your neck
broke, the first day." Says he, " If you have got to have
something more stylish, and new-fangled than the old
mair, I'd luther buy you a philosopher. They are easier-
going than a encyclopedia, anyway."

" A philosopher ? " says I dreamily.

" Yes, such a one as Tom Gowdey has got.'*

Says I, " You mean a velocipede ! "

"Yes, and I'll get you one ruther than have you
ridin' round the country on a encyclopedia."

His tender thoughtfulness touched my heart, and I ex-
plained to him all about 'em. He thought it was some
kind of a bycicle. And he brightened up, and didn't make
no objections to my gettin' one.

Wall, that very afternoon he went to Jonesville, and
come home, as I said, all rousted up about bein' a senator.
I s'pose Elburtus'es bein' there, and talkin' so much on
politics, had kinder sot him to thinkin' on it. Anyway, he
come home from Jonesville perfectly rampant with the
idee of bein' United-States senator. "He said he had
been approached on the subject.'*

He said it in that sort of a haughty, high-headed way,
such as men will sometimes assume when they think they
have had some high honors heaped onto 'em.

Says I, " Who has approached you, Josiah Allen ? "

104

SWEET CICELY.

JOSIAH BKIMG APPROACHED.

"Wall," he said, "it might be a foreign minister, and
it might be uncle Nate Gowdey." He thought it wouldn't
be best to tell who it was. " But," says he, " I am bound

SWEET CICELY.

106

to be senator. Josiah Allen, M.C., will probable be wrote
on my letters before another fall. I am bound to run."

Says I coldly, " You know 3^0 u can't run. You are as
lame as you can be. You have got the rheumatiz the
worst kind."

Says he, " I mean runnin' with political legs — and I do
want to be a senator, Saraantha. I want to, like a dog.
I want the money there is in it, and I want the honor.
You know they have elected me path-master, but I hain't
a goin' to accept it. I tell you, when anybody gets into
political life, ambition rousts up in 'em : path-master don't
satisfy me. I want to be senator : I want to, like a dog.
And I don't lay out to tackle the job as Elburtus did, and
act too good."

" No ! " says I sternly. " There hain't no danger of
your bein' too good."

" No : I have laid my plans, and laid 'em careful. The
relation on your side was too willin', and too clever. And
witnessin' his campaign has learnt me some deep lessons.
I watched the rocks he hit aginst; and I have laid my
plans, and laid 'em careful. I am going to act offish. I
feel that offishness is my strong holt — and endearin' my-
self to the masses. Educatin' public sentiment up to lovin'
me, and urgin' me not to be so offish, and to obleege 'em by
takin' a office — them is my 2 strong holts. If I can only
hang back, and act on willin', and get the masses fierce to
elect me — why, I'm made. And then, I've got a plan in
my head."

I groaned, in spite of myself.

" I have got a plan in my head, that, if every other plan
fails, will elect me in spite of the old Harry.'*

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8WEET CICELY.

Oh ! how that oath grated against my nerve ! And how
I hung back from this idee ! I am one that looks ahead.
And I says in firm tones, —

"You never would get the nomination, Josiah Allen I
And if you did, you never would be elected."

•' Oh, yes, I ahould ! " says he. But he continued
dreamily, "There would have to be considerable wire-
pullin'."

"Where would the wires be?" says I sternly. "And
who would pull 'em ? "

" Oh, most anywhere I " says he, lookin' dreamily up
onto the kitchen ceilin', as ii" wires wus liable to be let
down anywhere through the plasterin'.

Says I, " Should you have to go to pullin' wires ? "

" Of course I should," says he.

"Wall," says I, "you nuiy as well make up your mind
in the first ont, that I hain't goin' to give my consent
to have you go into any thing dangerous. I hain't goin' to
have you break your neck, at your age."

Says he, " I don't know but my age is as good a age to
break my neck in as any other. I never sot any particu-
lar age to break my neck in."

" Make fun all you are a mind to of a anxious Saman-
tha," says I, " but I will never give my consent to have
you plunge into such dangerous enterprizes. And talkin'
about pullin' wires sounds dangerous: it sounds like a
circus, somehow; and how would you^ with your back,
look and feel performin' like a circus?" ; t

" Oh, you don't understand, Samantha ! the wires hain't
pulled in that way. You don't pull 'em with your hands,
you pull 'em with your minds."

SWEET CICELY.

107

" Oh, wall ! " says I, brightenin' up. " You are all right
in that case: you won't pull hard enough to hurt you
any."

I knew the size and strength of his mind, jest as well as
if I had took it out of his head, and weighed it on the steel-
yards. It was not over and above large. I knew it ; and
he knew that I knew it, because I have had to sometimes,
in the cause of Right, remind him of it. But he knows*
that my love for him towers up like a dromedary, and
moves off through life as stately as she duz — the drome-
dary. Josiah was my choice out of a world full of men.
I love Josiah Allen. But to resoom and continue on.

Josiah says, " Which side had I better go on, Saman-
tha ? " Says he, kinder puttin' his head on one side, and
lookin' shrewdly up at the stove-pipe, " Would you run as
a Stalwart, or a Half-breed ? "

Says I, "I guess you would run more like a lame hen'
than a Stalwart or a Half-breed; or," says I, "it would
depend on what breeds they wuz. If they wus half snails,
and half Times in the primers, maybe you could get ahead
of 'em."

" I should think, Samantha Allen, in such a time as this, "
you would act like a rational bein'. I'll be hanged if I
know what side to go on to get elected ! "

Says I, "tijsiah Allen, hain't you got any principle?
Don't you know what side you are on ? "

" Why, yes, I s'pose I know as near as men in gineral.
I'm a Democrat in times of peace. But it is human nater, •
to want to be on the side that beats."

I sithed, and murmured instinctively, " George Wash- ;
ingtoni"

108

SWEET CICELY.

" George Granny ! " says lie.

I sithed agin, and kep' sithin'.

Says I, "It is bad enough, Josiah Allen, to have you
talk about runnin' for senator, and puUin' wires, and et-
eetery. But, oh, oh ! my agony to think my partner is
destitute of principle."

" I have got as much as most i)olitical men, and you'll
find it out so, Samantha."

My groans touched his heart — that man loves me.

* I am goin' to work as they all do. But wimmen hain't
no heads for business, and I always said so. They don't
look out for the profits of things, as men do."

I didn't say nothin' only my sithes, but they spoke
volumes to any one who understood their language. But
anon, or mebby before, — I hadn't kep' any particular
account of time, but I think it wus about anon, — when
another thouglit struck me so, right in my breast, that it
most knocked me over. It hanted me all the rest of that
day : and all that night I lay awake and worried, and I'd
sithe, and sposen the case ; and then I'd turn over, and
sposen the case, and sithe.

Sposen he would be elected — I didn't really think he
would, but I couldn't for my life help sposen. Sposen
lie would have to go to Washington. I knew strange
things took place in politics. Strange men run, and run
fur: some on 'em run clear to Washington. Mebby he
would. Oh ! how I groaned at the idee !

I thought of the awfulness of that place as I had heard
it described upon to me ; and then I thought of the weak-
ness of men, and their liability to be led astray. I thought
of the powerful blasts of temptation that bio wed through

SWEET CICELY.

109

them broad streets, and the small size of my pardner, and
the light weight of his bones and principles.

And I felt, if things wuz as they had been deplete red to
me, he would (in a moral sense) be lifted right up, and
blowed away — bones, principles, and all. And I trembled.

At last the idee knocked so firm aginst the door of my
heart, that I had to let it
in. That I must^ I mu8t
go to Washington, as a
forerunner of Josiah. I
must go ahead of him,
and look round, and see
if my Josiah could pass
through with no smell of
fire on his overcoat — if
there wuz any possibility
of it. If there wuz, why,
I should stand still, and
let things take their
course. But if my worst
apprehensions wuz real-
ized, if I see that it was a
place where my pardner

would lose all the modest worth and winnin' qualities
that first endeared him to me — why, I would come home,
and throw all my powerful influence and weight into the
scales, and turn 'em round.

Of course, I felt that I should have to make some pre-
text about goin' : for though I wus as innocent as a babe
of wantin' to do so, I felt that he would think he wus
bein' domineered over by me. Men are so sort o' high-

JOSIAU BEING ULOWN AWAY.

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110

SWEET CICELY.

headed and haughty about some things ! But I felt T could
make a pretext of George Washington. That dear old
martyr ! I felt truly I would love to weep upon his tomb.

And so I told Josiah the next mornin', for I thought I
would tackle the subject at once. And he says, —

" What do you want to weep on his tomb for, Samantha,
at this late day ? "

Says I, " The day of love and gratitude never fades into
night, Josiah Allen : the sun of gratitude never goes down ;
it shines on that tomb to-day jest as bright as it did in
1800."

" Wall, wall ! go and weep on it if you want to. But
I'll bet half a cent that you'll cry onto the ice-house, as
I've heard of other wimmen's doin'. Wimmen don't see
into things as men do."

" You needn't worry, Josiah Allen. I shall cry at the
right time, and in the right place. And I think I had
better start soon on my tower."

I always was one to tav '^le hard jobs immejutly and to
once, so's to get 'em offen' my mind.

*' Wall, I'd like to know," says he, in an injured tone,
'* what you calculate to do with me while you are gone ? "

" Why," says I, " I'll have the girl Ury is engaged to,
come here and do the chores, and work for herself; they
are goin' to be married before long : and I'll give her some
rolls, and let her spin some yarn for herself. She'll be
glad to come."

" How long do you s'pose you'll be gone ? She hain't
no cook. I'd as lives eat rolls, as to eat her fried cakes."

" Your pardner will fry up 2 pans full before she goes,
Josiah ; and I don't s'pose I'll be gone over four days."

r i

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SWEET CICELY.

Ill

" Oh, well ! then I guess I can stand it. But you had
better make some mince-pies ahead, and other kinds of
pies, and some fruit-cake, and cookies, and tarts, and
things : it is always best to be on the safe side, in
vittles."

So it wus agreed on, — that T should fill two cubbard
shelves full of provisions, to help him endure my absence.

I wus some in hopes that he might give up the idee of
bein' United-States senator, and I might have rest from
my tower ; for I dreaded, oh, how I dreaded, the job !
But as day by day passed, he grew more and more ram-
pant with the idee. He talked about it all the time
daytimes ; and in the night I could hear him murmur to
himself, —

" Hon. Josiah Allen ! "

And once I see it in his account-book, " Old Peedick
debtor to two sap-buckets to Hon. Josiah Allen."

And he talked sights, and sights, about what he wus
goin' to do when he got to Washington, D.C. — what
great things he wus goin' to do. And I would get wore
out, and say to him, —

" Wall ! you will have to get there first."

" Oh ! you needn't worry. I can get there easy enough.
I s'pose I shall have to work hard jest as they all do. But
as I told you before, if every thing else fails, I have got a
grand plan to fall back on — sunthin' new and uneek.
Jooiah Allen is nobody's fool, and the nation will find it
out so."

Then, oh, how I urged him to tell his plan to his lovin'
pardner ! but he wouldn't tell.

But hours and hours would he spend, a tellin' me what

}

112

SWEET CICELY.

great things he wus goin' to do when he got to Washing-
ton.

Sfiys he, "There is one thing about it. When I get
to be United-States senator, uncle Nate Gowdey shall be
promoted to some high and responsible place."

"Without thinkin' whether he is fit for it or not?"
says I.

" Yes, mom, without thinkin' a thing about it. I am
bound to help the ones that help me."

"You wouldn't have him examined," says I, — "wouldn't
have him asked no questions ? "

"Oh, yes! I'd have him pass a examination jest as
the New- York alderm n do, or the civil-service men. I'd
say to him, ' T^e you . ucle Nate Gowdey? '

" ' Yes.'

" * How long have you been uncle Nate Gowdey? '

" And he'd answer ; and I'd say, —

" ' How long do you calculate to be uncle Nate ? *

"And he'll tell ; and then I'll say, —

"'Enough: I see you have all the qualifications for
office. You are admitted.' That is what I would do."

I groaned. But he kep' on complacently, " I am goin'
to help the ones that elect me, sink or swim ; and I calcu-
late to make money out of the project, — money and
honor. And I shall do a big work there, — there hain't
no doubt of it.

" Now, there is political economy. I shall go in strong
for that. I shall say right to Congress, the first speech I
make to it, I shall say, that there is too much money spent
now to hire votes with ; and I shall prove it right out,
that we can get votes cheaper if we senators all join in

SWEET CICELY.

113

together, and put our feet right down that we won't pay
only jest so much for a vote. But as long as one man is
willin' to pay high, why, everybody else has got to fol-
ler suit. And there hain't no economy in it, not a mite.

" Then, there is the canal question. I'll make a thorough
end of that. There is one reform that will be pushed
right through."

" How will you do it ? " says I.

" I will have the hull canal cleaned out from one end
to the other."

" I was readin' only yesterday," says I, " about the cor-
ruption of the canal question. But I didn't s'pose it
meant that."

" That is because you hain't a man. You hain't got the
mind to grasp these big questions. The corruption of the
canal means that the bottom of the canal is all covered
with dead cats and things ; and it ort to be seen to, by
men that is capable of seein' to such things. It ort to be
cleaned out. And I am the man that has got the mind
for it," says he proudly.

"Then, there is the Star Route. Nothin' but foolish-
ness from beginnin' to end. T^ey might have known
they couldn't make any road through the stars. Why,
the very Bible is agin it. The ground is good enough for
me, and for any other solid man. It is some visionary
chap that begun it in the first place. Nothin' but dumb
foolishness ; and so uncle Nate Gowdey said it was. We
got to talkin' about it yesterday, and he said it was a pity
wimmin couldn't vote on it. He said that would be jest
about what they would be likely to vote for.

" He is a smart old feller, uncle Nate is, for a man of his

t ■
I

i ■

i '

(

i \

i ■

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114

SWEET CICELY.

age. . He talked awful smart about wimmin's votin'. He
said any man was a fool to think that a woman would ever

JOSIAH S STAU UOUTK.

have the requisit grasp of intellect, and the knowledge
of public affairs, that would render her a competent voter.

SWEET CICELY.

115

" I tell you, you have got to understand things in order
to tackle politicks. Politicks takes deep study.

" Now, there is the tariff question, and the revenue.
I shall most probable favor 'em, and push 'em right
through."

" How ? " says I.

" Oh, wall ! a woman most probable couldn't under-
stand it. But I shall push 'em forward all I can, and lift
'em up."

"Where to?" says I.

" Oh, keep a askin', and a naggin' ! That is what wears
out us public men, — wimmin's questionin'. It hain't so
much the public duties we have to perform that ages us,
and wears us out before our time, — it is woman's weak
curiosity on public topics, that her mind is too feeble to
grasp holt of. It is wearin'," says he haughtily.

Says I, " Specially when they don't know what to an-
swer." Says I, " Josiah Allen, you don't know this min-
ute what tariff means, or revenue."

"Wall, I know what starvation means, and I know
what vittles means, and I know I am as hungry as a bear."

Instinctively I hung on the teakettle. And as Josiah
see me pare the potatoes, and grind the coffee, and pound
the steak, he grew very pleasant again in his demeanor ;
and says he, — -. ' ■ . f

" There will be some abuses reformed when I get to
Washington, D.C. ; and you and the nation will see that
there will. Now, there is the civil-service law: Uncle
Nate and I wus a talkin' about it yesterday. It is jest
what we need. Why, as uncle Nate said, hired men hain't
civil at all, nor hired girls either. You hire 'em to serve

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IS '. .' 1 .

[

you, and to serve you civil ; and they are jest as dumb
uppish and impiulent as they can be. And hotel-clerks —
now, they don't know wliiit civil-service means."

" Why, uncle Nate said when he went to th<. Ohio, last
fall, he stayed over night to Cleveland, and the \u tel-clerk
sassed him, jest because he wanted to blow out 1 is light :
he wanted uncle Nate to turn it off.

"And uncle Nate jest spoke right up, smart as a whip,
and said, ' Old-fashioned ways was good enough for him :
blows wus made before turners, and he should blow it out.'

"And the hotel-clerk sassed him, and swore, and threat-
ened to make him leave."

" And ruther than have a fuss, uncle Nate said he turned
it out. But it rankled, uncle Nate says it did, it rankled
deep. And he says he wants to vote for that special. He
says he'd love to make that clerk eat humble-pie.

" Uncle Nate is a sound man : his head is level.

"And good, sound platforms, that is another reform,
uncle Nate said we needed the Avorst kind, and he hoped
I would insist on it when I got to be senator. He said
there was too much talk about 'em in the papers, and too
little done about 'em. Why, Elam Gowdey, uncle Nate's
youngest boy, broke down the platform to his barn, and
went right down through it, with a load of hay. And
nothin' but that hay saved his neck from bein' broke. It
spilte one of his horses.

" Uncle Nate had been urgin' him to fix the platform,
or build a new one ; but he was slack. But, as uncle
Nate says, if such things are run by law, they will have
to be done.

" And then, there is another thing uncle Nate and I was

SWEET CICELY.

117

talkin' about," says he, lookin' very amiable at me as I
rolled out my cream biscuit — almost spooney.

UNCIVII. SERVICE.

"I shall jest run every poor Irishman and Chinaman
out of the country that I can."

" What has the Irishmen done, Josiah Allen ? " says I.

" Oh I they are poor. There hain't no use in our asso-
ciatin' with the poor."

118

SWEET CICELY.

Says I dreamily, " Did I not read once, of One who re-
nounced the throne of the universe to dwell amongst the
poor ? "

" Oh, wall ! most probable they wuzn't Irish."

" And what has the Chinaman done ? " says I,

" Why, they are heathens, Samantha. What does the
United States want with heathens anyway? What the
country 7ieeds is Methodists."

" Somewhere did I not once hear these words," says I
musin'ly, as I set the coffee-cups on the table, — "'You
shall have the heathen for an inheritance' — and ' preach
the gospel to the heathen ' — and 'we who were sometime
heathens, but have received light ' ? Did not the echo of
some such words once reach my mind ? "

" Oh, wall ! if you are goin' to quote readin', why can't
you quote from 'The World'? you can't combine Bible
and politics worth a cent. And the Chinaman works
too cheap — are too industrious, and reasonable in their
charges, they hain't extravagant — and they are too dumb
peacible, dumb 'em ! "

"Josiah Allen!" says I firmly, "is that all the fault
you find with 'em ? "

" No, it hain't. They don't want to vote ! They don't
care a cent about bein' path-master or President. And I
say, that after givin' a man a fair trial and a long one, if
he won't try to buy or sell a vote, it is a sure sign that he
can't asimulate with Americans, and be one with 'em ;
that he can't never be mingled in with 'em peacible. And
I'll bet that I'll start the Catholics out — and the Jews.
What under the sun is the use of havin' anybody here in
America only jest Methodists? That is the only right

SWEET CICELY.

119

way. And if I have my way, I'll get rid of 'em, — China-
men, Irishmen, Catholics, — the hull caboodle of 'em. I'll
jest light 'em out of the country. We can do it too.
That big statute in New-York Harbor of Liberty Enlight-
enin' the World, will jest lift her torch up high, and light
'em out of the country : — that is what we had her for."

I sithed low, and says, " I never knew that wus what
she wus there for. I s'posed it wus a gift from a land
that helped us to liberty and prosperity when we needed
'em as bad as the Irishmen and Chinamen do to-day ; and
I s'posed that torch that wus lit for us by others' help,
we should be willin' and glad to have it shine on the dark
cross-roads of others."

"Wall, it hain't meant for no such purpose: it is to
light up our land and our waters. That's what she's there
for."
• I sithed agin, a sort of a cold sithe, and says, —

" I don't think it looks very well for us New-EnglanderF
a sittin' round Plymouth Rock, to be a condemnin' anj-
body for their religeous beliefs."

"Wall, there hain't no need of whittlin' out a stick, and
worshipin' it, as the Chinamen do."

"How are you goin' to help 'em to worship the true
God if you send 'em out of the country? Is it for the
sake of humanity you drive 'em out '^ or be you, like the
Isrealites of old, a worshipin' the golden calf of selfishness,
Josiah Allen?"

"I hain't never worshiped no calf, Samantha Allen.
That would be the last thing / would worship, and you
know it."

(Josiah wus very lame on his left leg where he had

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,1 1

been kicked by a yearlin'. The spot wus black and blue,
but healin'.)

" You have blanketed that calf with thick patriotic
excuses; but I fear, Josiah Allen, that the calf is there.

*'0h!" says I dreamily, "how the tread of them calves
has moved down through the centuries! If every calf
should amble right out, marked with its own name and
the name of its owner, what a sight, what a sight it would
be ! On one calf, right after its owner's name, would be
branded, ' Worldly Honor and Fame.' "

Josiah squirmed, for I see him, but tried to turn the
squirm in' into a sickly smile ; and he murmured in a
meachin' voice, and with a sheepish smile, —

'-' ' Hon. Josiah Allen. Fame.' That wouldn't look so
bad on a likely yearlin' or two-year old."

But I kep' right on. "On another would be marked,
* Wealth.' Very yeller those calves would be, and a long,
long drove of 'em.

"On another would be, 'Earthly Love.' Middlin' good-
lookin' calves, these, and sights of 'em. But the mantillys
that covered 'em would be all wet and wore with tears.

" ' Culture,' ' Intellect,' ' Refinement.' These calves
would march right along by the side of ' Pride,' ' Vanity,'
*01d Creeds,' 'Bigotry,' 'Selfishness.' The last-named
would be too numerous to count with the naked eye, and
go pushin' aginst each other, rushin' right through meetin'-
housen, tearin' and actin'. Why," says I, "the ground
trembles under the tread of them calves. I can hear 'em
whinner," says I, fillin' up the coffee-pot. ,

" Calves don't whinner ! " says Josiah.

Says I, " I speak parabolickly ; " and says I, in a very

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121

blind way, "Parables are used to fit the truth to weak
comprehensions."

" Wall ! " says he, kinder cross, " your potatoes are a
burnin' down."

I turned the water off, and mashed 'em up, with plenty
of cream and butter; and them, applied to his stomach
internally, seemed to sooth him, — them, and the nicd

THE GOLDEN CALVES OF CHRISTIANS.

tender steak, and light biscuit, and lemon puddin' and
coffee, rich and yellow and fragrant.

He never said a word more about politics till after din-
ner. But on risin' up from the table he told me he had
got to go to Jonesville to get tha old mare shod. And I
see sadly, as he stood to the Icokin '-glass combin' out his
few hairs, how every by-path his mind sot out on led up
gradually to Washington, D.C. For as he stood there,
and spoke of the mare's feet, he says, —

"The mare is good enough for Jonesville, Samantha.
But when we get to Washington, we want sunthin' gayer,
more stylish, to ride on. I calculate," says he, pullin* up

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8WEET CICELY.

his collar, and pulliir down his vest, — "I lay out to dress
gay, and act gay. 1 calculate to nuike a show for once in
my life, and put on style. One thing I am bound on, — I
shall drive tantrum."

" How ? " says I sternly.

. " Why, I shall buy another mare, most probable some

gay-colored one, and hitch it he lore the old white mare,

and drive tantrum. You know, it is all the style. Mcb-

by," says he dreamily, "I shall ride the drag. I s'pose

JU81AII DKIVINO TANTKUM.

that is fashionable. But I'll be hanged if I should think
it would be easy ridin' unless you had the teeth down.
Dog-carts are stylish, I hear ; but our dog is so dumb lazy,
you couldn't get him to go out of a walk. But tantrum I
will drive."

I groaned, and says, " Yes, I hain't no doubt that any-
body that sees you at Washington, will see tantrums,
strange tantrums. But you hain't there yet."
" No, but I most probable shall be ere long."
He had actually begun to talk in high-flown, blank
verse sort of a way. "Ere long!" that wus somethin'
new for Josiah Allen.

SWEET CICELY.

123

■ 1 ;i

Alas! every thought of liis heart wus tuned to that
one political key. I mentioned to him that "the bobbin
to my sewin'-machine was broke, and asked liim to get a
new one of the agent at Jonesville."

" Yes," says he benignantly, " I will tend to your ma-
chine ; and speakin' of machines, that makes me think
of another thing uncle Nate and I wus talkin' about."

" Machine politics, I sha'n't favor 'em. What under
the sun do they want machines to make politics with,
when there is plenty of men willin', and more than willin',
to make 'em? And it is as expensive agin. Machines
cost so much. I tell you, they cost tarnation high."

" I can understcind you without swearin', Josiah Allen."

" I hain't a swearin' : ' tarnation ' hain't swearin', nor
never wuz. I shall use that word most likely in Wash-
ington, D.C."

" Wall," says I coldly, " there will have to be some tea
and sugar got."

He did not demur. But, oh ! how I see that immovible
sotness of his mind !

" Yes, I will get some. But won't it be handy, Saman-
tha, to have free trade ? I shall go for that strong. Why,
I can tell you, it will come handy along in the winter
when the hens don't lay, and we don't make butter to
turn off — it will come dretful handy to jest hitch up the
mare, and go to the store, and come home with a lot of
groceries of all kinds, and some fresh meat mebby. And
mebby some neckties of different colors."

" Who would pay for 'em ? " says I in a stern tone ; for
I didn't somehow like the idee.

" Why, the Government, of course.*'

'1'

SBB

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I shook my head 2 or 3 times back and forth. I
couldirt seem to get tlie riglit sense of it. " I can't un-
derstiind it, Josiali. We heard a good deal about free
trade, but I can't believe that is it,"

" Wall, it is, jest tliat. Free trade is one of the pre-
re(iuisits of a senator. Why, what would a man want to
be a senator for, if they couldn't make by it?"

"Don't you love your country, Josiah Allen?"

" Yes, I do : bu< I don't love her so well as I do myself;
it hain't nateral I snould."

" Surely I read long ago, — was it in the English
Reader?" says 1 dreamily, "or where was it? But surely
I have heard of such things as patriotism and honor, love
of country, and love of the right.'*

" Wall, I calculate I love my country jest as well as the
next man; and," says he firndy, "I calculate I can make
jest as much out of her, give me a chance. Why, I cal-
culate to do jest as they all do. What is the ''se of
startin' up, and bein' one by yourself?"

Says I, "That is what Pilate tlumght, Josiah Allen."
Says I, " The majority hain't always right." Says I firmly,
" They hardly ever are."

" Now, that is a regular woman's idee," says he, goin'
into the bedroom for a clean shirt. And as he opened the
bureau-draw, he says, —

" Another thing I shall go for, is abolishin' lots of the
l)ureaus. Why, what is the use of any man havin' more
than one bureau? It is nothin' but nonsense clutterin'
up the house with so many bureaus.

"When wimmen get to votin'," says he sarcastickly,
" I'll bet their first move will be to get 'em back agin. I'll

SWEET CICELY.

125

bet tliere hain't a women in the land, hut what would love
to have 20 bureaus that they eould run to."

'''J'hen, you think winunen will voie, do you, Josiah
Allen?"

" I think," says he firmly, " that it will be a wretched
(lay for the nation if slu; does. Winunen is ^ood in their
j)hices," says he, as he come to nie to button up his shirt-
sleeves, and tie his cravat.

" They are good in their j)laces. But they can't have,
it hain't in 'em to have, the calm grasp of mind, the deep
outlook into the future, that men have. They can't
weigh things in the firm, careful balences of right and
wrong, and have that deep, masterly knowledge of national
affairs that we men have. They hain't got the hard horse
sense that anybody has got to have in order to make
money out of the nation. They would have some senti-
mental subjects up of right or wrong to spend their energies
and their hearts on. Look at (Icely, now. She means
well. Hut what would she do? What would she make
out of votin'? Not a cent. And she never would think
of passin' laws for her own j)ersonal comfort, either.
Now, there is the subsidy bill. I'll see that through if I
sweat for it.

" Why, it would be worth more than a dollar-bill to
me lots of times to make folks subside. Preachers, now,
when they get to goin' beyond the 20ethly. No preacher
has any right to go to wanderin' round up beyond them
figures in dog-days. And if they could be made to subside
when they had gone fur enough, why, it would be a perfect
boon to J

"And

onesville and the nation
sewin'- machine

agen

ts — a!id — and

wnumen,

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SWEET CICELY.

I-

when they get all excited a scoldin', or talkin' about
bonnets, and things. Why ! if a man could jest lift up
his hand, and say ' Subside ! ' and then see 'em subside
— why, I had ruther see it than a circus any day."

A woman's place.

I looked at him keenly, and says I, —
" I wish such a bill had even now passed ; that is, if
wimmen could receive any benefit from it."

SWEET CICELY.

127

"Wall, you'll see it after I get to Washington, D.C.,
most probable. I calculate to jest straighten out things
there, and get public affairs in a good runnin' order. The
nation needs me."

" Wall," says I, wore out, " it can have you, as fur .as I
am concerned."

And I wus so completely fagged out, that I turned the
subject completely round (as I s'posed) by askin' him il
he laid out to sell our apples this year where he did last.
The man's wife had wrote to me ahead, and wanted to
know, for they had bought a new dryin'-machme, and
wanted to make sure of apples ahead.

" Wall," says Josiah, drawin' on his overshoes, " I shall
probable have to use the apples this fall to buy votes
with."

" To buy votes ? " says I, in accents of borrow.

" Yes. I wouldn't tell it out of the family. But you
are all in the family, you know, and so I'll tell you. I
sha'n't have to buy near so many votes on account of my
plan ; but I shall have to buy some, of course. You
know, they all do ; and I sha'n't stand no chance at all if
I don't."

My groans was fearful that T groaned at this ; but truly,
worse was to come. He looked kinder pitiful at me (he
loves me). But yet his love did not soften the firm re-
solve that wus spread thick over his linement as he went
on, —

" I lay out to get lots of votes with my green apples,"
says he dreamily. " It seems as if I ought to get a vote
for a bushel of apples ; but there is so much iniquity and
cheatin' a goin' on now in politics, that I may have to give

! I'M

I'i

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SWEET CICELY.

a biisliel and a half, or two bushels: and then, I shall
make up a lot of the smaller ones into hard cider, and
use 'em to — to advance the interests of myself and the
nation in that way.

" There is hull loads of 'folks uncle Nate says he can
bring to vote for me, by the judicious use of — wall, it
hain't likely you will approve of it ; but I say, stimulants

OUK LAW-MAKEBS.

are necessary in medicine, and any doctor will tell you so
— hard cider and beer and whiskey, and so 4th."

I riz right up, and grasped holt of his arm, and says in
stern, avengin' tones, —

"Josiah Allen, will you go right against God's com-
mands, and put the cup to your neighbor's lips, for your
own gain? Do you expect, if you do, that you can es-
cape Heaven's avengin' wrath ? "

"They hain't my neighbors: I never neighbored with

em.

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SWEET CICELY.

129

Says I sternly, "If you commit this sin, yon will be
held accountable ; and it seems to me as if you can never
be forgiven."

"Dumb it all, Samantha, if everybody else does so,
where will I get my votes?"

" Go without 'em, Josiah Allen ; go down to poverty,
or the tomb, but never commit this sin. 'Cursed is he
that putteth the cup to his neighbor's lips.' "

"They hain't my ne'^hbors, and it probable hain't no
cup that they will drink out of: they will drink out of
gobblers " (sometimes when Josiah gets excited, he calls
goblets, gobblers). But I wus too wrought up and by
the side of myself to notice it.

Says I, "To think a human bein', to say nothin' of a
perfessor, would go to work deliberate to get a man into
a state that is jest as likely as not to end in a murder,
or any crime, for gain to himself." Says I, "Think of tlie
different crimes you commit by that one act, Josiah Allen.
You make a man a fool, and in that way put yourself
down on a level with disease, deformity, and hereditary
sin. You steal his reason away. You are a thief of the
deepest dye ; for you steal then, from the man you have
stole from — steal the first rights of his manhood, his
honor, his patriotism, his duty to God and man. You are
a thief of the Government — thief of God, and right.

" Then, you make this man liable to commit any crime :
so, if he murders, you are a murderer ; if he commits
suicide, your guilty soul shall cower in the presence of
Him who said, ' No self-murderer shall inherit eternal
life.' It is your own doom you shall read in them dread-
ful words."

. !(H

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" Good landy, Samantha ! do you want to scare me to
death ? " and Josiah quailed and shook, and shook and
quailed.

" I am only tellin' you the truth, Josiah Allen ; and I
should think it would scare anybody to death."

" If I don't do it, I shall appear like a fool : I shall be
one by myself."

Oh, how Josiah duz want to be fashionable !

" No, you won't, Josiah Allen — no, you won't. If you
try to do right, try to do God's will, you have His armies
to surround you with a unseen wall of strength."

" Why, I hain't seen you look so sort o' skairful and riz
up, for years, Samantha."

"I hain't felt so. To think of the brink you wuz a
standin' on, and jest a fallin' off of."

Josiah looked quite bad. And he put his hand on his
side, and says, " My heart beats as if it wuz a tryin' to get
out and walk round the room. I do believe I have got
population of the heart."

Says I, in a sarcasticker tone than I had used, —

" That is a disease that is very common amongst men,
very common, though they hain't over and above willin'
to own up to it. Too much population of the heart has
ailed many a man before now, and woman too," says I in
reasonable axents. " But you mean palpitation."

"Wall, I said so, didn't I? And it is jest your skairful
talk that has done it."

"Wall, if I thought I could convince men as I have
you, I would foller the business stiddy, of skairin' folks,
and think I wuz doin' my duty." Says I, my emotions a
roustin' up agin, —

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SV/EET CICELY.

131

*' I should call it a good deal more honorable in you to
get drunk yourself, and I should think more of you, if I
see you a reelin' I'ound yourself, than to see you make
other folks reel. I should think it was your own reel,
and you had more right to it than to anybody else's.

" Oh ! to think I should have lived to see the hour, to
have my companion in danger of goin' aginst the Scripter
— ready to steal, or be stole, or knock down, or any thing,
to buy votes, or sell 'em ! "

" Wall, dumb it all, do you want me to appear as awk-
ward as a fool? I have told you more than a dozen times
I have got to do as the rest do, if I want to make any show
at all in politics."

I said no more : but I riz right up, and walked out of
the room, with my head right up in the air, and the strings
of my head-dress a floatin' out behind me ; and I'll bet
there wus indignation in the float of them strings, and
heart-ache, and agony, and — and every thing.

I thought I had convinced him, and hadn't. I felt is
if I must sink. You know, that is all a woman can do —
to sink. She can't do any thing else in a helpful way
when her beloved companion hangs over political abysses.
She can't reach out her lovin' hand, and help stiddy him :
she can't do nothin' only jest sink. And what made it
more curious, these despairin' thoughts come to me as I
stood by the ainJc, washin' my dinner-dishes. But anon
(I know it wus jest anon, for the water wus bilein' hot
when I turned it out of the kettle, and it scalded my
hands, onbeknown to me, as I washed out my sass-plates)
this thought gripped holt of me, right in front of the
sink, — , • .

I !

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SWEET CICELY

"Josiah Allen's wife, you must not sink. You must
keep up. If you have no power to help your pardner to
patriotism and honor, you can, if your worst fears are real-
ized, try to keep him to home. For if his acts and words
are like these in Jonesville, what will they be in Wash-
ington, D.C. if that place is all it has been depictered
to you ? Hold up, Samantha ! Be firm, Josiah Allen's
wife I John Rogers I The nine ! One at the breast I "

So at last, by these almost convulsive efforts at calmness,
I grew more calmer and composeder. Josiah had hitched
up and gone.

And he come home clever, and all excited with a new
thing.

They are buildin' a new court-house at Jonesville. It
is most done, and it seemed they got into a dispute that
day about the cupelow. They wanted to have the figger
of Liberty sculped out on it ; and they had got the man
there all ready, and he had legun to sculp her as a wo-
man, — the goddess of Libert3% he called her. But at the
last minute a dispute had rosen : some of the leadin' minds
of Jonesville, uncle Nate Gowdey amongst 'em, insisted
on it that Liberty wuzn't a woman, he wuz a man. And
they wanted liira depictered as a man, with whiskers and
pantaloons and a standin' collar, and boots and spurs —
Josiah Allen wus the one that wanted the spurs.

He said the dispute waxed furious ; and he says to
'em, —

"Leave it to Samantha: she'll know all about it."

And so it was agreed on that they'd leave it to me.
And he drove the old mare home, almost beyond her
strength, he vnis so anxious to have it settled.

SWEET CICELY.

133

I wus jest makin' some cream biscuit for supper as he
come in, and asked me about it ; and a minute is a minute
in makin' warm biscuit. You want to make 'em quick,
and bake 'em quick. My mind wus fairly held onto that
dough — and needed on it; but instinctively I told hhn
he wus in the right ont. Liberty here in the United
States wuz a man, and, in order to be conf»istent, ort to
be depictered with whiskers and overcoat and a standin'
collar.

" And spurs I " says Josiah.

"Wall," I told him, "I wouldn't be particular about
the spurs." I said, "Instead of the spurs on his boots,
he might be depictered as settin' his boot-heel onto the
respectful petition of fifty thousand wimmen, who had
ventured to ask him for a little mite of what he wus
s'posed to have quantities of — Freedom.

" Or," says I, " he might be depictered as settin' on a
judgment-seat, and wavin' off into prison an intelligent
Christian woman, who had spent her whole noble, useful
life in studyiu' tiie laws of our nation, for darin' to think
she had as much right under our Constitution, as a low,
totally ignorant coot who would most likely think the
franchise wus some sort of a meat-stew."

Says I, " That will give Liberty jest as imperious and
showy a look as spurs would, and be fur more historick
and symbolical."

Wall, he said he would mention it to 'em ; and says he,
with a contented look, —

" I told uncle Nate I knew I wus right. I knew Liberty
wus a man."

Wall, I didn't say no more : and I got him as good a

if I

I £

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SWEET CICELY.

supper as the house afforded, and kep' still as death on
politics ; fur I could not help havin' some hopes that he
might get sick of the idee of public life. And I kep' him

down close all that evenin' to re-
ligion and the weather.

But, alas ! my hopes wus doomed
to fade away. And, as days passed
by, I see the thought of bein' a
senator wus ever before him. The
cares and burdens of political life
seemed to be a loomin' up in front
of him, and in a quiet way he
seemed to be fittin' himself for the
duties of his position.

He come in one day with Solo-
mon Cyphers'ses shovel, and I
asked him " what it wuz ? "

And he said " it wus the spoils
of office."

And I says, "It is no such
thing: it is Solomon Cypher'ses
shovel."

"Wall," says he, "I found it out
by the fence. Solomon has gone
over to the other party. I am
a Democrat, and this is party
spoils. I am goin' to keep this as one of the spoils of
office."

Says I firmly, " You won't keep it ! "
" Why," says he, " if I am goin' to enter political life, I
must begin to practise sometime. I must begin to do as

JONESVILLG COURT-
HOUSE.

■ ( ■

SWEET CICELY.

135

they all do. And it is a crackin' good shovel too," says
he pensively.

Says r, "You are goin' to carry that shovel right
straight home, Josiah Allen ! "

And I made him.

The idee.

But I see in this and in many kindred things, that he
wuz a dwellin' on this thought of political life — its hon-
ors and emollients. And often, and in dark hints, he
would speak of his Plan. If every other means failed, if
he couldn't spare the money to buy enough votes, how his
plan wus goin' to be the makin' of him.

And I overheard him tellin' the babe once, as he wus
rockin' her to sleep in the kitchen, " how her grandpa had
got up somethin' that no other babe's grandpa had ever
thought of, and how she would probable see him in the
White House ere long."

I wus makin' nut-cakes in the buttery ; and I shuddered
so at these words, that I got in most as much agin lemon
as I wanted in 'em. I wus a droppin' it into a spoon, and
it run over, I wus that shook at the thought of his plan.

