Part 24

And there she was, behavin’ herself like a perfect lady, and them three healthy young American fellers a laughin’ and a scorfin’ and a pokin’ fun at her—a pintin’ at her hair and her dress, and her shoes, which was wooden—but none of their business nor mine if they was; finally one of them took holt of her long braid and give it a yank, and called her “John”; and she, a tryin’ to save herself, dropped her paper and it bust open and all the things in it scattered out on the ground. As she stooped down in a patient way and went to pickin’ ’em up, I jest advised them young fellers for their good. I had been told that day that the fureigners had most all of ’em had to change their own costume for ourn, the Americans made such fun of ’em; it mortified me dretful to have my own folks show such awful bad manners; and says I:

“I would be ashamed of myself if I was in your places; are you such conceited fools as to think our dress is the dress of the world, and our ways all the ways there is under the sun? Although you probable don’t know it, you are only a very small part of the world—a very little and mean part. You would do well to learn a little Japan gentleness, and some Turkey politeness,” and says I, warmly, as I looked at their pert impudent faces, and then at her patient form—“Poles could learn you a good deal, and they would to, if I had my way.” They started off lookin’ kinder meachin’, and I laid to and helped her pick up her things; and I told her she must overlook it in coots; says I, “most Americans would be ashamed of them, as they ort to be of themselves.”

But Josiah hunched me, and whispered: “Be you a goin’ to stand all day a talkin’ to that man?”

“_Man_” says I, in witherin’ tones.

“Yes, it is a Chinaman, and do come along.”

Says I, “Josiah Allen, it is a pity if I can’t have the privilege of speakin’ to a likely woman, afflicted with ganders, without your up and callin’ her a man.”

He argued back that it was a man, but I wouldn’t multiply any more words with him, and we went on by the broad lawn, or so they called it—though I told Josiah it looked more like velvet than it did like any lawn I ever see. It looked jest like the green velvet I had a bunnet made out of when I was a girl; fresh, and green, and soft, and bright. And there was hundreds of the most gorgeous and brilliant flower beds scattered over it, and ornamental vases runnin’ over with vines and flowers, and evergreens of all sorts; but I can’t describe it and wont try.

I said before, that Horticultural Hall was dream-like in its beauty, but as I got nearer to it I see my mistake; it was fur handsomer. I couldn’t have drempt out such a exquisitely lovely buildin’ if I had gone to sleep a purpose; and so I told Josiah, as we went up the broad blue marble steps, past great century plants and oranges with oranges on ’em, up into a lofty place filled with folks, and flights of the most elegant steps on each side, and tall pillows standin’ up at the foot of ’em, with clusters of lamps on top, and folks a goin’ up and down on ’em—the stairs I mean. Goin’ right in out of the blazin’ sunshine, it seemed to me as if I never did see coolness so cool, and greenness so green, and shade so uncommon shady before. Never did I see such noble and almost foamin’ lookin’ green leaves of all kinds and shapes, from the size of a pusly leaf, to them big enough to make my Josiah a pair of pantaloons and a overcoat.

The floor was sort o’ openwork, with plain stripes runnin’ down through it, sunthin’ as I knit stockins when I want ’em to look uncommon well. But oh! how lovely it did look to me, as I glanced down as fur as I could see ahead of me, to see clear from the floor to away up overhead, the beautiful green branches a spreadin’ out, and the lovely poseys, and over ’em and amongst ’em great bunches of lamps a hangin’ that looked like drops of light as the sun shone through ’em, and stars and ornaments of all kinds, a glistenin’ up there on the lofty ceilin’; and down below there was white marble statutes a gleamin’ and fountains a gushin’ out.

There was one fountain that I took to dretfully. A noble big vase bound with acanthus leaves, was a shootin’ up water, clear as a crystal, and at the foot of it on some rock work, sot three handsome childern jest ready to plunge down into the cool, wet water; one of ’em was blowin’ a shell, he felt so awful neat. There was lots of fountains in the Hall but none so uncommon handsome as this; and that noble fountain was the work of a woman; and as I looked at it, I thought I should be proud and happy to take her by the hand and say:

“Miss Foley, I too am a woman, I am proud to sympathize with you.”

