Part 8

“How can I judge,” says Betsey with a winnin’ smile, “nevah havin’ seen them before.”

“Jest so,” says he, “you never was acquainted with ’em, but these very identical creeters used to belong to Miss Shakespeare. Yes, these belonged to Hamlet’s mother,” says he, lookin’ pensively upon them. “Bill bought ’em at old Stratford.”

“Bill?” says Betsey inquirin’ly.

“Yes,” says he, “old Shakespeare. I have been reared with his folks so much, that I have got into the habit of callin’ him Bill, jest as they do.”

“Then you have been there?” says Betsey with a admirin’ look.

“Oh yes, wintered there and partly summered. But as I was sayin’ William bought ’em and give ’em to his wife, when he first begun to pay attention to her. Bill bought ’em at a auction of a one-eyed man with a wooden leg, by the name of Brown. Miss Shakespeare wore ’em as long as she lived, and they was kept in the family till I bought ’em. A sister of one of his brother-in-laws was obleeged to part with ’em to get morpheen.”

“I suppose you ask a large price for them?” says Betsey, examanin’ ’em with a reverential look onto her countenance.

“How much! how much you remind me of a favorite sister of mine, who died when she was fifteen. She was considered by good judges to be the handsomest girl in North America. But business before pleasure. I ought to have upwards of 30 dollars a head for ’em, but seein’ it is you, and it haint no ways likely I shall ever meet with another wo--young girl that I feel under bonds to sell ’em to, you may have ’em for 13 dollars and a ½.”

“That is more money than I thought of expendin’ to-day,” says Betsey in a thoughtful tone.

“Let me tell you what I will do; I don’t care seein’ it is you, if I do get cheated, I am willin’ to be cheated by one that looks so much like that angel sister. Give me 13 dollars and a ½, and I will throw in the pin that goes with ’em. I did want to keep that to remind me of them happy days at old Stratford,” and he took the breastpin out of his pocket, and put it in her hand in a quick kind of a way. “Take ’em,” says he, turnin’ his eyes away, “take ’em and put ’em out of my sight, quick! or I shall repent.”

“I do not want to rob you of them,” says Betsey tenderly.

“Take ’em,” says he in a wild kind of a way, “take ’em, and give me the money quick, before I am completely unmanned.”

She handed him the money, and says he in agitated tones, “Take care of the ear rings, and heaven bless you.” And he ketched up his things, and started off in a awful hurry. Betsey gazed pensively out of the winder, till he disapeared in the distance, and then she begun to brag about her ear rings, as Miss Shakespeare’s relicks. Thomas Jefferson praised ’em awfully to Betsey’s face, when he came home, but when I was in the buttery cuttin’ cake for supper, he come and leaned over me and whispered--

“Who bought for gold the purest brass? Mother, who brought this grief to pass? What is this maiden’s name? Alas!

Betsey Bobbet.”

And when I went down suller for the butter, he come and stood in the outside suller door, and says he,

“How was she fooled, this lovely dame? How was her reason overcame? What was this lovely creature’s name?

Betsey Bobbet.”

That is jest the way he kep’ at it, he would kinder happen round where I was, and every chance he would get he would have over a string of them verses, till it did seem as if I should go crazy. Finally I said to him in tones before which he quailed,

“If I hear one word more of poetry from you to-night I will complain to your father,” says I wildly, “I don’t believe there is another woman in the United States that suffers so much from poetry as I do! What have I done,” says I still more wildly, “that I should be so tormented by it?” says I, “I won’t hear another word of poetry to-night,” says I, “I will stand for my rights--I will not be drove into insanity with poetry.”

Betsey started for home in good season, and I told her I would go as fur as Squire Edwards’es with her. Miss Edwards was out by the gate, and of course Betsey had to stop and show the ear rings. She was jest lookin’ at ’em when the minister and Maggie Snow and Tirzah Ann drove up to the gate, and wanted to know what we was lookin’ at so close, and Betsey, castin’ a proud and haughty look onto the girls, told him that--

“It was a paih of ear rings that had belonged to the immortal Mr. Shakespeah’s wife informally.”

The minute Elder Merton set his eyes on ’em, “Why,” says he, “my wife sold these to a peddler to-day.”

“Yes,” says Tirzah Ann, “these are the very ones; she sold them for a dozen shirt buttons and a paper of pins.”

“I do not believe it,” says Betsey wildly.