I had known his plans in the past, and had hefted 'em.
And I truly felt that his plans wus liable any time to be
the death of him, and the ruination.

But he wouldn't tell !

But kep' his mind immovibly sot, as I could see. And
the very day of the shovel episode, along towards night
he rousted out of a brown study, — a sort of a dark-brown
study, — and says he, —

" Yes, I shall make out enough votes if we have a judi-
cious committee."

136

SWEET CICELY.

" A lyin' one, do you mean ? " says I coldly. But not
8uri)rized. For truly, niy mind had been so strained and
racked that I don't know as it would have surprized me if
Josiah Allen had riz up, and knocked me down.

"Wall, in politics, you have to add a few orts some-
times."

I sitlied, not a wonderin' sithe, but a despairin' one ;
and he went on, —

" I know where I shall get a hull lot of votes, anyway."

" Where ? " says I.

" Why, out to that nigger settlement jest the other side
of Jonesville."

" How do you know they'll vote for you ? " says I.

" I'd like to see 'em vote aginst me ! " says he, in a
skairful way.

"Would you use intimidation, Josiah Allen?"

" Why, uncle Nate Gowdey and I, and a few others who
love quiet, and love to see folks do as they ort to, lay out
to take some shot-guns and make them niggers vote right ;
make 'em vote for me ; shoot 'em right down if they don't.
We have got the campaign all planned out."

" Josiah Allen," says I, " if you have no fear of Heaven,
have you no fear of the Government? Do you want to
be hung, and see your widow a breakin' her heart over
your gallowses ? "

"Oh! I shouldn't get hung. The Government wouldn't
do nothin'. The Government feels jest as I do, — that it
would be wrong to stir up old bitternesses, and race dif-
ferences. The bloody shirt has been washed, and ironed
out ; and it wouldn't be right to dirty it up agin. The
colored race is now at peace ; and if they will only do

SWEET CICELY.

137

right, do jest as the white men wants 'em to, Government
won't never interfere with em."

I groaned, and couldn't help it; and he says, —

" Wiiy, hang it all, Samantha, if I make any show at all
in public life, I have got to begin to practise sometime."

" Wall," says I, "bring me in a pail of water." But as
he v^ent oat after it, I murmured steridy to myself, —

" Oh ! wus there ever a forerunner more needed to
run ? " and my soul answered, " Never ! never I "

MAKING THEM DO RIGHT.

So with sithes that could hardly be sithed, so big and
hefty wuz they, I commenced to make preparations for
embarkin' on my tower. And no martyr that ever sot
down on a hot gridiron wus animated by a more warm
and martyrous feelin' of self-sacrifice. Yes, I truly felt,
that if there wus dangers to be faced, and daggers run
through pardners, I felt I would ruther they would pierce
my own spare-ribs than Josiah's. (I say spare-ribs for
oritory — my ribs are not spare, fur from it.)

I didn't really believe, if he run, he would run clear to
Washington. And yet, when my mind roamed on some

f '

138

SWEET CICELY.

public men, and how fur they run, I would groan, and
hurry up my preparations.

I knew my tower must be but a short one, for sugarin'-
time wus apprcachin' with rapid strides, and Samantha
must be at the helium. But I also knew, that with a
determined mind, and a willin' heart, great things could
be accomplished speedily ; so I commenced makin' prepa-
rations", and lay in' on i)lans.

As become a woman of my cast-iron princijjles, I fixed
up mostly on the inside of my head instead of the outside.
I studied the map of the United States. I done several
sums on the slate, to harden my mind, and help me grasp
great facts, and meet difficulties bravely. I read Gass'es
" Journal," — how he rode up our great rivers on a peri-
oger, and shot bears. Expectin', as I did, to see trouble, I
read over agin that book that has been my stay in so
many hard-fit battle-fields of principle, — Fox'es " Book of
Martyrs."

I studied G. Washington's picture on the pi. ior-wall,
to- get kinder stirred up in my mind about him, so's to
realize to the full my privileges as I wept onto his tomb,
and stood in the capital he had foundered.

Thomas J. come one day v/hile I wus musin' on George ;
and he says, —

" What are you lookin' so close at that dear old hum-
bug for?"

Says I firmly, and keepin' the same posture, "I am
studyin' the face of the revered and noble G. Washington.
I am going shortly to weep on his tomb and the capital
he foundered. I am studyin' his face, and Gass'es ' Jour-
nal,* and other works," says I.

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139

" If you are going to the capital, you had better study
Dante."

Says I, "Danty who?"

And he says, " Just plain Dante." Says he, " You had
better study his inscription on the door oi the infern " —

Says I, "Cease instantly. You are on the very pint
of swearin' ; " and I don't know now what he meant, and
don't much care. Thomas J. is full of r|^ueer remarks,
anyway. But deep. He had a sick spell a few weeks
ago ; and I went to see him the first thing in the mornin',
after I heard of it. He had overworked, the doctor said,
and his heart wuz a little weak. He looked real white ;
and I took holt of his hand, and says I, —

" Thomas J., I am worried about you : your pulse don't
beat hardly any."

" No," says he. And he laughed with his eyes and his
lips too. " I am glad I am not a newspaper this morning,
mother."

And I says, "Why?"

And he says, "If I were a morning paper, mother, I
shouldn't be a success, my circulation is so weak."

A jokin' right there, when he couldn't lift his head,
But he got over it : he always did have them sort of sick
spells, from a little child.

But a manlier, good-hearteder, level-headeder boy never
lived than Thomas Jeiferson Allen. He is just right, and
always wuz. And though I wouldn't have it get out for
the world, I can't help seein' it, that he goes fur ahead of
Tirzah Ann in intellect, and nobleness of nater; and
though I love 'em both devotedly, I do, and I can't help
it, like him jest a little mite the best. But this I wouldn't

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SWEET CICELY.

have get out for a thousand dollars. I tell it in strict
copfidence, and s'pose it will be kep' as such. Mebby I
hadn't ort to tell it at all. Mebby it hain't quite orthodox
in me to feel so. Hut it is truthful, anyway. And some-
times I get to kinder wobblin' round inside of my mind,
and a wonderin' wiiich is the best, — to be orthodox, or
truthful, — an<l I sort o' settle down to thinkin' I will tell
the truth anyway.

Josiah, I think, likes Tirzah Ann the best.

But I studied deep, and mused. Mused on our 4 fa-
thers, and our 4 mothers, and on Liberty, and Independ-
ence, and Truth, and the Eagle. And thinkin' I might
jest as well be to work while I was a musin', I had a dress
made for the occasion. It wus bran new, and the color
wus Bismark Brown.

Josiah wanted me to have Ashes of Moses color.

But I said no. With my mind in the heroic state it
was then, I couldn't curb it down onto Ashes of Moses,
or roses, or any thing else peacible. I felt that this
color, remindin' me of two grand heroes, — Bismark, John
Brown, — suited me to a T.

There wus two wimmen who stood ready to make it,
— Jane Bently and Martha Snyder. I chose Martha be-
cause Martha wus the name of the wife of Washington.

It wus made with a bask.

When the news got out that I wus goin' to Washington
on a tower, the neighbors all wanted to send errents by
me.

Betsey Bobbet wanted me to go to the Patent Office,
and get her two Patent-office books, for scrap-books for
poetry.

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SWEET CICELY.

141

Uncle Jarvis Bently wanted me to go to the Agricul-
tural Bureau, and get him a paper of lettis seed. And
Solomon Cypher wanted me to get him a new kind of
string-beans, if I could, and some cowcumber seeds.

Uncle Nate Gowdey, who talked of paintin' his house
over, wanted me to ask the President what kind of paint
he used on the White House, and if he put in any sperits
of turpentime. And Ardelia Rumsey, who wuz goin' to
be married soon, wanted me, if I see any new kinds of
bed-quilt patterns to the White House, or to the senators'
housen, to get the patterns for her. She said she wus sick
of sunflowers, and blazin' stars, and such. She thouglit
mebby they'd have suthin' new, spread-eagle style, or
suthin' of that kind. She said "her feller was goin' to be
connected with the Government, and she thought it would
be appropri.ate."

And I asked her " how ? " And she said, " he was goin'
to get a patent on a new kind of a jack-knife."

I told her "if she wanted a Government quilt, and
wanted it appropriate, she ort to have it a crazy-quilt."

And she said she had jest finished a cjazy-quilt, with
seven thousand pieces of silk in it, and each piece trimmed
with seven hundred stitches of featlier stitchin' : she
counted 'em. And then I remembered seein' it. There
wus some talk then about wimmen's rights, and a petition
wus got up in Jonesville for wimmen to sign ; and I re-
member well that Ardelia couldn't sign it for lack of time.
She wanted to, but she hadn't got the quilt more'n half
done then. It took the biggest heft of two years to do it.
And so, of course, less important things had to be put
aside till she got it finished.

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i.i

Ifi

And I remember, too, that Ardelia's mother wanted to
sign it ; but she couldn't, owin' to a bed-spread she wus a
niakin'. She wuz a quiltin' m Noah's ark, and all the
animals, at that time, on a Turkey-red quilt. I remember
she wuz a quiltin' the camel that day, and couldn't be dis-
turbed. So we didn't get the names. It took the old lady
three years to quilt that quilt. And when it wuz done, it
wuz a sight to behold. Though, as I said then, and say
now, I wouldn't give much to sleep under so many ani-
mals. But folks went from fur and near to see it, and I
enjoyed lookin' at it that day. And I see jest how it wuz.
I see that she couldn't sign. It wuzn't to be expected
that a woman could stop to tend to Justice or Freedom,
or any thing else of that kind, right in the midst of a
camel.

Zebulin Coon wanted me to carry a new hen-coop of
liiseu to get it patented. And I thought to myself, I won-
der if they'll ask me to carry a cow.

And sure enough, Josiah wanted me to dicker, if I could,
for a calf from Mount Vernon, — swop one of our yearlin's
for it if I couldn't do no better.

But I told him right out and out, that I couldn't go into
a calf-trade with my mind wrought up as I knew it would
be.

Wall, it wuzn't more'n 2 or 3 days after I begun my
])reparations, that Dorlesky Burpy, a vegetable widow,
come to see me ; and the errents she sent by me wuz fur
more hefty and momentous than all the rest put together,
calves, hen-coop, and all.

And when she told 'em over to me, and I meditated on
her reasons for sendin' 'em, and her need of havin' 'em

SWEET CICELY.

143

THE mother's BKV-iiUlLT.

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SWEET CICELY.

done, I felt that T would do the errents for her if a breath
was left in my body. I felt that I would bear tlieni 2
errents of hern on my tower side by side with my own
private, hefty mission for Josiah.

She come for a all day's visit ; and though she is a vege-
table widow, and very humbly, I wuz middlin' glad to see
her. But thinks'es I to myself as I carried away her
things into the bedroom, "She'll want to send some er-
rent by me ; " and I wondered what it wouldn't be.

And so it didn't surprise me any when she asked me the
first thing when I got back " if I would lobby a little for
her in Washington."

And I looked agreeable to the idee ; for I s'posed it wuz
some new kind of tattin', mebby, or fancy work. And I
told her " I shouldn't have much time, but I would try to
buy her some if I could."

And she said " she wanted me to lobby, myself.'*

And then I thought mebby it wus some new kind of
waltz ; and I told her " I was too old to lobby, I hadn't
lobbied a step since I was married."

And then she said " she wanted me to canvass some of
the senators."

And I hung back, and asked her in a cautius tone " how
many she wanted canvassed, and how much canvass it
would take ? "

I knew I had a good many things to buy for my tower ;
and, though I wanted to obleege Dorlesky, I didn't feci
like runnin' into any great expense for canvass.

And then she broke off from that subject, and said "she
wanted her rights, and wanted the Whiskey Ring broke
up."

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145

And then she says, going back to the old subject agin,
" I hear that Josiah Allen has political hopes : can I can-
vass him ? "
\ And I says, "Yes, you can for all me." But I men-
tioned cautiously, for I believe in bein' straightforward,
and not holdin' out no false hopes, — I said "she must
furnish her own canvass, for I hadn't a mite in the
house."

But Josiah didn't get home till after her folks come
after her. So he wuzn't canvassed.

B"t she talked a sight about her children, and how bad
she felt to be parted from 'em, and how much she used to
think of her husband, and how her hull life wus ruined,
and how the Whiskey Ring had done it, — that, and wim-
men's helpless condition under the law. And she cried,
and wept, and cried about her children, and her sufferin's
she had suffered ; and I did. I cried onto my apron, and
couldn't help it. A new apron too. And right while I
wus cryin' onto that gingham apron, she made me promise
to carry them two errents of hern to the President, and
to get 'em done for her if I possibly could.

"She wanted the Whiskey Ring destroyed, and she
wanted her rights ; and she wanted 'em both in less than
2 weeks."

I wiped my eyes off, and told her I didn't believe she
could get 'em done in that length of time, but I would tell
the President about it, and " I thought more'n as likely as
not he would want to do right by her." And says I, " If
he sets out to, he can haul them babys of yourn out of
that Ring pretty sudden."

And then, to kinder get' her mind off of her sufferin's,

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Ml s

((

I asked her how her sister Susan wus a gettin' along. I
hadn't heard from her for years — she married Philemon
Clapsaddle ; and Dorlesky spoke out as bitter as a bitter
walnut — a green one. And says she, —
She is in the poorhouse."

Why, Dorlesky Burpy ! " says I. " What do you
mean ? "

" I mean what I say. My sister, Susan Clapsaddle, is in
the poorhouse."

" Why, where is their property all gone ? " says I.
" They was well off — Susan had five thousand dollars of
her own when she married him."

"I know it," aays she. "And I can tell you, Josiah
Allen's wife, where their property is gone. It has gone
down Philemon Clapsaddle's throat. Look down that
man's throat, and you will see 150 acres of land, a good
house and barns, 20 sheep, and 40 head of cattle."

" Why-ee ! " says I.

" Yes, you will see 'em all down that man's throat."
And says she, in still more bitter axents, " You will see
four mules, and a span of horses, two buggies, a double
sleigh, and three buffalo-robes. He has drinked 'em all
up — and 2 horse-rakes, a cultivator, and a thrashin'-
machine.

" Why ! Why-ee ! " says I agin. " And where are the
children ? "

" The boys have inherited their father's evil habits, and
drink as bad as he duz ; and the oldest girl has gone to
the bad."

" Oh, dear ! oh, dear me ! " says I. And we both sot
silent for a spell. And then, thinkin' I must say sunthin'.

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147

and wan tin' to strike a safe subject, and a good-lookin' one,
I says, —

" Where is your aunt Eunice'es girl ? that pretty girl I
see to your house once."

" That girl is in the lunatick asylum."

"Dorlesky Burpy!" says I. "Be you a tellin' the
truth?"

" Yes, I be, the livin' truth. She went to New York
to buy millinary goods for her mother's store. It wus
quite cool when she left home, and she hadn't took off
her winter clothes : and it come on brilin' hot in the city ;
and in goin' about from store to store, the heat and the
hard work overcome her, and she fell down in the street
in a sort of a faintin'-fit, and was called drunk, and
dragged off to a police court by a man who wus a animal
in human shape. And he misused her in such a way, that
she never got over the horror of what befell her — when
she come to, to find herself at the mercy of a brute in a
man's shape. She went into a melancholy madness, and
wus sent to the asylum. Of course they couldn't have
wimmen in such places to take care of wimmen," says she
bitterly.

I sithed a long and mournful sithe, and sot silent agin
for quite a spell. But thinkin' I must be sociable, I
says, --

" Your aunt Eunice is well, I s'pose ? "

" She is a moulderin' in jail," says she.

" In jail ? Eunice Keeler in jail ? "

" Yes, in jail." And Dorlesky's tone wus now like worm-
wood, wormwood and gall.

" You know, she owns a big property in tenement-houses,

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and other buildings, where she lives. Of course her taxes
wus awful high ; and she didn't expect to have any voice
in tfillin' how that money, a part of her own property, that
she earned herself in a store, should be used.

MAN LIFTING UP EUNICE.

" But she had jest been taxed high for new sidewalks in
front of some of her buildin's.

" And then another man come into power in that ward,
and he natruUy wanted to make some money out of her ;
and he had a spite aginst her, too, so he ordered her to
build new sidewalks. And she wouldn't tear up a good

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149

sidewalk to please him or anybody else, so she was put to
jail for refusin' to comply with the law."

Thinks'es 1 to myself, I don't believe the law would
have been so hard on her
if she hadn't been so hum-
bly. The Burpys are a
humbly lot. But I didn't
think it out loud. And
I didn't uphold the law for
feelin' so, if it did. No:
I says in pityin' tones, —
for I wus truly sorry for
Eunice Keeler, —

"How did it end?"

"It hain't ended," says
she. "It only took place
a month ago ; and she has
got her grit up, and won't
pay : and no knowin' how
it will end. She lays there
a moulderin'."

I myself don't believe
Eunice wus " mouldy ; "
but that is Dorlesky's way
of talkin', — very flowery.

" Wall," says I, " do you
think the weather is goin' to moderate'? "

I truly felt that I dassent speak to her about any
human bein' under the sun, not knowin' what turn she
would give to the conversation, bein' so embittered. But
I felt the weather wus safe, and cotton stockin's, and

EUNICE IN JAIL.

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factory-cloth ; and I kep' her down onto them subjects for
more'n two hours.

But, good land I I can't blame her for bein' embittered
aginst men and the laws they have made ; for, if ever a
woman has been tormented, she has.

It honestly seems to me as if I never see a human
creeter so alllicted as Dorlesky Burpy has been, all her
life.

Why, her sufferin's date back before she wus born ; and
that is goiii' pretty fur back. You see, her father and
mother had had some difficulty: and he wus took down
with billions colic voyolent four weeks before Dorlesky
wus born ; and some think it wus the hardness between
'em, and some think it wus the gripin' of the colic at the
time he made his will ; anyway, he willed Dorlesky away,
boy or girl, whichever it wuz, to his brother up on the
Canada line.

So, when Dorlesky wus born (and born a girl, entirely
onbeknown to her), she wus took right away from her
mother, and gin to this brother. Her mother couldn't
help herself: he had the law on his side. But it jest
killed her. She drooped right away and died, before the
baby wus a year old. She was a affectionate, tender-
hearted woman; and her husband wus kinder overbearin',
and stern always.

But it wus this last move of hisen that killed her ; for
I tell you, it is pretty tough on a mother to have her baly,
a part of her own life, took right out of her arms, and gin
to a stranger.

For this uncle of hern wus a entire stranger to Dorlesky
when the will wus made. And almost like a stranger to

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If)!

•ely
her
du't
jest
the
ider-

for

?ahy,
gill

lesky
ler to

lior father, for he hadn't seen liiin sence lie wus a ho}' ;
but he knew he hadn't any children, and s'posed lie wus
rich and respectable. But the truth wuz, he had been a
runnin' down every way, — had lost his property and his
(jharacter, wus dissipated and mean (onbeknown, it wus
s'posed, to Dorlesky's father). But the will was made,
and the law stood. Men are ashamed now, to think the
law wus ever in voge ; but it wuz, and is now in some of
the States. The law wus in voge, and the poor young
mother couldn't help herself. It has always been the
boast of our American law, that it takes care of wimmen.
It took care of her. It hekl her in its strong, protectin'
grasp, and held her so tight, that the only way she could
slip out of it wus to drop into the grave, which she did in
a few months. Then it leggo.

But it kep' holt of Dorlesky : it bound her tight to lier
uncle, while he run through with what little property she
had ; while he sunk lower and lower, until at last he
needed the very necessaries of life ; and then he bound
her out to work, to a woman who kep' a drink iii'-den, and
the lowest, most degraded hant of vice.

Twice Dorlesky run away, bein' virtuous but humbly ;
but them strong, protectin' arms of the law that had held
her mother so tight, jest reached out, and dragged her
back agin. Upheld by them, her uncle could compel her
to give her service wherever he wanted her to work ; and
he wus owin' this woman, and she wanted Dorlesky's Avork,
so she had to submit.

But the 3d time, she made a effort so voyaleiit that she
got away. A good woman, who, bein' iiothin' but a
woman, couldn't do any thing towards onclinchin' them

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powerful arms that wuz protectiu' her, helped her to slip
through 'em. And Dorlesky come to Joiiesville to live
with a sister of that good woman ; changed her name, so's
it wouldn't be so easy to find her ; grew up to be a nice,
industrious girl. And when the woman she was took by,
died, she left Dorlesky quite a handsome property.

And finally she married Lank Rumsey, and did consid-
erable well, it was s'posed. Her property, put with what
little he had, made 'em a comfortable home ; and they had
two pretty little children, — a boy and a girl. But when
the little girl was a baby, he took to drinkin', neglected
his business, got mixed up with a whisky-ring, whipped
Dorlesky — not so very hard. He went accordin' to law;
and the law of the United States don't approve of a man
whippin' his wife enough to endanger her life — it says it
don't. He made every move of hisen lawful, and felt
that Dorlesky hadn't ort to complain and feel hurt. But
a good whippi 1 will make anybody feel hurt, law or no
law. And then he parted with her, and got her property
and her two little children. Why, it seemed as if every
thing under the sun and moon, that could happen to a
woman, had happened to Dorlesky, painful things, and
gaulin'.

Jest before Lank parted with her, she fell on a broken
sidewalk : some think he tripped her up, but it never was
proved. But, anyway, Dorlesky fell, and broke her hip-
bone ; and her husband sued the corporation, and got ten
thousand dollars for it. Of course, the law give the money
to him, and she never got a cent of it. But she wouldn't
never have made any fuss over that, knowin' that the law
of the United States was such. But what made it gaulin'

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153

to her wiiz, that, while she was layin' there achin' in
splints, he took that very money and used it to court up
another woman with. Gin her presents, jewellry, bunnets,
head-dresses, artificial flowers, and etcetery, out of Dor-
lesky's own hip-money.

And I don't know as any thing could be much more

DOKLESKY'S TKIALS.

gaulin' to a woman than that wuz, — while she lay there,
groanin* in splints, to have her husband take the money
for her own broken bones, and dress up another woman
like a doll with it.

But the law gin it to him; and he was only availin'
himself of the glorious liberty of our free republic, and
doin' as he was a mind to.

And it was s'posed that that very hip-money was what

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made the match. For, before she wus faiily out of splints,
he got a divorce from lier. And by the help of that
money, and the Wliisky King, he got her two little chil-
dren away from her.

And I wonder if there is a mother in the land, that can
blame Dorlesky for gettin' mad, and wantiu' her rights,
and wantin' tlie Whisky King broke up, when they think
it over, — how slie has beea fooled round witli by men,
willed away, and wliipped and parted witli and stole from.
Why, they can't blame her for feelin' fairly savage about
'em — and she duz. For as she says to me once when we
wus a talkin' it over, how every thing had happened to
her that could happen to a woman, and how curious it
wuz, —

" Yes," says she, with a axent like boneset and vinegar,
— " and what few things tliere are that hain't happened
to me, has happened to my folks."

And, sure enough. I couldn't dispute her. Trouble
and wrongs and sufferin's seemed to be epidemic in the
race of Burpy wimn^en. Why, one of her aunts on her
father's side, Patty Burpy, married for her first husband
Eliphalet Perkins. He was a minister, rode on a circuit.
And he took Patty on it too ; and she rode round with
him on it, a good deal of the time. But she never loved
to : she wus a woman who loved to be still, and be kinder
settled down at home.

But she loved Eliphalet so well, she would do any thing
to please him : so she rode round with him on that circuit,
till she was perfectly fagged out.

He was a dretf ui good man to her ; but he wus kinder
poor, and they had hard times to get along. But whf.t

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155

property they had wuzn't taxed, so that helped some ; and
Patty would make one doller go a good ways.

No, their property wasn't taxed till Eliphalet died.
Then the supervisor taxed it the very minute the breath
left his body ; run his horse, so it was said, so's to be sure
to get it onto the tax-list, and comply with the law.

You see, Eliphalet's salary stopped when his breath did.
And I s'pose mebby the law thought, seein' she was a bav-
in' trouble, she might jest as well have a little more ; so
it taxed all the property it never had taxed a cent for
before.

But she had this to console her anyway, — that the law
didn't forget her in her widowhood. No : the law is quite
thoughtful of wimmen, by spells. It says, the law duz,
that it protects wimmen. And I s'pose in some myste-
rious way, too deep for wimmen to understand, it was pro-
tectin' her now.

Wall, she suffered along, and finally married agin. I
wondered why she did. But she was such a quiet, home-
lovin' woman, that it was s'posed she wanted to settle
down, and be kinder still and sot. But of all the bad luck
she had! She married on short acquaintance, and he
proved to be a perfect wanderer. Why, he couldn't keep
still. Tt was s'posed to be a mark.

He moved Patty thirteen times in two yearf>; and at
last he took her into a cart, — a sort of a covered wagon,
— and travelled right through the Eastern States with
her. He wanted to see the country, and loved to live
in the wagon : it was his make. And, of course, the
law give him the control of her body ; and she had to
go where he moved it, or else part with him. And I

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s'pose the law thought it was guardin' and nourishin' her
when it was a joltin' her over tliem praries and mountains
and abysses. But it jest kep' her shook up the hull of
the time.

It wus the regular Burpy luck.

And then, another one of her aunts, Drusilla Burpy, she
married a industrius, hard-workin' man, — one that never

PATTY AND HUSBAND TRAVELLING IN THE FAB WEST.

drinked a drop, and was sound on the doctrines, and give
good measure to his customers : he was a grocer-man.
And a master hand for wantin' to foller the laws of his
country, as tight as laws could be follered. And so,
knowin' that the law approved of " moderate correction "
for wimmen, and that " a man might whip his wife, but
not enough to endanger her life," he bein' such a master
hand for wantin' to do every thing faithful, and do his
very best for his customers, it was s'posed that he wanted

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157

to do his best for the law ; and so, when he got to whip-
pin' Drusilla, he would whip her too severe — he would be
too faithful to it.

You see, the way ont was, what made him whip her at
all wuz, she was cross to him. They had nine little chil-
dren. She always thought that two or three children
would be about all one woman could bring up well " by
hand," when that one hand wuz so awful full of work, as
will be told more ensuin'ly. But he felt that big families
wuz a protection to the Government; and "he wijutod
fourteen boys," he said, so they could all foller their
father's footsteps, and be noble, law-making, lavv-abidhig
citizens, jest as he was.

But she had to do every mite ji the housework, and
milk cows, and make butter and cheese, and cook rud
wash and scour, and take all the care of the children, day
and night, in sickness and iu health, and spin and weave
the cloth for their clothes (as wimmen did in them days),
and then make 'em, and keep 'em clean. And when there
wuz so many of 'em, and only about a year's difference in
their ages, some of 'em — why, I s'pose she sometimes
thought more of her own achin' back than she did of tlie
good of the Government ; and she would get kinder dis-
couraged sometimes, and be cross to him.

And knowin' his own motives was so high and loyal, he
felt that he ought to whip her. So he did.

And what shows that Drusilla wuzn't so bad as he
s'posed she wuz, wliat shows that she did have her good
streaks, and a deep reverence for the law, is, that slie
stood his whippin's first-rf.te, and never whipped him.

Now, she wuz fur bigger than he wuz, weighed 80

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pounds the most, and might have whipped him if the law
had been such.

But they was both haw-abidin', and wanted to keep

BEATING HIS WIFE.

every preamble ; so she stood it to be whipped, and never
once whipped him in all the seventeen years they lived

together.

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She died when her twelfth child was born : there wus
jest 13 months difference in the age of that and the one
next older. And they said she often spoke out in her last
sickness, and said, —

" Thank fortune, I have always kept the law."

And they said the same thought wus a great comfort to
him in his last moments.

He died about a year after she did, leaving his 2nd wife
with twins and a good property.

Then, there was Abagail Burpy. She married a sort of
a high-headed man, though one that paid his debts, and
was truthful, and considerable good-lookin', and played
well on the fiddle. Why, it seemed as if he had almost
every qualification for makin' a woman happy, only he
had jest this one little excentricity, — that man would lock
up Abagail Burpy's clothes every time he gtt mad at her.

Of course the law give her clothes to him ; and knowin'
it was one of the laws of the United States, she wouldn't
have complained only when she had company. But it
was mortifyin', and nobody could dispute it, to have com-
pany come, and nothin' to put on.

Several times she had to withdraw into the wood-house,
and stay most of the day, shiverin', and under the cellar-
stairs, and round in clothes-presses.

But he boasted in prayer-meetin's, and on boxes before
grocery-stores, that he wus a law-abidin' citizen ; and he
wuz. Eben Flanders wouldn't lie for anybody.

But I'll bet that Abagail Flanders beat our old Revolu-
tionary 4 mothers in thinkin' out new laws, when she
lay round under stairs, and behind barrells, in her night-
dress.

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You see, when a man hides his wive's corset and petti-
coat, it is governin' without the "consent of the governed."
And if you don't believe it, you ort to have peeked round
them barrells, and seen Abagail's eyes. Why, they had
hull leams of by-laws in 'em, and preambles, and " declara-
tions of independence." So I have been told.

Why, it beat every thing I ever heard on, the lawful
sufferin's of them wimmen. For there wuzn't nothin'
illegal about one single trouble of theirn. They suffered
accordin' to law, every one of 'em. But it wus tuff for
'em — very tuff.

And their all bein' so dretful humbly wuz and is
another drawback to 'em ; though that, too, is perfectly
lawful, as everybody knows.

And Dorlesky looks as bad agin as she would other-
ways, on account of her teeth.

It wus after Lank had begun to kinder get after this
other woman, and wus indifferent to his wive's looks, that
Dorlesky had a new i\et of teeth on her upper jaw. And
they sort o' sot out, and made her look so bad that it fairly
made her ache to look at herself in the glass. And they
hurt her gooms too. And she carried 'em back to the den-
tist, and wanted him to make her another set.

But the dentist acted mean, and wouldn't take 'em
back, and sued Lank for the pay. And they had a law-
suit. And the law bein' such that a woman can't testify
in court in any matter that is of mutual interest to hus-
band and wife — and Lank wantin' to act mean, too,
testified that " they wus good sound teeth."

And there Dorlesky sot right in front of 'em with her
gooms achin', and her face all pokin' out, and lookin' like

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furyation, and couldn't say a word. But she had to givo
in to tlie law.

And ruther than go toothless, she wears 'em to this day.
\ And I do believe it is the raspin' of them teetli aginst
' her gooms, and her dissoouraged and mad feelin's every
time she looks in a glass, that helps to embitter her
towards men, and the laws men have made, so's a wo-
man can't have the control over her own teeth and her
own bones.

Wall, Dorlesky went home about 4 p.m., I a promisia'
at the last minute as sacred as I couid, without usin' a
book, to do her errents for her.

I urged her to stay to supper, but she couldn't ; for she
said the man where she worked was usin' his horses, and
couldn't come after her agin. And she said that —

"Mercy on her! how could anybody eat any more
supper after such a dinner as I had got?"

And it wuzn't nothin' extra, I didn't think. No better
than my common run of dinners.

Wall, she hadn't been gone over an hour (she a holler-
in' from the wagon, a chargin' on me solemn, about the
errents, — the man she works for is deef, deef as a post, —
and I a noddin' to her firm, honorable nods, that I would
do 'em), and I wus a slickin' up the settin'-room, and
Martha, who had jest come in, wus measurin' off my skirt-
breadths, when Josiah Allen drove up, and Cicely and the
boy with him.

And there I had been a layin' out to write to her that
very night to tell her I wus goin' away, and to be sure
and come jest as quick as I got back !

Wall, I never see the time I wuzn't glad to see Cicely,

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and I felt that she could visit to Tirzali Ann's and Thomas
J.'s while I wus gone. She looked dretful pale and sad, I
thought ; but she seemed glad to see me, and glad to get
back.

And the boy asked Josiah and Ury and me 47 questions
between the wagon and the front doorstep, for I counted
'em. He wus well.

I broached the subject of my tower to Cicely when
she and I wus all alone in her room. And, if you'll be-
lieve it, she all rousted up with the idee of wantin' to go
too.

She says, " You know, aunt Samantha, just how I have
prayed and labored for my boy's future ; how I have made
all the efforts that it is possible for a woman to make ;
how I have thrown my heart and life into the work, —
but I have done no good. That letter," says she, takin'
one out of her pocket, and throwin' it into my lap, —
" that letter tells me just what I knew so well before, —
just how weak a woman is ; that they have no power, only
the power to suffer."

It wus from that old executor, refusin' to comply with
some request she had made about her own property, — a
request of right and truth.

Oh, how glad I would have been to had him execkuted
that very minute ! Why, I'd done it myself if winimen
could execkit — but they can't.

Says she, " I'll go with you to Washington, — I and the
boy. Perhaps I can do something for him there." But
when she mentioned the boy, I demurred in my own mind,
and kep' a demurrin'. Thinks'es I, how can I stand it, as
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163

the liull time ? She see I was a demurrin' ; and her pretty
face grew sadder than it had, and overcasteder.

And as I see that, I gin in at once, and says with a
cheerful face, but a forebodin' mind, —

"Wall, Cicely, we three will embark together on our
tower."

Wall, after supper Cicely and I sot down under the
front stoop, — it was a warm evenin', — and we talked
some about other wimmen. Not runnin' talk, or gossipin'
talk, but jest plain talk, about her aunt Mary, and her
aunt Melissa, and her aunt Mary's daughter, who wus a
runnin' down, runnin' faster than ever, so I judged from
what she said. And how Susan Ann Grimshaw that was,
had a young babe. She said her aunt Mary was better
now, so she had started for the Michigan; but she had
had a dretful sick spell while she was there.

Wliile she wuz a tellin' me this, Cicely sot on one of the
steps of the stoop : I sot up under it in my rockin'-chair.
And she looked dretful good to me. She had on a white
dress. She most always wears white in the house, when
we hain't got company ; and always wears black when she
is dressed up, and when she goes out.

This dress was made of white mull. The yoke wus
made all of thin embroidery, and her white neck and
shoulders shone through it like snow. Her sleeves was
all trimmed with lace, and fell back from her pretty white
arms. Her hands wus clasped over her knees ; and her
hair, which the boy had got loose a playin' with her, wus
fallin' round her face and neck. And her great, earnest
eyes wus lookin' into the West, and the light from the
sunset fallin' through the mornin'-glorys wus a fallin' over

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her, till I declare, I never see any tiling look so pretty in
my hull life. And there was somethin' more, fur more
than prettiness in her face, in her big eyes.

It wuzn't unhappiness, and it wuzn't hap})iness, and I
don't know as I can tell what it wuz. It seemed as if she
wuz a lookin' fur, fur away, further than Jonesville, fur-
ther than the lake tliat lay beyend Jonesville, and which
was pure gold now, — a sea of glass mingled with fire, —
further than the cloudy masses in the western heavens,
which looked like a city of shinin' mansions, fur off; but
her eyes was lookin' away off, beyend them.

And I kep' still, and didn't feel like talkin' about other
wimmen.

Finally she spoke out. " Aunt Samantha, what do you
suppose I thought when dear aunt Mary was so ill when I
was there ? "

And I saj'^s, "I don't know, dear: what did you?"

" Well, I thought, that, though I loved her so dearly, I
almost wished she would die while I was there."

" Why, Cicely ! " says I. " Why-ee ! what did you wish
that for? and thinkin' so much of your aunt as you do."

"Well, ycu know how mother and aunt Mary loved
each other, how near they were to each other. Why,
mother could always tell when aunt Mary was ill or in
trouble, and she was just the same in regard to mother.
And I can't think that when death has freed the soul from
the flesh, that they will have less spiritual knowledge of
each other than when they were here ; and I felt, that
with such a love as theirs, death would only make their
souls nearer : and you know what the Bible says, — that
' God shall make of his angels ministering spirits ; ' and I

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know He would send no other angel but my mother, to
dear aunt Mary's bedside, to take lier si)irit home. And
I thought, that, if I were there, my motlier Avould be tliere
riglit in the room with me ; and I didn't know but I might
feel her presence if I could not see lier. And I do want
my mother so sometimes, aunt Samantha," says she with
the tears comiii' into tliem soft brown eyes. " It seems as
i^' she would tell me what to do for the boy — she always
knew what was right and best to do."

Says I to myself, " For the land's sake, what won't
Cicely think on next?" But I didn't say a word, mind
you, not a single word would I say to hurt that child's
feelin's — not for a silver doll r, I wouldn't.

I only says, in calm accents, —

"Don't for mercy's sake, child, talk of seein' your
mother now."

She looked far off into the shinin' western heavens with
that deep, searchin', but soft gaze, — seemin' to look clear
through th'^m cloudy mansions of rose and pearl, — and
says she, —

" If I were good enough, I think I could."

And I says, "Cicely, you are goin' to take cold, with
nothin' round your shoulders." Says I, " The weather is
very ketchi^i', and it looks to me as if we wus goin' to
have quite a spell of it."

And the boy overheard me, and asked me 75 questions
about ketchin' the weather.

" If the weather set a trap ? If it ketched with bait, or
with a hook, and what it ketched? and how? and who?"

Oh my stars ! what a time I did have !

The next raorr.in' after this Cicely wuzn't well enough

SWEET CICELY.

167

to get up. I carried up her breakfast with my own hands,
— a good one, though I am fur from bein' the one tliat ort
to say it.

And after breakfast, along in the forenoon, Martha, who
was makin' my dress, felt troubled in mind as to whether
slie had better cut the polem.y kitrin' ways of the cloth,
or not : and Miss Gowdey had jest had one made in the
height of the fashion, to Jonesville ; and so to ease Martha's
mind (she is one that gets deprested easy, when weighty
subjects are pressin' her down), I said I would run over
cross-lots, and carry home a drawin' of tea I had borrowed,
and look at the polenaj'", and bring back tidin's from it.
And I wus goin' there acrost the orchard, when I see the
boy a layin' on his back under a apple-tree, lookin' up into
the sky ; and says I, —

" What be you doin' here, Paul ? "

He never got up, nor moved a mite. That is one of the
peculiarities of the boy, you can't surprise him : nothin'
seems to startle him.

He lay still, and spoke out for all the world as if I had
been there with him all day.

" I am lookin' to see if I can see it. I thought I got a
glimpse of it a minute ago, but it wus only a white
cloud."

" Lookin' for what ? " says I.

" The gate of that City that comes down out of the
heavens. You know, uncle Josiah read about it tliis
morning, out of that big book he prays out of after break-
fast. He said the gate was one pearl.

" And I asked mamma what a pearl was, and she said it
was just like that ring she wears that papa gave her. And

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I asked her where the City was, and she said it was up in
the heavens. And I asked her if I should ever see it ; and
she said, if I was good, it woukl swing down out of the

■;*?.■■.

/;-(.

LOOKING FOB THE CITY.

sky, sometime, and that shining gate would open, and I
should walk through it into the City.

" And I went right to being good, that minute ; and I

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169

have been good for as many as three hours, I should think.
And s«z/, liow long have you got to be good before you
can go through ? And ««?/, can you see it before you go
through ? A nd SAY " —

But I had got most out of hearin' then.

" And sa^/ " —

I heard his last " say " just as I got out of hearin' of
him.

lie acted kinder disappointed at dinner-time, and said
" he wus tired of watchin', and tired out of bein' good ; "
and he wus considerable cross all that afternoon. But
lie got clever agin before bedtime. And he come and
leaned up aginst my lap at sundown, and asked me, I
guess, about 200 questions about the City.

And his eyes looked big and dreamy and soft, and his
cheeks looked rosy, and his mouth awful good and sweet.
And his curls wus kinder moist, and hung down over his
white forehead. I did love him, and couldn't help it, chin
or no chin.

