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BETSEY  BOBBETT. 


A   i:>RAMA. 


SCENES  DUAWV  FROM  THE  BOOR 


BV 


JOSIAH  ALLEN'S  WIFE. 


ISJ:  A^I^IETT  .A. 


''iEiox.i-.^sr. 


ADA3LS.   N.   Y. : 

W.    J.    ALLEN,    BOOK  AXD  JOB  PRLN'TER. 
1880. 


BETSEY  BOBBETT, 


A.  IDRAMA. 


SCENES  DliAWN  FROM  THE  BOOR 


BY 


JOSIAH  ALLEN'S  WIFE, 


//<<>"  cO^^'^'^-^r-c^N 


I^^AuI^IETT^A.    XiOIjIj^Sr. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1880  by  Marietta  Hoi. 
LEY,  m  the  office  of  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


x-^- 

<'^^  <>\\'^ 

CN^ 


DRAMATIS    PERSON.C 


Josi AH  Allen,  a  farmer, 

Samantha,  his  wife, 

TiRZ AH  Ann,  farmer's  daughter, 

Thomas  Jefferson,  farmer's  son, 

Betsey  Bobbett,  an  old  maid, 

Shakespeare  Bobbett,  Betsey's  brother. 

Doctor  Bombus, 

WiDDER  Doodle, 

SOPHRONA    Go WDY, 

Elder  Peedick, 

Editor  of  Jonesville  "Augur," 

Simon  Slimpsey,  a  widower, 

Widow  Tubes, 

The  Peddler, : 


BETSEY  BOBBETT. 


ACT  I. 

Scene. — Monday  at  the  Allen's. — J!fr5.  Allen  kneading  bread. 
Tirzah  Ann  umshing  at  the  ivashtuh. — Widder  Doodle  picking 
over  beans. — Elder  Peedick  sitting  in  the  corner  arranging  a 
look  of  manuscript  sermons. 

WiD.  D.  Oh  how  much  these  beans  makes  me  think  of 
Doodle.  He  died,  Doodle  did,  and  was  a  corpse  just  as  quick 
as  he  died  ;  but  I  never  can  forget  that  dear  man,' nor  his  line- 
nioiit  never.  And  it  hain't  no  ways  likely  that  I  shall  ever 
marry  agin'. 

Sam,  Cheer  up,  Widder  Doodle,  cheer  up.  You'll  disturb 
the  Elder,  and  he  wants  to  get  his  sermons  all  pinned  together 
before  he  starts  ;  and  J(}siah  is  out  after  the  horse  now,  I  am 
glad  you  stayed  over  Sunday  with  us  Elder. 

Elder.  I  thank  you,  Madam.  [He  goes  on  with  his  work,  speak- 
ing  to  himself )  :     Let  me  S'  e,  where  is  the  20thly  ? 

VViD.  D,  Couhl  vou  forget  vour  Josiah,  if  you  lived  to  be  his 
relLt? 

Sam.  No  ;  I  loved  Josiah  Allen,  though  why  I  loved 
him,  I  know  not.  But  in  the  immortal  words  of  the 
poet,  "Love  will  go  where  it  is  sent."  Yes,  Tirzah  Ann. 
r  mirried  your  pa  in  mother's  parlor,  on  the  14th  day  of 
June,  in  a  bi-ovvn  silk  dress  with  a  long  boddist  waist,  from 
pure  love.  And  that  love  has  been  like  a  beacon  in  our  path- 
way ever  since.  Its  puve  light,  though  it  has  sputtered  some, 
and  in  trying  time?,  such  as  washing  days  and  cleaning  house, 
has  burnt  down  pretty  low  —  has  never  gone  out.  Tirzah 
Ann,  look  at  your  father's  wristbands  and  collar,  and  see  if 
you  can  see  any  streaks  of  white  on  'em.  Now  Tirzah  Ann, 
>ou  are  inclined  to  be  sentimental.  You  took  it  from  your  pa. 
Jo«iah  Allen,  if  he  was  encouraged,  would  act  spoony.  I  re- 
member when  we  were  first  engaged  he  called  nie  a  little  an- 
gel. I  just  looked  at  him  and  says  I,  I  weigh  204  pounds  by 
the  stillyards  ;  and  he  didn't  call  me  so  agin.  I  guess  he  tho't 
204  pounds  would  make  a  pretty  hefty  angel.  No,  Tirzah  Ann, 
sentiment  hain't  my  style  ;  reason  and  common  sense  are  mv 
themes.  Now  there  is  Betsey  Bobbett :  she  is  one  of  the  sen- 
timentolest  creeters  that  ever  1  did  see.  She  is  awful  opposed 
to  women's  rights  She  says  it  looks  so  sweet  and  genteel, 
somehow,  for  wimmin  to  not  have  any  rights.  She  says  it  is 
wimmin's  only  spear  to  marry.     But  as  yet  she  hain't  found 