“It is so,” said the minister. “My wife’s father got them for her, they proved to be brass, and so she never wore them; to-day the peddler wanted to buy old jewelry, and she brought out some broken rings, and these were in the box, and she told him he might have them in welcome, but he threw out the buttons and a paper of pins.”

“I do not believe it--I cannot believe it,” says Betsey gaspin’ for breath.

“Well, it is the truth,” says Maggie Snow (she can’t bear Betsey), “and I heard him say he would get ’em off onto some fool, and make her think--”

“I am in such a hurry I must go,” said Betsey, and she left without sayin’ another word.

A NIGHT OF TROUBLES.

Truly last night was a night of troubles to us. We was kept awake all the forepart of the night with cats fightin’. It does beat all how they went on, how many there was of ’em I don’t know; Josiah thought there was upwards of 50. I myself made a calm estimate of between 3 and 4. But I tell you they went in strong what there was of ’em. What under heavens they found to talk about so long, and in such unearthly voices, is a mystery to me. You couldn’t sleep no more than if you was in Pandemonium. And about 11, I guess it was, I heard Thomas Jefferson holler out of his chamber winder, (it was Friday night and the children was both to home,) says he--

“You have preached long enough brothers on that text, I’ll put in a seventhly for you.” And then I heard a brick fall. “You’ve protracted your meetin’ here plenty long enough. You may adjourn now to somebody else’s window and exhort them a spell.” And then I heard another brick fall. “Now I wonder if you’ll come round on this circuit right away.”

Thomas Jefferson’s room is right over ourn, and I raised up in the end of the bed and hollered to him to “stop his noise.” But Josiah said, “do let him be, do let him kill the old creeters, I am wore out.”

Says I “Josiah I don’t mind his killin’ the cats, but I won’t have him talkin about thier holdin’ a protracted meetin’ and preachin’, I won’t have it,” says I.

“Wall,” says he “do lay down, the most I care for is to get rid of the cats.”

Says I, “you do have wicked streaks Josiah, and the way you let that boy go on is awful,” says I, “where do you think you will go to Josiah Allen?”

Says he, “I shall go into another bed if you can’t stop talkin’. I have been kept awake till midnight by them creeters, and now you want to finish the night.”

Josiah is a real even tempered man, but nothin’ makes him so kinder fretful as to be kept awake by cats. And it is awful, awfully mysterious too. For sometimes as you listen, you say mildly to yourself, how can a animal so small give utterance to a noise so large, large enough for a eliphant? Then sometimes agin as you listen, you will get encouraged, thinkin’ that last yawl has really finished ’em and you think they are at rest, and better off than they can be here in this world, utterin’ such deathly and terrific shrieks, and you know _you_ are happier. So you will be real encouraged, and begin to be sleepy, when they break out agin all of a sudden, seemin’ to say up in a small fine voice, “We won’t go home till mornin’” drawin’ out the “mornin’” in the most threatenin’ and insultin’ manner. And then a great hoarse grum voice will take it up “_We won’t Go Home till Mornin’_” and then they will spit fiercely, and shriek out the appaulin’ words both together. It is discouragin’, and I couldn’t deny it, so I lay down, and we both went to sleep.

I hadn’t more’n got into a nap, when Josiah waked me up groanin’, and says he, “them darned cats are at it agin.”

“Well,” says I coolly, “you needn’t swear so, if they be.” I listened a minute, and says I, “it haint cats.”

Says he, “it is.”

Says I, “Josiah Allen, I know better, it haint cats.”

“Wall what is it,” says he “if it haint?”

I sot up in the end of bed, and pushed back my night cap from my left ear and listened, and says I,

“It is a akordeun.”

“How come a akordeun under our winder?” says he.

Says I, “It is Shakespeare Bobbet seranadin’ Tirzah Ann, and he has got under the wrong winder.”

He leaped out of bed, and started for the door.

Says I, “Josiah Allen come back here this minute,” says I, “do you realize your condition? you haint dressed.”

He siezed his hat from the bureau, and put it on his head, and went on. Says I, “Josiah Allen if you go to the door in that condition, I’ll prosicute you; what do you mean actin’ so to-night?” says I, “you was young once yourself.”

“I wuzzn’t a confounded fool if I was young,” says he.

Says I, “come back to bed Josiah Allen, do you want to get the Bobbets’es and the Dobbs’es mad at you?”

“Yes I _do_,” he snapped out.

“I should think you would be ashamed Josiah swearin’ and actin’ as you have to-night,” and says I, “you will get your death cold standin’ there without any clothes on, come back to bed this minute Josiah Allen.”