He had been still for quite a spell, a thinkin' ; and at
last he broke out, —

"Say, auntie, shall I see my father there in the City?"

And I didn't know what to tell him ; for you know what
it says, —

" Without are murderers."

But then, agin, I thought, what w*U become of the
respectable church members who sell the fire that flames
up in a man's soul, and ruins his life ? What will become
of them who lend their votes and their influence to make
it right? They vote on Saturdays, to make the sale of
this poison legal, and on Sundays go to church with their

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respectable families. And they expect to go right to
heaven, of course ; for they have improved all the means

ASKING ABOUT THE CITY.

of grace. Hired costly pews, and give big charities — in
money obtained by sellin' robberies, murders, broken
hearts, ruined lives.

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171

But the boy wanted an answer; and his eyes looked
questionin', but soft.

" Say, auntie, do you think we'll find him there, mamma
and I ? You know, that is what mamma cries so for, —
she wants him so bad. And do you think he will stand
just inside the gate, waiting for us ? Sa^ ! "

But agin I thought of what it said, —

"No drunkard shall inherit eternal life."

And agin I didn't know what to say, and I hurried him
off to bed.

But, after he had gone, T spoke out entirely unbeknown
to myself, and says, —

" I can't see through it."

" You can't see through what ? " says Josiah, who wus
jest a comin' in.

" I can't see through it, why drunkards and murderers
are punished, and them that make 'em drink and murder
go free. I can't see through it."

" Wall, I don't see how you can see through any thing
here — dark as pitch." Here he fell over a stool, which
made him madder.

" Folks make fools of themselves, a follerin' up that sub-
ject." Here he stubbed his foot aginst the rockin'-chair,
and most fell, and snapped out enough to take my head
off,—

"The dumb fools will get so before long, that a man
can't drink milk porridge without their prayin' over him."

Says I, " Be calm ! stand right still in the middle of the
floor, Josiah Allen, and I'll light a lamp," which I did ;
and he sot down cleverer, though he says, —

" You want to take away all the rights of a man.

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k..

Liquor is good for sickness, and you know it. You go
onto extremes, you go too fur."

Says I calmly, " Do you s'pose, at this late hour, I am
goin' to stop bein' mejum ? No ! mejum have I lived, and
mejum will I die. I believe liquor is good for medicine:
if I should say I didn't, I should be a lyin', which I am
fur from wantiu' to do at my age. I think it kep' mother
Allen alive for years, jest as I believe arsenic broke up
Bildad Smith's chills. And I s'pose folks have jest as
good a right to use it for the benefit of their health,
as to use any other pizen, or fire, or any thing.

"And it should be used jest like pizen and fire and
etcetery. You don't want to eat pizen for a treat, or pass
it round amongst your friends. You don't want to play
with fire for fun, or burn yourself up with it. You don't
want to use it to confligrate yourself or anybody else.

" So with liquor. You don't want to drink liquor to
kill yourself with, or to kill other folks. You don't want
to inebriate with it. If I had my way, Josiah Allen,"
says I firmly, "the hull li(iuor-trade should be in the
hands of doctors, who wouldn't sell a drop without know-
in' positive that it wus needed for sickness, or the aged
and infirm. Good, honest doctors who couldn't be bought
nor sold."

" Where would you find 'em ? " says Josiah in a gruff
tone (I mistrust his toe pained him).

Says I thoughtfully, "Surely there is one good, reliable
man left in every town — that could be found."

" I don't know about it," says he, sort o' musin'ly. " I
am gettin* pretty old to begin it, but I don't know but
I might get to be a doctor now."

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173

Says he, brightenin' up, " It can't take much study to
deal out a dose of salts now and then, or count anybody's
pult."

But says I firmly, " Give up that idee at once, Josiah
Allen. I have come out alive, out of all your other plans
and progects, and I hain't a goin' to be killed now at my
age, by you as a doctor."

My tone wus so powerful, and even skairful, that he gin
up the idee, and wound up the clock, and went to bed.

]

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CHAPTER VI.

Cicely wus some better the next day. And two days
l)efore we sot sail for Washington, Philury Mesick, the
gill Ury was payin' attention to, and who was goin' to
keep my house durin' my absence on my tower, come with
a small, a very small trunk, ornimented with brass nails.

Poor little thing ! I wus always sorry for her, she is so
liHle, and so freckled, and so awful willin' to do jest as
anybody wants her to. She is a girl that Miss Solomon
Gowdey kinder took. And I think, if there is any condi-
tion that is hard, it is to be " kinder took." Why, if I
was took at all, I should want to be " took.^^

But Miss Gowdey took Philury jest enough not to pay
her any regular wages, and didn't take her enough so
Pliilury could collect any pay from her when she left.
She left, because there wus a hardness between 'em, on
account of a grindstun. Philury said Miss Gowdey 's little
boy broke the grindstun, and the boy laid it to Philury.
Anyway, the grindstun wus broke, and it made a hardness.
And when Philury left Miss Gowdey's, all her worldly
wealth wuz held in that poor, pitiful lookin' trunk. Why,
the trunk looked like Philury, and Philury looked like the
trunk. It looked small, and meek, and well disposed ; and
the brass nails looked some like frecks, only larger.

174

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175

Wall, I felt sorry for her : and I s'posed, that, married
or single, she would have to wear
stockin's ; so I told her, that, be-
sides her wages, she might have
all the lamb's - wool yarn she
wanted to spin while I was gone,
after doin' the house-work.

She wus tickled enough as I
told her.

"Why," says she, "I can spin
enough to last me for years and
years."

" Wall," says I, " so much the
better. I have mistrusted," says
I, " that Miss Gowdey wouldn't do
much for you on account of that
hardness about the grindstun ; and
knowin' that you hain't got no
mother, I have laid out to do h.
middlin' well by you and Ury
when you get married."

And she blushed, and said "she
expected to marry Ury sometime
— years and years hence."

" Wall," says I, " you can spin
the yarn anyway."

Philury is a real handy little
thing about the house. And so
williii' and clever, that I guess, if
I had asked her to jump into the oven, and bake herself,
she would have done it. And so I told Josiah.

i "ill!

PHILLKY.

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And he said "li3 thought a little more bakin' wouldn't
hurt her." Sayc? he, " She is pretty soft."

And says I, " Soft or not, she's good. And that is more
than I can say for some folks, who think they know a little
more."

I will stand up for my sect.

Wall, in three days' time we sot sail for Washington,
D.C., I a feelin' well about Josiah. For Philury and Ury
wus clever, and would do well by him. And the cubbard
wus full and overflowin' with every thing good to eat.
And I felt that I had indeed, in that cubbard, left him a
consoler.

Josiah tO' ;k us to the train about an hour and a half too
early. But I wus glad we wus on time, because it would
have worked Josiah up dretfully if we hadn't been. For
he had spent the most of the latter part of the night in
gettin' up and walkin' out to the clock to see if it wus
approachin' train time : the train left at a quarter to
ten.

I wus glad on his account, and also on my own ; for at
the last minute, as you may say, who should come a run-
nin' down to the depot but Sam Shelmadine, a wantin' to
send a errent by me to Washington.

He kinder wunk me out to one side of the waitin'-room,
and asked me " if I would try to get him a license to steal
horses."

It kinder runs in the blood of the Shelmadines to love
to steal, and he owned up that it did. But he wuzn't goin'
into it for that, he said : he wanted the profit of it.

But I told him " I wouldn't do any such thing ; " and I
looked at him in such a witherin' way, that I should most

SWEET CICELY.

177

probable have withered liiin, only lie is blind with one
eye, and I was on the blind side.

Ikit he argued with nie, and said it was no worse than
\ to give licenses for other kinds of meanness.

He said they give licenses now to steal — steal folks'es
senses away, and then they would steal every thing else,
and murder, and tear round into every kind of wickedness.
But he didn't ask that. He wanted things done fair and
square : he jest wanted to steal horses. He was goin'
West, and he thought he could do a good business, and lay
up something. If he had a license, he shouldn't be afraid
of bein' shot up, or shot.

But I refused the job with scorn ; and jest as I wus
refusin', the cars snorted, and I wus glad they did. They
seemed to express in that wild snort something of the
indignation I felt.

The idee.

When Cicely and the boy and I got to Waohington, the
shades of twilight was a shadin the earth gently ; and we
got a man to take us to Condelick Smith'ses.

The man was in a hack, as Cicely called it (and he had
a hackin' cough, too, which made it seem more singular).
We told him to take us right to Miss Condelick Smith'ses.
Condelick is my own cousin on my own side, and traveliii'
on the road for groceries.

She keeps a nice, quiet boardin'-house. Only a few
boarders, "with the comforts of a home, and congenial
society," as she wrote to me when she heard I wus a
comin' to Washington. She said we had got to go to her
house ; so we went, with the distinct knowledge in our
minds and pocket-books, of payin' for our 3 boards.

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178

SWEET CICELY.

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She was very tickled to see us, and embraced us almost
warmly. She had been over a hot fire a cookin'. She is
humbly, but likely, I have been told and believe.

She has got a wen on her cheek, but that don't hurt her
any. Wens hain't nothin' that detract from a person's
moral worth.

There is only one child in the family, — Condelick, Jr.,
aged 13. A good, fat boy, with white hair and blue eyes,
and a great capacity for blushin', but seemed to be good
dispositioned.

It wus late supper time ; and we had only time to go
up into our rooms, and bathe our weary faces and hands,
when we had to go down to supper.

Miss Condelick Smith called it dinner: she misspoke
herself. Havin' so much on her hands, it is no wonder
that she should make a slip once in a while. I should,
myself, if my mind wuzn't like iron for strength. There
wus only three or four to the table besides us: it wuz
later than their usial supper time. There wus a young
couple there who had jest been married, and come there
to live.

Ever sense we left home we had seen sights and sights
of brides and groomses. It seemed to be a good time of
year for 'em ; and Cicely and I would pass the time by
guessin', from their demeaners, how long they had been
married. You know they act very soft the first day or
two, and then harden gradually, as time passes, till some-
times they get very hard.

Wall, as I looked at this young pair, I whispered to
Cicely, —

« 2 days."

SWEET CICELY.

179

They acted well. Though I see with pain that the
bride was tryin' to foller after the groom blindly, and I
see she was a layin' up trouble for herself. Amongst
other good things, they had a baked chicken for supper ;
and when the young husband wus asked what part of the
fowl he would take, he said, —

" It was immaterial ! "

And then, when they asked the bride, she blushed
sweetly, and said, —

" She would take a piece of the immaterial too."

And she bein' next to me, I said to her in a low tone,
but firm and motherly, —

" You are a beginner in married life ; and I say to
you, as one who has had stiddy practice for 20 years,
begin right. Let your affections be firm as adamant, cling
closely to Duty's apron-strings, but do not too blindly
copy after your groom. Try to stand up on your own
feet, and be a helpmate to him, not a dead weight for him
to carry. Do branch right out, and tell what part of the
fowl, or of life, you want, if it hain't nothin' but the giz-
zard or neck ; and then try to get it. If you don't have
any self-reliance, if you don't try to help yourself any,
it is highly probable to me, that you won't get any thing
more out of the fowl, or of life, than a piece of 'the
immaterial.' "

She blushed, and said she would. And so Duty bein'
appeased, and attended to, I calmly pursued my own
meal.

The next morning Cicely was so beat out that she
couldn't get up at all. She wuzn't sick, only jest tired
out. And so the boy and I sot out alone.

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180

SWEET CICELY.

I told Cicely I would do my errents the first thing, so
as to leave my mind and my conscience clear for the rest
of my stay.

And I knew there wiiz a good many who would feel

SAMANTHA ADVISINO THE BRIDE.

hurt, deeply hurt, if I didn't notice 'em right off the first
thing. The President, and lots of 'em, I knew would
take it right to heart, and feel dretfuUy worked up and
slighted, if I didn't call on 'em.
And then, I had to carry Dorlesky's errent to the Presi-

M\^i-i'

SWEET CICELY.

181

dent anyway. And I thought I would tend to it right
away, so I sot out in good season.

When you are a noticin' anybody, and matin' 'em per-
fectly happy, you feel well yourself. I was in good spirits,
and quite a number of 'em. The boy wus feelin' weM
too. He had a little black velvet suit and a deep lace
collar, and his gold curls was a hangin' down under his
little black velvet cap. They made him look more baby-
ish; but I believe Cicely kept 'em so to ma^v him look
young, she felt sc dubersome about his future But he
looked sweet enough to kiss right there in the street.

I, too, looked well, very. I had on that new dress, Bis-
mark brown, the color remindin' me of 2 noble patriots.
And made by a Martha. I thought of that proudly, as I
looked at George's benign face on the top of the monu-
ment, and wondered what he'd say if he see it, and hefted
my emotions I had when causin' it to be made for my
tower. I realized as I meandered along, that patriotism
wus enwrappin' me from head to foot ; for my polynay
was long, and my head was completely full of Gass'es
"Journal," and Starks'es "Life of Washington," and a
few martyrs.

I wus carryin' Dorlesky's errents.

On the outside of my head I had a good honorable
shirred silk bunnet, the color of my dress, a good solid
brown (that same color, B. B.). And my usial long green
veil, with a lute-string ribbon run in, hung down on one
side of my bunnet in its wonted way.

It hung gracefully, and yet it seemed to me there wus
both dignity and principle in it::, hang. It give me a sort
of a dressy look, but none too dressy.

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182

SWEET CICELY.

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And so we wended our way down the broad, beautiful
streets towards the White House.

Handsomer streets I never see. I had thought Jones-
ville streets wus middlin' handsome and roomy. Why,

two double wagons
can go by each
other with perfect
safety, right in
front of the grocery
stores, where there
is lots of boxes too ;
and wimmen can be
a walkin' there too
at the same time,
hefty ones.

But, good land!
Loads of hay could
pass each other
here, and droves of
dromedaries, and
camels, and not
touch each other,
and then there
would be lots of
room for men and
wimmen, and for
wagons to rumble, and perioguers to float up and down
— if perioguers could sail on dry land.
■ Roomier, handsomer, well shadeder streets I never want
to see, nor don't expect to. Why, Jonesville streets are
like tape compared with 'em; and Loontown and Toad
Holler, they are like thread, No. 60 (allegory).

SAMAliTHA AND PAUL ON THE WAY TO
THE WHITE HOUSE.

SWEET CICELY.

183

Rub Smith wus well acquainted with the President's
hired man, so he let us in without parlay.

I don't believe in talkin big as a general thing. But
thinks'es I, Here I be, a holdin' up the dignity of Jones-
ville : and here I be, on a deep, heart-searchin' errent to
the Nation. So I said, in words and axents a good deal
like them I have read of in " Children of the Abbey," and
" Charlotte Temple," —

" Is the President of the United States within?"

He said he was, but said sunthin' about his not receiv-
ing calls in the mornings.

But I says in a very polite way, — for I like to put
folks at their ease, presidents or peddlers or any thing, —

" It hain't no matter at all if he hain't dressed up — of
course he wuzn't expectin' company. Josiah don't dress
up r^ornin's."

And then he says something about "he didn't know but
he was engaged."

Says I, " That hain't no news to me, nor the Nation.
We have been a hearin' that for three years, right along.
And if he is engaged, it hain't no good reason why he
shouldn't speak to other wimmen, — good, honorable mar-
ried ones too."

" Well," says he finally, " I will take up your card."

" No, you won't ! " says I firmly. " I am a Methodist I
I guess I can start off on a short tower, without takin' a
pack of cards with me. And if I had 'em right here in
my pocket, or a set of dominoes, I shouldn't expect to
take up the time of the President of the United States a
playin' games at this time of the day." Says I in deep
tones, " I am a carrien' errents to the President that the
world knows not of."

s i:

184

SWEET CICELY.

He bluslied up red ; he was ashamed ; and he said " he
would see if I could be admitted."

And he led the way along, and I follered, and the boy.
Bub Smith had left us at the door.

The hired man seemed to think I would want to look
round some ; and he walked sort o' slow, out of courtesy.
But, good land ! how little that hired man knew my feel-
in 's, as he led me on, I a thinkin' to myself, —

" Here I am, a steppin' where G. Washington strode.'*
Oh the grandeur of my feelin's ! The nobility of 'em ! and
the quantity ! Why, it was a perfect sight.

But right into these exalted sentiments the hired man in-
truded witli his frivolous remarks, — worse than frivolous.

He says agin something about "not knowin' whether
the President would be ready to receive me."

And I stepped down sudden from that lofty piller I had
trod on in my mind, and says I, —

" I tell you agin, I don't care whether he is dressed up
or not. I come on principle, and I shall look at him
through that eye, and no other."

"Wall," says he, turnin' sort o' red agin (he was
ashamed), " have you noticed the beauty of the didos ? "

But I kep' my head right up in the air nobly, and never
turned to the right or the left ; and says I, ■ —

" I don't see no beauty in cuttin' up didos, nor never
did. I have heard that they did such things here in
Washington, D.C., but I do not choose to have my atten-
tion drawed to 'em." ,

But I pondered a minute, and the word " meetin'-house "
struck a fearful blow aginst my conscience ; and I says in
milder axents, —

Wmmmm

SWEET CICELY.

185

" If I looked upon a dido at all, it would be, not with a
human woman's eye, but the eye of a Methodist. My
duty draws me : — point out the dido, and I will look at it
through that one eye."

And he says, " I was a talkin' about the walls of this
room."

And I says, "Why couldn't you say so in the first
place ? The idee of skairiu' folks I or tryin' to," I added ;
for I hain't easily skairt.

The walls wus perfectly beautiful, and so wus the ceilin'
aiiJ floors. There wuzn't a house in Jonesville that could
compare with it, though we had painted our meetin-house
over at a cost of upwards of 28 dollars. But it didn't
come up to this — not ludf. President Arthur has got
good taste ; and I thought to myself, and I says to the
hired man, as I looked round and see the soft richness and
quiet beauty and grandeur of the surroundings, —

" I had just as lives have him pick me out a calico dress
as to pick it out myself. And that is sayin' a great deal,"
says I. " I am always very putickuler in calico : richness
and beauty is what I look out for, and wear."

Jest as I wus sayin' this, the hired man opened a door
into a lofty, beautiful room ; and says he, —

" Step in here, madam, into the antick room, and I'll see
if the President can see you ; " and he started off sudden,
bein' called. And I jest turned round and looked after
him, for I wanted to enquire into it. I had heard of their
cuttin' up anticks at Washington, — I had come prepared
for it ; but I didn't know as they was bold enough to come
right out, and have rooms devoted to that purpose. And
I looked all round the room before I ventured in. But

186

SWEET CICELY.

it looked neat as a pin, and not a soul in there ; and
thinks'es I, " It hain't probable their day for cuttin' up
anticks. I guess I'll venture." So I went in.

But I sot pretty near the edge of the cliair, ready to
jump at the first thing I didn't like. And I kep' a close
holt of the boy. I felt that I was right in the midst of
dangers. I had feared and foreboded, — oh, how I had
feared and foreboded about the dangers and deep perils of
Washington, D.C. ! And here I wuz, the very first thing,
invited right in broad daylight, with no excuse or any
thing, right into a antick room.

Oh, how thankful, how thankful I wuz, that Josiah
Allen wuzn't there I

I knew, as he felt a good deal of the time, an antick
room was what he would choose out of all others. And I
felt stronger than ever the deep resolve that Josiah Allen
should not run. He must not be exposed to such dangers,
with his mind as it wuz, and his heft. I felt that he would
stickumb.

And I wondered that President Arthur, who I had
always heard was a perfect gentleman, should come to
have a room called like that, but s'posed it was there when
he went. I don't believe he'd countenance any thing of
the kind.

I was jest a thinkin' this when the hired man come back,
and said, —

" The President would receive me."

" Wall," says I calmly, " I am ready to be received."

So I follered him ; and he led the way into a beautiful
room, kinder round, and red colored, with lots of elegant
pictures and lookin'-glasses and books.

wmmm

SWEET CICELY.

187

The President sot before a table covered with books
and papers : and, good land ! he no need to have been
afraid and hung back ; he was dressed up slick — slick
enough for meetin', or a parin'-bee, or any thing. He had
on a sort of a gray suit, and a rose-bud in his button-hole.

He was a good-lookin' man, though he had a middlin'
tired look in his kinder
brown eyes as he looked
up.

I had calculated to act
noble on that occasion, as
I appeared before him who
stood in the large, lofty
shoes of the revered G. W.,
and sot in the chair of the
(nearly) angel Garfield.
I had thought that likely
as not, entirely unbeknown
to me, I should soar right
off into a eloquent oration.
For I honored him as a
President. I felt like
neighborin' with him on
account of his name —

Allen ! (That name 1 took at the alter of Jonesville, and
pure love.)

But how little can we calculate on future contingencies,
or what we shall do when we get there ! As I stood be-
fore him, I only said what I had said before on a similar
occasion, these simple words, that yet mean so much, so
much, —

SAMANTHA MEETING THE
PRESIDENT.

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SWEET CICELY.

" Allen, I have come ! "

He, too, was overcome by his feelin's : I see he wuz.
His face looked fairly bolemu ; but, as he is a perfect gen-
tleman, he controlled himself, and said quietly these words,
that, too, have a deep import, —

" I see you have."

He then shook hands with me, and I with him. I, too,
am a perfect lady. And then he drawed up a chair for
me with his own hands (hands that grip holt of the same
helium that G. W. had gripped holt of. O soul ! be calm
when I think out), and asked me to set down ; and conse-
quently I sot.

I leaned my umberell in a easy, careless position
against a adjacent chair, adjusted my green veil in long,
graceful folds, — I hain't vain, but I like to look well, —
and then I at once told him of my errents. I told him —

"I had brought three errents to him from Jonesville,
— one for myself, and two for Dorlesky Burpy."

He bowed, but didn't say nothin' : he looked tired.
Josiah always looks tired in the mornin' when he has got
his milkin' and barn-chores done, so it didn't surprise me.
And bavin' calculated to tackle him on my own errent
first, consequently I tackled him.

I told him how deep my love and devotion to my pard-
ner wuz.

And he said, " he had heard of it."

And I says, " I s'pose so. I s'pose such things will
spread, bein' a sort of a rarity. I'd heard that it had got
out, way beyend Loontown, and all round."

" Yes," he said, " it was spoke of a good deal."

" Wall," says I, " the cast-iron love and devotion I feel

SWEET CICELY.

189

for that man don*t show off the brightest in hours of joy
and peace. It towers up strongest in dangers and trou-
bles." And then I went on to tell him how Josiah wanted
to come there as senator, and what a dangerous place I
had always heard Washington wuz, and how I had felt it
was impossible for me to lay down on my goose-feather
pillow at home, in peace and safety, while my pardner was
a grapplin' with dangers of which I did not know the
exact size and heft. And so I had made up my mind to
come ahead of him, as a forerunner on a tower, to see jest
what the dangers wuz, and see if I dast trust my compan-
ion there. "And now," says I, "I want you to tell me
candid," says I. " Your settin' in George Washington's
high chair makes me look up to you. It is a sightly place ;
you can see fur: your name bein' Allen makes me feel
sort o' confidential and good towards you, and I want you
to talk real honest and candid with me." Says I solemnly,
"I ask you, Allen, not as a politician, but as a human
bein', would you dast to let Josiah come ? "

Says he, "The danger to the man and the nation de-
pends a good deal on what sort of a man it is that comes."

Then was a tryin' time for me. I would not lie, neither
would I brook one word against my companion, even from
myself. So I says, —

" He is a man that has traits and qualities, and sights
of 'em."

But thinkin' that I must do so, if I got true informa-
tion of dangers, I went on, and told of Josiah's political
aims, which I considered dangerous to himself and the
nation. And I told him of The Plan, and my dark fore-
bodin's about it. . "

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190

SWEET CICELY.

The President didn't act surprised a mite. And finally
he told me, what I had always mistrusted, but never
knew, that Josiah had wrote to him all his political views
and aspirations, and offered his help to the Government.
A.nd says ho. "I think I know all about the man."

"Then," lys I, "you see he is a good deal like other
men."

And he said, sort o' dreamily, "that he was."

And then agin silence rained. He was a thinkin', I
knew, on all the deep dangers that hedged in Josiah Allen
and America if he come. And a musin' on all the prob-
able dangers of the Plan. And a thinkin' it over how to
do jest right in the matter, — rigLi by Josiah, right by
the nation, right by me.

Finally the suspense of the moment wore onto me too
deep to bear, and I says in almost harrowin' tones of
anxiety and suspense, —

" Would it be safe for my pardner to come to Washing-
ton ? Would it be safe for Josiah, safe for the nation ? "
Says I, in deeper, mournfuler tones, —

" Would you — would you dast to let him come ? "

He said, sort o' dreamily, " that those views and aes^^ira-
tions of Josiah's wasn't really needed at Washington, they
had plenty of them there; and" —

But I says, " I must have a plainer answer to ease my
mind and heart. Do tell me plain, — would you dast ? "

He looked full at me. He has got good, honest-looking
eyes, and a sensible, candid look onto him. He liked me,
— I knew he did from his looks, — a calm, Methodist-
Episcopal likin', — nothin' light.

And I see in them eyes that he didn't like Josiah's

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aWEET CICELY.

191

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political idees. I see that he was afraid, as afraid as death
of that plan ; and I see that he considered Washington a
dangerous, dangerous place for grangers and Josiah Aliens
to be a roamin' round in. I could see tiiat he dreaded

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"would you dast?"

the sufferin's for me and for the nation if the Hon. Josiah
Allen was elected.

But still, he seemed to hate to speak; and wise, cau-
tious conservatism, and gentlemanly dignitj^, was wrote
down on his linement. Even the red rosebud in his but-
ton-hole looked dretful good-natured, but close-mouthed.

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192

SWEET CICELY.

I don't know «as he wo'ild have spoke at all agin, if
I hadn't uttered once more them soul-harrowin' words,
" Would you dast f "

Pity and good feelin' then seemed to overpower for a
moment the statesman and courteous diplomat.

And he said in gentle, gracious tones, "If I tell you
just what I think, I would not like to say it officially, but
would say it in confidence, as from an Allen to an Allen."

Says I, " It sha'n't go no further."

And so I would warn everybody that it must not be
told.

Then says he, " I will tell you. I wouldn't dast."

Says I, "That settles it. If human efforts can avail,
Josiah Allen will not be United-States senator." And
says I, "You have only confirmed my fears. I knew,
feelin* as he felt, that it wuzn't safe for Josiah or the
nation to have him come."

Agin he reminded me that it was told to me in confi-
dence, and agin I want to say that it must be kep'.

I thanked him for his kindness. He is a perfect gentle-
man ; and he told me jest out of courtesy and politeness,
and I know it. And I can be very polite too. And I am
naturally one of tlie Kindest-hearted of Jonesvillians.

So I says to him, " I won't forget your kindness to me ;
and I want to say right here, that Josiah and me both
think well on you — first-rate."

Says he with a sort of a tired look, as if he wus a look-
in' back over a hard road, " I have honestly tried to do
the best I could."

Says I, " I believe it.** And wantin* to encourage him
still more, says I, ^

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SWEET CICELY.

1G3

"Josiah believes it, and Dorlesky Burpy, and lots of
other Jonesvillians." Says I, " To set down in a cliair
that an angel has jest vacated, a high chair under the full
glare of critical inspection, is a tegus place. I don't
s'pose Garfield was really an angel, but his sufferin's and
martyrdom pLioed him almost in that light before the
world.

"And you have filled that chair, and filled it well.
With dignity and courtesy and prudence. And we have
been proud of you, Josiah and me both have."

He brightened up : he had been afraid, I could see, that
we wuzn't suited with him. And it took a load offen hiui.
His linement looked clearer than it had, and brighter.

" And now," says I, sithin' a little, " I have got to do
Dorlesky's errerts."

He, too, sithed. His linement fell. I pitied him, and
would gladly have refrained from troubling him more.
But duty hunched me ; and when she hunches, I have to
move forward.

Says I in measured tones, each tone measurin' jest about
the same, — half duty, and half pity for him, —

"Dorlesky Burpy sent these errents to you. She
wanted intemperance done away with — the Whiskey Ring
broke right up. She wanted you to drink nothin' stronger
than root-beer when you had company to dinner, she of-
ferin' to send you a receipt for it from Jonesville ; and she
wanted her rights, and she wanted 'em all this week with-
out fail."

He sithed hard. And never did I see a linement fall
further than his linement fell. I pitied him. I see it wus
a hard stent for him, to do it in the time she had sot.

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194

8WEET CICELY.

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And I says, " I think myself that Dorlesky is a little
onreasonable. I myself am willin' to wait till next week.
But she has suffered dretfuUy from intemperance, dretfully
from the Rings, and dretfully from want of Rights. And
her sufferin's have made her more voyalent in her demands,
and impatienter.''

And then I fairly groaned as I did the rest of the errent.
But my promise weighed on me, and Duty poked me in
the side. I wus determined to do the errent jest as I
would wish a errent done for me, from borryin' a drawin'
of tea to tacklin' the nation, and tryin' to get a little mess
of truth and justice out of it.

" Dorlesky told me to tell you that if you didn't do these
things, she would have you removed from the Presidential
chair, and you should never, never, be Presidt^nt agin."

He trembled, he trembled like a popple-leaf. And I felt
as if I should sink : it seemed to me jest as if Dorlesky
wus askin' too much of him, and was threatenin' too
hard.

And bein' one that loves truth, I tol(J him that Dor
lesky was middlin' disagreeable, and very humbly, but she
needed her rights jest as much as if she was a dolly.
And then I went on and told him all how she and her
relations had suffered from want of rights, and how dret-
fully she had suffered from the Ring, till I declare, a
talkin about them little children of hern, and her agony,
I got about as fierce actin' as Dorlesky herself ; and en-
tirely unbeknown to myself, I talked poweiful on intem-
perance and Rings — and sound.

When I got down agin onto my feet, I see he had a
sort of a worried, anxious look ; and he says, —

SWEET CICELY.

195

" The laws of the United States are such, that I can't
interfere."

" Then," says I, " why don't you make the United
States do right?"

And he said somethin' about the might of the majority
and the powerful rings.

And that sot me off agin. And I talked very power-
ful, kinder allegored, about allowin' a ring to be put round
the United States, and let a lot of whiskev-dcalers lead
her round, a pitiful sight for men and angels. Says I,
"How does it look before the Nations, to see Columbia
led round half tipsy by a Ring?"

He seemed to think it looked bad, I knew by his
looks.

Says I, "Intemperance is bad for Dorlesky, and Id for
the Nation."

He murmured somethin' about the "revenue that the
liquor-trade brought to the Government."

But I says, " Every penny they give, is money right out
of the people's pockets ; and every dollar that the people
pay into the liquor-traffic, that they may give a few cents
of it into the Treasury, is costin' the people three times
that dollar, in the loss that intemperance entails, — loss
of labor, by the inability of drunken men to do any thing
but wobble and stagger round ; loss of wealth, by all the
enormous losses of property and of taxation, of almshouses
and madhouses, jails, police forces, paupers' coffins, and
the digging of the thousands and thousands of graves that
are filled yearly by them that reel into 'em." Says I,
" Wouldn't it be better for the people to pay that dollar
in the first place into the Treasury, than to let it filter

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196

BWEET CICELY.

through the dram-seller's hands, and 2 or 3 cents of it fall
iiito the National purse at last, putrid, and heavy with all
these losses and curses and crimes and shames and de-
spairs and agonies ? "

He seemed to think it would : I see by the looks of liis
linement, he did. Every honorable man feels so in his
heart ; and yet they let the liquor ring control 'em, and
lead 'em round.

Says I, " All the intellectual and moral power of the
United States are jest rolled up and thrust into that
Whiskey Ring, and are being drove by the whiskey-deal-
ers jest where they want to drive 'em." Says I, " It con-
trols New-York village, and nobody pretends to deny it ;
and all the piety and philanthropy and culture and philosi-
phy of that village has to be jest drawed along in that
Ring. And," says I, in low but startlin' tones of prin-
ciple, —

"Where, where, is it a drawin' 'em to? Where is it
a drawin' the hull nation to ? Is it a drawin' 'em down
into a slavery ten times more abject and soul-destroyin'
than African slavery ever was ? Tell me," says I firmly,
" tell me."

His mean looked impressed, but he did not try to frame
a reply. I think he could not find a frame. There is no
frame to that reply. It is a conundrum as boundless as
truth and God's justice, and as solemnly deep in its sure
consequences of evil as eternity, and as sure to come as
that is.

Agin I says, " Where is that Ring a drawin' the United
States ? Where is it a drawin' Dorlesky ? "

" Oh ! Dorlesky ! " says he, a comiu' up out of his deep

'■.('A ;..

SWEET CICELY.

197

revcryin', but polite, — a politer demeanerd, gentlemanly
appeariner man I don't want to see. " Ah, yes ! I would
be glad, Josiah Allen's wife, to do her errent. I think
Dorlesky is justified in asking to have the Ring destroyed.
But I am not the one to go to — I am not the one to do
her errent."

Says I, " Who is the man, or men ? "

Says he, " James G. Blaine."

Says I, "Is that so? I will go right to James G.
Blaineses."

So I spoke to the boy. He had been all engaged lookin'
out of the winders, but he was willin' to go.

And the President took the boy upon his knee, wantin'
to do something agreeable, I s'pose, seein' he couldn't do
the errent. And he says, jest to make himself pleasant to
the boy, —

" Well, my little man, are you a Republican, or Demo-
crat?"

" I am a Epispocal."

And seein' the boy seemed to be headed onto theoligy
instead of politics, and wantin' to kinder show him off, I
says, —

" Tell the gentleman who made you."

He spoke right up prompt, as if hurry in' to get through
theoligy, so's to tackle sunthin' else. He answered as ex-
haustively as an exhauster could at a meetin', —

"I was made out of dust, and breathed into. I am
made out of God and dirt."

Oh, how deep, how deep that child is ! I never had
heard him say that before. But how true it wuz ! The
divine and the human, linked so close together from birth

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198

SWEET CICELY.

till death. No philosipher that ever philosiphized could
go deeper or higher.

I see the President looked impressed. But the boy

"l AM A EPI8P0CAL."

branched off quick, for he seemed fairly burstin' with ques-
tions.

" Sai/, what is this house called the White House for ?
Is it because it is to help white folks, and not help the
black ones, and Injins ? "

SWEET CICELY.

199

I declare, I almost thought the boy had heard sunthiu'
about the elections in the South, j>.nd the Congressional
vote for cuttin' down the money for the Indian schools.
Legislative action to perpetuate the ignorance and bru-
tality of a race.

The President said dreamily, " No, it wasn't for that."

"Well, is it called white like the gate of the City is?
Mamma said that was white, — a pearl, you know, —
because every thing was pure and white inside the City.
Is it because the laws that are made here are all white and
good ? And say " —

Here his eyes looked dark and big with excitement.

"What is George Washington up on top of that big
white piller for ? "

" He was a great man."

" How much did he weigh ? How many yards did it
take for his vest — forty ? "

" He did great and noble deeds — he fought and bled."

" If fighting makes folks great, why did mamma punish
me when I fought with Jim Gowdey ? He stole my jack-
knife, and knocked me down, and set down on me, and
took my chewing-gum away from me, and chewed it him-
self. And I rose against him, and we fought and bled :
my nose bled, and so did his. But I got it away from him,
and chev/ed it myself. But mamma punished me, and
said ' God wouldn't love me if I quarrelled so, and if we
couldn't agree, we must get somebody to settle our trouble
for us.' Why didn't she stand me up on a big white pil-
low out in the door-yard, and be proud of me, and not shut
me up in a dark closet ? "

" He fought for Liberty."

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SWEET CICELY.

"Did he get it?"

" He fought that the United States might be free."

"Is it free?"

The President waved off tliat question, and the boy kep'

on.

•'Is it true what you have been talkin' about, — istliere
a great big ring put all round it, and is it bein' drawed
along into a mean place? "

And then the boy's eyes grew black with excitement ;

WAU DECLAKEI).

and he kep' right on without ^" .'.uii' for breath, or for a
answer, —

" He had heard it talked about, was it right to let any-
body do wrong for money ? Did the United States do it ?
Did it make mean things right? If it did, he wanted to
get one of Tom Gowdy's white rats. He wouldn't sell it,
and he wanted it. His mother wouldn't let him steal it ;
but if the United States could make it right for him to do
wrong, he had got ten cents of his own, and he'd buy the
right to get that white rat. And if Tom wanted to cry

SWEET CICELY.

201

about it, let him. If the United States sold him the right
to do it, he guessed he could do it, no matter how much
whimperin' there was, and no matter who said it was
wrong. J£e icanted the rat."''

liut I see the President's eyes, which had looked kinder
rested when he took him up, grew bigger and bigger with
surj)rise ajul anxiety. I guess lie thought he had got his
day's work in front of liim. And I told the boy we must
go. And then I says to the President, —

''That I knew he was quite a traveller, and of course he
wouldn't want to die without seein' Jonesville ; " and says
I, "Be sure to come to our house to supper when you
come." Says I, "I can't reccomend the huntin' so much ;
there liaint nothin' more excitin' to shoot than red squirrels
and chipmunks : but there is (piite good fishin' in the creek
back of our house ; they ketched 4 horned Asa's there last
week, and lots of chubs."

He smiled real agreable, and said, "when he visited
Jonesville, he wouldn't fail to take tea with me."

Says I, " So do ; and, if you get lost, you jest enquire at
the Corners of old Grout Nickleson, and he will set you
right."

He smiled agin, and said " he wouldn't fail to enquire if
he got lost."

And then I shook hands with him, thinkin' it would be
expected of me (his hands are white, and not much big-
ger than Tirzah Ann's). And then I removed the boy by
voyalence, for he was a askin' questions agin, faster than
ever ; and he poured out over his shoulder a partin' drib-
ble of questions, that lasted till we got outside. And then
he tackled me, and he asked me somewhere in the neigh-

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8WEET CICELY.

borhood of a 1,000 queations on the way back to Miss
Smiths'es.

He begun agin on George Washington jest as quick as
he ketched sight of his monument agin.

"If George Wasliington is up on tlie top of tliat monu-
ment for tellin' the truth, wliy didn't all the big men
try to tell the truth so's to be stood up on pillows out-
doors, and not be a layin' down in the grass? And did
the little hatchet help him do right? If it did, why didn't
all ihe big men wear them in their belts to do right with,
and tell the truth with ? And sat/ " —

Oh, dear me suz ! He asked me over 40 questions to a
lamp-post, for I counted 'em ; and there wuz 18 posts.

Good land ! I'd ruther wash than try to answer him ;
but he looked so sweet and good-natured and confidin', his
eyes danced so, and he was so awful pretty, that I felt in
the midst of my deep fag, that I could kiss him right there
in the street if it wuzn't for the looks of it : he is a beauti-
ful child, and very deep.

if. *

CHAPTER VII.

)

Wall, after dinner I sot sail for James G. Blains'es, a
walkin' afoot, and curryin' Dorlesky's errent. I was deter-
mined to do that errent before I slept. I am very obleegin',
and am called so.

When I got to Mr. Blains'es, I was considerably tired ;
for though Dorlesky's errent might not be heavy as weighed
by the steelyards, yet it was very hefty and wearin' on the
moral feelin's. And my firm, unalterable determination
to carry it straight, and tend to it, to the very utmot.i' of
my ability, strained on me.

I was fagged.

But I don't believe Mr. Blaine see the fag. I shook
hands with him, and there was calmness in that shake. I
passed the compliments of the day (how do you do, etc.),
and there was peace and dignity in them compliments.

He was most probable, glad I had come. But he didn't
seem quite so over-rejoiced as he probable would if he
hadn't been so busy. I can't be so highly tickled when
company comes, when I am washin' and cleanin' house.