A good lookin’ woman, dressed up slick, with a little book and pencil in her hand spoke up and says to me:

“It is wonderful, haint it?”

Says I, “Wonderful haint no name for it.”

“That’s so;” says she, and added, “have you seen the phantom leave?” or sunthin’ like that.

Says I, firmly, “There haint been no phantom here appearin’ to me, and how could I see it leave?” Then thinkin’ of my vow, and likin’ her looks first-rate, I says in a encouragin’ tone, “There has somebody been a tryin’ to fool you mom, there haint no such things as ghosts and phantom’ses. Ghosts and phantoms are made of moonshine, and fear and fancy are the makers of ’em.”

She took up her parasol—a pale blue one all covered with white lace—and pinted right up at a glass case, and says she:

“Phantom leaves I mean, you can see them.”

“Oh!” says I, “I thought you meant a ghost.” They was handsome; looked as white and delicate as the frost-work on our winders in December.

It wasn’t probable more’n half an hour after this that my pride had a fall. Truly, when we seem to be a standin’ up the straightest, tottlin’ may come onto us, and sudden crumplin’ of the spiritual knees. There I had been a boastin’ in my proud philosophical spirit that there was no such things as phantoms, and lo, and behold! within thirty-one minutes time, I thought I see a ghost appearin’ to me; I was skairt, and awe-stricken. The way on’t was, Josiah beset me to go into some of the different hot-houses in the buildin’, and I had told him firmly, that bein’ very fleshy and warm-blooded, I was satisfied and more’n satisfied with the heat of the place I was in; but if _he_ wasn’t—bein’ thinner in flesh, if he felt chilly, he could go and I would meet him in a certain place. So he went on, and I meandered back into the Main Hall. And there I stood a lookin’ peacefully up into the boughs of a Injy Rubber tree, and thinkin’ pensively to myself what fools anybody was to think that rubber-boots and shoes grew right out of the tree, for they didn’t—no such thing; they had green leaves like any tree—when all of a sudden I heerd these words:

“Oh Doodle! Doodle! if you was alive, I shouldn’t be in this perdickerment!”

If I had had some hen’s feathers by me, I should have burnt a few, or if I had had a tea-cup of water I should have throwed some in my face, to keep me from faintin’ away. But not havin’ none of these conveniences by me, I see I must make a powerful effort, and try to control myself down; and jest as I was a makin’ this effort, these words come again to my almost rigid ear:

“Oh Doodle! Doodle! you never would have stood by, and seen your relict smashed to pieces right before your dear linement.”

And as I heerd these words I see her appearin’ to me. I see the Widder Doodle, emergin’ from the crushin’ crowd, and advancin’ onto me like a phantom. Says I to myself, “Be you a ghost or be you a phantom? Are you a fore-runner, Widder?” says I, “you be a fore-runner, I know you be,” for even as I looked I see behind her the form of Solomon Cypher advancin’ slowly on, and appearin’ to me too. I felt fearfully curious. But in about three-fourths of a minute my senses come back—for the big wave of folks sort o’ swept off somewhere else, and left the Widder Doodle some like a sea-weed nigh me. And on lookin’ closer at her I see that no respectable ghost who thought anything of itself, would go out in company lookin’ so like furyation—I felt better, and says I:

“Widder Doodle, how under the sun did you come here to the Sentinal?”

Says she, “Samantha, I am married; I am on my tower.”

Says I in faint axents, “Who to?”

“Solomon Cypher,” says she.

Again I thought almost wildly of burnt feathers, for it seemed so fearfully curious to think she should be a double and twisted ort, as you may say; should be a ort by name, after bein’ one by nater all her days. But again the thought come to me, that I had no conveniences for faintin’ away, and I must be calm, so says I, “Married to Solomon Cypher!”

And then it all come back to me—their talk the day he come to borry my clothes for the mourners; her visits to his housekeeper sense; and his strange and almost foolish errants to our house from day to day; but I didn’t speak my thoughts, I only said:

“Widder Doodle, what ever put it into your head to marry again?”

Well, she said she had kinder got into the habit of marryin’, and it seemed some like a second nater to her—and she thought Solomon had some of Doodle’ses linement—so she thought she would marry him. She said he offered himself in a dretful handsome style; she said the childern of the Abbey, or Thadeus of Warsaw couldn’t done it up in any more foamin’ and romantic way; she said he was a bringin’ her home in his wagon from a visit I remembered her makin’ to his housekeeper.