any  man  willln'  to  la}^  hold  of  that  spear  with  her.  But  she  is 
always  a  talking  about  how  sweet  it  is  for  wimmin  to  be  like 
runnin'  vines,  a  clingin'  to  man  like  ivy  to  a  tree. 

Elder,  {in  a  stately  loay)  Them  are  my  sentiments,  Mrs. 
Allen.  As  I  remarked  yesterday  in  my  tenthly,  ''  Marriage  is 
wimmen's  only  spear."  And  as  I  remarked  in  my  fourteenthly, 
•'How  sweet,  how  heavenly  the  sight,  to  see  a  lovely  woman 
clinging  like  a  sweet,  twining,  creeping  vine  to  a  man's  manly 
strength. 

WiD.  D.  It  is  pretty  to  see  it;  I  love  to  cling;  I  used  to 
cling  to  Doodle. 

Elder.  I  wish  1  had  known  Doodle  ;  he  must  have  been  a 
happy  man. 

Sam.  But,  Elder,  how  is  a  woman  to  cling  if  she  hain't  noth- 
in'  to  cling  to.  What  are  the  wimnien  to  do  whose  faces  are  a^. 
humbly  as  a  plate  of  cold  greens?  Is  such  a  woman  to  go  out 
into  the  street  and  collar  a  man  and  order  him  to  marry  her? 
Now  T  say  a  woman  hadn't  ort  to  marry  unless  she  has  a  man 
to  marry  to — a  man  whose  love  satisfies  her  head  and  her  heart ; 
some  men's  love  hain't  worth  nothiii'.  1  wouldn't  give  a  cent, 
a  bushel  for  it  by  the  car  load.  But  I  ujean  a  man  that  suits 
her;  a  man  she  seems  to  belong  to,  just  like  North  and  South 
America  jined  by  nater,  unbeknown  to  them  ever  since  creation 
She'll  know  him  if  she  ever  sees  him,  jest  as  I  knew  my  Josiah, 
for  their  two  hearts  will  suit  each  other  jest  like  the  two  halves 
of  a  pair  of  shears.  These  are  the  marriages  heaven  signs  the 
certiticuts  of;  and  this  marryin'  for  a  home,  or  for  fear  of  bein' 
called  a  old  maid  is  no  more  marriage  in  the  sight  of  God,  no 
more  true  ni'irriage  than  the  blush  of  a  fashionable  woman  that 
is  bought  for  ten  cents  an  ounce  and  carried  home  in  her 
pocket,  is  true  modesty. 

Elder.  I  can  only  repeat  what  I  said  yesterday  in  my  21stly. 
That  it  is  flyin'  in  the  face  of  the  Bible  for  a  woman  not  to 
marry.  It  is  heaven's  design  that  women  should  be  a  vine,  and 
man  a  tree. 

AVid.  D.  I  always  thought  my  Doodle  was  a  tree.  I  knew 
he  was. 

Sam.  Weil  Elder,  your  wife  is  jest  dead  with  the  tyfus,  and 
I  ask  you  this  queston.  Are  you  willing  to  let  Betsey  Bobbett 
cling  to  you  ?  She  believes  jest  as  you  do,  and  she  is  tairly  dy- 
ing to  make  a  rurmin' vine  of  herself ;  and  are  you  willing  to 
be  a  tree  ? 

Elder,  Wall — as  it  were — Mrs  Allen— I — that  is — the  re 
ligious  state  of  the  country  at  present  is— as  it  were — 

Sam.  Are  you  willing  to  be  a  tree  ? 