He had piles and piles of papers on the table before
him. And there was a gentleman a settin' at the end of
the room a readia'.

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SWEET CICELY.

I like James G. Blaines'es looks middlin' well. Al-
though, like myself, he don't set up for a professional
be.auty. It seems as if some of the strength of the moun-
tain pines round his old home is a holdin' up his backbone,
and some of the braein' air of the pine woods of Maine
has blowed into James'es intellect, and braced it.

8AMANTHA MEETING JAMES G. BLAINE.

I think enough of James, but not too much. My likin'
is jest about strong enough from a literary person to a
literary person.

We are both literary, very. He is considerable taller
than I am ; and on that account, and a good many others,
I felt like lookin' up to him.

SWEET CICELY.

205

I 'I

Wall, Avlien I have got a hard job in front of me, I don't
know any better way than to tackle it to once. So con-
sequently I tackled it.

I told James, that Dorlesky Biirpy had sent two errents
by me, and I had brought 'em from Jonesville on my
tower.

And then I told him jest how she had suffered from the
Whisky Ring, and how she had suffered from not havin'
her rights ; and I told him all about her relations sufterin',
and that Dorlesky wanted the Ring broke, and her rights
gin to her, within seven days at the longest.

He rubbed his brow thoughtfully, and says, —

"It will be difficult to accomplish so much in so short
a time."

" I know it," says I. " I told Dorlesky it would. Rut
she feels jest so, and I promised to do her errent ; and I
am a doin' it."

Agin he rubbed his brow in dce[) thought, and agin he
says, —

"I don't think Dorlesky is unreasonable in her demands,
only in the length of time she has set."

Says I, "That is jest what I told Dorlesky. I didn't
believe you could do her errents this week. But you can
see for yourself that she is right, only in the time she has
sot."

" Yes," he said. " He see she wuz." And says he, " I
wish the 3 could be reconciled."

"What 3?" says I.

Says he, " The liquor traffic, liberty, and Dorlesky."

And then come the very hardest part of my errent.
But I had to do it. I had to.

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SWEET CICELY.

Says I, in the deep, solemn tones befitting the threat,
for I wuzn't the woman to cheat Dorlesky when she was
out of sight, and use the wrong tones at the wrong times.
— no, I used my deepest and most skairful one — says I,
" Dorlesky told me to tell you that if you didn't do her
errent, you should not be the next President of the
United States."

He turned pale. He looked agitated, fearful agitated.

I s'pose it was not only my words and tone that skairt
him, but my mean. I put on my noblest mean ; and I
s'pose I have got a very noble, high-headed mean at times.
I got it, I think, in the first place, by overlookin' Josiah's
faults. I always said '. wife ort to overlook her husband's
faults; and I ^ave to -verlook so many, that it has made
me about as high-headed, sometimes, as a warlike gander,
but more sort o' meller-lookin', and sublime, kinder.

He stood white as a piece of a piller-case, and seemin'ly
l)lunged down into the deepest thought. But finally he
riz part way out of it, and says he, —

" I want to be on the side of Truth and Justice. I
want to, awfully. And while I do not want to be Presi-
dent of the United States, yet at the same time I do want
to be — if you'll understand that paradox," says he.

"Yes," says I sadly. "I understand that paradox. I
have seen it myself, right in my own family." And
I sithed. And agin silence rained ; and I sot quietly in
the rain, thinkin' mebby good would come of it.

Finally he riz out of his revery; and says he, with a
brighter look on his linement, —

" I am not the one to go to. I am not the one to do
Dorlesky's errent."

SWEET CICELY.

207

" Who is the one ? " says I.

" Senator Logan," says he.

Says I, " I'll send Bub Smith to Senator Logan'ses the
minute I get back ; for much as I want to obleege a
neiglibor, I can't traipse all over Washington, walkin'
afoot, and carry in' Dorlesky's errent. But Bub is trusty :
I'll send him." And I riz up to go. He riz up too. He
is a gentleman ; and, as I said, I like his looks. He has
got that grand sort of a noble look, I have seen in other
literary people, or has been seen in 'em; but modesty
forbids my say in' a word further.

But jest at this minute Mr. Blaines'es hired nan come
in, and told him that he was wanted below ; and he took
up his hat and gloves.

But jest as he was startin' out, he says, turnin' to the
other gentleman in the room, —

" This gentleman is a senator. Mebby he can do Dor-
lesky's errent for you."

" Wall," says I, " I would be glad to get it done, with-
out goin' any further. It would tickle Dorlesky most to
death, and lots and lots of other wim^^ien."

Mr. Blaine spoke to the gentleman ; and he come for-
ward, and Mr. Blaine introduced us. But I didn't ketch
his name ; because, jest as Mr. Blaine spoke it, my umber-
ell fell, and the gentleman sprung forward to pick it up ;
and then he shook hands with me : and Mr. Blaine said
good-bye to me, and started off.

I felt willin' and glad to have this senator do Dorlesky's
errents, but I didn't like his looks from the very first
minute I sot my eyes on him.

My land ! talk about Dorlesky Burpy bein' disagreable

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208

SWEET CICELY.

i I

— he wus as disagreable as she is, any day. He was
kinder tall, and looked out of his eyes, and wore a vest :
I don't know as I can describe him any more close than
that. He was some bald-headed, and he kinder smiled

MR. BLAINE INTRODUCING THE SENATOR.

once in a while : I persiime he will be known by this
description. It is plain, anyway, almost lucid.

But his baldness didn't look to me like Josiah Allen's
baldness ; and he didn't have a mite of that smart, straight-

SWEET CICELY.

209

forward way of Blaine, oi the perfect courtesy and kind-
ness of Allen Arthur. No . I sort o' despised him from
the first minute.

Wall, he was dretful police : good land ! politeness is no
name for his mean. Truly, as Josiah Allen says, 1 (hm't
like to see anybody too good.

He drawed a cha\ up, for me and for himself, and asked
me, —

"If he should have the inexpressible honor and the
delightful joy of aiding me in any way : if so, command
him to do it," or words to that effect. I can't put down
his smiles, and genteel looks, and don't want to if I could.

But tacklin' hard jobs as I always tackle 'em, I sot right
down calmly in front of him, with my umberell acrost my
lap, and told him over all of Dorlesky's errents. And
how I had brought 'em from Jones ville on my tower. I
told over all of her sufferin's, from the Ring, and from
not havin' her rights; and all her sister Susan Clai)sad-
dle's sufferin's; and all her aunt Eunice's and Patty's,
and Drusilla's and Abagail's, sufferin's. I did her errent
up honorable and square, as I would love to have a errent
done for me. I told him all the particulers ; and as I fin-
ished, I said firmly, —

"Now, can you do Dorlesky's errents? and will you?"

He leaned forward with that deceitful and sort of disa-
greable smile of hisen, and took up one corner of my
mantilly. It wus cut tab fashion ; and he took up the
tab, and says he, in a low, insinuatin' voice, and lookin'
close at the edge of the tab, —

" Am I mistaken, or is this pipein' ? or can it be Ken-
sington tattin' ? "

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SWEET CICELY.

I jest drawed the tab back coldly, and never dained a
reply.

Again he says, in a tone of amiable anxiety, —

" Have I not heard a rumor that bangs were ^oing out
of style ? I see you do not wear your lovely ha r bang-
like, or a pompidorus ! Ah ! wimmen are lovely c -eatures,
lovely beings, every one of them." And he sithed.
" You are very beautiful." And he sithed agin, a sort of a
deceitful, love-sick sithe.

I sot demute as the Sfinx, and a chippin'-bird a tappin'
bis wing against her stunny breast would move it jest as
much as he moved me by his talk or his sithes. But he
kep' on, puttin' on a kind of a sad, injured look, as if my
coldness wus ondoin' of him, —

" My dear madam, it is my misfortune that the topics I
introduce, however carefully selected by me, do not seem
to be congenial to you. Have you a leaning toward nat-
ural history, madam? Have you ever studied into the
traits and habits of our American wad ? "

"What?" says I. For truly, a woman's curiosity,
however paralized by just indignation, can stand only
jest so much strain. " The what ? "

"The wad. The animal from which is obtained the
valuable fur that tailors make so much use of."

Says I, " Do you mean waddin' 8 cents a sheet?"

"8 cents a pelt — yes, the skins are plentiful and cheap,
owing to the hardy habits of the animal."

Says I, " Cease instantly. I will hear no more."

Truly, I had heard much of the flattery and the little talk
that statesmen will use to wimmen, and I had heard much
of their lies, etc. ; but truly, I felt that the i had not been
told. And then T thought out loud, and says, —

SWEET CICELY.

211

" I have hearn how laws of right and justice are sot one
side in Washington, D.C., as bein' too triflin' to attend to,
while the legislators pondered over, and passed law«
regardin', hens' eggs and birds' nests. But this is goin'
too fur — too fur. But," says I firmly, "I shall do Dor-
Icsky's errents, and do 'em to the best of my ability ; and
you can't dra\. off my attention from her sufferin's and
her suffraghi's by talkin' about wads."

" I would love to obleege Dorlesky," says he, " because
she belongs to such a lovely sex. Wimmen are the love-
liest, most angelic creatures that ever walked the earth:
they are perfect, flawless, like snow and roses."

Says I firmly, " That hain't no such thing. They are
disagreable creeters a good deal of the time. They
hain't no better than men. But they ought to have their
rights all the same. Now, Dorlesky is disagreable, and
kinder fierce actin', and jest as humbly as they make wim-
but that hain't no sign she ort to be imposed upon.

men

Josiah says, ' She hadn't ort to have a right, not a single
right, because she is so humbly.' But I don't feel so."

" Who is Josiah ? " says he.

Says I, " My husband."

" Ah ! your husband I yes, wimmen should have hus-
bands instead of rights. They do not need rights, they
need freedom from all cares and sufferings. Sweet, lovely
beings, let them have husbands to lift them above all
earthly cares and trials ! Oh ! angels of our homes," says
he, liftin' his eyes to the heavens, and kinder shettin' 'em,
some as if he was goin' into a trance, "fly around, ye
angels, in your native haunts I mingle not with rings, and
vile laws ; flee away, flee above them."

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212

SWEET CICELY.

((

And he kinder moved liis hand back and forth, in a
floatin' fashion, up in the air, as if it was a woman a flyin'
up there, smooth and serene. It would have impresced
some folks dretful, but it didn't me. I says reasonably, —
Dorlesky would have been glad to flew above 'em.

But the ring and thj
vile laws laid holt of her,
unbeknown to her, an 1
dragged her dow.i. And
there she is, all dragged
and bruised and broken-
hearted by it. She didn't
meddle with the political
ling, but the ring med-
dled with her. How can
she fly when the weight
of this infamous traffic
is a holdin' her down ? "
" Ahem I " says he.
"Ahem, as it were — as
I was saying, my dear
madam, these angelic
angels of our homes are
too ethereal, too dainty,
to mingle with the rude
crowds. We political
men would fain keep them as they are now : we are will-
ing to stand the rude buffe tings of — of — voting, in order
to guard these sweet, delicate creatures from any hard-
ships. Sweet, tender beings, we would fain guard you —
ah, yes ! ah, yes I "

"fly around, ye angels."

SWEET CICELY.

213

Says I, "Cease instantly, or
my sickness will increase ; for
such talk is like thorough wort or
lobelia to my moral stomach."
Says I, " You know, and I
know, that these angelic, ten-
der bein's, half clothed, fill our
streets on icy midnights, hunt-
in' up drunken husbands and
fathers and sons. They are
driven to death and to moral

woman's kights.

ruin by the
miserable want
liquor - drinkin'
entails. They
are starved,
they are frozen,
the" are beaten,
they are made
childless and
hopeless, by
drunken hus-
b a n d s killing
their own flesh
and blood.

SOMEBODY BLUNDBBBD.

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214

SWEET CICELY.

They go down into the cold waves, and are drowned by
drunken captains ; tliey are cast from railways into death,
by drunken engineers ; they go up on the scaff'old, and die
of crimes committed by the direct aid of this agent of
hell.

'■'■ Winnnen had rnther be a flvin' round than to do all
this, but they can't. If men really believe all they say
about wimmen, and I think some of 'em do, in a dreamy
way — it' wimmen are angels, give 'em the rights of angels.
Who ever heard of a angel foldin' up her wings, and goin'
to a poorhoiise or jail through the fault of somebody else?
Who ever heard of a angel bein' dragged off to a police
court by a lot of men, for fightin' to defend her children
and herself from a drunken husband that had broke her
wings, and blacked her eyes, himself, got the angel into
the fight, and then she got throwed into the streets and
the prison by it? Who ever heard of a angel havin' to
take in washin' to support a drunken son or father or hus-
band ? Who ever heard of a angel goin' out as wet nurse
to get money to pay taxes on her home to a Government
that in theory idolizes her, and practically despises her, and
uses that same money in ways abomenable to that angel ?

" If you want to be consistent — if you are bound to
make angels of wimmen, you ort to furnish a free, safe
place for 'em to soar in. You ort to keep the angels from
bein' meddled with, and bruised, and killed, etc."

" Ahem," says he. " As it were, ahem."

But I kep' right on, for I begun to feel noble and by the
side of myself.

" This talk about wimmen bein' outside and above all
participation in the laws of her country, is jest as pretty

SWEET CICELY.

215

as I ever heard any thing, and jest as simple. Why, you
might jest as well throw a lot of snowHakes into the street,
and say, ' Some of 'em are female flakes, and mustn't he
trampled on.' The great march of life tramples on 'em all
alike : they fall from one common sky, and are trodden
down into one common ground.

" Men and wimmen are made with divine impulses and
desires, and human needs and weaknesses, needin' the
same heavenly light, and the same human aids and helps.
The law should meet out to them the same rewards and
punishments.

" Dorlesky says you call wimmens angels, and you don't
give 'em the rights of the lowest beasts that crawls upon
the earth. And Dorlesky told me to tell you that she
didn't ask the rights of a angel : she would be perfectl}-
contented and proud if you would give her the rights of
a dog — the assured political rights of a yeller dog. She
said ' yeller ; ' and I am bound on doin' her errent jest as
she wanted me to, word for word.

"A dog, Dorlesky says, don't have to be hung if it
breaks the laws it is not allowed any hand in making. A
dog don't have to pay taxes on its bone to a Government
that withholds every right of citizenship from it.

"A dog hain't called undogly if it is industrious, and
hunts quietly round for its bone to the best of its ability,
and wants to get its share of the crumbs that fall from
that table that bills are laid on.

" A dog hain't preached to about its duty to keep home
sweet and sacred, and then see that home turned into a
place of torment under laws that these very preachers
have made legal and respectable.

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"A (log don't Lave to see its property taxed to advance
laws tliat it believes ruinous, and that breaks its own
heart and the licarts of other dear dogs.

"A dog don't have to listen to soul-sickening speeches
from them that deny it freedt)ni and justice — about its
bein' a dam6sk rose, and a seraphine, when it knows it
liain't : it knows, if it knows any thing, that it is a
dog.

"You see, Dorlesky has been kinder embittered by her
trials that politics, corrupt legislation, has brought right
onto her. She didn't want nothin' to do with 'em ; but
they come right onto her unexi)ected and unbeknown,
and she feels jest so. She feels she must do every thing
she can to alter matters, bne wants to help make the laws
that have such a overpowerin' influence over her, herself.
She believes from her soul that they can't be much worse
than they be now, and may be a little better."

" Ah ! if Dorlesky wishes to influence political affairs,
let her influence her children, — her boys, — and they
will carry her benign and noble influence forward into
the centuries."

" But the law has took her boy, her little boy and girl,
away from her. Through the influence of the Whisky
Ring, of which her husband was a shinin' member, he got
possession of her boy. And so, the law has made it per-
fectly impossible for her to mould it indirectly through
him. What Dorlesky does, she must do herself."

" Ah ! A sad thing for Dorlesky. I trust that you have
no grievance of the kind, I trust that your estimable
husband is — as it were, estimable."

" Yes, Josiah Allen is a good man. As good as men

SWEET CICELY.

217

can be. You know, men or winnnen either can't he only
jest iihout so good anyway. But he is my choice, and he
don't drink a (h'op."

"Pardon me, madam; but if you are happy, as you
say, in your marriage rehitions, and your husband is a
temperate, good num, why do you feel so upon this sub-
ject?"

" Why, good land I if you understand the nature of a
woman, you W(mld know that my love for him, my happi-
ness, the content and safety I feel jdjout him, and our boy,
makes me realize the sutt'erin's of Dorlesky in havin' her
husband and boy lost to her , makes me realize the de[)th
of a wive's, of a mother's, agony, when she sees the one
she loves goin' down, goin' down so low that she can't
reach him ; makes me feel how she must yearn to help him
in some safe, sure way.

" High trees cast long shadows. The happier and more
blessed a woman's life is, the more does she feel f(»r them
who are less blessed than she. Highest love goes lowest,
if need be. Witness the love that left Heaven, and de-
scended onto the earth, and into it, that He might lift up
the lowly.

"The pityin' words of Him who went about pleasin'
not himself, hants me, and inspires me. I am sorry for
Dorlesky, sorry for the hull wimmen race of the nation —
and for the men too. Lots of 'em are good creeters —
better than wimmen, some on 'em. They want to do jest
about right, but don't exactly see the way to do it. In
the old slavery times, some of the masters was more to be
pitied than the slaves. They could s^je the injustice, feel
the wrong, they was doin'; but old chains of custom

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SWEET CICELY.

bound 'em, social customs and idees had hardened into
habits of thought.

" They realized the size and heft of the evil, but didn't
know how to grapple with it, and throw it.

"So now, many men see the great evils of this time,
want to help it, but don't know the best way to lay holt
of it.

"Life is a curious conundrum anyway, and hard to
guess. But we can try to get the right answer to it as fur
as we can. Dorleskv feels that one of the answers to the
conundrum is in gettin' her lights. She feels jest so.

"I myself have got all the rights I need, or want, as fur
as my own happiness is concerned. My home is my castle
(a story and a half wooden one, but dear).

" My towers elevate me, the companionship of my
friends give social hap[)iness, our children are prosperous
and happy. We have property enough, and m "'^. than
enough, for all the comforts of life. And, above all other
things, my Josiah is my love and my theme."

"Ah! yes!" says he. "Love is a woman's empire,
and in that she should find her full content — her entire
happiness and thought. A womanly woman will not
look outside of that lovely and safe and beautious em-
pire.

Says I firmly, " If she hain't a idiot, she can't help it.
Love is the most beautiful thing on earth, the most holy,
the most satisfyin'. But vvhich would you like best — I
do not ask you as a politician, but as a human bein' —
which would you like best, the love of a strong, earnest,
tender nature — for in man or woman, ' the strongest are
the tenderest, the loving are the daring ' — which would

SWEET CICELY.

219

you like best, the love and respect of such a nature, full
of wit, of tenderness, of infinite variety, or the love of a
fool?

" A fool's love is wearin' : it is insipid at the best, and
it turns to viniger. Why ! sweetened water must turn to
viniger : it is its nater. And, if a woman is bright and
true-hearted, she can't help seein' through a injustice. She
may be happy in her own home. Domestic affection, social
enjoyments, the delights of a cultured home and society,
and the companionship of the man she loves, and who loves
her, will, if she is a true woman, satisfy fully her own
personal needs and desires ; and she would far rather, for
her own selfish happiness, rest quietly in that love — that
most blessed home.

" But the bright, quick intellect that delights you, can't
help seeing through an injustice, can't help seeing through
shams of all kinds — sham sentiment, sham compliments,
sham justice.

" The tender, lovin' nature that blesses you^ life, can't
help feelin' pity for those less blessed than herself. She
looks down through the love-guarded lattice of her home,
— from which your care would fain bar out all sights of
woe and squalor, — she looks down, and sees the weary
toilers below, the hopeless, the wretched; she sees the
steep hills they have to climb, carryin' their crosses ; she
sees 'em go down into the mire, dragged there by the love
that should lift 'em up.

" She would not be the woman you love, if she could
rebi,rain her hand from liftin' up the fallen, wipin' tears
from weepin' eyes, speakin' brave words for them who
can't speak for themselves.

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"The very strength of lier aifection that would hold
you up, if you were in trouble or disgrace, yearns to help
all sorrowin' hearts.

" Down in your heart, you can't help admirin' her for
this : we can't help respectin' the one who advocates the
right, the true, even if they are our conquerors.

" Wimnien hain't angels : now, to be candid, you know
they hain't. They hain't bett'ir than men. Men are con-
siderable likely ; and it see^ns curious to me, that they
she. Id act so in this one thing. For men ort to be more
honest and open than wimmen. They hain't had to cajole
and wheedle, nnd spile their natures, through little trick-
eries and deceits, and indirect ways, that wimmen has.
' "Why, cramp a tree-limb, and see if it will grow as
straight and vigorous as it would in full freedom and
sunshine.

" Men ort to be nobler than wimmen, sincerer, braver.
And they ort to be ashamed of this one trick of theirn ; for
they know they hain't honest in it, they hain't generous.

" Give wimmen 2 or 3 generations of moral freedom,
and see if men will laugh at 'em for their little deceits
and affectations.

"No: men will be gentler, and wimmen nobler; and
they will both come nearer bein' angels, though most
probable they won't be angels : they won't be any too good
then, I hain't a mite afraid of it."

He kinder sithed; and that sithe sort o' brought me
down onto my feet agin (as it were), and a sense of my
duty : and I spoke out agin, —

" Can you, and will you, do Dorlesky's errents ? "

Wall, he said, "as far as giving Dorlesky her rights

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221

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was concerned, he felt that natural human instinct was
against the change." He said, "in savage races, who
knew nothing of civilization, male force and strength
always ruled."

Says I, " History can't be disputed ; and history tells of
savage races where the wimmen always rule, though I
don't think they ort to," says I : " ability and goodness ort
to rule."

" Nature is against it," says he.

Says I firmly, " Female bees, and lots of other insects,
and animals, always have a female for queen and ruler.
Tlicy rule blindly and entirely, right on through the cen-
turies. But we are more enlightened, and should not en-
courage it. In my opinion, a male bee has jest as good a
right to be monarch as his female companion has. That
is," says I reasonably, "if he knows as much, and is as
good a calculator as she is. I love justice, I almost wor-
sliip it."

Agin he sithed; and says he, "Modern history don't
seem to encourage the skeme."

But his axent was weak, weak as a cat. He knew
better.

Says I, " We won't argue long on that point, for I could
overwhelm you if I approved of overwhelmin'. But I
merely ask you to cast your right eye over into England,
and then beyond it into France. Men have ruled exclu-
sively in France for the last 40 or 50 years, and a woman
in England : which realm has been the most peaceful and
prosperous ? "

He sithed twice. And he bowed his head upon his
bieast, in a sad, almost meachin' way. I nearly pitied

SWEET CICELY.

223

him, disagreable as he wuz. When all of a sudden he
brightened up ; and says he, —

" You seem to place a great deal of dependence on tlie
Bible. The Bible is aginst the idee. The Bible teaches
man's supremacy, man's absolute power and might and
authority."

" Why, how you talk ! " says I. " Why, in the very
first chapter, the Bible tells how man was jest turned right
round by a woman. It .caches how she not only turned
man right round to do as she wanted him to, but turned
the hull world over.

"That hain't nothin' I approve of: I don't speak of it
because I like the idee. That wuzn't done in a open,
honorable manner, as I believe things should be done.
No: Eve ruled by indirect influence, — the 'gently influ-
encing men' way, that politicians are so fond of. And
she jest brought ruin and destruction onto the hull world
by it.

" A few years later, after men and wimmen grew wiser,
when we hear of wimmen ruling Israel openly and hon-
estly, like Miriam, Deborah, and other likely old 4 mothers,
why, things went on better. They didn't act meachin',
and tempt, and act indirect, I'll bet, or I wouldn't be
afraid to bet, if I approved of bettin'."

He sithed powerful, and sot round oneasy in his chair.
And says he, " I thought wimmen was taught by the
Bible to serve, and love their homes."

" So they be. And every true woman loves to serve.
Home is my supreme happiness and delight, and my best
happiness is found in servin' them I love. But I must
tell the truth, in the house or outdoors."

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"Wall," says he faintly, "the Old Testament may
teach that wmimen has some strenth and power ; but in
the New Testament, you will find that in every great
undertakin' and plan, men have been chosen by God to
carry it through."

" Why-ee ! " says I. " How you talk ! " says I. " Have
you ever read the Bible ? "

He said "He had his grandmother owned one. And
he had seen it in early youth."

And then he went on, sort o' apologizin', " He had
always meant to read it through. But he had entered
political life at an early age, and he believed he had never
read any more of it, only portions of Gulliver's Travels.
He believed," lie said, "he had read as far as Lillipu-
tions."

Says T, " That hain't in the Bible, — you mean Galla-
tians."

" Wall," he said, " that might be it. It was some man,
he knew, and he had always heard and believed that man
was the only worker God had chosen."

"Why," says I, "the one great theme of the New
Testament, — the redemption of the world through the
birth of the Christ, — no man had any thing to do with
that whatever. Our divine Lord was born of God and
woman.

"Heavenly plan of redemption for fallen humanity.
God Himself called women into that work, — the divine
work of helpin' a world.

" God called her. Mary had no dream of publicity, no
desire for a world's work of sufferin' and renunciation.
The soft airs of Gallilee wrapped her about in its sweet

SW.TET CICELY.

225

content, as she dreamed her quiet dreams in maiden
peace, dreamed, perhaps, of domestic love and quiet and
happiness.

" From that sweetest silence, the restful peace f)f lia})py,
innocent girlhood, God called her to her divine work of
helpin' to redeem a world from sin.

" And did not this woman's love, and willin' obedience,
and sufferin', and the shame of the world, set her apart,
babtize her for this work of liftin' up the fallen, helpin' the
weak ?

" Is it not a part of woman's life that she gave at the
birth and the crucifixion ? — her faith, her hope, her suf-
ferin', her glow of divine pity and joyful martyrdom.
These, mingled with the divine, the pure heavenly, have
they not for 1800 years been blessin' the world? The God
in Christ would awe us too much : we would shield our
faces from the too blindin' glare of the pure God-like.
But the tender Christ, who wept over a sinful city, and
the grave of His friend, who stopped dyin' upon the cros' ,
to comfort his mother's heart, provide for her future —
it is this element in our Lord's nature that makes us dure
to approach Him, dare to kneel at His feet.

"And since woman wus so blessed as to be counted
worthy to be co-worker with God in the begin nin' of a
world's redemption ; since He called her from the quiet
obscurity of womanly rest and peace, into the blessed mar-
tyrdom of renunciation and toil and sufferin', all to help a
world that cared nothing for her, that cried out shame
upon her, — will He not help her to carry on the work
that she helped commence ? Will He not approve of her
continuin' in it? Will He not protect her in it?

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SWEET CICEL'

"Yes: she cannot be harmed, since His care is over
her ; and the cause she loves, the cause of helpin' men
and wimmen, is God's cause too, and God will take care of
His own. Herods full of greed, and frightened selfishness,
may try to break her heart, by efforts to kill the child she
loves ; but slie will hold it so close to her bosom, that he
can't destroy it. And the light of the divine will go
berore her, showin' the way she must go, over the desert,
maybe ; but she shall bear it into safety."

"You spoke of Herod," says lie dreamily. "The name
sounds familiar to me : was not Mr. Herod once in the
United-States Congress ? "

" No," says I. " He died some years ago. But he has
relatives there now, I think, judging from recent laws.
You ask who Herod was ; and, as it all seems to be a new
story to you, I will tell yo i. That when the Saviour
of the world was born in Bethlehem, and a woman was
tryin' to save His life, a man by the name of Herod was
tryin' his best, out of selfishness, and love of gain, to mur-
der him."

" Ah ! that was not right in Herod."

" No," says I. " It hain't been called so. And what
wuzn't right In him, hain't right in his relations, who are
tryin' to dc ).he same thing to-day. But," says I reason-
ably, "because Herod was so mean, it hain't no sign that
all men was mean. Joseph, now, was likely as he could
be."

" Joseph," says he pensively. " Do you allude to our
senator from Connecticut, — Joseph R. Hawley ? "

" No, no," says I. " He is likely, as likely can be, and
is always on the right side of questions — middlin' hand-

SWEET CICELY.

227

some too. But I am talkin' Bible — I am talkin' about
Joseph, jest plain Joseph, and nothin' else."

" Ah ! I see I am not fully familiar with that work.
Being so engrossed in politics, and political literature, I
don't get any time to
devote to less impor-
tant publications."

Says I candidly, " I
knew you hadn't read
it, I knew it the min-
ute you mentioned the
Book of Lilliputions.
But, as I was a say in',
Joseph was a likely
man. He did the very
best he could with what
he had to do with. He
had the strength to lead
the way, to overcome
obsticles, to keep dan-
gers from Mary, to pro-
tect her tenderer form
with the mantilly of his
generous devotion.

''''But she carried the
child on her bosom.

Pondering high things in her heart that Joseph had never
dreamed of. That is what is wanted now, and in the
future. The man and the woman walking side by side.
He, a little ahead mebby, to keep off dangers by his
greater strength and courage. She, a carryin' the infant

BEAKING THE UABY I'EACE.

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Christ of love, bearin' the baby Peace in her bosom, carry-
ing it into safety from them that seek to murder it.

" And, as I said before, if God called woman into this
work. He will enable her to carry it through. He will
protect her from her own weaknesses, and from the mis-
apprehensions and hard judgments and injustices of a
gain-saying world.

" Yes, the star of hope is rising in the sky, brighter and
brighter ; and the wise men are even now coming from
afar over the desert, seeking diligently where this re-
deemer is to be found."

He sot demute. He did not frame a reply : he had no
frame, and I knew it. Silence rained for some time ; and
finally I spoke out solemnly through the rain, —

" Will you do Dorlesky's errents ? Will you give her
her rights ? And will you break the Whisky Ring ? "

He said he would love to do Dorlesky's errents. He
said I had convinced him that it would be just and right
to do 'em, but the Constitution of the United States stood
up firm against 'em. As the laws of the United State wuz,
he could not make any move towards doin' either of the
errents.

Says I, " Can't the laws be changed ? "

" Be changed ? Change the laws of the United States?
Tamper with the glorious Constitution that our 4 fathers
left us — an immortal, sacred legacy ? "

He jumped right up on his feet, in his surprise, and
kinder shook, as if he was skairt most to death, and trem-
blin' with borrow. He did it to skair me, I knew ; and I
wuz most skaird, I confess, he acted so horrowfied. But
I knew I meant well towards the Constitution, and our

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229

old 4 fathers ; and my principles stiddied me, and held me
middlin' firm and serene. And when he asked me agin in
tones full of awe and horrow, —

"Can it be that I heard my ear aright? or did you
speak of changing the unalterable laws of the United
States — tampering with the Constitution ? "

Says I, " Yes, that is what I said."

Oh, how his body kinder shook, and how sort o' wild he
looked out of his eyes at me !

Says I, " Hain't they never been changed?"

He dropped that skairful look in a minute, and put on
a firm, judicial one. He gin up ; he could not skair me
to death : and says he, —

" Oh, yes ! they have been changed in cases of neces-
sity."

Says I, " For instance, durin' the late war, it was changed
to make Northern men cheap blood-hounds and hunters."

" Yes," he said. " It seemed to be a case of necessity
and econimy."

"I know it," says I. "Men was cheaper than any
other breed of blood-hounds the planters had employed
to hunt men and winimen with, and more faithful."

" Yes," he said. " It was doubtless a case of clear
econimy."

And says I, "The laws have beer changed to benifit
whisky-dealers."

" Wall, yes," he said. " It had been changed to enable
whisky-dealers to utelize the surplufus liquor they im-
port."

Says he, gettin' kinder animated, for he was on a con-
genial theme, —

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SWEET CICELY.

"Nobody, the best calculators in driiiikards, can't ex-
actly calculate on how much whisky will be drunk in a
year ; and so, ruther than have the whisky-dealers suftbr
loss, the laws had to be changed.

"And then," says he, growin' still more candid in his

A CASE OF NKCE88ITY.

excitement, "we are makin' a. powerful effort to change
the laws now, so as to take the tax off of whisky, so it
can be sold cheaper, and be obtained in greater quantities
by the masses. Any such great laws for the benifit of the
nation, of course, would justify a change in the Constitu-
tion and the laws ; but for any frivolous cause, any trivial

SWEET CICELV.

281

catiae, niadam, we male custodians of the sacred Constitu-
tion would stand as walls of iron before it, guarding it
from any shadow of change. Faithful we will be, faithful
unto death."

Says I, "As it has been changed, it can be again.
And you jest said I had convinced you that Dorlesky's
errents wus errents of truth and justice, and you would
love to ilo 'em."

"Well, yes, yes — I would love to — as it were — But
really, my dear madam, much as I would like to oblige
you, I have not the time to devote to it. We senators
and Congressmen are so driven, and hard-worked, that
really we have no time to devote to the cause of Right
and Justice. I don't think you realize the constant press-
ure of hard work, that is ageing us, and wearing us out,
before our day.

" As I said, we have to watch the liquor-interest con-
stantly, to see that the liquor-dealers suffer no loss — we
have to do that. And then, we have to look sharp if
we cut down the money for the Indian schools."

Says I, in a sarcastick tone, " I s'pose you worked hard
for that."

" Yes," says he, in a sort of a proud tone. " We did,
but we men don't begrudge labor if we can advance
measures of economy. You see, it was taking sights of
money just to Christianize and civilize Injuns — savages.
Why, the idea was worse than useless, it wus perfectly ruin-
ous to the Indian agents. For if, through those schools,
the Indians had got to be self-supporting and intelligent
and Christians, why, the agents couldn't buy their wives
and daughters for a yard of calico, or get them drunk, and

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buy a horse for a glass bead, and a farm for a pocket
lookin'-glass. Well, thank fortune, we carried that im-
portant measure through ; we voted strong ; we cut
down the money anyway. And there is one revenue that
is still accruing to the Government — or, as it were,
the servants of Government, the agents. You see,"
says he, " don't you, just how important the subjects are,
that are wearing down the Congressional and senatorial
mind?"

"Yes," says I sadly, "I see a good deal more than I
want to."

" Yes, you see how hard-worked we are. With all the
care of the North on our minds, we have to clean out all
the creeks in the South, so the planters can have smooth
sailing. But we think," says he dreamily, " we think we
have saved money enough out of the Indian schools, to
clean out most of their creeks, and perhaps have a little
left for a few New- York aldermen, to rewprd them for
their arduous duties in drinking and voting for their
constituents.

"Then, there is the Mormons: we have to make sooth-
ing laws to sooth them.

"Then, there are the Chinese. When we send them
back into heathendom, we ought to send in the ship with
them, some appropriate biblical texts, and some mottoes
emblematical of our national eagle protecting and clawing
the different nations.

" And when we send the Irish paupers back into pov-
erty and ignorance, we ought to send in the same ship,
some resolutions condemning England for her treatment
of Ireland."

SWEET CICELY.

233

■'I

Says I, " Most probable the Goddess of Liberty Enlight-
enin' the World, in New-York Harbor, will hold her
torch up high, to light such ships on their way."

And he said, " Yes, he thought so." Says he, " There
is very important laws up before the House, now, about
hens' eggs — counting them." And says he, "Taking it
with all those I have spoke of and other Lindred laws,
and the constant strain on our minds in trj-ing to pass
laws to increase our own salaries, you can see just how
cramped we are for time. And though we would love to
pass some laws of Truth and Righteousness, — we fairly
ache to, — yet, not having the requisite time, we are ob-
liged to lay 'em on the table, or under it."

" Wall," says I, " I guess I might jest a well be a goin'."

I bid him a cool good-bye, and started for the door. I
was discouraged ; but he says as I went out, —

" Mebby William Wallace will do the errent for you."

Says I coldly, —

"William Wallace is dead, and you know it." And
says I with a real lot of dignity, " You needn't try to
impose on me, or Dorlesky's errent, by tryin' to send me
round amongst them old Scottish chiefs. I respect them
old chiefs, and always did; and I don't relish any light
talk about 'em."

Says he, " This is another William Wallace ; and very
probable he can do the errent."

" Wall," says I, " I will send the errent to him by Bub
Smith ; for I am wore out."

As I wended my way out of Mr. Blains'es, I met the
hired man. Bub Smith's friend ; and he asked me, —

"If I didu't want to visit the Capitol?"

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Says T, "Where the laws of the United States are
made?"

" Yes," says he.

And I told him " that I was very weary, but I would
fain behold it."

And he said he was going right by there on business,
and he would be glad to show it to me. So we walked
along in that direction.

It seems that Bub Smith saved the life of his little sister
— jumped oft' into the water when she was most droAvned,
and dragged her out. And from that time the two fami-
lies have thought the world of each other. That is what
made him so awful good to me.

Wall, I found the Capitol was a sight to behold ! Why,
it beat any buildin' in Jonesville, or Loontown, or Spoon
Settlement in beauty and size and grandeur. There hain't
one that can come nigh it. Why, take all the meetin'-
housen of these various places, and put 'em all together,
and put several other meetin'-housen on top of 'em, and
they wouldn't begin to show off with it.

And, oh I my land ! io stand in the hall below, and look
up — and up — and up — and see all the colors of the rain-
bow, and see what kinder curious and strange pictures
there wuz way up there in the sky above me (as it were).
Why, it seemed curiouser than any Northern lights I ever
see in my life, and they stream up dretful curious some-
times.

And as I walked through the various lofty and magnifi-
cent halls, and realized the size and majestic proportions
of the buildin', I wondered to myself that a small law, a
little, unjust law, could ever be passed in such a magnifi-
cent place.

SWEET CICELY.

^35

Says I to myself, "It can't be the fault of the place,
anyway. They have got a chance for their souls to soar

8AMANTHA VIEWING THE CAPITOL.

if they want to." Thinks'es I, here is room and to spare,
to pass by laws big as elephants and camels. And I won-

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dered to myself that they should ever try to pass laws and
resolutions as small as iiiuskeeters and nats. Thinks'es I,
I wonder them little laws doji't get to strollin' round and
get lost in them magnificent corriders. But I consoled
myself a thinkin' that it wouldn't be no great loss ii' they
did.

But right here, as I was a thinkin' on these deep and
lofty subjects, the hired man spoke up ; and says he, —

"You look fatigued, mom." (Soarin' even to yourself,
is tuckerin'.) " You look very fatigued : won't you take
something ? "

I looked at him with a curious, silent sort of a look ;
for 1 didn't know what he meant.

Agin he looked close at me, and sort o' pityin'; and
says he, "You look tired out, mom. Won't you take
something ? "

Says I, "What?"

Says he, "Let me treat you to something: what will
you take, mom ? "

Wall, I thought he was actin' dretful liberal; but I
knew they had strange ways i. 3re in Washington, anyway.
And I didn't know but it was their way to make some
presents to every woman who come there : and I didn't
want to be odd, and act awkward, and out of style ; so I
says, —

" I don't want to take any thing, and I don't see any
reason why you should insist on it. But, if I have got to
take somethin', I had jest as lives have a few yards of fac-
tory-cloth as any thing."

I thought, if he was determined to treat me, to show his
good feelin's towards me, I would get somethin' useful,

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237

and that would do me some good, else what would be the
use of bein' treated ? And I thought, if I had ffot to take
a present from a strange man, I would make a shirt for
Josiah out of it : I thought that would make it all right,
so fur as goodness went.

But says he, " I mean beer, or wine, or liquor of some
kind."

I jest riz right up in my shoes and my dignity, and
glared at him.

Says he, "There is a saloon right here handy in the
buildin'."