“Three weeks after his wife’s death!” says I.

“Yes,” says she, “Solomon said the corpse wouldn’t be no deader than she was then, if he waited three months, as some men did.” Says she, “The way on’t was, I was a praisin’ up his horse and wagon—a new double wagon with a spring seat—when all of a sudden he spoke out in a real ardent and lover like tone: ‘Widder Doodle, if you will be my bride, the wagon is yourn, and the mares.’ Says he, ‘Widder, I throw myself onto your feet, and I throw the wagon and mares onto ’em; and with them and me, I throw eighty-five acres of good land, fourteen cows, five calves, four three year olds and a yearlin’, a dwellin’ house, a good horse barn, and myself. I throw ’em all onto your feet, and there we lay on ’em.’

“He waited for me to answer and it flustrated me so that I says: ‘Oh Doodle! Doodle! if you was alive you would tell me what to do, to do right.’” “And that,” says she, “seemed to mad him; he looked black and hard as a stove pipe, his forward all wrinkled up, and he yelled out that he didn’t want to hear nothin’ about no Doodle nor he wouldn’t neither.” Says she, “He hollered it up so, and looked so threatnin’ that I took out my snuff handkerchief and cried onto it, and he said he’d overlook Doodle for once, and then he said again in a kind of a solemn and warnin’ way: ‘Widder I am a layin’ on your feet, and my property, my land, my live stock, my housen, and my housen stuff, are all a layin’ on ’em; make up your mind, and at once, for if you don’t consent I have got other views ahead on me, which must be seen to at once, and instantly. Time is hastenin’, and the world is full of willin’ wimmen, Widder, what do you say?’

“And then,” says she, “I kinder consented, and he said we’d be married and he’d turn off his hired girl, and I could go right there and do the housework, and help him what I could out doors, and tend to the milk of fourteen cows, and be perfectly happy. He thought,” says she, “as he was hurried with his summer’s work, we had better be married on Sunday, so’s not to break into the week’s work; so we was.”

Says I, “Be you perfectly happy, Widder?”

When I asked her this in sympathizin tones, she took her snuff handkerchief right out, and bust out a cryin’ onto it, and said she wasn’t.

“Does Solomon misuse you? Does he make you work too hard?”

“Yes,” says she, “I have to work hard, but that haint my worse trouble.” And she sithed bitterly.

“Does he act hauty and domineerin’ and look down on you, as if you wasn’t his equal?”

“Yes,” says she, “but I expected that, I could stand that if I didn’t have no harder affliction.”

“Is he a poor provider, does he begreech you things?”

Says she, “He is a poor provider, and he begreeches things to me, but that haint my worse trial; he wont let me talk about Doodle. And what is life worth to me if I can’t speak of that dear man?” Says she, “I can’t never forget that dear Doodle, never!”

“Well,” says I, “You ort to have thought of that before you promised Solomon Cypher his bride you would be;” says I, “mournin’ for Doodle was jest as honorable as anything could be; I never blamed you for it, I stood firm. But a woman hadn’t ort to try to be a mourner for one man, and a bride to another man at the same time; it haint reasonable; let ’em be fully perswaded in their own mind which business would be the most happyfyin’ and profitable to ’em, and then go at it with a willin’ heart, and foller it up.”

Says I, “If you wanted to spend your days as a mourner you ort to have done it as a Widder, and not as a bride.” Says I, “When a Widder woman or a Widder man embarks in a new sea of matrimony, they ort to burn the ship behind ’em that they sailed round with in them other waters. They hadn’t ort to be a sailin’ round in both of ’em to once, it is unreasonable; and it is gaulin’ to man or woman.”

On lookin’ at her closer I see what made her look so curious. She had tried to dress sort a bridey, and at the same time was a mournin’ a little for Doodle; she said she wouldn’t have Solomon know it, and git to rarin’ round for nothin’ in the world; she put on the white bobinet lace veil to please him, but says she, “though he don’t mistrust it, my black bead collar and jest half of my weddin’ dress means Doodle.” It was a black and white lawn, with big even checks; and she told me (in strict confidence) that she had got a black bombazine pocket to her dress, and had on a new pair of black elastic garters. Says she, “I can’t forget Doodle, I never can forget that dear man.”