Elder.  I  believe  Mrs,  Allen  you  are  a  strong  Grant  woman. 
Now  I  favor  Blaine. 


Sam.   Are  you  willing  to  be  a  tree? 

Elder.   I  guess  I'll  go  to  the  barn  and  get  my  saddle  bags 

Exit  Elder. 

Sam.  I  knew  jest  how  it  would  be  ;  I  knew  he  wouldn't  be  a 
tree. 

TiRZ.  A.  Wall ;  I  don't  blame  him  mother.  You  ought  to 
have  seen  Betsey  last  night  to  meetin'.  She  got  up  to 
talk,  and  she  would  look  right  at  Elder  Peedick,  and  then  at 
the  editor  of  the  Augur,  and  at  Simon  Slimpsey,  and  says  she  : 
I  know  I  am  religious  because  I  feel  that  I  love  the  hretheren. 
I  don't  blame  him. 

Sam.  No,  nor  I  nnther.  I  don't  want  a  man  to  be  a  tree, 
unless  they  want  to,  and  I  want  them  to  use  reason  and  not 
insist  on  every  woman  makin'  a  vine  of  herself.  But  the  Elder 
means  middlin'  well,  and  he'd  make  a  tolei-able  good  husband 
f(»r  some  woman. 

VViD.  D.  Ft  haint  no  ways  likely  \  siiall  ever  marry  again 
No  other  man's  lirietpent  can  ever  look  to  me  like  my  Doodle's 
linement. 

8am.  But  the  Elder  has  belated  us  dreadfully  with  our  Mon 
day's  work.  Here  it  is  most  night  and  we  have  only  fairlv  got 
to  work.  But  we  can  finish  it  in  the  morning.  Yes,  as  1  was 
a  saying  Tii'zah  Ann,  Betsey  hain't  handsome,  her. cheek  bones 
are  too  high,  and  she,  being  not  much  more  than  skin  and 
bone,  they  show  more  than  if  she  was  in  good  order.  Time 
has  seen  fit  to  deprive  her  of  her  hair  and  teeth,  but  her  large 
nose  he  has  kindly  sufl:ered  her  to  keep.  I  have  seen  a  good 
many  that  was  sentimental  that  had  it  bad  ;  but  Betsey  ha's  got 
.it  (he  worst  of  anybody  I  ever  did  see,  unless  it  is  her  brother 
Shakespeare,  and  he  acts  as  spoony  round  you,  Tirzah  Ann.  as 
any  spoon  on  my  buttery  shelves.     It  worrys  me. 

WiD  I).  My  Doodle  used  to  act  spoony,  as  spoony  as— as  a 
teaspoon. 

Sam.  Wall  if  I  thought  there  was  any  danger,  Tirzah  Ann,  of 
you  falling  in  love  with  Shakespeare  Bobbett,  I'd  give  you  a 
good  thorough  wort  puke.  That  will  cure  most  anybody  if  you 
take  it  in  time. 

TiRZ.  A.  Wall,  I  gusss  there  hain't  no  chance,  mother. 

Sam.  Wall,  mabby  not.  Now  you  wring  the  clothes  out, 
Tirzah  Ann,  and  hang  'em  right  up  here  on  the  line. 

TiRZ.  A.  They  will  look  awfully,  mother,  hangin'  up  here 
We  shall  look  as  if  we  was  settin'  in  a  wet  calico  tent. 

Sam.  I  don't  care,  Tirzah  Ann,  we  are  so  beat  out  we  shall 
go  to  bed  as  soon  as  it  is  dark. 

TiRZ.  A.   We  shall  have  to  any  way,  for  father  forgot  to  take 


6 

the  kerosine  can,  and  there  hain't  a  lamp  in  the  house  that  we 
can  light.  But  oh,  dear,  how  it  does  look  here,  mother.  I 
never  in  my  hull  life  see  our  house  look  as  it  does  to-night.  It 
would  mortify  me  most  to  death  if  any  body  should  come  in. 