Says I, in awful axents, " It is very appropriate to have
it right here handy." Says I, " Liquor does more towards
makin' the laws of the United States, from caucus to con-
vention, than any thing else does ; and it is highly proper
to have some liquor here handy, so they can soak the laws
in it right off, before they lay 'em onto the tables, or under
'em, or pass 'em onto the people. It is highly appropriate,"
says I.

"Yes," says he. "It is very handy for the senators.
And let me get you a glass."

" No, you won't," says I firmly, " no, you won't. The
nation suffers enough from that room now, without havin'
Josiah Allen's wife let in."

Says he (his friendship for Bub Smith- makin' him
anxious and sot on helpin' me), " If you have any feeling
of delicacy in going in there, let me make some wine here.
I will get a glass of water, and make you some pure grape
wine, or French brandy, or corn or rye whiskey. I have
all the drugs right here." And he took out a little box
out of his pocket. " My father is a importer of rare old

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wines, and I know just how it is done. I have 'em all
here, — capiscum, coculus Indicus, alum, coperas, strych-
nine. I will make some of the choicest and purest im-

!*;!

SAMANTHA KEFLSINO TO BE TREATED.

ported liquors we have in the country, in five minutes, if
you say so."

" No," says I firmly. " When I want to follow up Cleo-
patra's fashion, and commit suicide, I am goin' to hire a
rattlesnake, and take my poison as she did, on the out-
side."

SWEET CICELY.

239

" Cleopatra ? " says he inquiringly. " Is she a Washing-
ton lady?"

And I says guardedly, " She has lots of relations here,
I believe."

"Wall," he said, "he thought her name sounded familiar.
Then, I can't do any thing for you ? " he says.

" Yes," says I calmly : " you can open the front door,
and let me out."

Which he did, and I was glad enough to get out into
the pure air.

':":* *'

! .

When I got back to the house, I found they had been
to supper. Sally had had company that afternoon, — her
husband's brother. He had jest left.

He lived only a few milds away, and had come in on
the cars. Sally said he wanted to stay and see me the
worst kind: he wanted to throw out some deep argu-
ments aginst wimmen's suffrage. Says she, "He talks
powerful about it : he would have convinced you, with-
out a doubt."

"Wall," says I, "why didn't he stay?"

She said he had to hurry home on account of business.
He had come in to the village, to get some money. There
was goin' to be a lot of men, wimmen, and children sold
in his neighborhood the next mornin', and he thought he
should buy a girl, if he could find a likely one.

" Sold ? " says I, in curious axents.

" Yes," says Sally. " They sell the inmates of the poor-
house, every year, to the highest bidder, — sell their labor
by the year. They have 'em get up on a auction block,
and hire a auctioneer, and sell 'em at so much a head, to

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the crowd. Why, some of 'em bring as high as twenty
dollars a year, besides board.

" Sometimes, he said, there was quite a run on old wim-

^^ v^N^-, :

BUYING TIME.

men, and another year on young ones. He didn't know
but he might buy a old woman. He said there was an old
woman that he thought there was a good deal of work in,
yet. She had belonged to one of the first families in the

SWEET CICELY.

241

State, and had come down to poverty late in life, tlirough
the death of some of her rehitions, and tlie vilhiiiy of
others. So he thonght she had more strength in lier tlian
if she had always been worked. He tliought, if she didn't
fetch too big a price, he should buy her instead of a yonng
one. They was so balky, he said, young ones was, and
would need more to eat, bein' growin'. And she could do
rough, heavy work, just as well as a younger one, and
probably wouldn't complain so much ; and he thouglit slie
would last a year, anyway. It was his way, he said, to put
'em right through, and, when one wore out, get another
one."

Isithed; and says I, "I feel to lament that I wuzn't
here so's he could have converted me." Says I, " A race
of bein's, that make such laws as these, hadn't ort to be
disturbed by wimmen meddlin' with 'em."

"Yes: that is what he said," says Sally, in a innocent
way.

I didn't say no more. Good land ! Sally hain't to blame.
But with a noble scorn filling my eye, and floating out the
strings of my head-dress, I moved off to bed.

Wall, the next mornin' I sent Dorlesky's errents by Bub
Smith to William Wallace, for I felt a good deal fagged
out. Bub did 'em well, and I know it.

But William Wallace sent him to Gen. Logan.

And Gen. Logan said Grover Cleveland was the one to
go to : he wuz a sot man, and would do as he agreed. And
Mr, Cleveland sent him to Mr. Edmunds.

And Mr. Edmunds told him to go to Samuel G. Tilden,
or Roswell P. Flower.

And Mr. Flower sent him to William Walter Phelps.

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And Mr. Phelps said that Benjamin F. Butler or Mr.
Bayard was the one to do the errent.

And Mr. Bayard sent him to somebody else, and some-
body else sent him to another one. And so it went on ;
and Bub Smith traipsed round, a carryin' them errents,
from one man to another, till he was most dead.

Why, he carried them errents round all day, walkin'
afoot.

Bub said most every one of 'em said the errents wuz
just and right, but they couldn't do 'em, and wouldn't tell
their reasons.

One or two. Bub said, opposed it, because they said right
out plain, " that they wanted to drink. They wanted to
drink every thing they could, and everywhere they could,
— hard cider and beer, and brandy and whisky, and every
thing."

And they didn't want wimmen to vote, because they
liked to have the power in their own hands : they loved to
control things, and kinder boss round — loved to dearly.

These was open-hearted men who spoke as they felt.
But they was exceptions. Most every one of 'em said
they couldn't do it, and wouldn't tell their reasons.

Till way along towards night, a senator he had been
sent to, bein' a little in liquor at the time, and bein' talka-
tive ; he owned up the reasons why the senators wouldn't
do the errents.

He said they all knew in their own hearts, both of the
errents was right and just, to their own souls and their
own country. He said — for the liquor had made him vert/
open-hearted and talkative — that they knew the course
they was pursuin' in regard to intemperance was a crime

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SWEET CICELY.

243

against God and their own consciences. But they didn't
dare to tackle unpopular subjects.

He said they knew they was elected by liquor, a good
many of them, and they knew, if they voted against
whisky, it would deprive 'em of thousands and thousands
of voters, dillegent voters, who would vote for 'em from
mornin' till night, and so they dassent tackle the ring.
And if wimmen was allowed to vote, they knew it was
jest the sarne thing as breaking the ring right in two, and
destroying intemperance. So, though they knew that
both the errents was jest as right as right could be, they
dassent tackle 'em, for fear they wouldn't run no chance
at all of bein' President of the United States.

" Good land ! " says I. " What a idee ! to think that
doin' right would make a man unpopular. But," says I,
" I am glad to know they have got a reason, if it is a poor
one. I didn't know but they sent you round jest to be
mean."

Wall, the next mornin' I told Bub to carry the errents
right into the Senate. Says I, " You have took 'em one b}
one, alone, now you jest carry 'em before the hull batch
on 'em together." I told him to tackle the hull crew on
'em. So he jest walked right into the Senate, a carryin'
Dorlesky's errents.

And he come back skairt. He said, jest as he was a
carryin' Dorlesky's errents in, a long petition come from
thousands and thousands of wimmen on this very subject.
A plea for justice and mercy, sent in respectful, to the law-
makers of the land.

And he said the men jeered at it, and throwed it round
the room, and called it all to nort, and made the meanest

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speeches about it you ever heard, talked nasty, and finally
threw it under the table, and acted so liaughty and over-
bearin' towards it, that Bub said he was airaid to tackle
'em. He said "he knew tiiey would throw Dorlesky's
errents under the table, and he was afraid they would
throw him under too." He was afraid — (he owned it up
to nie) — he was afraid they would knock him down. So
he backed out with Dorlesky's errents, and never give it
to 'em at all.

And I told him he did right. " For," says I, " if they
wouldn't listen to the deepest, most earnest, and most
prayerful words that could come from the hearts of thou-
sands and tens of thousands of the best mothers and wives
and daughters in America, the most intelligent and upright
and pure-minded women in the land, loaded down with
their hopes, wet with their tears — if they turned their
hearts' prayers and deepest desires into ridicule, throwed
'era round under their feet, they wouldn't pay no attention
to Dorlesky's errents, they wouldn't notice one little vegi-
table widow, humbly at that, and sort o' disagreeable."
And says I, " I don't want Dorlesky's errents throwed
round under foot, and she made fun of: she has went
through enough trials and tribulations, besides these gen-
tlemen — or," says I, " I beg pardon of Webster's Diction-
ary : I meant men."

" For," as I said to Webster's Dictionary in confidence,
in a quiet thought we had about it afterwards, " they
might be gentlemen in every other place on earth ; but in
this one move of theirn," as I observed confidentially to
the Dictionary, " they was jest men — the male animal of
the human species."

SWEET CICELY.

245

And T was ashamed enough as I looked Noah Webster's
steel engraving in the face, to think I had misspoke my-
self, tind called 'em gentlemen.

HOW woman's puayeks are answered.

Wall, from that minute I gin up doin' Dorlesky's errents.
And I felt like death about it. But this thought held me
up, — that I had done my best. But I didn't feel like

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doin' another thing all the rest of that day, only jest feel
disapinted and grieved over my bad luck with the errents.
I always tiiink it is best, if you can possibly arrainge it in
that way, to give up one day, or half a day, to feelin' bad
over any perticiiler disapintment, or to worry about any
tiling, and do all your worryin' up in that time, and then
give it uj) for good, and go to feelin' happy agin. It is also
best, if you have had a hull lot of things to get mad about,
to set apart half a day, when you can spare the time, and
do up all your resentin' in that time. It is easier, and
takes less time than to keep resentin' 'em as they take
l)lace ; and you can feel clever quicker than in the com-
mon way.

Wall, I felt dretful bad for Dorlesky and the hull wim-
men race of the land, and for the men too. And I kep' up
my bad feelin's till pretty nigh dusk. But as I see the
sun go down, .md the sky grow dark, I says, —

" You are goin' down now, but you are a comin' up agin.
As sure as the Lord lives, the sun will shine agin ; and
He who holds you in His hand, holds the destinies of the
nations. He will watch over you, and me and Josiah, and
Dorlesky. He will help us, and take care of us."

So I begun to feel real well agin — a little after dusk.

I,' (I

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CHAPTER VIII.

The next morning Cicely wuzn't able to leave her room,
— ^-not sick seemin'ly, but fagged out. She w«'3 a delicate
little creeter always, and seemed to grow delicater every
day.

So Miss Smith went with me, and she and I sallied out
alone : her name bein' Sally, too, made it seem more singu-
ler and coincidin'.

She asked me if I didn't want to go to the Patent
Office.

And I told her, " Yes." And I told her of Betsy Bob-
bet's errent, and that Josiah had charged me expresly to
go there, and get him a patent pail. He needed a new
milk-pail, and thought I could get it cheaper right on the
spot.

And she said that Josiah couldn't buy his pail there.
But she told me what sights and sights of things there
wus to be seen there ; and I found out when I got there,
that she hadn't told me the i or the i of the sights I
see.

Why, I could pass a month there in perfect destraction
i:;id happiness, the sights are so numerous, and exceed-
ingly destractin' and curious.

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But I told Sally Smith plainly, that I wasn't half so
much interested in apple-parers and snow-plows, and the
first sewin'-maehine and the last one, and steam-engines
and hair-pins and pianos and thimbles, and the acres and
acres of glass cases containing every thing that wus ever
heard of, and every thing that never wus heard of by any-
body, and etcetery, etcetery, and so 4th, and so 4th. And
you might string them words out over choirs and choirs of
paper, and not get half an idee of what is to be seen there.

But I told her I didn't feel half so interested in them
things as I did in the copyright. I told Sally plain " that
I wanted to see the place where the copyrights on books
was made. And I wanted to see the man who made 'em.

And she asked me "Why? What made me so anx-
ious ? "

And I told her " the law was so curious, that I believed
it would be the curiousest place, and he would be the
curiousest lookin' creeter, that wuz ever seen." Says I,
" I'll bet it will be better than a circus to see him.'"

But it wuzn't. He looked jest like any man. And he
had a sort of a smart look onto him. Sallv said " it was
one of the clerks," but I don't believe a word of it. I
believe it was the man himself, who made the law ; for, as
in all other emergincies of life, I foUered Duty, and asked
him " to change the law instantly."

And he as good as promised me he would.

I talked deep to him about it, but short. I told him
Josiah had bought a mair, and he expected to own it till
he or the mair died. He didn't expect to give up his
right to it, and let the mair canter off free at a stated
time.

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249

8AMANTHA AND SALLY IN THE I'ATENT OFFICE.

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And he asked me " Who Josiah was ? " and I told
him.

And I told him that " Josiah's farm run along one side of
a pond ; and if one of his sheep got over on tlie other side,
it was sheep jest the same, and it was hisen jest the same :
lie didn't lose the right to it, because it happened to cross
the pond."

Says he, "There W(uM be better laws regarding copy-
right, if it wuzn't for sellishness on botli sides of the
pond."

'•Wall," says I, "selfishness don't pay in the long-run."
And then, thinkin' mebby if I made myself agreable and
entertainin', he would change the law quicker, I made a
effort, and related a little interestin' incident that I had
seen take place jest before my former departure from
Jonesville, on a tower.

" No, selfishness don't pay. I have seen it tried, and I
know. Now, Bildad Henzy married a wife on a speculation.
She was a one-legged woman. He was attached at the time
to a woman with the usual number of feet ; but he was so
close a calculator, that he thought it would be money in
his pocket to marry this one, for he wouldn't have to buy
but one shoe and stockin'. But she had to jump round
on that one foot, and step heavy ; so she wore out more
shoes than she would if she was two-footed." Says I,
" Selfishness don't pay in private life or in politics."

And he said " He thought jest so," and he jest about
the same as pri^mised me he would change the law.

I hope he will. It makes me feel so strange every time
I think ont, as strange as strange can be.

Why, I told Sally after we went out, and I spoke about

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251

"the man lookin' human, and jest like anybody else ; " and
she said " it was a clerk ; " and I said " I knew better, I
knew it was the m...n himself."

And says I agin, " It beats all, how anybody in human
shape can make such a law as that copyright law."

And she said " that was so." But I knew by her mean,
that she didn't understand a thing about it ; and I knew
it would make me so sort o' light-headed and vacant if I
went to explain it to her, that I never said a word, and
fell in at once with her proposal that we should go end >3ee
the Treasury, and the Corcoran Art Gallery, and the
Smithsonian Institute, one at a time.

And I found the Treasury wuz a sight to behold. Such
sights and sights of money they are makin' there, and a
countin'. Why, I s'pose they make more money there in
a week, than Josiah and I spend in a year.

I s'pose most probable they made it a little faster, and
more of it, on account of my bein' there. But they have
sights and sights of it. They are dretful well off.

I asked Sally, and I spoke out kinder loud too, — I
hain't one of the underhanded kind, — I asked her, " If
she s'posed they'd let us take hold and make a little money
for ourselves, they seemed to be so runnin' over with it,
there."

And she said, "No, private citizens couldn't do that."

Says I, "Who can?"

She kinder whispered back in a skairt way, sunthin'
about " speculators and legislators and rings, and etcetery."

But I answered right out loud, — I hain't one to go
whisperin' round, — and says I, —

" I'll bet if Uncle Sam himself was here, and knew the

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feeliii's I had for him, he'd hand out a few dollars of his
own accord for me to get suiithiii' to remember him by.
Ilowsumever, I don't need nor want any of his money. I
hain't beholden to him nor any man. I have got over
fourteen dollars by me, at tliis present time, egg-money."

But it was a sight to behold, to see 'em make it.

And then, as we stood out on the sidewalk agin, the
Smitlisonian Institute passed through my mind ; and then
the Corcoran Art Gallery passed through it, and several
other big, noble buildin's. But I let 'em pass ; and I says
to Sally, —

"Let us go at once and see the man that makes the
public schools." Says I, " There is a man that I honor,
and almost love."

And she said she didn't know who it wuz.

But I think it was the lamb that she had in a bakin',
that drew her back towards home. She owned up that
her hired girl didn't baste it enougli.

And she seemed oneasy.

But I stood firm, and says, " I shall see that man, lamb
or no lamb."

And then Sally give in. And she found him easy
enough. She knew all the time, it was the sheep that
hampered her.

And, oh! I s'pose it was a sight to be remembered,
to see my talk to that man. I s'pose, if it had been
printed, it would have made a beautiful track — and
lengthy.

Why, he looked fairly exhausted and cross before I got
half through, I talked so smart (eloquence is tuckerin').

I told him how our public schools was the hope of the

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253

nation. How they neutralized to a certain extent the other
schools the nation allowed to the public, — the grog-shops,
and other licensed places of ruin. I told him how pretty
it looked to me to see Civilization a marchin' along from
the Atlantic towards the Pacific, with a spellin'-book in one
hand, and in the other the rosy, which she was a plantin'
in place of the briars and brambles.

And I told him how highly I approved of compulsory
education.

" Why," says I, " if anybody is a drowndin', you don't
ask their consent to be drawed out of the water, you jest
jump in, and yank 'em out. And when you see poor little
ones, a sinkin' down in the deep waters of ignorance and
brutality, why, jest let Uncle Sam reach right down, and
draw 'em out." Says 1, " I'll bet that is why he is pictered
as havin' such long arms for, and long legs too, — so he
can wade in if the water is deep, and they are too fur from
the shore for his arms to reach."

And says I, ••' In the case of the little Indian, and other
colored children, he'll need the legs of a stork, the water
is so deep round 'em. But he'll reach 'em. Uncle Sam will.
He'll lift 'em right up in his long arms, and set 'em safe
on the pleasant shore. You'll see that he will. Uncle Sam
is a man of a thousand."

Says I, " How much it wus like him, to pass that law
for children to be learnt jest what whisky is, and what it
will do. Why," says I, "in that very law Christianity
has took a longer stride than she could take by millions of
sermons, all divided off into tenthlies and twentiethlies."

Why, I s'pose I talked perfectly beautiful to that man :
I s'pose so.

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And if he hadn't had a sudden engagement to go out,
I should have talked longer. But I see his engagement
wus a wearin' on him. His eyes looked fairly wild. I
only give a bald idee of what I said. I have only give the
heads of my discussion to him, jest the bald heads.

Wall, after we left there, I told Sally I felt as if I must
go and see the Peace Commission. I felt as if I must
make some arrangements with 'em to not have any more
wars. As I told Sally, " We might jest as well call our-
selves Injuns and savages at once, if we had to keep up
this most savage and brutal trait of theirn." Says I firmly,
" I must, before I go back to Jonesville, tend to it." Says
I, ''I didn't come here for fashion, or dry-goods; though
I s'pose lots of both of 'em are to be got here." Says I, " I
niiiy tend to one or two fashionable parties, o; levys as
I s'pose they call 'em here. I may go to 'em ruther than
hurt the feelin's of the upper 10. I want to do right : I
don't want to hurt the feelin's of them 10. They have
hearts, and they are sensitive. I don't think I have ever
took to them 10, as much as I have to some others ; but I
wish 'em well.

" And I s'pose you see as grand and curious people to
their parties here, as you can see together in any other
place on the globe.

"I s'pose it is a sight to behold, to see 'em together.
To see them, as the poet says, ' To the manner born,' and
them that wasn't born in the same manor, but tryin' to
act as if they was. Wealth and display, natural courtesy
and refinement, walkin' side by side with pretentius vul-
garity, and mebby poverty bringin' up the rear. Genius
and folly, honesty and affectation, gentleness and sweet-

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ness, and brazen impudence, and hatred and malice, and
envy and uncharitableness. All languages and peoples
under the sun, and differing more than stars ever did, one
from another.

"And what makts it more curious and mysterius is, the

8AMANTHA AT THE PRESIDENT'S RECEPTION.

way they dress, some on 'em. Why, they say — it has
come right straight to me by them that know — that the
ladies wear what they call full dress ; and the strange and

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mysterius part of it is, that the fuller the dress is, the less
they have on *em.

" Tills is a deep subject, and queer ; and I don't s'pose
you will take my word for it, and I don't want you to.
Ikit I have been told so.

" Why, I s'pose them upper 10 have their hands full,
their 20 hands completely full. I fairly pity 'em — the
hull 10 of 'em. They want me, and they need me, I
s'pose, and I must tend to some of 'em.

" And then,'' says I, " I did calculate to pay some atten-
tion to store-clothes. I did want to get me a new calico
dress, — London brown with a set flower on it. But I
can do without that dress, and the upper 10 can do
without me, better than the Nation can do without
Peace."

I felt as if I must tend to it : I fairly hankered to do
away with war, immejiately and to once. But I knew
right was right, and I felt that Sally ort to be let to tend
to her lamb ; so Sally and I sallied homewards.

But the hired girl had tended to it well. It wus good
— very good.

CHAPTER IX.

Wall, the next morniii' Cicely wus better, and we sot
sail for Mount Vernon. It was about ten o'clock a.m.
when I, accompanied by Cicely and the boy, sot sail from
Washington, D.C., to perform about the ostensible reason
of my tower, — to weep on the tomb of the noble (x.
Washington.

My intentions had been and wuz, to weep for him on
my tower. I had come prepared. 2 linen handkercliicfs
and a large cotton one reposed in the pocket of my
polenay, and I had on my new waterproof. I nevei* do
things by the is.

It was a beautiful seen, as we floated down the still
river, to look back and see the Capitol risin' white and
fair like a dream, the glitterin' snow of the monument,
and the green heights, all bathed in the glory of that per-
fect May mornin'. It wuz a fair seen.

Happy groups of people sot on the peaceful decks, —
stiitely gentlemen, handsome ladies, and pretty children.
And in one corner, off kinder by themselves, sot that
band of dusky singers, whose songs have delighted the
world. Modest, good-lookin' dark girls, manly, honest-
lookin' dark boys.

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' 'k

Only a few short years ago tliis black people was drove
about like dumb cattle, — bought and sold, hunted by
blood-hounds; the wimmen hunted to infamy and ruin,
the men to torture and to death. The wimmen denied
the first right of womanhood, to keep themselves pure.
The men denied the first right of manhood, to protect

GOING TO MOUNT VERNON.

the ones they loved. Deprived legally of purity and
honor, and all the rights of commonest humanity — worn
with unpaid toil, beaten, whipped, tortured, dispised and
rejected of men.

Now, a few short years have passed over this dark race,
and these children of slaves that I looked upon have been
guests of the proudest and noblest in this and in foreign
lands. Hands that hold the destinies of mighty empires
have clasped theirs in frankest friendship, and crowned
heads have bowed low before 'em to hide the tears their

SWEET CICELY.

259

sweet voices have called forth. What feelin's I felt as I
looked on 'em ! and my soul burned inside of me, almost
to the extent of settin' my polenay on lire, a thinkin' of
all this.

And pretty soon, right when I was a reveryin' — right
there, when we wuz a floatin' down the still waters, their
voices riz up in one of their inspired songs. They sung
about their " Hard Trials," and how the " Sweet Chariot
swung low," and how they had " Been Redeemed."

And I declare for't, as I listened to 'em, there wuzn't
a dry eye in my head ; and I wet every one of them 3
handkerchiefs thcat I had calculated to mourn for G. Wash-
ington on, wet as sop. But I didn't care. I knew that
(leorge had ruther not be mourned for on dry handker-
chiefs, than that I should stent myself in emotions in
such a time as this. He loved Liberty himself, and fit
for it. And anyway, I didn't sense what I was a doin',
not a mite. I took out them handkerchiefs entirely unbe-
known to me, and put 'em back unbeknown.

The words of them songs hain't got hardly any sense,
as we earthly bein's count sense ; there are scores of great
singers, whose trained voices are a hundred-fold more
melodious : but these simple strains move us, thrill us ;
they jest get right inside of our hearts and souls, and
take fuii possession of us.

It seems as if nothin' human of so little importance
could so move us. Is it God's voice that sjieaks to us
through them? Is it His Spirit that lifts us up, sways
us to and fro, that blows upon us, as we listen to their
voices ? The Spirit that come down to cheer them broken
hearts, lift them up in their captivity, does it now sway

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and melt the hearts of their captors? We read of One
who watches over His sorrowing, wronged people, givin'
them " songs in the night."

Anon, or nearly at that time, a silver bell struck out
a sweet sort of a mournful note ; and we jest stood right
ill towards the shore, and disembarked from the bark.

We clomb the long hill, and stood on top, with powerful
emotions (but little or no breath) ; stood before the iron
bars that guarded the tomb of George Washington, and
Martha his wife.

I looked at the marble coffin that tried to hold George,
and felt how vain it wu^ to think that any tomb could
hold him. That peaceful, tree-covered hill couldn't hold
his tomb. Why, it wuz lifted up in every land that loved
freedom. The hull liberty-lovin' earth wuz his tomb and
his monument.

And that great river flowin' on and on at his feet — as
long as that river rolls, George Washington shall float on
it, he and his faithful Martha. It shall bear him to the
sea and the ocian, and abroad to every land.

Oh ! what feelin's I felt as I stood there a reveryin', my
body still, but my mind proudly soarin' ! To think, he
wuz our Washington, and that time couldn't kill him.
For he shall walk through the long centuries to come.
He shall bear to the high chamber of prince and ruler,
memories that shall blossom into deeds, awaken souls,
rouse powers that shall never die, that shall scatter bless-
ings over lands afar, strike the fetters from slave and
serf.

The hands they folded over his peaceful breast so many
years ago, are not lying there in that marble coffin : the

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261

calm blue eyes closed so many years ago. are still lookin'
into souls. Those hands lift the low walls of the poor
boy's chamber, as he reads of victory over tyranny, of con-
querin' discouragement and defeat.

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BEFOKE THE TOMU OF WASHINGTON.

The low walls fade away; the du«ky rafters part to
admit the infinite, infinite longin's to do and dare, infinite
resolves to emulate those deeds of valor and heroism. How
the calm blue eyes look down into the boy's impassioned
isoul, how the shadowy liands beckon him upward, up the

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rocky heights of noBle endeavor, noble deeds I How the
inspiration of this life^ these deeds of might and valor,
nerve the young heart for future strivings for freedom and
justice and truth !

Is it not a blessed thing to thus live on forever in true,
eager hearts, to nerve the hero's arm, to inspire deeds of
courage and daring? The weary body may rest; but to
do this, is surely not to die ; no, it is to live, to be immor-
tal, to thus become the beating heart, the living, struggling,
daring soul of the future.

And right while I was thinkin' these thoughts, and
lookiu' oft' over the still landscape, the peaceful waters,
this band of dark singers stood with reverent faces and
uncovered heads, and begun singin' one of their sweetest
melodies, —

" He rose, he rose, he rose from the dead."

Oh ! as them inspired, hantin' notes rose through the
soft, listenin' air, and hanted me, walked right round in-
side my heart and soul, and inspired me — why ! how
many emotions I did have, — more'n 85 a minute right
along !

As I thought of how many times since the asscension
of our Lord, tombs have opened, and the dead come forth
alive ; how Faith and Justice will triumph in the end ; how
you can't bury 'em deep enough, or roll a stun big enough
and hard enough before the door, but what, in some calm
mornin', the earliest watcher shall see a tall, fair angel
standin' where the dead has lain, bearin' the message of
the risen Lord, " He rose from the dead."

I thought ho' jreorge W. and our other old 4 fathers

SWEET CICELY.

263

thought in tlie long, toilsome, weary hours before the
clawnin', that fair Freedom was dead ; but she rose, she
rose.

I thought how the dusky race whose sweet songs was a
jloatin' round the grave of him who loved freedom, and
gave his life for it ; I thought how, durin' the dreary
time when they was captives in a strange land, chained,
scourged, and tortured, how they thought, through this
long, long night of years, that Justice was dead, and
Mercy and Pity and Righteousness.

But there come a glorious mornin' when fathers and
mothers clasped their children in their arms, their own
once more, in arms that was their own, to labor and pro-
tect, and they sung together of Freedom and Right, how
though they wuz buried deep, and the night wuz long, and
the watchers by the tomb weary, weary unto death, yet
they rose, they rose from the dead.

And then I thought of the tombs that darken our land
to-day, where the murdered, the legally murdered, lay
buried. I thought of the gvaves more hopeless fur tjiau
them that entomb the dead, — the graves where lay the
livin' dead. Dead souls bound to still breathin' bodies,
dead hopes, ambitions, dead dreams of usefulness and
respectability, happiness, dead purity, faith, honor, dead,
all dead, all bound to the still bi^oathin' body, by the fes-
terin', putrid death-robes of helplessness and despair.

Tliere they lie chained to their dark tombs by links slight
at first, but twisted by the hard old fingers of blind habit,
to chains of iron, chains linked about, and eatiu' into, not
only the quiverin' flesh, but the frenzied brains, the hope-
less hearts, the ruined souls.

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Ilciivy, li()])oloss-l()()1dn' viuiUs lluiy an; indeed, wlioso air
is ]Hitri(l with tlu^ siekeiiiir niiasnia of moral loaiiisoiiitiess
and (les(H'se ; whose walls an; painted with hich'oiis pie-
tui'es of iimnUM', raj)iiu!, lust, starvation, woe, and despair,
eartldy and eternal ruin. Shapes of tla; dreadlul j>ast, the
hopeless iuture, that tlu^se livin' dead stare upon with
broodin' frenzy by night and by day.

Oh the tond)S, the eountless, countless tond)S, where lie
tlies(i br(!atlun' corpses! How mot hei's weep ov(!r tluMii I
liow wives kneel, and beat their hearts out on the rocky
barriers tiiat sejjarate them from their hearts' love;, their
hearts' desire! How lit th; starvin', naked childniu cower
in tlunr ghostly shaihtws through dark midnights! how
fathers weep for tlu^ir children, dead to th(!m, dead to
honor, to shame, to humanity! How the cries of the
mourners ascend to the sweet heavens !

And less peaceful than the graves of the departed, these
tombs themselves are full of the ho])eless (;ries of the
entombed, praying for help, praying for some strong hand
to reach down and lift them out of their reeking, polluted,
living death.

The wliole of our fair land is covered with jest such
graves: its turf is tread down by the l"ooti)rints of the
mourners who go about the streets. They pray, they
weep: the night is long, is long. But the morning will
dawn at last.

And the women, — daughters, wives, mothers, — who
kneel with clasped hands beside the tombs, heaviest-eyed,
deepest mourners, because most helpless. Lift up your
heavy eyes : the sun is even now rising, that shall gild the
sky at last. The mornin' light is even now dawnin' in

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205

tlu3 oast. It hIisiII fall liisl upon your upliftcMl brow.s, your
luaycrt'iil oy(!H. Most McsscmI of (Jod, IxiaiUHO you 1oV(mI
most, sorrowed most. To you sliall it \n\ glv(!U to lu-liold
first tlu! tall, fair au^cl of Ut'su reel ion and JicMhMiiption,
slandin' at tlui grave's mouth. Into your hands shall he
j)ut tlu; key to unlock the heavy doors, where your IovcmI
lias lain.

The dead shall rise. T('nii)eraiie(; and Justi(;(^ and
liiberty shall rise;. They shall ^^o forth to hicss our fair
land. And purified and enohlcd, it shall he; IIm; hest
hcloved, the faiicst land of (iod htfuc^ath th(; sun. Refuge
of the o[)pressed and tempted, ins[-iration of the ho[K;less,
]i<;ht of the W(»rld.

And free mothers shall clasj) their free ehiidriMi to their
hearts; and fathers and mothers and children shall join in
oue heavenly strain, soug of freedom and of truth. And
the nations shall listen to hear how "they rose, tlu^y rose,
they rose from the dead."

As the tones of the sweet hymn di(Ml on the soft air,
and the blessed vision passed with it; when I come down
onto my feet, — for truly, I had been lifted uj), and by the
side of myself, — Cicely was standin' with her brown eyes
loolvin' over the waters, holdin' the hand of the boy ; and
I see every thing that the song did or could mean, in the
depths of her dee[), projdietic eyes. Sad eyes, too, they
was, and discouraged; for the morning wus fur away —
and — and the boy wus pullin' at her hand, eager to get
awfiy from where he wus.

The boy led us ; and we follered him up the gradual
hill to the old homestead of Washington, Mount Vern.'ii.

Lookin' down from the broad, high porch, you can look

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directly down through tlie trees into the river. The
water calm and sort o' golden, through the green of the
trees, and every thing looked peaceful and serene.

There are lots of interestin' things to be seen here, —
the tombs of the rest of the Washington family; the key
of the Bastile, covered with the blood and misery of a
foreign land ; the tree that carries us back in memory to
his grave, where he rests (juietly, who disturbed the sleep
of empires and kingdoms ; the furniture of Washington
and his family, — the chairs they s(^t in, the tables they
sot at, and the rooms where they sot ; the hai'[)iscord,
that Nelly Custis and jNIrs. G. Washington harpiscorded
on.

But she whose name wus once Smith longed to see
somethin' else fur more. What wus it?

It wus not the great drawin'-rooms, the guest-chambers,
the halls, the grounds, the live-stock, nor the pictures, nor
the flowers.

No : it wus the old garret of the mansion, the low old
garret, where she sot, our Lady Washington, in her
widowed dignity, with no other fire only the light of
deathless love that lights palace or hovel, — sot there in
the window, because she could look out from it upon the
tomb of her mighty dead.

Sot lookin' out upon the river that wus sweepin' along
under sun and moon, bearing on every wave and ripple
the glory and beauty of his name.

Bearing it away from her mebby, she would sometimes
sadly think, as she thought of happy days gone by ; for
though souls may soar, hearts will cling. And sometimes
storms would vex the river's unquiet breast; and mebby

SWEET CICELY.

267

•c

THE OLD HOME OF WASHINGTON.

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the waves would whisper to her lovin' heart, " Never more,
never more."

As she sot there looking out, waiting for that other
river, whose waves crept nearer and nearer to her feet, —
that other river, on ^^hich her soul should sail away to
meet her glorious dead; that river wnich whispers "For-
ever, forever ; " that river which is never unquiet, and
whose waves are murmuring of nothing less beautiful than
of meeting, of love, and of lasting repose.

'■u

a fli

CHAPTER X.

When we got back from Mount Vernon, and entered
our boardin'-house, Cicely went right up to her room.
But I, feelin' kinder beat out (eloquent emotions are very
tuckeriii' on a tower), thought I would set down a few
minutes in the parlor to rest, before I mounted up the
stairs to my room.

But truly, as it turned out, I had better have gone right
up, breath or no breath.

For, while I was a settin' there, a tall, sepulchral lookin'
female, that I had notie.d at the breakfast-table, come up
to me ; and says she, —

" I beg your pardon, mom, but I believe you are the
noble and eloquent Josiah Allen's wife, and I believe you
are a stoppin' here."

Says I calmly, " I hain't a stoppin' — I am stopped, as
it were, for a few days."

" Wall," says she, " a friend of mine is comin' to-night,
to my room. No. 17, to give a private seansy. And know-
in' you are a great case to investigate into truths, I tliought
mebby you would love to come, and witness some of our
glorious spirit manifestations."

I thanked her for her kindness, but told her " I guessed

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SWEET CICELY.

I wouldn't go. I didn't seem to be sufferin' for a
seancy."

" Oh ! " says she : " it is wonderful, wonderful to see.
Why, we will tie the medium up, and he will on tie him-
self."

" Oh ! " says I. " I have seen that done, time and agin.
I used to tie Thomas J. up when he was little, and
naughty ; and he would, in spite of me, ontie himself, and
get away."

" Who is Thomas J. ? " says she.

" Josiah's child by his first wife," says I.

" Wall<" says she, " if we have a good circle, and the
conditions are favorable, the spirits will materialize, —
come before us with a body."

" Oh ! " says I. " I have seen that. Thomas J. used to
dress up as a ghost, and appear to us. But he didn't seem
to think the conditions wus so favorable, and he didn't seem
to appear so much, after his father ketched him at it, and
give him a good whippin'." And says I firmly, " I guess
that would be about the way with your ghosts."

And after I had said it, the idee struck me as bein' sort
o' pitiful, — to go to whippin' a ghost. But she didn't
seem to notice my remark, for she seemed to be a gazin'
upward in a sort of a muse ; and she says, —

" Oh ! would you not like to talk with your departed
kindred?"

"Wall, yes," says I firmly, after a minute's thought.
" I would like to."

" Come to-night to our seansy, and we will call 'em, and
you shall talk with 'em."

" Wall," says I candidly, " to tell the truth, bein' only

SWEET CICELY

271

wimmen present, I'll tell you, I have got to mend my pet-
ticoat to-night. My errents have took me round to such
a extent, that it has got all frayed out round the bottom,
and I have got to mend the fray. But, if any of my kin-
dred are there, you jest mention it to 'em that she that

THOMAS JEFFERSON'S GHOST.

wiiz Samantha Smith is stopped at No. 16, and, if perfectly
convenient, would love to see 'em. I can explain it to
'em," says I, " bein' all in the family, why I couldn't leave
my room."

Says she, " You are makiii' fun : you don't believe they
will be there, do you ? "

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"Wall, to be honest with you, it looks dubersome to
me. It does seem to me, that if my father or mother sot
out from the other world, and come down to this boardin'-
house, to No. 17, they would know, without havin' to be
told, that I was in the next room to 'em ; and they would-
n't want to stay with a passel of indifferent strangers,
when their own child was so near."

"You don't believe in the glorious manifestations of
our seansys ? " says she.

" Wall, to tell you the plain truth, I don't seem to believe
'em to any great extent. I believe, if God wants to speak
to a human soul below. He can, without any of your per-
formences and foolishness ; and when I say performences,
and when I say foolishness, I say 'em in very polite ways :
and I don't want to hurt ^.nybody's feelin's by sayin'
things hain't so, but I simply state my belief."

" Don't you believe in the communion of saints ? Don't
you believe God ever reveals himself to man ? "

"Yes, I do! I believe that now, as in Ihe past, the
pure in heart shall see God. Why, heaven is over all, and
pretty nigh to some."

And I thought of Cicely, and couldn't help it.

"I believe there are pure souls, especially when they
are near to the other world, who can look in, and behold
its beauty. Why, it hain't but a little ways from here, —
it can't be, sense a breath of air will blow us into it. It
takes sights of preparation to get ready to go, but it is
only a short sail there. And you may go all over the
land from house to house, and you will hear in almost
every one of some de» r friend who died with their faces
lit up with the glow of the light shinin' from some one of

SWEET CICELY.

273

the many mansions, — the dear home-light of the fiither-
land ; died speakin' to some loved one, gone before. But
I don't believe you can coax that light, and them voices,
down into a cabinet, and let 'em shine and speak, at so
much an evenin'."

" I thought," says she bitterly, " that you was one who
never condemned any thing that you hadn't thoroughly
investigated."

" I don't," says I. " I don't condemn nothin' nor no-
body. I only tell my mind. I don't say there hain't no
truth in it, because I don't know ; and that is one of the
best reasons in the world for not sayin' a thing hain't so.
When you think how big a country the land of Truth is,
and how many great unexplored regions lay in it, wliy
should Josiah Allen's wife stand and lean up aginst a tree
on the outmost edge of the frontier, and say what duz and
what duzn't lay hid in them mysterius and beautiful re-
gions that happier eyes than hern shall yet look into ?

" No : the great future is the fulfillment of the prophe-
cies, and blind gropin's of the present ; and it is not for
me, nor Josiah, nor anybody else, to talk too positive about
what we hain't seen, and don't know.

" No : nor I hain't one to say it is the Devil's work, not
claimin' such a close acquaintance with the gentleman
named, as some do, who profess to know all his little social
eccentricities. But I simply say, and say honest, that I
hain't felt no drawin's towards seancys, nor felt like fol-
ic rin' 'era up. But I am perfectly willin' you should have
your own idees, and foller 'em."