And she wont; I know she never will git over Doodle in the world. Everything we see put her in mind of him. But about this time Josiah and Solomon Cypher joined us, and the last named told us that the “Creation Searchers” had all come on the day before, and was makin’ a great stir in the village, the literary and scientific world. And he said that as little a while as they had been here, they had found fault with a great many things, pictures and statutes and the like; he said anybody had _got_ to find fault and not seem to be satisfied with anything, in order to be looked up to. He said it was a trade that, well follered up, give anybody a great reputation.

“Yes,” says Josiah, “I know lots of folks that have got monstrous big reputations for wisdom in jest that way.”

But I was sick of this talk and was glad enough when they sot off for somewhere else. But his last words to me was:

“Josiah Allen’s wife, we shall probable be heerd from before we leave the village.”

“Well,” says I, “I am willin’;” and I was. It never worries me to see anybody git up in the world; I haint got a envious hair in my head—and I have got a noble head of hair for one of my age.

THE ARTEMUS GALLERY.

The next mornin’ we went onto the ground, (Mr. Fairmount’s farm, where the Sentinal stands) in good season. I told Josiah we would go the first thing to the Artemus Gallery.

“Artemus who!” says he. “I didn’t know as you knew any Artemus down here.”

Says I with dignity, “I don’t know the gentleman’s other name myself; they call him Art, but _I_ wont; I have too much respect for him to nick name that noble man.” Says I, “When any man takes such pains as Artemus has, to git such a splendid assortment of pictures and statutes together for my pleasure, and the pleasure of the Nation, I admire and respect him, and feel almost affectionate towards him.”

Presently, or soon after, the soft grey walls of that most magestic, and beautifulest of housen, loomed up before us as we passed up into it by some broad noble steps with a bronze horse on each side—lookin’ considerable in the face like our old mare—only higher headed with wings to ’em. I told Josiah that if she (the mare) was fixed off like them with wings, we shouldn’t be all day a goin’ a mile or two. And he said, after lookin’ close and thoughtfully at the span, that he couldn’t take a mite of comfort a ridin’ after ’em, they looked so curious. So we went on, by them and two as big female statutes as I most ever see, with their minds seeminly rousted up and excited about sunthin’. But we hadn’t much more’n got inside the door, when we felt curious again, both on us, a seein’ George Washington a ridin’ up to heaven on the back of a eagle. George always looks good to me, but I never see him look heavier than he did there; he would have been a good load for a elephant. Oh what a time that eagle was a havin’! I never was sorrier for a fowl in my hull life.

But oh! what lovely forms and faces was round me on every side, as I moved on. Grace, and beauty, and sublimity, and tenderness, and softness all carved out of hard stun marble for my delight; all painted out on canvas and hung up for me to smile upon and weep over—for beauty always affects me dretfully. One little piece of beauty that I could take up in my hand, such as a bit of moss, or a sea shell, or a posey, has made me happy for over half a day. A pussy willow bendin’ down to see its face in the water, has reflected its grace and pretty looks right into my soul. Why even a green grass blade in the spring of the year has had power to cut the chains that bound my spirit down to unhappiness, and let it soar up nobly, clear away from Jonesville, Betsey Bobbet, Widder Doodle, and all other cares and worryments of life. And havin’ such feelins for beauty, such a close affection for her that I was always a lookin’ for her, even where I knew she wasn’t nor never would be; jest imagine what my emotions must have been to walk right into acres and acres of the most entrancin’ beauty; miles and miles of grace and loveliness; dreams of immortal beauty caught by artist souls from heaven knows what realm of wonder and glory, all wrought out in marble, and painted on canvas for me to wonder at, and admire over, and almost weep upon.

The tears did run down my face every few minutes all through that Artemus Gallery, entirely unbeknown to me; and I shouldn’t have sensed it at all if I had cried out loud, for I was perfectly carried away from myself for the time bein’.