It haint often I set up, but when I do, I will be minded; so finally he took off his hat and come to bed, and there we had to lay and listen. Not one word could Tirzah Ann hear, for her room was clear to the other end of the house, and such a time as I had to keep Josiah in the bed. The first he played was what they call an involuntary, and I confess it did sound like a cat, before they get to spittin’, and tearin’ out fur, you know they will go on kinder meloncholy. He went on in that way for a length of time which I can’t set down with any kind of accuracy, Josiah thinks it was about 2 hours and a half, I myself don’t believe it was more than a quarter of an hour. Finally he broke out singin’ a tune the chorus of which was,

“Oh think of me--oh think of me.”

“No danger of our not thinkin’ on you,” says Josiah, “no danger on it.”

It was a long piece and he played and sung it in a slow, and affectin’ manner. He then played and sung the follerin’:

“Come! oh come with me Miss Allen, The moon is beaming; Oh Tirzah; come with me, The stars are gleaming; All around is bright, with beauty teeming, Moonlight hours--in my opinion-- Is the time for love.

My skiff is by the shore, She’s light, she’s free, To ply the feathered oar Miss Allen, Would be joy to me. And as we glide along, My song shall be, (If you’ll excuse the liberty Tirzah) I love but thee, I love but thee.

Chorus--Tra la la Miss Tirzah, Tra la la Miss Allen, Tra la la, tra la la, My dear young maid.”

He then broke out into another piece, the chorus of which was,

“Curb oh curb thy bosom’s pain I’ll come again, I’ll come again.”

“No you won’t,” says Josiah, “you won’t never get away, I _will_ get up Samantha.”

Says I, in low but awful accents, “Josiah Allen, if you make another move, I’ll part with you,” says I, “it does beat all, how you keep actin’ to-night; haint it as hard for me as it is for you? do you think it is any comfort for me to lay here and hear it?” says I, “that is jest the way with you men, you haint no more patience than nothin’ in the world, you was young once yourself.”

“Throw that in my face agin will you? what if I _wuz_! Oh do hear him go on,” says he shakin’ his fist. “‘Curb oh curb thy bosom’s pain,’ if I was out there my young feller, I would give you a pain you couldn’t curb so easy, though it might not be in your bosom.”

Says I “Josiah Allen, you have showed more wickedness to-night, than I thought you had in you;” says I “would you like to have your pastur, and Deacon Dobbs, and sister Graves hear your revengeful threats? if you was layin’ helpless on a sick bed would you be throwin’ your arms about, and shakin’ your fist in that way? it scares me to think a pardner of mine should keep actin’ as you have,” says I “you have fell 25 cents in my estimation to-night.”

“Wall,” says he, “what comfort is there in his prowlin’ round here, makin’ two old folks lay all night in perfect agony?”

“It haint much after midnight, and if it was,” says I, in a deep and majestic tone. “Do you calculate, Josiah Allen to go through life without any trouble? if you do you will find yourself mistaken,” says I. “Do be still.”

“I _won’t_ be still Samantha.”

Just then he begun a new piece, durin’ which the akordeun sounded the most meloncholly and cast down it had yet, and his voice was solemn, and affectin’. I never thought much of Shakespeare Bobbet. He is about Thomas Jefferson’s age, his moustache is if possible thinner than his’en, should say whiter, only that is a impossibility. He is jest the age when he wants to be older, and when folks are willin’ he should, for you don’t want to call him Mr. Bobbet and to call him “bub” as you always have, he takes as a deadly insult. He thinks he is in love with Tirzah Ann, which is jest as bad as long as it lasts as if he was; jest as painful to him and to her. As I said he sung these words in a slow and affectin’ manner.

When I think of thee, thou lovely dame, I feel so weak and overcame, That tears would burst from my eye-lid, Did not my stern manhood forbid; For Tirzah Ann, I am a meloncholly man.

I scorn my looks, what are fur hats To such a wretch; or silk cravats; My feelin’s prey to such extents, Victuals are of no consequence. Oh Tirzah Ann, I am a meloncholly man.

As _he_ waited on you from spellin’ school, My anguish spurned all curb and rule, My manhood cried, “be calm! forbear!” Else I should have tore out my hair; For Tirzah Ann, I was a meloncholly man.

As I walked behind, he little knew What danger did his steps pursue; I had no dagger to unsheath, But fiercely did I grate my teeth; For Tirzah Ann, I was a meloncholly man.