" Do you believe angels have appeared to men ? "

"Yes, mom, I do. But I never heard of a angel bein*

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stanchelled up in a box-stall, and let out of it agin at
stated times, like a yearlin' colt. (Excuse my metafor,
mom, I am country bred and born.) And no angel that
I ever heard on, has been harnessed and tackled up with
any ropes or strings whatsoever. No ! whenever we hear
of angels appearin' to men, they have flown down, white-
winged and radiant, right out of the heavens, which is
their home, and appeared to men, entirely unbeknown to
them. That is the way they appeared to the shephards at
Bethlahem, to the disciples on the mountain, to the
women at the tomb."

" Don't you believe they could come jest as well now ? "

" I don't say they couldn't. There is no place in the
Bible, that I know of, where it says they shall never ap-
pear agin to man. But I s'pose, in the days I speak of,
when the One Pure Heart was upon earth. Earth and
Heaven drew nearer together, as it were, — the divine and
the human. And if we now draw Heaven nearer to us by
better, purer lives, who knows," says I dreamily (forgettin'
the mejum, and other trials), " who knows but what we
might, in some fair day, look up into the still heavens, and
see through the clear blue, in the distance, a glimpse of
the beautiful city of the redeemed ?

" Who knows," says I, " if we lived for Heaven, as Jen-
nie Dark lived for her country, in the story I have heard
Thomas J. read about, but we might, like her, see visions,
and hear voices, callin' us to heavenly duties ? But," says
I, findin' and recoverin' myself, " I don't see no use in a
seansy to help us."

" Don't you admit that there is strange doin's at these
seansys ? "

SWEET CICELY

276

" Yes," says I. " I nerver see one myself ; but, from
what I have heard of 'em, they are veri/ strange."

" Don't you think there are things done that seem super-
natural ? "

" I don't know as they are any more supernatural than
the telegraph and telefone and electric light, and many
other seemin'ly supernatural works. And who knows but
there may still be some hidden powers in nature that is
the source of what you call supernatural ? "

" Why not believe, with us, voices fi'om Heaven speak
through these means ? "

" Because it looks dubersome to me — dretful duber-
some. It don't look reasonable to me, that He, the mighty
King of heaven and earth, would speak to His children
through a senseless Indian jargon, or impossible and blas-
phemous speeches through a first sphere."

" You say you believe God has spoken to men, and why
not now ? "

"I tell you, I don't know but He duz. But I don't
believe it is in that manner. Way back to the creation,
when we read of God's speakin' to man, the voice come
directly down from heaven to their souls.

"In the hush of the twilight, when every thing was
still and peaceful, and Adam was alone, then he heard
God's voice. He didn't have to wait for favorable condi-
tions, or set round a table ; for, what is more convincin',
I don't believe he had a table to set round.

" In the dreary lonesomeness of the great desert, God
spoke to the heart-broken Hagar. She didn't have to try
any tests to call down the spirits. Clear and sudden out
of heaven come the Lord's voice speaking to her soul

276

8WSET CICELY.

in comfort and in prophecy ; and her eyes was opened, and
she saw waters flowin' in the midst of the desert.

" Up on the mountain top, God's voice spoke to Abra-
ham ; and Lot in the quiet of evening, at the tent's door,
received the angelic visitants. Sudden, unbeknown to
them, they come. They didn't have to put nobody into
a *rance, nor holler, so we read.

"In the hush of the temple, through the quiet of her
motherly dreams, Hannah heard a voice. Hannah didn't
have to say, ' If you are a spirit, rap so many times.' No :
she knew the voice. God prepares the listenin' soul His
own self. * They know my voice,' so the Lord said.

" Daniel and the lions didn't have to * form a circle '
for him to see the one in shinin' raiment. No : the
angel guest came down from heaven unbidden, and ap-
peared to Daniel alone, in peril ; and as he stood by the
' great river,' it said, ' Be strong, be strong ! ' preparin' him
for conflict. And Daniel was strengthened, so the Bible
says.

" God's hand is not weaker to^ay, and His conflicts are
bein' waged on many a battle-field. And I dare not say
that He does not send His angels to comfort and sustain
them who from love to Him go out into rightous war-
fare. But I don't believe they come through a seansy.
I don't, honestly. I don't believe Daniel would have
felt strengthened a mite, by seein* a materialized rag-baby
hung out by a wire in front of a hemlock box, and then
drawed back sudden.

" No : Adam and Enoch, and Mary and Paul and St.
John, didn't have to say, before they saw the heavenly
guests, * If you are a spirit, manifest it by liftin' up some

HBAVSMLY VISITORS.

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aWEET CICELY.

table-legs.' And they didn't have to tie a mejum into a
box before they could hear God's voice. No : we read in
the Bible of eight different ones who come back from
death, and appeared to their friends, besides the many
who came forth from their graves at Jerusalem. But
they didn't none of 'em come in this way from round
under tables, and out of little coops, and etcetery.

" And as it was in the old days, so I believe it is to-day.
I believe, if God wants to speak to a human soul, livin' or
dead. He don't need the help of ropes and boxes and
things. It don't look reasonable to think He has to em-
ploy such means. And it don't look reasonable to me to
think, if He wants to speak to one of His children in com-
fort or consolation, He will try to drive a hard bargain
with 'em, and make 'em pay from fifty cents to a dollar to
hear Him, children half price. Howsomever, everybody
to their own opinions."

•' You are a unbeliever," says she bitterly. - *

" Yes, mom : I s'pose I am. I s'pose I should be called
Samantha Allen, U.S., which stands. Unbeliever in Spirit-
ual Seansys, and also United States. It has a noble,
martyrous look to me," says I firmly. "It makes me
think of my errent."

She tosted her head in a high-headed way, which is
gaulin' in the extreme to see in another female. And
she says, —

" You are not receptive to truth."

I s'pose she thought that would scare me, but it didn't.
I says, —

" I believe in takin' truth direct from God's own hand
and revelation. But I don't have any faith in modern

SWEET CICELY.

279

Rpiritual seansys. They seem to me, — and I would say
it in a polite, courtous way, for I wouldn't hurt your feel-
in's for the world, — all mixed up with modern greed and
humbug."

But, if you'll believe it, for all the pains I took to be
almost over-polite to her, and not say a word to hurt her
feelin's, that woman acted mad, and flounced out of the
room as if she was sent.

Good land! what strange creeters there are in the
world, anyway !

Wall, I had fairly forgot that the boy wus in the room.
But 1,000 and 5 is a small estimate of the questions he
asked me after she went out.

"What a seansy was? And did folks appear there?
And would his papa appear if he should tie himself up
in a box? And if I would be sorry if his papa didn't
appear, if he didn't appear ? And where the folks went
to that I said come out of their graves ? And did they
die again ? Or did they keep on a livin' and a livin' and
a livin' ? And if I wished I could keep on a livin' and a
livin' and a livin' ? "

Good land ! it made me feel wild as a loon, and Cicely
put the boy to bed.

But I happened to go into the bedroom for something ;
and he opened his eyes, and says he, —

" Sat/ ! if the dead live men's little boys that had grown
up and lived and died b« fore their pa's come out, would
they come out too ? and would the dead live men know
that they was their little boys ? and say " —

But I went out immegiatly, and s'pose he went to sleep.

Wall, the next mornin' I got up feelin' kinder mauger.

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SWEET CICELY.

I felt sort o' weary in my mind as well as my body. For
I had kep' up a powerful ammount of thinkin' and mede-
tatin'. Mebby right when I would be a talkin' and a
smilin' to folks about the weather or literatoor or any
thing, my mind would be hard at work on problems, and I

sayI'

would be a takin' silent observations, and musin* on what
my eyes beheld.

And I had felt more and more satisfied of the wisdom
of the conclusion I reached on my first interview with
Allen Arthur, — that I dast not, I dast not let my com-
panion go from me into Washington.

No I I felt that I dast not, as his mind was, let him go
into temptation.

SWEET CICELY.

281

I felt that he wanted to make money out of the Gov-
ernment I loved ; and after I had looked round me, and
observed persons and things, I felt that he would do it.

I felt that /dast not let him go.

I knew that he wanted to help them that helped him,
without no deep thought as to the special fitness of uncle
Nate Gowdy and Ury Henzy for governmental positions.
And after I had enquired round a little, and considered
the heft of his mind, and the weight of example, I felt he
would do it.

And I dast not let him go.

And, though I knew his hand was middlin' free now,
still I realized that other hands just as free once had had
rings slipped into 'em, and was led by 'em whithersoever
the ring-makers wished to lead them.

I dast not let hiia go.

I knew that now his morals, though small (he don't
weigh more'n a hundred, — bones, moral sentiments, and
all), was pretty sound and firm, the most of the time.
But the powerful winds that blew through them broad
streets of Washinjjton from every side, and from the out-
side, and from the under side, powerful breezes, some cold,
and i*ome powerful hot ones — why, I felt that them small
mt»rals, more than as likely as not, would be upsot, and
bJowed down, and tore all to pieces.

I dast not let him go.

I knew he was willin' to buy votes. If willin' to buy,
- - the fearful thought hanted me, — mebby he would be
willin' to sell ; and, the more I looked round and observed,
the more I felt that he would.

I felt that I dast not let him go.

282

SWEET CICELY.

*■ No, no ! I dast not let him go.

I was a musin' on this thought at the breakfast-table
where I sot with Cicely, the boy not bein' up. I was settin'
to the table as calm and cool as my toast (which was veri/
cool), when the hired man brought me a letter ; and I
opened it right there, for I see by the post-mark it was
from my Josiah. And I read as foUers, in dismay and
anguish, for I thought he was crazy : —

Mi deer Wyf, — Kuin !ium, I hav got a crik in mi bak. Kum
hum, mi deer Sam, kum hum, or I shal xpire. Mi gord has withurd,
mi plan has faled, I am a undnn Josire. Tung kant xpres mi
yernin to see u. I kant tak no kumfort lookin at ure kam fisiognimy
in ure fotogrof, it maks mi nart ake, u luk so swete, I fere u hav caut
a bo. Kum hum, kum hum. t^

Ure luviu kompanien, . ;'»,

vers ov poetry.

JOSIRE.

Mi krik is bad, mi ink is pale :
Mi luv for u shal never fale.

I dropt my knife and fork (I had got about through
eatin', anyway), and hastened to my room. Cicely fol-
lowed me, anxious-eyed, for I looked bad.

I dropped into a chair ; and almost buryin* my face in
my white linen handkerchief, I give vent to some moans
of anguish, and a large number of sithes. And Cicely
says, --

" "What is the matter, aunt Samantha ? "

And I says, —

" Your poor uncle I your poor uncle I "

" What is the matter with him ? " says she.

And I says, " He is crazy as a loon. Crazy and got a

8WEET CICELY.

288

creek, and I must start for home the first thing in the

mornm.

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SAMAITTHA'S 8ORB0W.

She says, " What do you mean ? " and then I showed her
the letter, and says as I did so, —

" He has had too much strain on his mind, for the size

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of it. His plans have been too deep. He has grappled
with too many public questions. I ortn't to have left him
alone with politics. But I left him for his good. But
never, never, will I leave it beloved man agin, crazy, or
no crazy, creek, or no creek.

" Oh ! '" says I, " will he never, never more be conscious
of the presence of the partner of his youth and middle age ?
Will he never realize tlie deep, constant love that has
lightened up our pathway ? "

I wept some. But I thought that mebby he would
know my cream biscuit and other vittles, I felt that he
would reeo^iise them.

But by this time Cicely had got the letter read through ;
and she said " he wuzn't crazy, it was the new-fashioned
way of spelling ; " she said she had seen it ; and so I
brightened up, and felt well: though, as I told her, —

"The creek would drive me home in the mornin.'."
Says I, " Duty and Love draws me, a willin' captive, to
the side of my sufferin' Josiah. I shall go home on that
creek." Says I, " Woman's first duty is to the man she
loves." Says I, " I come here on that duty, and on that
duty I shall go back, and the creek."

Cicely didn't feel as if she could go the next day, for
there was to be a great meetin' of the friends of temper-
ance, in a few days, there ; ard she wanted to attend to
it ; she wanted to help all she could ; and then, there wus
a person high in influence that she wanted to converse
with on the subject. That good little thing was willin' to
do any thing for the sake of the boy and the Right.

But I says to her, " I must go, for that word ' plan '
worrys me j it worrys me far more than the creek : and I

SWEET CICELY.

285

see my partner is all unstrung, and I must be there to try
to string him up agin."

So it wus decided, that I should start in the morning,
and Cicely come on in a few days: she was all boyed up
with the thought that at this meetin* she could get some
help and hope for the boy.

But, after Cicely went to bed, I sot there, and got to
thinkin' about the new spellin', and felt that I approved
of it. My mind is such that instantly I can weigh and
decide.

I took some of these words, photograph, philosophy,
etc., in one hand, and in the other I took filosify and foto-
graf ; and as I hefted 'em, I see the latter was easier to
carry. I see they would make our language easier to
learn by children and foreigners ; it would lop off a lot of
silent letters of no earthly use; i*" would make far less
labor in writin', in printin', in cost of type, and would be
better every way.

Cicely said a good many was opposed to it on account
of bein' attached to the old way. But I don't feel so,
though I love the old things with a love that makes my
heart ache sometimes when changes come. But my rea-
son tells me that it hain't best to be attached to the old
way if the new is better.

Now, I s'pose our old 4 fathers was attached to the idee
of hitchin' an ox onto a wagon, and ridin' after it. And
our old 4 mothers liked the idee of bein' perched up on a
pillion behind the old 4 fathers. I s'pose they hated the
idee of gettin' off of that pillion, and onhitchin' that ox.
But they had to, they had to get down, and get up into
phaetons and railway cars, and steamboats.

f ' ill

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SWEET CICELY,

And I s'pose them old 4 people (likely creeters they
wuz too) hated the idee of usin* matches ; used to love to
strike fire with a flint, and trample off a mild to a neigh-
ber's on January mornin's (and theii mornin's was veri/
early) to borrow some coals if they had lost their flint. 1
s'pose they had got attached to that flint, some of 'em, and
hated to give it up, thought it would be lonesome. But
they had to ; and the flint didn't care, it knew matches

OUR 4 PARENTS.

was better. The calm, everlasting forces of Nature don't
murmur or rebel when they are changed for newer, greater
helps. No : it is only human bein's who complain, and
have the heartache, because they are so sot.

But whether we murmur, or whether we are calm,
whether we like it, or whether we don't, we have to move
our tents. We are only campin' out, here ; and we have
to move our tents along, and let the new things push us

SWEET CICELY.

28T

out of the way. The old things now, are the new ones
of the past ; and what seems new to us, will soon be the
old.

Why, how long does it seem, only a minute, since we
was a buildin' moss houses down in the woods back of the
old schoolhouse? Beau-
tiful, fresh rooms, carpeted
with the green moss, with
bright young faces bendin'
down over 'em. Where
are they now ? The dust
of how many years — I ii
don't want to think how
many — has sifted down
over them velvet-carpeted
mansions, turned them
into dust.

And the same dust has
sprinkled down onto the
happy heads of the fresh,"
bright-faced little group
gathered there.

Charley, and Alice I oh f
the dust is very deep on
her head, — the dust that
shall at last lay over all
our heads. And Louis I Bright blue eyes there may be
to-day, old Time, but none truer and tenderer than his.
But long ago, oh ! long ago, the dust covered you — the
dust that is older than the pyramids, old, and yet new ;
for on some mysterious breeze it was lited to you, it

BOBBOWINQ COALS.

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drifted down, and covered the blue eyes and the brown
eyes, hid the b-'ight faces forever.

And the years have sprinkled down into Charley's grave
business head tiresome dust of dividends and railway
shares. Kate and Janet, and Will and Helen and Harry —
where are you all to-day, I wonder ? But though I do not
know that, I dc know this, — that Time has not stood still
with any of you. The years have moved you along, hus-
tled you forward, as they swept by. You have had to
move along, and let other bright faces stand in front of
you.

You are all buildin* houses to-day that you think are
more endurin'. But what you build to-day — hopes built
upo worldly wealth, worldly fame, household affection,
political success — ah ! will they not pass away like the
green moss houses down in the woods back of the old
schoolhouse ?

Yes, they, too, will pass away, so utterly that only their
dust will remain. But God grant that we may all meet,
happy children again, young with the new life of the im-
mortals, on some happy playground of the heavenly life !

But poor little houses of moss and cedar boughs, you
are broken down years and years ago, trampled down into
dust, and the dust blown away by the rushin' years.
Blown away, but gathered up agin by careful old Nature,
nourishin* with it a newer, fresher growth.

I don't s'pose any of us really hanker after growin' old ;
sometimes I kinder hate to ; and so I told Josiah one day.

And he says, "Why, we hain^t the only ones that is
growin' old. Why, everybody is as old as we be, that
wuz born at the same time ; and lots of folks are older.

r=^^«

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THE OLU SCIIOOLUOUSE.

2^0

SWEET CICELY.

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'^''' Sfc ''

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M:' M^

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Why, there is uncle Nate Gowdey, and aunt Seeny : they
are as old aglii, almost."

Says I, " That is a great comfort to meditate on, Josiah ;
but it don't take away all the sting of growin' old."

And he said " he didn't care a dumb about it, if he
didn't have to work so hard." He said " he'd fairly love
to grow old if he could do it easy, kinder set down to it."

(Now, that man don't work so very hard. But don't
tell him I said so : he's real fractious on that subject,
caused, I think, by rheumatiz, and mebby the Plan.)

I told Josiah that it wouldn't make growin' old any
easier to set down, than it would to stand up.

I don't s'pose it makes much difference about our bodies,
anyway; they are only wrappers for the soul: the real
person is within. But then, you know, you get sort o' at-
tached to your own body, yourself, you know, if you have
lived with yourself any length of time, as we have, a good
many of us.

You may not be handsome, but you sort o' like your
own looks, after all. Your eyes have a sort of a good look
to you. Your hands are soft and white ; and they are
your own too, which makes 'em nearer to you ; they have
done sights for you, and you can't help likin' 'em. And
your mouth looks sort o' agreable and natural to you.

You don't really like to see the dimpled, soft hands
change into an older person's hands ; you kinder hate to
change the face for an older, more care-worn face ; you
get sick of lookin'-glasses. / -'■ ,

And sometimes you feel a sort of a homesick longin' for
your old self — for the bright, eager face that looked back
to you from the old lookin'-glass on summer mornin's.

SWEET CICELY.

291

when the winder was open out into the orchard, and the
May birds was singin' amidst the apple-blows. The red

V;,

A MAY MOKNING.

lips parted with a happy smile ; the bright, laughin* eyes,
sort o' soft too, and wistful — wishful for th^ good that

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SWEET CICELY

mebby come to you, and mebby didn't, but which the
glowin' face was sure of, on that spring mornin', with the
May birds singin' outside, and the May birds singin'
inside.

Time may have brought you somethin' better — better
than you dreamed of on that summer mornin'. But it is
different, anyhow ; and you can't help gettin' kinder home-
sick, longin', wantin' that pretty young face again, wantin'
the heart back again that went with it.

Wall, I s'pose we shall have it back — sometime. I
s'pose we shall get back our lost youth in the place where
we first got it. And it is all right, anyway.

We must move on. You see. Time won't stop to argue
with us, or dicker ; and our settin' down, and coaxin' him
to stop a minute, and whet his scythe, and give us a
chance to get round the swath he cuts, won't ammount to
nothin' only wastin' our breath. His scythe is one that
don't need any grindstun, and his swath is one that must
be cut.

No! Time won't lean up aginst fence corners, and
wipe his brow on a bandanna, and hang round. He jest
moves right on — up and down, up and down. On each
side of us the ripe blades fall, and the flowers ; and pretty
soon the swath will come right towards us, the grass-blades
will fall nearer and nearer — a turn of the gleamin' scythe,
and we, too, will be gone. The sunlight will rest on the
turf where our shadows were, and one blade of grass will
be missed out of that broad harvest-field more than we
will be, when a few short years have rolled by.

The beauty and the clamor of life will go on without us.
You see, we hain't needed so much as we in our egotism

SWEET CICELY.

293

think we are. The world will get along without us, while
we rest in peace.

But until then we have got to move along: we can't
set down anywhere, and set there. No: if we want to
be fore mothers and fore fathers, we mustn't set still : we
must give the babies a chance to be fore mothers and fore
fathers too. It wouldn't be right to keep the babies from
bein' ancestors.

We must keep a movin' on. How the summer follows
the spring, and the winter follows the autumn, and the
years go by ! And the clouds sail on through the sky, and
the shadows follow each other over the grass, and the grass
fadeth.

And the sun moves down the west, and the twilight fol-
lows the sun, and at last the night comes — and then the
stars shine.

Strange that all this long re very of my mind should
spring from that letter of my pardner's. But so it is.
Why, I sot probable 3 fourths of a hour — entirely by the
side of myself. Why, I shouldn't have sensed whether I
was settin' on a sofy in a W-oshington boardmg-house (a
hard one too), or a bed of flowers in Asia Minor, or in the
middle of the Desert of Sarah. Why, I shouldn't have
sensed Sarah or A. Minor at all, if they had stood right
by me, I was so lost and unbeknown to myself.

But anon, or pretty nigh that time (for I know it was
ten when I got into bed, and it probable took me i an
hour to comb out my hair and wad it up, and ondress), I
rousted up out of my revery, and realized I was Josiah
Allen's wife on a tower of Principle and Discovery. I
realized I was a forerunner, and on the eve of return to

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294

8WEET CICELY.

the bosom of my family (a linen bosom, with five pleats
on a side).

Wall, I rose betimes in the mornin', or about that time,
and eat a good, noble breakfast, so's to stai-t feelin' well ;
embraced Cicely and the boy, who asked me 32 questions
while I was embracin' him (I kissed him several times,
with hugs accorclin') ; and then I took leave of Sally and
Bub Smith. I i)aid for my board honorable, although Sally
said she would not take any paj'^ for so short a board. But
I knew, in her condition, boards of any length should be
paid for. So I insisted, and the board was paid for. I
also rewarded Bub Smith for his efforts at doin' my errents,
in a way that made his blushes melt into a glowin' back-
ground of joyousness. •• * ■

And then, havin* asked the hired man to get a covered
carriage to convey my body to the depot, and my trunk,
I left Washington, D.C.

The snort of the engine as it ketched sight of me,
sounded friendly to me. It seemed to say to me, —

"Forerunner, your runnin' is done, and well done!
Your labors of duty and anxiety is over. Soon, soon will
you be with your beloved pardner at home."

Home, the dearest word that was ever said or sung.

The passengers all looked good to me. The men's hats
looked like Josiah's. They looked out of their eyes some
as he did out of hisen: they looked good to me. There
was one man upbraidin' his wife about some domestic mat-
ter, with crossness in his tone, but affectionate care and
interest in his mean. Oh, how good, and sort o' natural,
he did look to me ! it almost seemed as if my Josiah was
there by my side.

SWEET CICELY.

295

Never, never, does tlie cords of love fairly pull at your
heart-strings, a drawin' you along towards your heart's
home, your heart's desire, as when you have been off a
niovin' round on a tower. I longed for my dear liome, I
yearned for my Josiah.

I arrove at Jonesville as night was a lettin' down her
cloudy mantilly fringed with stars (there wuzn't a star :

AT THE DEPOT.

I jest put that in for oritory, and I don't think it is wrong
if I tell of it right away).

Evidently Josiah's creek wus better ; for he wus at the
depot with the mair, to convey my body home. He wus
stirred to the very depths of his heart to see me agin ; but
he struggled for calmness, and told me in a voice con-
trolled by his firm will, to " hurry and get in, for the mair
wus oneasy standin* so long."

I, too, felt that I must emulate his calmness; and I
says,—

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I can't get in no faster than I can. Do hold the mair
still, or I can't get in at all."

"Wall, wall! hain't I a hoklin' it? Jump in: there is
a teai.i behind a waitin'."

After these little interchanges of thought and affection,
there was silence between us. Truly, there is happiness
enough in bein' once more by the side of the one you
I'^ve, whether you speak or not. And, to tell the truth, I
was out of breath hurryin' so. But few words were inter-
changed until the peaceful haven of home was reached.

Some few words, peaceful, calm words were uttered, as
to what we wus goin' to have for supper, and a desire
on Josiah's part for a chicken-pie and vegitables of all
kinds, and various warm cakes and pastries, compromised
down to plans of tender steak, mashed potatoes, cream
biscuit, lemon custard, and coffee. It wus settled in peace
and calmness. He looked unstrung, very unstrung, and
wan, considerable wan. But I knew that I and the supper
could string him up agin ; and I felt that I would not
speak of the plan or the creek, or any agitatin' subject,
until the supper was over, which resolve I foUered. After
the table was cleared, and Josiah looked like a new man,
— the girl bein' out in the kitchen washin' the dishes, — I
mentioned the creek ; and he owned up that he didn't
know as it was exactly a creek, but " it was a dumb pain,
anyway, and he felt that he must see me."

It is sweet, passing sweet, to be missed, to be necessary
to the happiness of one you love. But, at the same time,
it is bitter to know that your pardner has prevaricated to
you, and so the sweet and the bitter is mixed all through
life.

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297

I smiled and sithed simultaneous, as it were, and
dropped down the creek.

Then with a calm tone, but a beatin' heart, I took up
the Plan, and presented it to him. I wanted to find out
the u '^' ^ and depths of that Plan before I said a word
abt J o.;n adventures at Washington, D.C. Oh, Iiow
that plan had worried me ! Rut the minute I mentioned
it, Josiah looked as if he would sink. And at first he
tried to move off the subject, but I wouldn't let him. I
held him up firm to that plan, and, to use a poetical image,
I hitched him there.

Says I, "You know what you told me, Josiah, — you
eaid that plan would make you beloved and revered."

He groaned. •

Says I, " You know you said it would make you a lion,
and me a lioness : do you remember, Josiah Allen ? "

He groaned awful.

Says I firmly, " It didn't make you a lion, did it ? "

He didn't speak, only sithed. But says I firmly, for I
wus bound to come to the truth of it, —

" Are you a lion ? "

"No," says he, "I hain't."

"Wall," says I, "then what be you?" :,

" I am a fool," says he bitterly, " a dumb fool."

"Wall," says I encouragingly, "you no need to have
laid on plans, and I needn't have gone off on no towers of
discovery, to have found that out. But now," says I in
softer axents, for I see he did indeed look agitated and
melancholy, —

" Tell your Samautha all about it."

Says he mournfully, " I have got to find * The Gimlet.' "

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ABE YOU A LION ?

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"The Gimlet!" I sithed to myself; and the wild and
harrowin' thought went through me like a arrow, — that
my worst apprehensions had been realized, and that man
had been a writing poetry.

But then I remembered that he had promised me years
ago, that he never would tackle the job agin. He begun
to make a poem when we was first married; but there
wuzn't no great harm done, for he had only wrote two
lines when I found it out and broke it up.

Bein' jest married, I had a good deal of influence over
him ; and he promised me sacred, to never, never^ as long
as he lived and breathed, try to write another line of poetry
agin. We was married in the spring, and these 2 lines
was as foUers : —

" How happified this spring appears —
More happier than I ever knew springs to be, shears."

And I asked him what he put the " shears " in for, and
he said he did it to rhyme. And then was the time, then
aud there, that I made him promise on the Old Testament,
never to try to write a line of poetry agin. And I felt that
he could not do himself and me the bitter wrong to try it
agin, and still I trembled.

And right while I was tremblin', he returned, and
silently laid " The Gimlet " in my lap, and sot down, and
nearly buried his face in his hands. And the very first
piece on which the eye of my spectacle rested, was this :
"Josiah Allen on a Path-Master."

And I dropped the paper in my lap, and says I, —

" What have you been doing now, Josiah Allen ? Have
you been a fightin'? What path-master have you been
on?"

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" I hain't been on any," says lie sadly, out from under
his hand. " I headed it so, to have a strong, takin' title.
You know they 'pmted me path-master some time ago."

JOSIAH BEING TBEA.TED.

I groaned and sithed to that extent that I was almost
skairt at myself, not knowin' but I would have the high-
stericks unbeknown to me (never havin' had 'em, I didn't

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know exactly what the symptoms was), and I felt dred-
fully. But anon, or pretty nigh anon, I grew calmer, and
opened the paper, and read. It seemed to be in answer to
the men who had nominated him for path-master, and it
read as follers: —

■('

JOSIAH ALLEN ON A PATH-MASTER.

Feller Constituents and Male Men of Jouesville and the surroundin'
and adjacent worlds I

I thank you, fellow and male citizents, I thank you heartily, and
from the depths of my bein', for the honor you have heaped onto nie,
in pintin' me path-master.

But I feel it to be my duty to decline it. I feel thac I must keep
entirely out of political mattei's, and that I cannot be induced to be
path-master, or President, or even United-States senator. I have not
got the constitution to stand it. I don't feel well a good deal of the
time. My liver is out of order, I am liable to have the ganders any
minute, I am bilious, am troubled with rheumatiz and colic, my blood
don't circulate proper, I have got a v/eak back, and lumbago, and
biles. And 1 hain't a bit well. And I dassent put too nmch strain on
myself, I dassent.

And then, I am a husband and a father. I have sacred ^aties to
perform about, nearer and more sacred duties, that I dast not put
aside for any others.

I am a husband. I took a tender and confidin' woman away from
a happy home (Mother Smith's, in the east part of Jouesville), and
transplanted her (carried her in a one-horse wagon and a mare) into
my own home. And I feel that it is my first duty to make tliat home
the brightest spot on earth to her. That home is my dearest and
most sacred treasure. And how can I disturb its sweet peace with
the wild turmoil of politics? I can not. I dast not.

And politics are dangerous to enter into. There is bad folks in
Jonesville 'lection day, — bad men, and bad women. And I am liable
to be led astray. I don't want to be led astray, but I feel that I am
liable to. ,

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I have to hear swearin'. Now, T don't swear myself. (T don't call
"dumb" swearin', nor never did.) I don't swear, but t think of
them oaths afterwards. Twice I thought of 'em right in prayer-
nieetin' time, and it worrys me.

I have to see drinkin' goin' on. I don't want to drink ; but they
offer to treat me, old friends do, and Samantha is afraid I shall yield
to the temptation ; and I am most afraid of it myself.

Yes, politics is dangerous and hardenin' ; and, should I enter into
the wild conflict, I feel that I am in danger of losin' all them tender,
witniiu' qualities that first won me the love of my Samantha. I dare
not imperil her peace, and mine, by the effort.

I can not, I dast not, put aside these sacred duties that Providence
has laid upon me. My wue's happiness is the first thing I must con-
sider. Can I leave her lonely and unhappy while I plunge into the
wild turmoil of caurkusses and town-meetin's, and while I go to 'lec-
tion, and vote? No.

And the time I would have to spend in study in order to vote intel-
ligent, I feel as if that time I must use in strugglin' to promote the
welfare and happiness of my Samantha. No, I dassent vote, I das-
sent another time.

Again, another reason. I have a little grandchild growin' up
around me. I owe a duty to her. I must dandle her on my knee.
I must teach her the path of virtue and happiness. If I do not, who
will? For though there are plenty to make laws, and to vote, little
Samantha Joe has but one grandpa on her mother's side.

And then, I have sights of cares. The Methodist church is to be
kep' up : I am one of the pillows of the church, and sometimes it
rests heavy on me. Sometimes I have to manage every way to get
the preacher's salary. I am school-trustee : I have to grapple with
the deestrict every spring and fall. The teachers are high-headed, the
parents always dissatisfied, and the children act like the Old Harry.
I am the salesman in the cheese-factory. Anarky and quarellin'
rains over me offen that cheese-factory; and its fault-findin', mis-
trustin' patrons, embitters my life, and rends my mind with cares.

The care of providin' for my family wears onto me; for though
Sami, itha tends to things on the inside of the house, I have to tend
to things outside, and I have to provide the food she cooks.

SWEET CICELY.

803

And then, I have a great deal of work to do. Besides my barn-
chores, and all the wearin' cares I have mentioned, I have five acres
of potatoes to hoe and dig, a barn to shingle, a p"g-pen to new cover,
a smoke-house to fix, a bed of beets and a bed of turnips to dig, —
ruty bagys, — and four big beds of onions to weed — dumb 'em I and
six acres of corn to husk. My barn-floor at this time is nearly cov-
ered with stocks. How dare I leave nr j barn in confusion, and, by
my disorderly doin's, run the risk of my wive's bein' so disgusted
with my want of neatness and shiftlessness, as to cause her to get dis-
satisfied with home and husband, and wander off into paths of dissipa-
tion and vice ? Oh I I dassent, I dassent, take the resk I When I
think of all the terrible evils that are liable to come onto me, I feel
that I dassent vote agin, as long as I live and breathe — I dast not
have any thing whatever to do with politics.

FiNY. The End.

I read it all out loud, every word of it, interrupted now
and then, and sometimes oftener, by the groans of my
pardner. And as I finished, I looked round at him, and I
see his looks was dretful. And I says in soothin' tones —
for oh ! how a companion's distress calls up the tender
feelin's of a lovin' female pardner! . . :.

Says I, " It hain't the worst piece in the world, Josiah
Allen ! It is as sensible as lots of political pieces I have
read." Says I, " Chirk up ! "

" It hain't the piece ! It is the way it was took," says
he. " Life has been a burden to me ever sense that ap-
peared in ' The Gimlet.' Tongue can't tell the way them
Jonesvillians has sneered and jeered at me, and run me
down, and sot on me."

I sithed, and remained a few moments almost lost in
thought ; and then says I, —

" Now, if you are more composed and gathered together,

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will you tell your companion how you come to write it ?
what you did it/or.^"

" I did it to be populer," says he, out from under his
hand. "I thought I would branch off, and take a new
turn, and not act so fierce and wolfish after office as most
of 'em did. I thought I would get up something new and
uneek."

" Wall, you have, uneeker than you probable ever will
agin. But, if you wanted to be a senator, whi/ did you
refuse to have any thing to do with politics ? "

" I did it to be urged,''' says he, in the same sad, despair-
in' tones. "I made the move to be loved — to be the
favorite of the Nation. I thought after they read that,
they would be fierce to promote me, fierce as blood-hounds.
I thought it would make me the most populer man in
Jonesville, and that I should be sought after, and praised
up, and follered."

" What give you that idee ? " says I calmly.

"Why, don't you remember Letitia Lanfear? She
wrote a article sunthin' like this, only not half so smart
and deep, when she was nominated for school-trustee, and
it jest lifted her right up. She never had been thouglit
any thing off in Jonesville till she wrote that, and that
was the makin' of her. And she hadn't half the reason
to write it that I have. She hadn't half nor a quarter
the cares that I have got. She was a widder, educated
high, without any children, with a comfortable income,
and she lived in her brother's family, and didn't have no
cares at all.

" And only see how that piece lifted her right up I
They all said, what right ^eelin*, what delicacy, what a

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noble, heart-stirrin', masterly document hern was! And
I hankered, I jest hankered, after bein' praised up as slie
was. And I thought," says he with a deep sithe, " I

LETITIA LANFEAB.

thought I should get as much agin praise as she did.
I thought I should be twice as populer, because it wus
sunthin' new for a man to write such a article. I thought

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I should be all the rage in Jones ville. I thought I should
be a lion."

" Wall, accordin' to your tell, they treat you like one,
don't they?"

" Yes," says he, " speakin' in a wild animal way." Says
he, growin' excited, " T wish I wuz a African lion right out
of a jungle : I'd teach them Jonesvillians to get out of my
way. I'd love, when they was snickerin', and pokin' fun
at mo, and actin' and jeerin' and sneerin', and callin' me
all to nort, I'd love to spring onto 'em, and roar."

" Hush, Josiah," says I. " Be calm ! be calm ! "

" I won't be calm ! I can't see into it," he hollered.
"Why, what lifted Letitia Lanfear right up, didn't lift
me up. Hain't what's sass for the goose, sass for the
gander?"

" No," says I sadly. " It hain't the same sass. The geese
have to get the same strength from it, — strength to swim
in the same water, fly over the same fences, from the
same pursuers and avengers ; and they have to grow the
same featl. rs out of it; but the sass, the sass is fur dif-
ferent.

" But," says I, " I don't approve of all your piece. A
man, as a general thing, has as much time as a woman has.
And I'd love to see the time that I couldn't do a job as
short as puttin' a letter in the post-office. Why, I never
see the time, even when the children was little, and in
cleanin' house, or sugarin'-time, but what I could ride into
Jonesville every day, to say nothin' of once a year, and
lay a vote onto a pole. And you have as much time as I
do, unless it is springs and falls and hayin'-time. And if
7 could do it, 1/ou could. I don't approve of such talk.

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f i,

" And you know very well that you and I had better
spend a little of our spare time a studyin' into matters, so
as to vote intelligently ; study into the laws that govern
us both, — that hang us if we break 'em, and protect us if
we obey 'em, — than to spend it a whittlin' shingles, or
wonderin' whether Miss Bobbet's next baby will be a boy
or a girl."

" Wall," says he, takin' his hand down, and winkin', — a
sort of a shrewd, knowin' wink, but a sad and dejected
one, too, as I ever see wunk, —

" I didn't have no idee of stoppin' votin'."

Says I cokdy, as cold as Zero, or pretty nigh as cold-
blooded as the old man, —

" Did you write that article 'jest for the speech of people ?
Didn't you have no principle to back it up ? "

" Wall," says he mouru fully, " I wouldn't want it to get
out of the family, but I'll tell you the truth. I didn't
write it on a single principle, not a darn principle. 1
wrote it jest for popularity, and to make 'em fierce to pro-
mote me."

I groaned alo"d, and he groaned. It wus a sad and
groanful time.

Says he, " I pinned my faith onto Letitia Lanfear. And
I can't understand now, why a thing that made Letitia so
populer, makes me a perfect outcast. Hain't we both
human bein's — human Methodists and Jonesvillians?"
Says he, in despairin', agonized tone, " I can't see through
it."

Says I soothenly, " Don't worry about that, Josiah, for
nobody can. It is too deep a conundrum to be seen
through : nobody has ever seen through it."

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But it seemed as if he couldn't be soothed ; and agin he
kinder sithed out, —

"I pinned my faith onto Letitia, and it has ondone
me ; " and he kinder whimpered.

But I says tirmly, but gently, —

"You will hear to your companion another time, will
you not ? and pin your faith onto truth and justice and
right?"

" No, I won't. I won't pin it onto nothin' nor nobody.
I'm done with politics from this day."

And bad as we both felt, this last speech of hisen made
a glimmer of light streak up, and shine into my future.
Some like heat lightenin' on summer evenin's. It hain't
80 much enjoyment at the time, but you know it is goin'
to clear the cloudy air of the to-morrow. And so its light
is sweet to you, though very curious, and crinkley.

And as mournful and sort o' curious as this time seemed
to me and to Josiah, yet this speech of hisen made me
know that all private and public peril connected with Hon.
Josiah Allen was forever past away. And that thought
cast a rosy glow onto my to-morrows.

CHAPTER XI.

I FOUND, on lookin' round the house the next mornin',
that Philury had kep' things in quite good shape. Al-
though truly the buttery looked like a lonesome desert,
and the cubbards like empty tents the Arabs had left
desolate.

But I knew I could soon make 'em blossom like the
rosy with provisions, which I proceeded at once to do, with
Philury's help.

While I wus a rollin' out the pie-crust, Philury told me
" she had changed her mind about long engagements."

And while I wus a makin' the cookies, she broached it
to me that "she and Ury was gcin' to be married the next
week."

I wus agreable to the idee, and told her so. I like 'em
both. Ury is a tall, limber-jinted sort of a chap, sandy
complected, and a little round shouldered, but hard-workin'
and industrious, and seems to take a interest.