Sam.  Wall,  there  hain't  no  danger  of  anybody  comin'  Mon- 
day ;  and  we  will  slick  up  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  But 
bein'  up  all  night  wi:h  Thomas  Jefferson,  and  then  havin'  to 
wait  on  the  Elder,  and  doin'  our  Monday's  work  in  the  after- 
noon, has  about  used  me  up,  and  if  you  think  you  can  finish  up 
Tirzah  Ann,  I  will  soak  my  feet  and  go  to  bed.  I  am  afraid  I 
am  goin'  to  be  awful  sick.  I  feel  sick  to  my  stomach  all  of  a 
sudden,  and  every  bit  of  noise  goes  through  ray  head  like  a 
sword. 

WiD.  D.  Let  me  get  you  some  warm  water,  Samantha. 
Here,  put  vour  feet  right  into  it ;  and  here, 'put  your  night-cap 
on.  dh  dear  me,  how  much  that  sickness  to  the  stomach  makes 
me  think  of  Doodle.     Do  yon  feel  better,  Samantha  ? 

Sam.   I  shan't  feel  any  better  till  I  get  to  bed. 

Enter  Josiah. 

'  TiKZ.  A.   Why,  what  is  the  matter  father  ? 

Josiah  [groaning).  Oh  !  I  have  been  took  with  a  dumb  creek 
in  my  back.  Give  me  some  of  that  linemeut  quick,  and  rub  it 
onto  my  shoulders,  Tirzah  Ann.  What  is  the  matter  with  your 
mother  ?  Is  she  sick  ? 

WiD  D.  Oh  yes  :  Samantha  is  awful  sick — took  sudden— and 
there  is  Thomas  J.  up  stairs  sick  abed.  If  there  was  ever  a 
distressed  house  this  is  the  house. 

TiRZ.  A.  It  looks  distressed,  anyway 

WiD.  D.  Josiah,  won't  you  try  some  of  the  Green  Mounting 
salve  ? 

Josiah.  Oh!  I  don't  know ;  I  can't  set  down,  or  stand  up; 
I  am  awful  bad  off*.     I  want  to  get  to  bed  as  soon  as  I  can. 

WiD.  D.  Try  the  Green  Mounting  salve,  brother  Josiah  ;  and 
oh  how  much  that  salve  makes  me  think [looking  out  the  win- 
dow) 

TiRZ.  A.  Why,  for  mercy's  sake!  Who  is  coming?  There 
is  a  whole  house-full  of  folks  on  the  door-step.  [Tirzah  Ann 
and  the  Widder  Doodle  runs  out  of  the  room,  as  the  door  opens.,  and  ten 
01"  fifteen  people  corns  in.  headed  by  Betsey  Bobhett  Josiah  tries  to  fix 
his  shirt  and  vest  round  his  shoulders  bej  ore  they  get  in  but  he  can't^  so 
he  dives  under  the  table.  Samantha  stands  her  ground  She  stands  up 
and  confronts  them 

Betsey  B.  We  have  come  to  surprise  you  !  And  in  order  to 
more  sweetly  surprise  you,  we  have  come  Monday  night,  and 
come  early.     Will  you  not  let  us  surprise  you  ? 


Sam.  No!  ho!  VV^e  will  not  be  surprised!  Yon  shan't  sur- 
prise us  to-night!  We  won't  be  surprised!  Speak,  Josiah; 
tell'her  ;  will  we  be  surprised  to-ni^ht  ? 

Josiah.  {Looking  out  from  under  the  table  spread)  No;  No;  we 
will  not  be  surprised. 

Bet.  B.  You  see  aear  friends  she  will  not  let  us  surprise  her  ; 
we  will  go  ( TJiey  all  go  out.  Betsey  goes  last,  and  she  turns  around 
at  the  door  and  says)  Maybe  it  is  right  and  propah  to  serve  a 
young  girl,  who  has  always  been  your  friend,  in  this  way.  I 
have  known  you  a  long  time  Josiah  Allen's  wife. 

Sam.  {Stepping  out  of  the  foot  lath  and  shutting  up  the  door)  I  have 
known  you  plenty  long  enough. 