I’m wastin’ slow, my last year’s vests Hang loose on me; my nightly rests Are thin as gauze, and thoughts of you, Gashes ’em wildly through and through, Oh Tirzah Ann, I am a meloncholly man.

My heart is in such a burning state, I feel it soon must conflagrate; But ere I go to be a ghost, What bliss--could’st thou tell me thou dost-- Sweet Tirzah Ann-- Think on this meloncholly man.

He didn’t sing but one more piece after this. I don’t remember the words for it was a long piece. Josiah insists that it was as long as Milton’s Paradise Lost.

Says I, “don’t be a fool Josiah, you never read it.”

“I have hefted the book,” says he, “and know the size of it, and I know it was as long if not longer.”

Says I agin, in a cool collected manner, “don’t be a fool Josiah, there wasn’t more than 25 or 30 verses at the outside.” That was when we was talkin’ it over to the breakfast table this mornin’, but I confess it did seem awful long there in the dead of the night; though I wouldn’t encourage Josiah by sayin’ so, he loves the last word now, and I don’t know what he would be if I encouraged him in it. I can’t remember the words, as I said, but the chorus of each verse was

Oh! I languish for thee, Oh! I languish for thee, wherever that I be, Oh! Oh! Oh! I am languishin’ for thee, I am languishin’ for thee.

As I said I never set much store by Shakespeare Bobbet, but truly everybody has their strong pints; there was quavers put in there into them “Oh’s” that never can be put in agin by anybody. Even Josiah lay motionless listenin’ to ’em in a kind of awe. Jest then we heard Thomas Jefferson speakin’ out of the winder overhead.

“My musical young friend, haven’t you languished enough for one night? Because if you have, father and mother and I, bein’ kept awake by other serenaders the forepart of the night, will love to excuse you, will thank you for your labers in our behalf, and love to bid you good evenin’, Tirzah Ann bein’ fast asleep in the other end of the house. But don’t let me hurry you Shakespeare, my dear young friend, if you haint languished enough, you keep right on languishin’. I hope I haint hard hearted enough to deny a young man and neighbor the privilege of languishin’.”

I heard a sound of footsteps under the winder, followed seemin’ly instantaneously by the rattlin’ of the board fence at the extremity of the garden. Judgin’ from the sound, he must have got over the ground at a rate seldom equaled and never outdone.

A button was found under the winder in the mornin’, lost off we suppose by the impassioned beats of a too ardent heart, and a too vehement pair of lungs, exercised too much by the boldness and variety of the quavers durin’ the last tune. That button and a few locks of Malta fur, is all we have left to remind us of our sufferin’s.

4th OF JULY IN JONESVILLE.

A few days before the 4th Betsey Bobbet come into oure house in the mornin’ and says she,

“Have you heard the news?”

“No,” says I pretty brief, for I was jest puttin’ in the ingrediences to a six quart pan loaf of fruit cake, and on them occasions I want my mind cool and unruffled.

“Aspire Todd is goin’ to deliver the oration,” says she.

“Aspire Todd! Who’s he?” says I cooly.

“Josiah Allen’s wife,” says she, “have you forgotten the sweet poem that thrilled us so in the Jonesville Gimlet a few weeks since?”

“I haint been thrilled by no poem,” says I with an almost icy face pourin’ in my melted butter.

“Then it must be that you have never seen it, I have it in my port-money and I will read it to you,” says she, not heedin’ the dark froun gatherin’ on my eye-brow, and she begun to read,

A questioning sail sent over the Mystic Sea.

BY PROF. ASPIRE TODD.

So the majestic thunder-bolt of feeling, Out of our inner lives, our unseen beings flow, Vague dreams revealing. Oh, is it so? Alas! or no, How be it, Ah! how so?

Is matter going to rule the deathless mind? What is matter? Is it indeed so? Oh, truths combined; Do the Magaloi theoi still tower to and fro? How do they move? How flow?

Monstrous, aeriform, phantoms sublime, Come leer at me, and Cadmian teeth my soul gnaw, Through chiliasms of time; Transcendentaly and remorslessly gnaw; By what agency? Is it a law?

Perish the vacueus in huge immensities; Hurl the broad thunder-bolt of feeling free, The vision dies; So lulls the bellowing surf, upon the mystic sea, Is it indeed so? Alas! Oh me.

“How this sweet poem appeals to tender hearts,” says Betsey as she concluded it.

“How it appeals to tender heads,” says I almost coldly, measurin’ out my cinnamon in a big spoon.