His habits are good : he never drinks any thing stronger
than root-beer, and he never uses tobacco — never has
chawed any thing to our house stronger than gum. He
used that, I have thought sometimes, more than wuz for
his good. And I thought it must be expensive, he con-

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UBY.

sumed such quantities of it.
But lie told luo he made it
himself out of beeswax and
rozum.

And I told Josiah that
I shouldn't say no more
about it ; because, although
it might be a foolish habit,
gum was not what you
might call inebriatin'; it
was not a intoxicatin' bev-
erage, and didn't endanger
the ^jublick safety. So he
kep' on a chawin' it, to
home and abroad. He kep'
at it all day, and at night
if he felt lonesome.

I had mistrusted this,
because I found a great
chunk now and then on
the head -board; and I
tackled him about it, and
^ he owned up.

" When he felt lonesome
in the night," he said,
"gum sort o' consoled
him."

Well, I thought that in
a great lonesome world,
that needed comfort so
much, if he found gum a

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311

consoler, I wouldn't break it up. So I kep' still, nnd
would clccan the liead-hoard silently with kerosine and a
woolen rag.

And Philury is a likely girl. Very freckled, but modest
and unassuming. She is little, and has nice little features,
and a round little face ; and though she can't be said to
resemble it in every particular, yet I never could think of
any thing whenever I see her, but a nice little turkey-egg.

She is very obligin', and would always curchy and smile,
and say " Yes'm " w^henever I asked her to do any thing.
She always would, and always will, I s'pose, do jest what
you tell her to, — as near as she can ; and she is thought
a good deal of.

Wall, she has liked Ury for some time — that has been
plain to see : she thought her eyes of him, and he of her.
He has got eight or nine hundred dollars laid up ; and I
thought it was well enough for 'em to marry if they wanted
to, and so I told Josiah the first time he come into the
house that forenoon.

And he said " he guessed our thinkin' about it wouldn't
alter it much, one way or the other."

And I said " I s'posed not." But says I, " I spoke out,
because I feel quite well about it. I like 'em both, and
think they'll make a happy couple : and to show my wil-
lin'ness still further, I mean to make a weddin' for her ;
for she hain't got no mothers, and Miss Gowdy won't have
it there, for you know there has been such a hardness
between 'em about that grindstun. So I'll have it here,
get a good supper, and have 'era married off respectable."

He hung back a little at first, but I argued him down.
Says I, —

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" I have htierd you say, time and agin, that you liked
'em, and wanted 'em to do well : now, what do good
wishes ammount to, unless you are willin' to back 'em up
with good acts ? " Says I, " I might say that I wished 'em
well and happy, and that would be only a small expenda-
ture of wina, that wouldn't be no loss to me, and no pe-
tickuler help to them. But if I show my good will
towards 'em by stirrin' u^ fruit-cakes and bride-'^ake, and
pickin' chickens, and pressin' 'em, and makin' ice-cream
and coffee and sandwitches, and workin' myself completely
tired out, a wishin' 'em well, why, then they can depend
on it that I am sincere in my good wishes."

" Wall," says Josiah, " if you wish me well, I wish you
would get me a little sunthin' to eat before I starve : it is
past eleven o'clock."

" The hand is on the pinter," says I calmly. " But start
a good fire, and I will get dinner."

So he did, and I did, and he never made no further
objections to my enterprise ; and it was all understood
that I should get their weddin' supper, and they should
start from here on their tower.

And I offered, as she and Miss Gowdy didn't agree,
that she might come back here, if she wanted to, and get
some quiltin' done, and get ready for housekeepin'. She
was tickled enough with the idee, and said she would help
me enough to pay for her board. Ury's time wouldn't be
out till about a month later.

I told her she needn't work any for me. But she is a
dretful handy little thing about the house, or outdoors.
When Josiah was sick, and when the hired man happened
to be away, she would go right out to the barn, and fodder

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313

the cattle jest as well as a man could. And Josiah said
she milked faster than he could, to save his life. Her
father had nine girls and no boys ; and he brought some
of the girls up when they was little, kinder boy-like, and
they knew all about outdoor work.

Wall, it was all decided on, that they should come right
back here jest as soon as they ended their tower. They
was a goin' to Ury's sister's. Miss Reuben Henzy's, and
laid out to be gone about four days, or from four days to
a week.

And I went to cookin' for the weduln' about a week
before it took place. I thought I would invite the minis-
ter and his wife and family, and Philury's sister-in-law's
family, — the only one of her relations who lived near us,
and she was poor ; and her classmates at Sunday school, —
there was twelve of 'em, — and our children and their
families. And I asked Miss Gowdey'ses folks, but didn't
expect they would come, owin' to that hardness about the
grindstun. But everybody else come that was invited ;
and though I am far from bein' the one that ort to say it,
the supper was successful. It was called " excellent " by
the voice, and the far deeper language of consumption.

They all seemed to enjoy it : and Ury took out his gum,
and put it under the table-leaf before he begun to eat ; and
I found it there afterwards. He was excited, I s'pose, and
forgot to take it agin when he left the table.

Philury looked pretty. She had on a travellin'-drcss of
a sort of a warm brown, — a color that kinder set off her
freckles. It was woosted, and trimmed with velvet of a
darker shade ; and her hat and her gloves matched.

Her dress was picked out to suit me. Ury wanted her

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to be married in a yellow tarleton, trimmed with red.
And she was jest that obleegin', clever creeter, that she
would have done it if it hadn't been for me.

I says to her and to him, —

"What use would a yeller tarleton trimmed with red
be to her after, she is married, besides lookin' like fury
now ? " Says I, " Get a good, sensible dress, that will do

THE WEDDING SUPPER.

now.

some good after marriage, besides lookin' good
Says I, " Marriage hain't exactly in real life like what it
is depictered in novels. Life don't end there : folks have
to live afterwards, and dress, and work." Says I, "If
marriage was really what it is painted in that literature —
if you didn't really have nothin' to d") in the future, only
to set on a rainbow, and eat honey, why, then, a yaller
tarleton dress with red trimmin's would be jest the thing
to wear. But," says T, " you will find yourself in the same

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315

old world, with the same old dishcloths and wipin'-towels
and mops a waitin' for you to grasp, with the same pair
of hands. You will have to konfront brooms and wash-
tubs and darnin'-needles and socks, and etcetery, etcetery.
And you must prepare yourself for the enkounter."

She heerd to me ; and that very day, after we had the
talk, I took her to Jonesville, dri\in' the old mare myself,
and stood by her while she picked it out.

And thinkin' she was young and pretty, and would
want somethin' gay and bright, I bought some flannel for
a mornin'-dress for her, and give it to her for a present.
It was a pretty, soft gray and pink, in stripes about half a
inch wide, and would be pretty for her for years, to wear
in the house, and when she didn't feel well.

I knew it would wash.

She was awful tickled with it. And I bought a present
for Ury on that same occasion, — two fine shirts, and two
pair of socks, with gray toes and heels, to match the
mornin'-dress. I do love to see things kompared, espe-
cially in such a time as this.

My weddin' present for 'em was a nice cane-seat rocker,
black walnut, good and stout, and very nice lookin'. And
knowin' she hadn't no mother to do for her, I gave her a
pair of feather pillows and a bed-quilt, — one that a aunt
of mine had pieced up for me. It was a blazin' star, a
bright red and yeller, and it had always sort o' dazzled me.

Ury worshiped it. I had kept it on his bed ever sense
I knew what feelin's he had for it. He had said " that he
didn't see how any thing so beautiful could be made out of
earthly cloth." And I thought now was my time to part
with it. . . „ .

316

SWEET CICELY.

Wall, they had lots of good presents. I had advised
the children, and the Sunday-school children, that, if they
was goin' to give 'em any thing, they would give 'em
somethin' that would do 'em some good.

Says I, " Perforated paper lambrequins, and feather
flowers, and cotton-yarn tidies, look well ; but, after all,
they are not what you may call so nourishin' as some other
things. And there will probable rise in their future life
contingencies where a painted match-box, and a hair-pin
receiver, and a card-case, will have no power to charm.
Even china vases and toilet-sets, although estimable, will
not bring up a large family, and educate them, especially
for the ministry."

I s'pose I convinced 'em ; ^or, as I heerd afterwards, the
class had raised fifty cents apiece to get perforated paper,
woosted yarn, and crystal beads. But they took it, and
got her a set of solid silver teaspoons : the store-keeper
threw off a dollar or two for the occasion. They was
good teaspoons.

And our children got two good linen table-cloths, and a
set of table-napkins ; and the minister's wife brought her
four towels, and the sister-in-law a patch-work bed-quilt.
And Reuben Henzy's wife sent 'em the money to buy 'em
a set of chairs and a extension table ; and a rich uncle of
hisen sent him the money for a ingrain carpet ; and a rich
uncle of hern in the Ohio sent her the money for a bed-
room set, — thirty-two dollars, with the request that it
should be light oak, with black-walnut trimmin's.

And I had all the things got, and took 'em up in one of
our chambers, so folks could see 'em. And I beset Josiah
Allen to give 'em for his present, a nice bedroom carpet.

SWEET CICELY.

317

of
Isiah
[pet.

But no : he had got his mind made up to give Ury a year-
lin' calf, and calf it must be. But he said "he would
give in to me so fur, that, seein' I wanted to make such a
show, if I said so, he would take the calf up-stairs, and
hitch it to the bed-post."

But I wouldn't parlay with him.

Wall, the weddin' went off first-rate: things went to
suit me, all but one thing. I d dn't love to see Ury
chew gum all the time they was bein' married. But he
took it out and held it in his hand when he said " Yes,
sir," when the minister asked him, would he have this
woman. And when she was asked if she would have
Ury, she curchied, and said, " Yes, if you please," jest as
if Ury was roast veal or mutton, and the minister was a
passin' him to her. She is a good-natured little thing,
and always was, and willin'.

Wall, they was married about four o'clock in the after-
noon ; and Josiah sot out with 'em, to take 'em to the six
o'clock train, for their tower. •

The company staid a half-hour or so afterwards: and
the children stayed a little longer, to help me do up the
work ; and finally they went. And I went up into
the spare chamber, and sort o' fixed Philury's things to
the best advantage ; for I knew the neighbors would
be in to look at 'em. And I was a standin' there as
calm and happy as the buro or table, — and they looked
very light and cheerful, — when all of a sudden the door
opened, and in walked Ury Henzy, and asked me, —

" If I knew where his overhauls was ? "

You could have knocked me down with a pin-feather,
as it were, I was so smut and dumb-foandered.

I ' ^

■K,ik I

i I

'i , ft

if'- M

318

SWEET CICELY.

Says I, " Ury Henzy, is it your ghost ? " says I, " or be
youUry?"

" Yes, I am Ury," says he, lookin', I thought, kinder dis-
appointed and curious.

" Where is Pliilury ? " says I faintly.

"yes, if you please."

" She has gone on her tower," says he.

Says I, "Then, you be a ghost: you hain't Ury, and
you needn't say you be."

But jest at that minute in come Josiah Allen a snick-
erin'; and says he, — . . ^

SWEET CICELY,

319

"I have done it now, Samantha. I have done some-
thin' now, that is new and uneek."

And as he see my strange and awful looks, he con-
tinued, "You know, you always say that you want a
change now and then, and somethin' new, to pass away
tim.."

"And I shall most probable get it," says I, groanin',
" as long as I live with you. Now tell me at once, what
you have done, Josiah Allen ! I know it is your doin's."

" Yes," says he proudly, " yes, mom. Ury never would
have thought of it, or Philury. I got it up myself, out
of my own head. It is original, and I want the credit of
it all myself."

Says I faintly, "I guess you won't be troubled about
gettin' a patent for it." Says I, " What ever put it into
your head to do such a thing as this ? "

" Why," says he, " I got to thinkin' of it on the way to
the cars. Philury said she would love to go and see her
sister '- Buffalo ; and Ury, of course, wanted to go and
see his sister in Rochester. And I proposed to 'em that
she should go first to Buffalo, and see her folks, and when
she got back, he should go to Rochester, and see his folks.
I told her that I needed Ury's help, and she could jest as
well go alone as not, after we got her ticket. And then
in a week or so, when she had got her visit made out, she
could come back, and help do the chores, and tend to
things, and Ury could go. Ury hung back at first. But
she smiled, and said she would do it."

I groaned aloud, "That clever little creeter! You
have imposed upon her, and she has stood it."

"Imposed upon her? I have made her a heroine.

320

SWEET CICELY.

Folks will make as much agin of her. I don't believe
any female ever done any thing like it before, — not in any
novel, or any thing."

" No," I groaned. " I don't believe they ever did."

" It will make her sought after. I told her it would.
Folks will jest run after her, they will admire her so ; and
so I told her."

Says I, "Josiah Allen, you did it because you didn't
want to milk. Don't try to make out that you had a good
motive for this awful deed. Oh, dear I how the neighbors
will talk about it ! "

" Wall, dang it all, when they are a talkin' about this,
they won't be lyin' about something else."

" O Josiah Allen ! " says I. " Don't ever try to do any
thing, or say any thing, or lay on any plans agin, without
lettin' me know beforehand."

" I'd like to know why it hain't jpirit as well for 'em to
go one at a time ? They are both a goirC. You needn't
worry about that. I hain't a goin' to break that up."

I groaned awful ; and he snapped out, —

" I want sunthin' to eat."

"To eat?" says J. "Can yoTi eat with such a con-
science ? Think oi that poor little freckled thing way off
there alone ! "

" That poor little freckled thing is with her folks by this
time, as happy as a king." But though he said this sort
o' defient like, he begun to feel bad about what he had
done, I could see it by his looks ; but he tried to keep up,
and says he, "My conscience is clear, clear as a crystal
goblet ; and my stomack is as empty as one. I didn't eat
a mouthful of supper. Cake, cake, and ice-cream, and

SWEET CICELY.

;:i

jell! a dog couldn't eat it. I want some potatoes and
meat ! "

And then he started out; and I went down, and got
a good supper, but I sithed and groaned powerful and
frequent.

Philury got home safely from her bridal tower, lookii;'
clever, but considerable lonesome.

Truly, men are handy on many occasions, and in no
place do they seem more useful and necessary than on a
weddin' tower.

Ury seemed considerable tickled to have her back agin.
And Josiah would whisper to me every chance he got, —

" That now she had got back to help him, it was Ury's
turn to go, and there wuzn't nothin' fair in his not havin'
a tower." Josiah always stands up for his sect.

And I would answer him every time, —

"That if I lived, Philury and Ury should go off on a
tower together, like human bein's."

And Josiah would look cross and dissatisfied, and mutter
sornethin' about the milkin'. There was where the shoe
pinched. *

Wall, right when he was a mutterin' one day. Cicely got
back from Washington. And he stopped lookin' cross,
and looked placid, and sunshiny. That man thinks his
eyes of Cicely, both of 'em ; and so do I.

But I see that she looked fagged out. >

And she told me how hard she had worked ever sence
she had been gone. She had been to some of the biggest
temperance meetin's, and had done every thing she could
with her influence and her money. She was willin' to
spend her money like rain-water, if it would help any.

^ t

I'l.

322

8WEET CICELY.

But she said it seemed as if the powers against it was
greater than ever, and she was heart-sick and weary.

She had had another letter from the executor, too, that
worried her.

She told me that, after she went up to her room at night,
and the boy was asleep.

She had took off her heavy mournin'-dress, covered with
crape, and put on a pretty white loose dress ; and she laid
her head down in my lap, and I smoothed her shinin' hair,
and says to her, —

" You are all tired out to-night. Cicely : you'll feel bet-
ter in the mornin'."

But she didn't : she was sick in bed the next day, and
for two or three days. '

And it was arranged, that, jest as quick as she got well
enough to go, I was to go with her to see the executor, to
see if we couldn't make him change his mind. It was only
half a day's ride on the cars, and I'd go further to please
her.

But she was sick for most a week. And the boy meant
to be good. He wanted to be, and I know it.

But though he was such a sweet disposition, and easy to
mind, he was dretful easy led away by temptation, and
other boys. - - -^ 7 •

Now, Cicely had told him that he mu»t not go a fishin' in
the creek back of the house, there was such deep places in
it ; and he must not go there till he got older.

And he would mean to mind, I would know it by his
looks. He would look good and promise. But mebby
in a hour's time little Let Peedick would stroll over
here, and beset the boy to go ; and the next thing she'd

SWEET CICELY.

323

L£D A»TBAY.

■i ik-MV

824

SWEET CICELY.

know, he would be down to the creek, fishin' with a bent
pin.

And Cicely had told him he mustn't go in a swimniin'.
But he went ; and because it made his mother feel bad, he
would deceive her jest as good-natured as you ever see.

Why, once he come in with his pretty brown curls all
wet, and his little shirt on wrong side out.

He was kinder whistlin', and tryin' to act indifferent
and innocent. And when his mother questioned him
about it, he said, —

" He had drinked so much water, that it had soaked
through somehow to his hair. And he turned his shirt
gettin' over the fence. And we might ask Let Peedick if
it wuzn't so."

We could hear Letty a whistlin' out to the barn, and
we knew he stood ready to say " he see the shirt turn."

But we didn't ask.

But when the boy see that his actin' and behavin' made
his mother feel real bad, he would ask her forgiveness jest
as sweet ; and I knew he meant to do jest right, and
mebb; he would for as much as an hour, or till some
temptation come along — or boy.

But the good-tempered easiness to be led astray made
Cicely feel like death : she had seen it in another ; she see
it was a inherited trait. And she could see jest how hard
it was goin' to make his future : she would try her best to
break him of it. But how, how was she goin' to do it,
with them weak, good-natured lips, and that chin ?

But she tried, and she prayed.

And, oh, how we all loved the boy I We loved him as
we did the apples in our eyes.

SWEET CICELY.

325

But as I said, he was a child that had his spells. Some-
times he would be very truthful and honest, — most too
much so. That was when he had his sort o' dreamy spells.

THE boy's explanation.

I know one day, she that wus Kezier Lum come here a
visitin'. She is middlin' old, and dretful humbly.

Paul sot and looked at her face for a long time, with
that sort of a dreamy look of hisen ; and finally he says, —

n t

326

SWEET CICELY.

" Was you ever a young child ? "
And she says, —

" Why, law me ! yes, I s'pose so."
And he says, —

" I think I would rather have died young, than to jrow

up, and be so homely."

I riz up, and led him out
of the room quick, and
told him " never to talk so
agin."

And he says, —
" Why, I told the truth,
aunt Samantha."

" Wall, truth hain't to be
spoken at all times."

" Mother punished me
last night for not te^Ving
the truth, and told me to
tell it always."

And then I tried to ex-
plain things to him ; and
he looked sweet, and said
"he would try and remember not to hurt folks'es feelin's."
He never thought of doin' it in the first place, and I
knew it. And I declare, I thought to myself, as I went
back into the room, —

"We whip children for tellin' lies, and shake 'em for
tellin' the truth. Poor little creeters ! they have a hard
time of it, anyway.'*

But when I went back into the room, I see Kezier was
mad. And she said in the course of our conversation, that

SHE THAT WUS KEZIER LUM.

iiHfll*

11; !l II

III ill

SWEET CICELY.

327

" she thought Cicely was too much took up on the subject
of intemperance, and some folks said she was crazy on the
subject."

Kezier was always a high-headed sort of a woman, with-
out a nerve in her body. I don't believe her teeth has got
nerves; though I wouldn't want to swear to it, never
havin' filled any for her.

And I says back to her, for it made me mad to see Cicely
run, —

Says I, " She hain't the first one that has been called
crazy, when they wus workin' for truth and right. And
if the old possles stood it, to be called crazy, and drunken
with new wine — why, I s'pose Cicely can."

" Wall," says she, " don't you believe she is almost crazy
on that subject ? "

Says I, deep and earnest, " It is a good crazy, if it is.
And," says I, " to s'posen the case, — s'posen the one we
loved best in the world, your Ebineezer, or my Josiah,
should have been ruined, and led into murder, by drinkin'
milk, don't you believe we should have been sort o' crazy
ever afterwards on the milk question ? "

" Why," says she, " milk won't make anybody crazy."

There it wuz — she hadn't no imagination.

Says I, " I am s'posen milk, I don't mean it." Says I,
" Cicely means well."

And so she did, sweet little soul.

But day by day I could see that her eagerness to accom-
plish what she had sot out to, her awful anxiety about the
boy's future, wus a wearin' on her : the active, keen mind,
the throbbin', achin' heart, was a wearin' out the tender
body.

328

SWEET CICELY.

I M-

Her «yes got bigger and bigger every day ; and her face
got the solemnest, curiusest look to it, that I ever see.

And her cheeks looked more and more like the pure
white blow of the Sweet Cicely, only at times there would
be a red upon 'em, as if a leaf out of a scarlet rose had
dropped down upon their pure whiteness.

That would be in the afternoon ; and there would be
such a dazzlin' brightness in her eyes, that I used to
wonder if it was the fire of immortality a bein' kindled
there, in them big, sad eyes. ; ,

And right about this time the executor (and I wish he
could have been executed with a horse-whip: he knew
how she felt about it) — he wuz sot, a good man, but sot.
Why, his own sir name wuz never more sot in the ground
than he wuz sot on top of it. And he didn't like a
woman's interference. He wrote to her that one of her
stores, that he had always rented for the sale of factory-
cloth and sheep's clothin', lamb's-wool blankets, and etcet-
ery, he had had such a good offer for it, to open a new
saloon and billiard-room, that l^e had rented it for that
pur]30se ; and he told how much more he got for it. That
made 4 drinkin' saloons, that wuz in the boy's property.
Every one of 'em, so Cicely felt, a drawin' some other
mother's boys down to ruin.

Cicely thought of it nights a sight, so she said, — said
she was afraid the curses of these mothers would fall on
the boy.

And her eyes kep' a growin' bigger and solemner like,
and her face grew thinner and thinner, and that red flush
would burn onto her cheeks regular every afternoon, and
she begun to cough bad. r. >

SWEET CICELY.

329

But one day she felt better, and was anxious to go. So
she and I went to see the executor, Condelick Post.

We left the boy with Philury. Josiah took us to the

cars, and we arrove there at 1 p.m. We went to the

CONDELICK POST.

tarven, and got dinner, and then sot out for Mr. Post'ses
office. . t . ,

He greeted Cicely with so much politeness and courtesy,
and smiled so at her, that I knew in my own mind that all
she would have to do would be to tell her errent. I knew

330

SWEET CICELY.

Ml:
It

'r I

lie would do every thing jest as she Avanted him to. His
smile was truly bland — I don't think I ever see a blander
one, or amiabler.

I guess she was kinder encouraged, too, for she begun
real sort o' cheerful a tellin' what she come for, — that she
wanted him to rent these buildin's for some other purpose
than drinkin' and billiard sak)ons.

And he went on in jetst as cheerful a way, almrst jokeu-
ler, to tell her " that he couldn't do any thing (f the kind,
and he was doing the business to the best of his ability,
and he couldn't change it at all."

And then Cicely, in a couiteus, reasonable voice, begun
to argue with him; told him jest how bad she felt about
it, and urged him to grant her request.

But no, the pyramids couldn't be no more sot than he
wuz, nor not half so polite.

And then she dropped her own sufFerin's in the matter,
and argued the right of the thing.

She said when she was married, her . isband took the
whole of her property, and invested it for her in these very
buildings. And in reality, it was her own propertj'". The
most of her husband's wealth was in the mills and govern-
ment bonds. But she wanted her money invested here,
because she wanted a larger interest. And she was intend-
ing to let the interest accumulate, and found a free library,
and build a chapel, for the workmen at the mills.

And says she, " Is it right that my own property should
be used for what I consider such wicked purposes ? "

" Wicked ? why, my dear madam ! it brings in a larger
interest than any other investment that I have been able
to make. And you know your husband's will provides

SWEET CICELY.

331

handsomely for you — the yearly allowance is very hand-
some indeed."

" It is all I wish, and more than I care for. I am not
speaking of that."

"Yes, it is very handsome indeed. And by the time
Paul is of age, in the way I am managing the property
now, he will be the richest young man in this section of
the State. The revenue of which you make complaints,
will be of itself a handsome property, a large patrimony."

" It will seem to be loaded with curses, weighed down
with the weight of heavy hearts, broken hearts, ruined
lives."

" All imagination, my dear madam ! You have a vivid
imagination. But there will be nothing of the kind, I
assure you," says he, with a patronizing smile. " It will
all be invested in government bonds, — good, honest dol-
lars, with nothing more haunting than the American
eagle on them."

"Yes, and these words, 'In God we trust.' But do
you know," says she, with the red spot growin' brighter
on I er cheek, and her eyes brighter, — " do you know,
if one did not possess great faith, they would be apt
to doubt the existence of a God, who can allow such
injustice ? "

" What injustice, my dear madam ? " says he, smilin'
blandly.

" You know, Mr. Post, just how my husband died : you
know he was killed by intemperance. A drinking-saloon
was just as surely the cause of his death, ss the sword is,
that pierces through a man's heart. Intemperance was
the cause of liis crime. He, the one I loved better than

332

SWEET CICELY.

my own self, infinitely better, was made a murderer by
it. I have lost him," says she, a throwin' out her arms
with a wild gesture that skairt me. " I have lost him by
it."

And her eyes looked as big and wild and wretched, as
if she was lookin' down the endless ages of eternity, a
tryin' to find her love, and knew she couldn't. All this
was in her eyes, in her voice. But she seemed to conquer
her emotion by a mighty effort, tried to smother it down,
and speak calmly for the sake of her boy.

" And now, after I have suffered by it as I have, is it
right, is it just, that I should be compelled to allow my
property to be used to make other women's hearts, other
mothers' hearts, ache as mine must ache forever ? "

" But, my deat madam, the law, as it is now, gives me
the right to do as I am doing."

" I am pleading for justice, right : you have it in your
power to grant my prayer. Women have no other weapon
they can use, only just to plead, to beg for mercy."

" O my dear madam ! you are quite wrong : you are
entirely wrong. Women are the real rulers of the world.
They, in reality, rule us men, with a rod of iron. Their
dainty white hands, their rosy smiles, are the real auto-
crats of — of the breakfast-table, and of life."

You see, he went on, as men used to went on, to females
years ago. He forgot that that Alonzo and Melissa style
of talkin' to wimmen had almost entirely gone out of fash-
ion. And it was a good deal more stylish now to talk to
wimmen as if they wuz human bein's, and men wuz too.

But Cicely looked at him calm and earnest, and says, —

" Will you do as I wish you to in this matter ? "

' i

SWEET CICELY.

333

" Well, really, my dear madam, I don't quite get at your
meaning."

" Will you let this store remain as it is, and rent those
other saloons to honest business men for some other pur-
pose than drinking-saloons ? "

" O my dear, dear madam ! What can you be think-
ing of? The rent that I get from those four buildings is
equal in amount to any eight of the other buildings of
the same si7<^. I cannot, I cannot, consent to make any
changes whatever."

" You will not, then, do as I wish ? "

" I cannot^ my dear madam : I prefer to put it in that
way, — I cannot. I do not see as you do in the matter.
And as the law empowers me to use my own discretion
in renting the buildings, investing money, etc., I shall be
obliged to do so."

Cicely got up : she was white as snow now, but as quiet
as snow ever wus.

Mr. Post got up, too, about the politest actin' man I
ever see, a movin' chairs out of the way, and a smilin',
and a waitin' on us out. He was ready to give plenty of
politeness to Cicely, but no justice.

And I guess he was kinder sorry to see how white and
sad she looked, for he spoke out in a sort of a comfortin'
voice, —

" You have had great sorrows, Mrs. Slide, but you have
also a great deal to comfort 5^ou. Just think of how many
other widows have been left in poverty, or, as you may
say, penury, and you are rich."

Cicely turned then, and made the longest speech I ever
heard her make.

p I

334

SWEET CICELY.

" Yes, many a drunkard's wife is clothed in rags, and
goes hungry to bed at night, with her hungry children cry-
ing for bread about her. She can lie on her cold pile of
rags, with the snow sifting down on her, and think that

LICENSED WRETCHEDNESS.

her husband, a sober, honest man once, was made a low,
brutal wretch by intemperance ; that he drank up all W
property, killed himself by strong drink, was buried in a
pau '''s grave, and left a starving wife and children, to
live they could. The cold of winter freezes her, the
want of food makes her faint, and to see her little ones

SWEET CICELY.

335

starving about her makes her heart ache, no doubt. I
have plenty of money, fine clothes, dainty food, diamonds
on my fingers."

Says she, stretching out her little white hands, and
smilin' the bitterest smile I ever see on Cicely's face, —

" But do you not think, that, as I lie on my warm, soft
couch at night, my heart is wrung by a keener pang
than that drunkard's wife can ever know? I can lie and
think that by my means, my wealth, I am making just
such homes as that, making just such broken hearts, just
such starving children, filling just such paupers' graves, —
laying up a long store of curses and judgments, for my
boy's inheritance. And I am powerless to do any thing
but suffer."

And she opened the door, and walked right out. And Mr.
Post stood and smiled till we got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Good-afternoon, ^oo£?-afternoon, my dear madam, call
again ; happy to see you — G^ooc^-afternoon."

Wall, Cicely went right to bed the minute we got home ;
and she never eat a mite of supper, only drinked a cup of
tea, and thanked me so pretty for bringin' it to her.

And there was such a sad and helpless, and sort of a
outraged, look in her pretty brown eyes, some as a noble
animal might have, who wus at bay with the cruel hunters
all round it. And so I told Josiah after I went down-stairs.

And the boy overheard me, and asked me 87 questions
about " a animal at bay," and what kind of a bay it was —
was it the bay to a barn? or on the water? or —

Oh my land! my land! How I did suffer!

But Cicely grew worse fast, from that very day. She
seemed to run right down. ^ - .

CHAPTER XII.

One day Cicely had been worryin' dretfully all the fore-
noon about the boy. And I declare, it seemed so pitiful to
hear her talk and forebode about him, with her face lookin'
so wan and white, and her big eyes so sorrowful lookin',
as if they was lookin' onto all the sadness and trouble of
the world, and couldn't help herself — such a sort of a
hopeless look, and lovin' and broken-hearted, that it was
all I could do to stand it without breakin' right down,
and cryin' with her.

But I knew her state, and held firm. And she went
over all the old grounds agin to me, that she had fore-
boded on ; and I went over all the old grounds of soothin',
agin and agin.

Why, good land! I had had practice enough. For
every day, and every night, would she forebode and fore-
bode, and I would soothe and soothe, till I declare for't, I
should have felt (to myself) a good deal like a bread-and-
milk poultice, or even lobelia or catnip, if my feelin's on
the subject hadn't been so dretful deep and solemn, deeper
than any poultice that was ever made — and solemner.

Why, Tirzah Ann says to me one day, — she had been
settin' with Cicely for a hour or two ; and she come out a
cryin', and says she, —

886

SWEET CICELY.

ooj

00(

"Mother, I don'c see how you can stand it. It would
break my heart to see Cicely's broken-hearted look, and
hear her talk for half a day ; and you have to hear her all
the time." And she wiped her eyes.

And I says, " Tongue can't tell, Tirzah Ann, how your
ma's heart does ache for her. And," says I, " if I knew
myself, I had got to die and leave a boy in the world with
such temptations round him, and such a chin on hiin, why,
I don't know what I should do, and what I shouldn't do."

And says Tirzah Ann, "That is jest the way I feel,
mother ; " and we both of us wiped our eyes.

But I held firm before her, and reminded her every time,
of what she knew already, — "that there was One who
was strong, who comforted her in her hour of need, and
He would watch over the boy."

And sometimes she would be soothed for a little while,
and sometimes she wouldn't.

Wall, this day, as I said, she had worried and worried
and worried. And at last I had soothed her down, real
soothed. And she asked me before I went down-stairs, for
a poem, a favorite one of hers, — " The Celestial Country."
And I gin it to her. And she said I might shet the door,
and she would read a spell, and she guessed she should
drop to sleep. ' * • , • .,-,

And as I was goin' out of the room, she called me back
to liear a verse or two she particularly liked, about the
" endless, ageless peace of Syon : " —

" True vision of true beauty,
Sweet cure of all distrest."

And T stood calm, and heard her with a smooth, placid

838

SWEET CICELY.

face, though I knew my pies was a scorchin' in the oven,
for I smelt 'em. I did well by Cicely.

After she finished it, I told her it was perfectly beautiful,
and I left her feelin' quite bright ; and there wuzn't but

SAMANTHA LISTENING TO CICELY.

one of my pies spilte, and I didn't care if it wuz. I wuzn't
goin' to have her feelin's hurt, pies or no pies.

After I got my pies out, I went into my nearest neigh-
bor's on a errent, tellin' Josiah to stay in Thomas Jeffer-
son's room, just acrost from Cicely's, so's if she wanted
any thing, he could get it for her. I wuzn't gone over a
hour, and, when I went back, I went up-stairs the first
thing; and I found Cicely a cryin,' though there was a

SWEET CICELY.

339

softer, more contented look in her eyes than I had seen
there for a long tune.

And I says, "What is the matter, Cicely?"

And she says, —

" Oh ! if I had been a better woman, I could have seen
my mother ! she has been here ! "

" Why, Cicely ! " says I. " Here, take some of this
jell."

But she put it away, and says in a sort of a solemn,
happy tone, —

" She has been here I "

She said it jest as earnest and serene as I ever heard
any thing said ; and there was a look in her eyes some as
there wuz when she come home from her aunt Mary's, and
told me " she almost wished her aunt had died while she
was there, because she felt that her mother would be the
angel sent from heaven to convey her aunt's soul home —
and she could have seen her."

There was that same sort of deep, soulful, sad, and yet
happy look to her eyes, as she repeated, —

" She has been here I I was lying here, aunt Samantha,
reading ' The Celestial Country,' not thinking of any thing
but my book, when suddenly I felt something fanning my
forehead, like a wing passing gently over my face. And
then something said to me just as plain as I am speaking
to you, only, instead of being spoken aloud, it was said to
my soul, —

"'You have wanted to see your mother: she is here
with you.'

"And I dropped my book, and sprung up, and stood
trembling, and reached out my hands, and cried, —

340

SWEET CICELY.

. t

i> !

"'Mother! mother! where are you? Oh! howl have
wanted you, mother ! '

" And then that same voice said to my heart again, —

" ' God will take care of the boy.'

" And as I stood there trembling, the room seemed full.
You know how you would feel if your eyes were shut, and
you were placed in a room full of people. You would
know they were there — you would feel their presence,
though you couldn't see them. You know what the Bible
says, — ' Seeing we are encompassed about by so great a
cloud of witnesses.' That word just describes what I
felt. There seemed to be all about me, a great cloud of
people. And I put my arms out, and made a rush through
them, as you would through a dense crowd, and said
again, —

" ' Mother ! mother I whore are you ? Speak to me
again.'

" And then, suddenly, there seemed to be a stir, a move-
ment in the room, something I was conscious of with some
finer, more vivid sense than hearing. It seemed to be a
great crowd moving, receding. And farther off, but clear,
these words came to me again, sweet and solemn, —

" * God will take care of the boy.'

" And then I seemed to be alone. And I went out into
the hall; and uncle Josiah heard me, and he came out,
and asked me what the matter was.

" And I told him ' I didn't know.' And my strength
left me then ; and he took me up in his arms, and brought
me back into my room, and laid me on the lounge, and
gave me some wine, and I couldn't help crying."

" What for, dear ? " says I. ',

SWEET CICELY.

341

" Because I wasn't good enough to see my mother. If
I had only been good enough, I could have seen her. For
she was here, aunt Samantha, right in this room."

Her eyes wus so big and solemn and earnest, that I
knew she meant what she said. But I soothed her down
as well as I could, and I says, —

" Mebby you had dropped to sleep. Cicely : mebby you
dremp it."

" Yes," says Josiah, who had come in, and heard my last
words.

" Yes, Cicely, you dremp it."

Wall, after a while Cicely stopped cryin', and dropped
to sleep.

And now what I am goin' to tell you is the truth. You
can believe it, or not, jest as you are a mind to ; but it is
the truth.

That night, at sundown, Thomas J. come in with a
telegram for Cicely; and she says, without actin' a mite
surprised, —

" Aunt Mary is dead."

And sure enough, when she opened it, it was so. She
died jest before the time Cicely come out into the hall.
Josiah remembered plain. The clock had jest struck two
as she opened the door.

Her aunt died at two.

This is the plain truth ; and I will make oath to it, and
so will Josiah. And whether Cicely dremp it, or whether
she didn't ; whether it wus jest a coincidin' coincidence,
her bavin* these feelin's at exactly the time her aunt died,
or not, — I don't know any more than you do. I jest put

own inferences

you

your

i,i It ;

h-^

' ifi

a42

SWEET CICELY

from 'em, and draw 'em jest as fur as you want to, and as
many of 'em.

But that night, way along in the night, as I Lay awake
a musin' on it, and a wonderin', — for I say pLain that my
specks hain't strong enough to see through the mysteries

THOMAS JEFFKRSON BKINGING CICELY'S TELEGUAM.

that wrap us round on every side, — I s'posed my compan-
ion wus asleep ; but he poke out sudden like, and decided,
as if I had been a disputin' of him, —

" Yes, most probable she dremp it."

" Wall," says I, " I hain't disputed you."

" Hain't you a goin' to ? " says he.

SWEET CICELY.

343

"No," says I. And that seemed to quiet liim down,
and he went to sleep.

And I give up, that most probable she did, or didn't,
one of the two.

Icided,

MOST PROBABLE SHE DREMP IT.

But anyway, from that night, she didn't worry one bit
about the boy.

She would talk to him sights about his bein' a good
boy, but she would act and talk as if she was sure he

344

SWEET CICELY.

would. She would look at him, not with the old, pitiful,
agonized look, but with a sweet and happy light in her
eyes.

And I guessed that she thought that the laws would be
changed before the boy was of age. I thought that she
felt real encouraged to think the march of civilization
was a marchin' on, pretty slow but sure, and, before the
boy got old enough to go out into a world full of tempta-
tions, there would be wiser laws, purer influences, to help
the boy to be a good and noble man, which is about the
best thing we know of, here below.

No, she never worried one worry about him after that
day, not a single worry. But she made her will, and it
was fixed lawful too. She wanted Paul to stay with us
till he was old enough to send off to school and college.
And she wanted her property and Paul's too, if he should
die before he was of age, should be used to found a school,
and a home for the children of drunkards. A good school
and a Christian home, to teach them and help them to be
good, and good citizens.

Josiah Allen and Thomas J. and I was appinted to see
to it, appinted by law. It was to be right in them build-
ings that wus used now for dram-shops : them very housen
was to be used to send out good influences and spirits into
the world instead of the vile, murderous, brutal spirits,
they wus sendin' out now.

And wuzn't it sort o' pitiful to think on, that Cicely had
to die before her property could be used as she wanted it
to be, — could be used to send out blessings into the
world, instead of cursings and wickedness, as it was now ?
It was pitiful to look on it with the eye of a woman ; but

SWEET CICELY.

845

I kep' still, and tried to look on it with the eye of the
United States, and held firm.

And we give her our solemn promises, that in case the
job fell to us to do, it should be tended to, to the very best
of our three abilities. Thomas J., bein' a good lawyer,
could be relied on.

The executor consented to it, — I s'pose because he
was so dref'l polite, and he thought it would be a com-
fort to Cicely. He knew there wuzn't much danger of its
ever takin' place, for Paul was a healthy child. And his
appetite was perfectly startlin' to any one who never see
a child's appetite.

I estimated, and estimated calmly, that there wuzn't a
hour of the day that he couldn't eat a good, hearty meal.
But truly, it needed a strong diet to keep up his strength.
For oh ! oh ! the questions that child would ask ! He
would get me and Philury pantin' for breath in the house,
and then go out with calmness and strength to fatigue his
uncle Josiah and Ury nearly unto death.