Oh what beautiful little white stun childern there was before me, in every beautiful posture that childern ever got into—a laughin’ and a cryin’, and a feedin’ birds, and a pickin’ thorns out of their feet and a hidin’ and a seekin’. And one little bit of a girl baby was holdin’ a bird in her hand, and she had bared her little chest on one side and was squeezin’ up the flesh to form a breast, and holdin’ up the bird to nurse. The roguish looks of her face would almost make a grindstun or Zebulin Coffin smile. And there was one gittin’ ready for bed, and one tellin’ his prayers when he didn’t want to. He looked exactly as Thomas J. did when I married his pa. _He_ had run wild, and wouldn’t pray; I’d git him all knelt down, and he’d say:

I _wont_ lay me down to sleep, I _wont_ pray the Lord my soul to keep, I _wont_ die before I wake, I _wont_ pray the Lord my soul to take.

And when he’d say the Lord’s prayer, he’d say: “Lead us into Temptation,” jest as loud as he could yell, and cross as a bear. Jest as quick as I got him civilized down, he’d tell ’em off like a little pasture. But oh! how cross and surly he did look at first, jest for all the world, like this little feller. I hunched Josiah to take notice, and he said if Thomas J. had been sculped in the act, it couldn’t look more natteral.

And there was such lovely female wimmen faces, innocent as angels—one with a veil over her face; only think on it, a marble veil, and I a seeing’ right through it.

But there was some Italian statutes that instinctively I got between and Josiah, and put my fan up, for I felt that he hadn’t ort to see ’em. Some of the time I felt that he was too good to look at ’em, and some of the time I felt that he wasn’t good enough; for I well knew when I come to think it over, that human nater wasn’t what it once was, in Eden, and it wasn’t innocence, but lack of innocence that ailed folks. But whether he was too good, or not good enough, and I couldn’t for my life tell which; either way I felt it wasn’t no place for him; so I hurried him through on a pretty good jog.

And among the statutes of my own Nation, was Aurora; it seems as if it struck me about as hard a blow as any of ’em. To see that beautiful figger of Mornin’ risin’ right up sailin’ over the earth with her feet on nothin’; her arms over her head scatterin’ the brightness of day down in roses upon the earth, and the stars and the shadders of night a fallin’ away from her; it was as beautiful a marble thought, as I ever laid eyes on—or I’d think so till I see some other one, and then I’d think _that_ was the beautifulest. There was Nydia the blind girl of Pompeii! What pain and helplessness was on her face, and what a divine patience born of sufferin’. What a countenance that was! And then there was two little Water Babies layin’ in a sea shell—I don’t believe there was ever any cunniner little creeters in the hull world.

And havin’ such feelins for her, feelin’ so sort o’ intimate with her and Hamlet, it was very affectin’ to me to see Ophelia, a lookin’ jest as I have heerd Thomas J. read about her. She was standin’ holdin’ some flowers in her dress with one hand, and with the other hand she was holdin’ out a posey jest as if she was a sayin’:

“There’s rosemary, that’s for rememberance; pray you love remember, and there’s pansies that’s for thoughts.” She was dressed up in store clothes too, which was indeed a treat, and a sweeter face I don’t want to see. And then there was a noble group—Death a tryin’ to kill Honor, and couldn’t. Strength and Courage and Perseverance had gone down before him, but Honor he couldn’t kill; it was a very noble and inspirin’ sight. And Media was another dretful affectin’ statute to me; what trials and tribulations that woman did go through, killin’ her childern, and ridin’ after serpents, and everything. I was some acquainted with her (through Thomas Jefferson.)

And then there was Night and Mornin’; I never see ’em look better in my life, either of ’em. And Ruth a gleanin’; she was a kneelin’ down on one knee, and looked first-rate, though I did think it would have been better if she had pulled her dress waist up where it belonged. Howsumever, everybody to their own mind. There was two statutes of Cleopatra, pretty nigh together, one by a man, and one by a woman. Mebby you’ll think I am parshal to my sect, but if I wasn’t a woman—if I was a man—I’d say and I’d contend for it that _her_ Cleopatra looked fur handsomer and better than _hisen_. And there was a minute man, that looked stern and noble, and as if he would be right there jest to the minute.

But what’s the use of tryin’ to tell what pictures was the loveliest, amidst such acres and acres of loveliness, such sweet and nearly bewitchin’ faces, such lovely and almost glowin’ landscapes.