“Josiah Allen’s wife, has not your soul never sailed on that mystical sea he so sweetly depictures?”

“Not an inch,” says I firmly, “not an inch.”

“Have you not never been haunted by sorrowful phantoms you would fain bury in oblivion’s sea?”

“Not once,” says I “not a phantom,” and says I as I measured out my raisons and English currants, “if folks would work as I do, from mornin’ till night and earn thier honest bread by the sweat of thier eyebrows, they wouldn’t be tore so much by phantoms as they be; it is your shiftless creeters that are always bein’ gored by phantoms, and havin’ ’em leer at ’em,” says I with my spectacles bent keenly on her, “Why don’t they leer at me Betsey Bobbet?”

“Because you are intellectually blind, you cannot see.”

“I see enough,” says I, “I see more’n I want to a good deal of the time.” In a dignified silence, I then chopped my raisons impressively and Betsey started for home.

The celebration was held in Josiah’s sugar bush, and I meant to be on the ground in good season, for when I have jobs I dread, I am for takin’ ’em by the forelock and grapplin’ with ’em at once. But as I was bakin’ my last plum puddin’ and chicken pie, the folks begun to stream by, I hadn’t no idee thier could be so many folks scairt up in Jonesville. I thought to myself, I wonder if they’d flock out so to a prayer-meetin’. But they kep’ a comin’, all kind of folks, in all kinds of vehicles, from a 6 horse team, down to peacible lookin’ men and wimmen drawin’ baby wagons, with two babies in most of ’em.

There was a stagin’ built in most the middle of the grove for the leadin’ men of Jonesville, and some board seats all round it for the folks to set on. As Josiah owned the ground, he was invited to set upon the stagin’.

And as I glanced up at that man every little while through the day, I thought proudly to myself, there may be nobler lookin’ men there, and men that would weigh more by the steelyards, but there haint a whiter shirt bosom there than Josiah Allen’s.

When I got there the seats was full. Betsey Bobbet was jest ahead of me, and says she,

“Come on, Josiah Allen’s wife, let us have a seat, we can obtain one, if we push and scramble enough.” As I looked upon her carryin’ out her doctrine, pushin’ and scramblin’, I thought to myself, if I didn’t know to the contrary, I never should take you for a modest dignifier and retirer. And as I beheld her breathin’ hard, and her elboes wildly wavin’ in the air, pushin’ in between native men of Jonesville and foreigners, I again methought, I don’t believe you would be so sweaty and out of breath a votin’ as you be now. And as I watched her labors and efforts I continued to methink sadly, how strange! how strange! that retirin’ modesty and delicacy can stand so firm in some situations, and then be so quickly overthrowed in others seemin’ly not near so hard.

Betsey finally got a seat, wedged in between a large healthy Irishman and a native constable, and she motioned for me to come on, at the same time pokin’ a respectable old gentleman in front of her, with her parasol, to make him move along. Says I,

“I may as well die one way as another, as well expier a standin’ up, as in tryin’ to get a seat,” and I quietly leaned up against a hemlock tree and composed myself for events. A man heard my words which I spoke about ½ to myself, and says he,

“Take my seat, mum.”

Says I “No! keep it.”

Says he “I am jest comin’ down with a fit, I have got to leave the ground instantly.”

Says I “In them cases I will.” So I sot. His tongue seemed thick, and his breath smelt of brandy, but I make no insinuations.

About noon Prof. Aspire Todd walked slowly on to the ground, arm in arm with the editor of the Gimlet, old Mr. Bobbet follerin’ him closely behind. Countin’ 2 eyes to a person, and the exceptions are triflin’, there was 700 and fifty or sixty eyes aimed at him as he walked through the crowd. He was dressed in a new shinin’ suit of black, his complexion was deathly, his hair was jest turned from white, and was combed straight back from his forward and hung down long, over his coat coller. He had a big moustache, about the color of his hair, only bearin’ a little more on the sandy, and a couple of pale blue eyes with a pair of spectacles over ’em.

As he walked upon the stagin’ behind the Editer of the Gimlet, the band struck up, “Hail to the chief, that in trihump advances.” As soon as it stopped playin’ the Editer of the Gimlet come forward and said--

“Fellow citizens of Jonesville and the adjacent and surroundin’ world, I have the honor and privilege of presenting to you the orator of the day, the noble and eloquent Prof. Aspire Todd Esq.”

Prof. Todd came forward and made a low bow.