But they loved him, and so did I, with a deep, pantin',
tired-out affection. We loved him better and better as the
days rolled by : the tireder we got with him seemin'ly, the
more we loved him.

But one hope that had boyed me up durin' the first
weeks of my intercourse with him, died out. I did think,
that, in the course of time, he would get all asked out.
There wouldn't be a thing more in heavens or on earth, or
under the earth, that he hadn't enquired in perticular
about.

But as days passed by, I see the fallicy of my hopes.
Tnsperation seemed to come to him ; questions would

346

SWEET CICELY.

spring up spontanious in his mind ; the more he asked, the

more spontaniouser they seemed to spring.

Now, for instance, one evenin' he asked me about 3,000

questions about the Atlantic
Ocian, its whales and sharks
and tides and steamsliips
and ishmds and pirates and
cable and sailors and coral
and salt, and etc., etc., and

THE BOY ASKING QUESTIONS.

etcetery ; and after a hour

or two he couldn't think

of another thing to ask,

seemin'ly. And I begun

to get real encouraged,

though fagged to the very

outmost limit of fag, when

he drew a long breath, and says with a perfectly fresh,

vigorous look, —

" Now less begin on the Pacific."
And I answered kindly, but with firmness, —
" I can't tackle any more ocians to-night, I am too tuck-
ered out."

SWEET CICELY.

847

" Well,'* says he, glancin' out of the window at the new
moon which hung like a slender golden bow in the west,
" don't you think the moon to-night is shaped some like a
hammock ? and if I set down in it with my feet hanging
out, would I be dizzy ? and if I should curl my feet up,
and lay back in it, and sail — and sail — and sail up into
the sky, could I find out about things up in the heavens ?
Could I find the One up there that set me to breathing ?
And who made the One that made me ? And where was
I before I was made ? — and uncle Josiah and Ury ? And
why wouldn't I tell him where we was before we was any-
where? and if we wasn't anywhere, did I suppose we
would want to be somewhere ? and say — say " —

Oh, dear me ! dear me ! how I did suffer !

But a better child never lived than he was, and I would
have loved to seen anybody dispute it. He was a lovely
child, and very deep.

And he would back up to you, and get up into your lap,
with such a calm, assured air of owning you, as if you was
his possession by right of discovery. And he would look
up into your face with such a trustin', angelic look as he
tackled you, that, no matter how tuckered out you would
get, you was jest as ready for him the next time, jest as
ready to be tackled and tuckered.

He was up with his mother a good deal. He would get
up on the bed, and lay by her side ; and she would hold
him close, and talk good to him, dretful good.

I heard her tellin' him one day, that, " if ever he had a
man's influence and strength, he must use them wisely, and
deal tenderly and gently by those who were weaker, and
in his power. That a manly man was never ashamed of

143

SWEET CICELY,

doing what was right, no matter how many oppose»i him ;
that it was manly and noble to be pure and good, and
helpful to all who needed help.

"And he must remember, if he ever got tired out and
discouraged trying to be good himself, and helping others
to be good, that lie was never filone, that his loving Father
would always be with him, and she should. She should
never be far away from her boy.

" And it would only be a little while at the longest,
before she should take him in her arms again, before life
here would end, and the new and glorious life begin, that
he must fit himself for. That life here was so short that
it wasn't worth while to spend any part of it in less worthy
work than in loving and serving with all his strength Gou
and man."

And I thought as I listened to her, that her talk had the
simplicity of a child, and the wisdom of all the philosi-
phers.

Yes, she would talk to him dretful good, a holdin' him
close in her arms, and lookin' on him with that fur-off,
happy look in her eyes, that I loved and hated to see, —
loved to see because it was so beautiful and sweet, hated
to see because it seemed to set her so fur apart from all of
us.

It seemed as though, while her body was here below,
she herself was a livin' in another world than ourn : you
could see its bright radience in her eyes, hear its sweet
and peaceful echoes in her voice.

She was with us, and she wuzn't with us ; and I'd smile
and cry about it, and cry an^ smile, and couldn't help it,
and didn't want to.

SWEET CICELY.

849

And seein' her so satisfied about the boy — why, seein'
her feel so good about him, made us feel good too. And
seein' her so contented and happy, made us contented and
happy — some.

And so the peaceful weeks, went by, Cicely growin'
weaker and weaker all the time in body, but happier and
happier in her mind ; so sweet and serene, that we all felt,
that, instead of being sad, it was somethin' beautiful to
die.

And as the long, sweet days passed by, the look in her

TIBZAH ANN AND MAOOIE IN THE DEMOCB \T.

eyes grew clearer, — the look that reminded us of the sum-
mer skies in early mornin', soft and dark, with a prophecy
in them of the coming brightness and glory of the full
day.

The mornin' of the last day in June Cicely was not so
well ; and I sent for the doctor in the mornin', and told
Ury to have Tirzah Ann and Maggie come home and spend
the day. Which they did.

And in the afternoon she grew worse so fast, that
towards night I sent for the doctor again.

He didn't give any hope, and said the end was very near.

350

SWEET CICELY.

A little before night the boys come, — Thomas Jefferson
and Whitfield.

The sun went down ; and it was a clear, beautiful
evenin', though there was no moon. All was still in the
house : the lamp was lighted^ but the doors and windows
was open, and the smell of the blossoms outside come in
sweet ; and every thing seemed so peacful and calm, that
we could not feel sorrowful, much as we loved, her.

She had wanted the boy on the bed with her ; and I
told Josiah and the children we would go out, and leave
her alone with him. Only, the doctor sot by the window,
with the lamp on a little stand by the side of him, and the
mornin'-glories hangin' their clusters down between him
and the sweet, still night outside.

Cicely's voice was very low and faint; but we could
liear her talkin' to him, good, I know, though I didn't hear
her words. At last it was all still, and we heard the doc-
tor go to the bedside ; and we all went in, — Josiah and the
children and me. And as we stood there, a light fell on
Cicely's lace, — every one in the room saw it, — a white,
pure light, like no other light on earth, unless it was some-
thing like that wonderful new light — that has a soul. It
was something like that clear white light, falling through
a soft shade. It was jest as plainly visible to us as the
lamplight at the other end of the room.

It rested there on her sweet face, on her wide-open brown
eyes, on her smilin' lips. She lay there, rapt, illumined,
glorified, apart from us all. For that strange, beautiful
glow on her face wrapped her about, separated her from
us all, who stood outside.

The boy had fallen asleep, his dimpled arms around her

SWEET CICELY.

351

neck, and his moist, rosy face against her white one. She
held him there close to her heart; but in the awe, the
wonder of what we saw, we hardly noticed the boy.

She heard voices we could not hear, for she aiu-Avered
them in low tones, — contented, happy tones. She saw
faces we couldn't see, for she looked at them with won-

DEATU OF CICELY.

derin' rapture in her eyes. She was away from us, fur
away from us who loved her, — we who were on this earth
still. Love still held her here, human love yet held her
by a slight link to the human ; but her sweet soul had got
with its true kindred, the pure in heart.

But still her arms was round the boy, — white, soft arms
of flesh, that held him close to her heart. And at the very

852

SWEET CICELY.

last, she fixed her eyes on him ; and, oh I what a look that
was, — a look of such full peace, and rapturous content,
as if she knew all, and was satisfied with all that should
happen to him. As if her care for him, her love for liim,
had blossomed, and bore the ripe fruit of blessedness.

At last that beautiful light grew dimmer, and more dim,
till it was gone — gone with the pure soul of our sweet
Cicely.

That night, way along in the night, I wuzn't sleeping,
and I wuzn't crying, though I had loved Cicely so well.
No : I felt lifted up in my mind, inspired, as if I had seen
somethin' so beautiful that I could never forget it. I felt
perhaps somethin' as our old 4 mothers did when they
would see an angel standin' with furled wings outside their
tents.

I thought Josiah was asleep ; but it seems he wuzn't, for
he spoke out sort o' decided like, —
Most probable it was the lamp.'*

'i>:

CHAPTER XIIT.

It was a lovely mornin' about three weeks after Cicely's
death. Josiah had to go to Jonesville to mill, and the boy
wanted to go to ; and so I put on his little cloak and hat,
and told him he might go.

We didn't act cast down and gloomy before the boy,
Josiah and me didn't. He had worried for his ma dret-
fully, at first. But we had made every thing of him, and
petted him. And I had told him that she had gone to a
lovely place, and was there a waitin' for him. And I
would say it to him with as cheerful a face as I could.
(I knew I could do my own cryin', out to one side.)

And he believed me. He believed every word I said to
him. And he would ask me sights and sights of questions
about " the placed

And "if it was inside the gate, that uncle Josiah had
read about, — that gate that was big and white, like a
pearl ? And if it would float down through the sky some
day, and stand still in front of him ? And would the gate
swing open so he could see into the City ? and would it
be all glorious with golden streets, and shining, and full
of light ? And would his mamma Cicely stand just inside,
and reach out her arms to him? — those pretty white arms."

363

354

SWEET CICELY.

U r

I If

t! :■

m s

And then the boy would sob and cry. And I'd soothe
him, and swaller hard, and say " Yes," and didn't think it
was wicked, when he would be a sobbin' so.

A nd then he'd ask, " Would she take him in her arms,
and be glad to see her own little boy again? And would
he have long to wait?"

And I'd comfort him, and tell him, "No, it wouldr't be
but a little time to wait."

And didn't think it was wicked, for it wuzn't long
anyway. For "our days ire but shadows that flee
away."

Wall, he loved us, some. And we loved him, and did
well by him ; and bein' a child, we could sometimes com-
fort him with childish things.

And this morn in' he wus all excitement about goin' to
Jonesville with his uncle Josiah. And I gin him some
pennys to get some oranges for him and the babe, and
they set off feelin' quite chirk.

And I sot down to mend a vest for my Josiah. And T
was a settin' there a mendin' it, — one of the pockets had
gin out, and it was frayed round the edges.

And I sot there a sewin' on that fray, peaceful and calm
and serene as the outside of the vest, which was farmer's
satin, and very smooth and shinin'. The weather also
wus as mild and serene as the vest, if not serener. I had
got my work all done up as slick as a pin : the floor
glittered like yellow glass, the stove shone a agreable
black, a good dinner was a cookin'. And I sot there,
happy, as I say; for though, when I had dene so much
work that mornin', if that vest had belongea to anybody
else, it would have looked like a stent to me, I didn't

SWEET CICELY

355

mind it, for it was for my Josiah : and love makes labor
light, — light as day.

I was jest a thinkin' this, and a thinkiu' that though I
had jest told Josiah, from a sense of duty, that " he had
broke that pocket down by luggin' round so much stuff
in it, and there was no sense in actin' as if he could
carry round a hull car-load of things in his vest-pocket ; "
though I had spoken to him thus, from a sense of duty,
tryin' to keep him straight and upright in his demeaner, —
still, I was a thinkin' how pleasant it wuz to work for them
you loved, and that loved you : for though he had snapped
me up considerable snappish, and said " he should carry
round in his pockets as much as he was a minter ; and if
I didn't want to mend it, I could let it alone, ' and had
throwed it down in the corner, and slammed the door con-
siderable hard when he went out, still, I knew that this
slight pettishness was only the light bubbles that rises
abjve the sparkling wine. I knew his love for me lay
pure and clear and sparklin' in the very depths of his
soul.

I was a settin' there, thinkin' about it, and thinkin' how
true love, such as mine and hisen, glorified a earthly ex-
istence, when all of a sudden I heard a rap come onto the
kitchen door right behind me ; and I says, " Come in."
And a tall, slim feller entered, with light hair, and sort o'
thin, and a patient, determined countenance onto him.
A sort of a persistent look to him, as if he wuzn't one to
be turned round by trifles. I didn't dislike his looks a
mite at f^^^-fc, and sot him a chair.

But little did I think what was a comin'. For, if you
will believe it, he hadn't much more than got sot down

JB^K^.^

,S V

i'i

till:

356

8WEET CICELY.

when lie says to me right there, in the middle of the fore-
noon, and right to my face, — the mean, miserable, low-
lived scamp, — says he, right there, in broad daylight, and
without blushing, or any tiling, says he, —

"I called this morning, mom, to see if I couldn't sell
you a feller."

" Sell me a feller ! " T jest made out to say, for I wus
fairly paralyzed by his impudence. " Sell me a feller ! "

" Yes : I have got some of the best kinds they make,
and I didn't know but I could sell you one."

Sez I, gettin' my tongue back, " Buy a feller! you ask
me, at my age, and with my respectability, and after carry-
in' round such principles as I have been carry in' round for
years and years, you ask me to buy a feller I "

"Yes: I didn't know but you would want one. I have
got the best kind there is made."

" I'll let you know, young man," says I, " I '11 let you
know that I have got a feller of my own, as good a one as
was ever made, one I have had for 20 years and over."

" Wall, mom," says he, with that stiddy, determined
way of hisen, "a feller that you have had for 20 years
must be out of gear by this time."

" Out of gear ! " says I, speakin' up sharp. " You will
be out of gear yourself, young man, if I hear any more
such talk out of your head."

" I hope you will excuse me, mom," says he, in that pa-
tient way of hisen. " It hain't my way to run down any-
body's else's fellers."

"Wall, I guess yon ' adn't better try it again in this
house," says I warmly. " I guess it wou't be very healthy
for you."

%iillii -

AGENT TRYING TO SELL SAMANTUA A FELLEB.

358

SWEET CICELY.

" Can't T sell you some other attachment, mom ? I have
got 'em of all kinds."

" Sell me another attachment ? No, sir. You cant sell
me another attachment. My attachment is as firm and
endurin' as the rocks, and has always been, and is one not
to be bought and sold."

" I presume yours was good in the day of 'em, mom, but
they must be old-fashioned. I have the very best and
newest attachments of all kinds. But I make a specialty
of my fellers. You'd better let me sell you a feller, mom."

I declare for't, my first thought was, to turn him right
outdoors, and shet the door in his face. And then agin,
I thought, I am a member of the meetin'-house. I must be
patient and long sufferin', and may be here is a chance for
me to do good. Thinks'es I, if I was ever eloquent in a
good cause, I must be now. I must convince him of the
nefariousness of his conduct. And if soarin' in eloquence
can do it, why, I must soar. And so I begun.

Says I, wavin' my right hand in a broad, soarin', elo-
quent wave, "Young man, when you talk about buyin'
and sellin' a feller, you are talkin' on a solemn subject, —
buyin' and sellin' attachments ! Buyin' and sellin' fellers !
It hain't nothin' new to me. I've liearn tell of such things,
but little did I suppose it was a subject I should ever be
tackled on.

" But I have hearn of it. I have hearn of wimmen sell-
in' themselves to the highest bidder, with a minister for
auctioneer and salesman. I have hearn of fathers and
mothers sellin' beauty and innocence and youth to wicked
old age for money — sellin' 'em right in the meetin'-house,
under the very shadow of the steeple.

SWEET CICELY

350

, elo-

uyin'

ct, —

ellers !

THEM THAT SELL DOVES.

" Jerusalem hain't the only village where God's holy
temple has been polluted by money-changers and them
that sell doves. Many a sweet little dove of a girl is made

360

SWEET CICELY.

i m

by her father and mother, and other old money-changers,
to walk up to God's holy altar, and swear to a lie. They
think her tellin' that lie, makes the infamous bargain more
sacred, makes the infamous life they have drove her into
more respectable.

" There was One who cleansed from such accursed traffic
the old Jewish temples, but He walks no more with
humanity. If he did, would he not walk up the broad
aisles of our orthodox churches in American cities, and
release these doves, and overthrow the plots of these
money-changers ?

" But let me tell 'em, that though they can't see Him,
He is there ; and the lash of His righteous wrath will
surely descend, not upon their bodies, but upon their
guilty souls, teachin' them how much more terrible it is to
sell a life, with all its rich dowery of freedom, happiness,
purity, immortality."

Here my breath gin out, for I had used my very deep-
est principle tone ; and it uses up a fearful ammount of
wind, and is tuckerin' bey end what any one could ima-
gine of tucker. You have to stop to collect breath.

And he looked at me with that same stiddy, patient,
modest look of hisen ; and says he, in that low, determined
voice, —

" What you say, madam, is very true, and even beauti-
ful and eloquent : but time is valuable to me ; and as I
said, I stopped here this morning to see if I could sell " —

" I know you did : I heard you with my own ears. If
it had come through two or three, or even one, pair of ears
besides my own, I couldn't have believed 'em — I never
could have believed that any human creeter, male or

i;J

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SWEET CICELY.

361

female, would have dared to stand up before me, and try
to sell mo a feller ! iSell a feller to me ! Why, even in my
young days, do you s'pose I would ever try to bui/ a teller?

"No, sir! fellers must come free and spontaneous, oi-
not at all. Never was I the woman to advance one step
towards any feller in the way of courtship — havin* no
occasion for it, bein' one that had more offers than I knew
what to do with, as I often tell my husband, Josiah Allen,
now, in our little differences of opinion. ' Time and agin,'
as I tell him, ' I might have married, but held back.' And
never would I have married, never, had not love gripped
holt of my very soul, and drawed me along up to tlie mar-
riage alter. I loved the feller I married, and he was the
only feller in the hull world for me."

Says he in that low, gentle tone, and lookin' modest
and patient as a lily, but as determined and sot as ever a
iron teakettle was sot over a stove, —

" You are under a mistake, mom."

Says I, " Don't you tell me that agin if you know what
is good for yourself. I guess I know my own mind. I
was past the age of whifflin', and foolin' round. I married
that feller from pure love, and no other reason under the
heavens. For there wuzn't any other reason only jest
that, why I should marry him."

And for a moment, or two moments, my mind roamed
back onto that old, mysterious question that has haunted
me more or less through my natural life, for over twenty
years. Why did I marry Josiah Allen? But I didn't
revery on it long. I was too agitated, and wrought up ;
and I says agin, in tgnes witherin' enough to wither
him, —

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SWEET CICELY.

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" The idee of sellin' me a feller ! "

But the chap didn't look withered a mite : he stood
there firm and imniovible, and says he, —

"I didn't mean no offense, mom. Sellin' attachments is
what I get my living by " —

"Wall, I should ruther not get a livin'," says I, inter-
ruptin' of him. "■ I should ruther not live."

"As I said, mom, I get my livin' that way: and one of
your neighbors told me that your feller was an old one,
and sort o' givin' out ; and I liave got 'em with all the
latest improvements, and — and she thought inebby I could
sell you one."

" You miserable coot you ! " says I. " Do you stop your
impudent talk, or I will lioller to Josiah. What do you
s'pose I want with another feller? Do you s'pose I'd swap
Josiah Allen for all the fellers that ever swarmed on the
globe ? What do you s'pose I care for the latest improve-
ments ? If a feller was made of pure gold from head to
feet, with diamond eyes and a garnet nose, do you s'pose
he would look so good to me as Josiah Allen duz?

" And I would thank the neighbers to mind their own
business, and let my affairs alone. What if he is a gettin'
old and wore out? What if he is a givin' out? He is
always kinder spindlin' in the spring of the year. Some
men winter harder than others : he is a little tizicky, and
breathes short, and his liver may not be the liver it was
once ; but he will come round all right when the weather
moderates. And mebby they meant to hint and insinuate
sunthin' about his bein' so bald, and losin' his teeth.

" But I'll let you know, and I'll let the neighbors know,
that I didn't marry that man for hair; I didn't marry

SWEET CICELY.

363

that man frr teeth; and a few locks more or less, or a
hanuful of teeth, has no power over that love, — tliat love
that makes me say from the very depths of my soul, that
my feller is one of a thousand."

"I hain't disputed you, mom," says he, with his firm,
patient look. " I dare presume to say that your feller was
good in the day of such fellers. But every thing has its
day: we make fellers far different now."

Says I sarcasticly, givin' him quite a piercin' look, " I
know they do : I've seen 'em."

" Yes, they make attachments now very different : yours
is old-fashioned."

" Yes, I know it is : T know that love, such love as hisen
and mine, and I know that truth and fidelity and con-
stancy, are old-fashioned. But I thank God that our souls
are clothed with that beautiful old fashion, that seamless,
flawless robe that wus cut out in Eden, and a few true
souls have wore ever since."

" But your attachment will grow older and older, and
give out entirely after a while. What will you do then ? "

" My attachment will never give out."

" But mom " —

"No, you needn't argue and contend — I say it will
never give out. It is a heavenly gift dropped down from
above, entirely unbeknown. True love is not sought
after, it comes ; and when it comes, it stays. Talk about
love gettin' old — love never grows old ; talk about love
goin' — love never goes: that which goes is not love,
though it has been called so time and agin. Talk about
love dyin' — why, it canH die, no more than the souls can,
in which its sweet light is born. Why, it is a flame that

864

SWEET CICELY.

God Himself kindles: it is a bit of His own brightness a
shinin' down tln-oiigh the darkness of our earthly life, and
is as immortal and indestructible as His own glory.

" It is the only fountain of Eternal Youth that gushes
up through this dreary earthly soil, for the refreshin' of
men and wimmen, in which the weary soul can bathe
itself, and find rest."

" Sometimes," says he, sort o' dreamily, " sometimes we
repair old fellers."

Wall, you won't repair my feller, I can let you know

that. I won't have him re-
paired. The impudence of
the hull idee," says I, roustin'
up afresh, " goes ahead of any
thing I ever dreamed of, of
impudence. Repair my feller I
I don't want him any differ-
ent. I want him jest as he is.
I would scorn to repair him.
I could if I wanted to, — his
teeth could be sharpened up,
what he has got, and new
ones sot in. And I could
cover his head over with red
curls; or I could paint it
black, and paste transfer
flowers onto it. I could have
a sot flower sot right on the lop of his bald head, and a
trailin' vine runnin' round his forward. Or I could trim
it round with tattin', if I wanted to, and crystal beads.
I could repair him up so he would look gay. But do you

JOSIAH AFTER BEING
REPAIRED.

fla&w--:

SWEET CICELY.

365

s'pose that any artificials that was ever made, or any hair,
if it was as luxuriant as Ayer'ses Vigor, could look so
good to me as that old bald head that I have seen a
sliinin' acrost the table from me for so many years?

'"'' I tell you, there is memories and joys and sorrows a
clusterin' round that head, that I wouldn't swap for all
the beauty and the treasures of the world.

"Memories of happy morniii's dewy fresh, with cool
summer breezes a comin' in through the apple-blows by
the open door, and the light of the ha[)py sunrise a shinin'
on that old bald head, and then gleamin' off into my happy
heart.

"There is memories of pleasant evenin' hours, with the
tea-table drawed up in front of the south door, and the
sweet southern wind a comin' in over the roses, and
the tender light of the sunset, and the waverin' shadows
of the honeysuckles and mornin'-glorys, fallin' on us,
wrappin' us all round, and wrappin' all of the rest of the
world out."

Mebby the young chap said sunthin' here, but it was
entirely unbeknown to me ; though I thought I heard the
murmur of his voice makiu' a sort of a tinklin' accompin-
ment to my thoughts, sunthin' like the babble of a brook a
runnin' along under forest boughs, when the wind with its
mighty melody is sweepin' through 'em. Great emotions
was sweepin' along with power, and couldn't be stayed.
And I went right on, not sensin' a thing round me, —

"There is memories of sabbath drives, in fair June
mornin's, through the old lane alder and willow fringed,
with the brook runnin' along on one side of it ; where the
speckled trout broke the Sunday quiet by dancin' up

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WEBOTER,N.Y. 14580

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366

SWEET CICELY.

through the brown and gold shadows of the cool water,
and the odor of the pine woods jest beyend comin' fresh
and sweet to us.

"Memories of how that road and that face looked in
the week-day dusk, as we sot out for the revival meetin'.

"goin' to the revival meeting."

when the sun had let down his long bars of gold and
crimson and yellow, and had got over 'em, and sunk down
behind 'em out of sight. And we could ketch glimpses
through the willow-sprays of them shinin' bars a layin'
down on the gray twilight field. And fur away over the
green hills and woods of the east, the moon was a risin*,

SWEET CICELY.

367

big and cairn and silvery. And we could hear the plain-
tive evenin' song of the thrush, and the crickets' happy
chirp, till we got nearer the schoolhouse, when they sort o'
blended in with * There is a fountain filled with blood,'
and ' Come, ye disconsolate.'

"And the moonlight, and sister Bobbet's and sister
Minkly's candles, shone down and out, on that dear old
bald head as his hat fell off, as he helped me out of the
wagon.

"Memories of how I have seen it a bendin' over the
Word, in hours of peace and happiness, and hours of anxi-
ety and trouble, a readin' every time about the eternal
hills, and the shadow of the Rock, and the Everlastin'
Arms that was a holdin' us both up, me and Josiah, and
the Everlastin' Love that was wrappin' us round, helpin'
us onward by these very joys, these very sorrows.

"Memories of the midnight lamp lightin' it up in the'
chamber of the sick, in the long, lonesome hours before
day-dawn.

" Memories of its bendin' over the sick ones in happier
mornin's, as he carried 'em down-stairs in his arms, and sot
'em in their old places at the table.

" Memories of how it looked in the glare of the tempest,
and under the rainbow when the storm had passed. It
stands out from a background of winter snows and summer
sunshine, and has all the shadows and brightness of them
seasons a hangin' over it.

" Yes, there is memories of sorrows borne by both, and
so made holier and more blessed than happiness. That
head has bent with mine over a little coffin, and over open
graves, when he shared my anguish. And stood by me

•s?

368

SWEET CICELY.

■il

under the silent stars, when he shared my prayers, my
hopes, for the future.

" That old bald head stands up on the most sacred height
of my heart, like a beacon ; the glow of the soul shines on
it ; love gilds it. And do you s'pose any other feller's head
on earth could ever look so good to me as that duz ? Do
you s'pose I will ever have it repaired upon ? never ! I
won't repair him. I won't have him dickered and fooled
with. Not at all.

" He'd look better to me than any other feller that ever
walked on earth if he hadn't a tooth left in his head, or a
hair on his scalp. As long as Josiah Allen has got body
enough left to wrap round his soul, and keep it down here
on earth, my heart is hisen, every mite of it, jest as he is
too.

" And I'll thank the neighbors to mind their own busi-
ness ! " says I, kinder comin' to agin. For truly, I had
soared up high above my kitchen, and gossipin' neighbors,
and feller-agents, and all other tribulations. And as I lit
down agin (as it were), I see he was a standin' on one foot,
with his watch, a big silver one, in his hand, and gazin'
pensively onto it ; and h j says, —

" Your remarks are worthy, mom — but somewhat
lengthy," says he, in a voice of pain ; " nearly nine mo-
ments long : but," says he, sort o' bracin' up agin on both
feet, " I beg of you not to be too hasty. I did not come
into this neighborhood to make dissensions or broils. :
merely stated that I got the idee, from what they said, thai
your feller didn't work good."

" Didn't work good ! You impudent creeter you I Whf.t
of it ? What if he don't work at all ? What earthly busi

SWEET CICELY.

369

ness is it of yourn or the neighbors ? I guess he is able
to lay by for a few days if he wants to."

" You are laborin' under a mistake, mom."

" No, I hain't laborin' under no mistake ! And don't you
tell me agin that I be. We have got a good farm all paid
for, and money out on interest ; and whose busihcss is it
whether he works all day, or don't. When I get to goiu'
round to see who works, and who don't ; and when I get
so low as to watch my neighbors the hnll of the time, to
find out every minute they set down , hen I can't find
nothin' nobler to do, — I'll spend my time talkin' about
hens' teeth, and lettis seed."

Says he, lookin' as amiable and patient as a factory-cloth
rag-babe, but as determined as a weepin' live one, with the
colic, —

"You don't seem to get my meaning. I merely wished
to remark that I could fix over your feller if you wanted
me to " —

Oh ! how burnin' indignant I wuz I But all of a sudden,
down on this seethin' tumult of anger fell this one calmin'
word, — Meetm^-house ! I felt I must be calm, — calm and
impressive ; so says I, —

" You need not repeat your infamous proposal. I say to
you agin, that the form where Love has set up his temple,
is a sacred form. Others may be more beautiful, and even
taller, but they don't have the same look to 'em. It is one
of the strangest things," says I, fallin' agin' a little ways
down into a revery, —

"It is one of the very solemnest things I ever see,
how a emotion large and boundless enough to fill eternity
and old space itself, should all be gathered up and cen-

;

370

SWEET CICELY,

tersd into so small a temple, and such a lookin' one, too,
sometimes," says I pensively, as I thought it over, how
sort o' meachin' and bashful lookin' Josiah Allen wuz,
when I married to him. And how small his weight wuz
by the steelyards. But it is so, curious it can be, but so
it is.

" Why Love, like a angel, springs up in the heart un-
awares, as Lot entertained another, I don't know. If you
should ask me why, I'd tell you plain, that I didn't know
where Love come from ; but if you should ask me where
Love went to, I should answer agin plain, that it don't go,
it stays. The only right way for pardners to come, is to
come down free gifts from above, free as the sun, or
the showers that fall down in a drouth — and perfectly
unbeknown, like them. Such a love is oncalculatin',
givin' all, unquestionin', unfearin', no dickerin', no holdin'
back lookin' for better chances."

"Yes, mom," says he, a twirlin' his hat round, and
standin' on one foot some like a patient old gander in the
fall of the year.

" Yes, mom, what you say is very true ; but your ele-
quent remarks, your very sociable talk, has caused me to
tarry a longer period than is really consistent with the
claims of business. As I told you when I first come in, I
merely called to see if I could sell you " —

" Yes, I know you did. And a meaner, low-liveder pro-
posal I never heard from mortal lips, be he male, or be he
female. The idee of me, Josiah Allen's wife, who has
locked arms with principle, and has kep' stiddy com-
pany with it, for years and years — the idee of me buyin'
a feller I I dare persume to say " —

SWEET CICELY.

371

Says I more mildly, as he took up his hat and little box
he had, and started for the door, — and seein' I was goin'
to get rid of him so soon, I felt softer towards him, as
folks will towards burdens when they are bein' lifted from
'em, —

"I dare pcrsume to say, you thought I was a single
woman, havin' been told time and agin, that I am young-
lookin' for my age, and fair complected. I won't think,"
says I, feelin' still softer towards him as I see him a openin'
the door, —

" T won't think for a minute that you knew who it was
you made your infamous proposal to. But never, never
make it agin to any livin' human bein', married or single."

He looked real sort o' meachin' as I spoke ; and he said
in considerable of a meek voice, —

" I was talkin' to you about a new feller, jest got up by
the richest firm in North America."

" What difference does it make to me who he belongs to ?
I don't care if he belongs to Vanderbilt, or Aster'ses
family. Principle — that is what I am a workin' on ; and
the same principle that would bender me from buy in' a
feller that was poor as a snail, would hender me from
buyin' one that had the riches of Creshus ; it wouldn't
make a mite of difference to me. *

"As the poet Mr. Burns says, — I have heard Thomas
J. repeat it time and agin, and I always liked it : I may
not get the words exactly right, but the meanin' is, —

"Rank is only the E pluribus Unum stamp, on the trade
dollar : a feller is a feller for all that."

But I'll be hanged if he didn't, after all my expenditure
of wind and eloquence, and quotin' poetry, and every

;S7 -i

"can't I SELL YOU A FKLLBB?"

SWEET CICELY.

873

thing — if he didn't turn round at the foot of that door-
step, and strikin' that same patient, determined attitude of
hisen, say, says he, —

" You are mistaken, mom. I merely stopped this mornin'
to see if I could sell you " —

But I jest shet the door in his face, and went off up-
stairs into the west chamber, and went to windin' bobbin's
for my carpet. And I don't know how long he stayed
there, nor don't care. He had gone when I come down to
get dinner, and that was all I cared for.

I told Josiah about it when he and the boy come home ;
and I tell you, my eyes fairly snapped, I was that mad and
rousted up about it : but he said, —

" He believed it was a sewin'-machine man, and wanted
to sell me a feller for my sewin'-machine. He said he had
heard there was a general agent in Jonesville that was a
sendin' out agents with all sorts of attachments, some with
hemmers, and some with fellers."

But I didn't believe a word of it: I believe he was
mean. A mean, low-lived, insultin' creeter.

;■■

•

CHAPTER XIV.

Wall, Cicely died in June ; and how the days will pass
by, whether we are joyful or sorrowful ! And before we
knew it (as it were), September had stepped down old
Time's dusty track, and appeared before us, and curchied
to us (allegory).

Ah, yes ! time passes by swiftly. As the poet observes,
In youth the days pass slowly, in middle life they trot,
and in old age they canter.

But the time, though goin' fast, had passed by very
quietly and peacefully to Josiah Allen and me.

Every thing on the farm wus prosperous. The children
was well and. happy; the babe beautiful, and growin'
more lovely every day.

Ury had took his money, and bought a good little house
and 4 acres of land in our neighborhood, and had took
our farm for the next and ensuin' year. And they was
happy and contented. And had expectations. They had
(under my direction) took a tower together, and the
memory of her lonely pilgrimage had seemed to pass from
Philury's mind.

The boy wus a gettin' healthier all the time. And he
behaved better and better, most all the time.

374

SWEET CICELY.

875

I had limited him down to not ask over 50 questions
on one subject, or from 60 to 60 ; and so we got along
first-rate.

And we loved him. Why, there hain't no tellin* how
we did love him. And he would talk so pretty about his
ma I I had learned him to think tluit he would see her
bime by, and that she loved him now jest as much as ever,
and that she wanted Mm to be a ffood hoy.

And he wuz a beautiful boy, if his chin wuz sort o*
weak. He would try to tell the truth, and do as I would
tell him to — and would, a good deal of the time. And
he would tell his little prayers every night, and repeat lots
of Scripture passages, and would ask more'n 100 questions
about 'em, if I would let him.

There was one verse I made him repeat every night
after he said his prayers : " Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they shall see God."

And I always would say to him, earnest and deep, that
his ma was pure in heart.

And he'd say, " Does she see God now ? "

And I'd say, " Yes."

And he would say, " When shall I see Him ? "

And I'd say, " When you are good enough."

And he'd say, " If I was good enough, could I see Him
now?"

And I would say, " Yes."

And then he Avould tell me that he would try to be
good; and I would say, "Wall, so do."

And late one afternoon, a bright, sunny afternoon, he
got tired of playin'. He had been a horse, and little Let
Peedick had been a drivin' him. I had heard 'em a

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876

8WEET CICELY,

whinnerin* out in the yard, and a prancin', and a hitchin'
each other to the post.

But he had got tired about sundown, and come in, and
leaned up against my lap, and asked me about 88 ques-
tions about his ma and the City. He had never forgot
what his uncle Josiah had read about it, and he couldn't
seem to talk enough about it.

And says he, with a dreamy look way off into the

THE BOY AND LBT PEEDICK PLAYING HOUSE.

glowin' western sky, " My mamma Cicely said it would
swing right down out of heaven some day, and would
open, and I could walk in ; and don't you believe mamma
will stand just inside of the gate as she used to, and say,
' Here comes my own' little boy ' ? "

And he wus jest a askin' me this, — and it beats all,
how many times he had tackled me on this very subject, —

SWEET CICELY.

877

when Whitfield drove up in a great hurry. Little Saman-
tlia Joe had been taken sick, very sick, and extremely
sudden.

Scarlet-fever was round, and she and the boy had both
been exposed.

I was all excitement and agitation ; and I hurried off
without changin' my dress, or any thing. But I told
Josiah to put the boy to bed about nine.

Wall, there was a uncommon sunset that night. The
west was all aflame with light. And as we rode on
towards Jonesville right towards it, — though very anx-
ious about the babe, — I drawed Whitfield's attention to
it.

The hull of the west did look, for all the world, like a
great, shinin' white gate, open, and inside all full of radi-
ence, rose, and yellow, and gold light, a streamin' out, and
changin', and glowin', movin' about, as clouds will. •

It seemed sometimes, as if you could almost see a
white, shadowy figure, inside the gate, a lookin' out, and
watchin' with her arms reached out ; and then it would
all melt into the light again, as clouds will. ' '

It wus the beautifulest sunset I had seen, that year, by
far. And we s'pose, from what we could learn afterwards,
that the boy, too, was attracted by that wonderful glory
in the west, and strolled out to the orchard to look at it.
It wus a favorite place with him, anyway. And there wus
a certain tree that he loved to lay under. A sick-no-fur-
ther apple. It wus the very tree I found him under that
day in the spring, a lookin' up into the sky, a watchin' for
the City to come down from hetiven. You could see a
good ways from there off into the west, and out over the

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lake. And the sunset must have looked beautiful from
there, anyway. =

Wall, my poor companion Josiah wus all rousted up in
' is mind about the babe, and he never thought of the boy
till it was half-past nine ; and then he hurried off to find

PAUL LOOKING AT THE 8UX8ET.

him, skairt, but s'posen he was up on his bed with his
clothes on, or asleep on the lounges, or carpets, or some-
where.

But he couldn't find him : he hunted all over the house,
iJnd out in the barn, and the door-yard, and the street ; and
then he rousted up Mr. GcAvdey's folks, our nearest neigh-
bors, to see if they could help find him. ' • ■'

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379

Wall, Miss Gowdey, when she wus a bringin' in her
clothes,— it was Monday night, — she had seen him out
in the orchard under the sick-nci-further tree.
^ And there they found him, fast asleep — where they
s'pose he had fell asleep unexpected to himself.

It wus then almost eleven o'clock, and he was wet witli
df^.w : the dew was heavy that night. And when they
rousted him up, he was so hoarse he couldn't speak. And
before mornin' he was in a high fever. They sent for
me and the doctor at daybreak. Little Samantha Joe
wus better ; it only proved to be a hard cold that ailed
her.

But the boy had the scarlet-fever, so the doctor said.
And he grew worse fast. He didn't know me at all when
I got home, but wus a talkin' fast about his mamma Cicely ;
and he asked me " If the gate had swung down, for him to
go through into the City, and if his mamma was inside,
reachin' out her arms to him ? "

And then he would get things all mixed up, and talk
about things he had heard of, and things he hadn't heard
of. And then he would talk about how bright it was
inside the gate, and how he see it from the orchard. And
so we knew lie had been attracted out by the bright light
in the west.

And then he would talk about the strangest things.
His little tongue couldn't be still a minute ; but it never
could, for that matter.

Till along about the middle of the afternoon he become
quiet, and grew so white and still that I knew before the
doctor told me, that we couldn't keep the boy. - ••

And I thought, and couldn't help it, of what Cicely had

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SWEET CICELY,

worried so about ; and though my heart sunk down and
down, to think of givin' the boy up, — for I loved him, —
yet I couldn't help thinkin' that with his temperament,
and as the laws was now, the grave was about the only
place of safety that the Lord Himself could find for the
boy.

And it wus about sundown that he died. I had been

"say!"

down-stairs for somethin' for him ; and as I went back into
the room, I see his eyes was wide open, and looked nat-
ural.

And as I bent over him, he looked up at me, and said in
a faint voice, but rational, —

"Say" —

And I couldn't help a smilin' right there, with the tears

SWEET CICELY.

381

a runnin' down my face like rain-water. He wanted to
ask some question.

But he couldn't say no more. His little, eager, ques-
tionin' soul was too fur gone towards that land where the
hard questions we can't answer here, will be made plain
to us.

But he looked up into my face with that sort of a ques-
tionin' look, and then up over my head, and beyend it —
and beyend — and I see there settled down over his face
the sort of a satisfied look that he would have when I had
answered his questions ; and I sort o' smile^ and said to
myself, I guessed the Lord had answered it.

And so he went through the gate of the City, and was
safe. And that is the way God took care of the boy.