Josiah  {Coming  out  from  under  the  tahle)  Darn  surprise  parties, 
and  darn 

Sam.  Stop  swenrin',  Josiah  Allen  ;  1  should  think  we  was 
bad  enough  off  without  swearing.  But  I  hate  surprise  parties 
as  bad  as  you  do.  Betsey  Bobbett  has  led  'em  into  one 
houpo  where  they  had  the  small-pox,  and  one  where  they  was 
makin"  preparations  for  a  funeral.  They  are  perfect  nusances. 
It  stMiids  to  reason  so  long  as  anybody  has  got  a  tongue,  if  they 
want  to  see  their  friends  to  their  house,  they  can  invite  'em, 
and  if  linybody  is  too  poor  to  bake  a  cake  or  two,  and  a  pan  of 
cookies,  they  are  too  pooi-  to  go  into  company  at  all  I  hain't 
proud,  and  never  was  called  so,  but  1  don't  want  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Harry,  that  I  never  spoke  to  in  my  life,  feel  free  to  break 
into  my  house  any  time  they  please.  I  perfectly  detest  surprise 
parties  ;  but  you  don't  ketch  me  swearin'  abort  it. 

Jos.  Wall  ;  I  will  say  darn  Betsey  Bobbett ;  there  now,  darn 
her;  oh!  mj'  back;  {slowly  sitting  down)  I  can't  sit  down,  nor 
stand  down. 

Sam,  You  went  under  the  table  quick  enough  when  they 
come  in. 

Jos.  Throw  that  in  my  face,  will  you  ?  What  could  I  do  ? 
My  clothes  all  fallin'  of  me. 

Sam.  Wall,  Josiah,  less  be  thankful  that  we  are  as  well  off  as 
we  be.     Betsey  might  have  insisted  on  surprisin'  us.     Do  you 
s'pose  they  will  be  mad  ? 
Jos,  I  don't  know,  nor  care,  but  I  hope  they  will. 
CURTAIN  FALLS. 


8 

ACT.    11. 

Scene. —  Widder  Doodle  and  Tirzah  Ann  sitting  at  worh  tufting  a  bed 
spread.  -Samayitha  comes  in  out  of  the  garden 

Sam.  I  declare  them  hens  makes  me  more  trouble  than  all 
the  rest  of  my  work,  keeps  me  a  scarin'  'em  out  of  the  garden 
all  the  time,  and  that  pup  hain't  good  for  anything. 

TiRZ.  A.  Father  says  all  it  wants  is  a  little  encouragement. 

Sam  Encouragement!  I  should  think  as  much.  Yes  I  know 
your  pa  says  that  if  he  will  run  a  little  ahead  oi  it  when  he  is  a 
settin'  it  on  to  things,  it  will  go  on  to  one  first  rate.  And  I 
told  him  he  had  better  take  the  pup  in  his  arms  and  throw  it  at 
the  hens  mebby  that  would  encourage  it  enougii.  But  there 
they  are  ;  I  must  go  and  scare  'em  off  again. 

TiRZ.  A.  I'll  go  mother.  [SJie  goes  out  clapping  her  hands  and 
crying  '"Shoo  ;  Shoo  ;"  and  the  hens  are  heard  cackling  hehind  the  scenes). 

WiD.  D.  Oh  how  much  that  pup  makes  me  think  of  Doodle. 
My  Doodle  needed  encouragement. 

Tiuz.  A.  {Coming  hack )  Here  comes  Betsey  Bobbe'.t,  mother. 
Enter  Betsey. 

All  Say  Good  morning,  Belsey, 

Bet.  (Sadly)  Good  morning.  Miss  Allen  ;  good  miming,  Tir- 
zah Ann;  good  morning  Vv^idder  Doo'le,  {She  },its  down  and 
takes  out  her  tatting  and  commences  to  uork  ) 

Sam.  Hain't  you  well  to-day,  Betsey. 

Bet.  I  feel  deprested  to-day  ;  aw^'ully  dcprested. 

Sam.  What  is  the  matter? 

Bet.  I  feel  lonely  ;  more  lonely  than  I  have  felt  for  yeahs. 

Sam.   What  is  the  matter,  Betsey  ? 

Bet.   I  had  a  dream  last  night,  Josiah  Allen's  wife. 

Sam.  What  was  it  ? 

Bet.  I  dreamed  I  was  married,  Josiah  Allen's  wife.  I  tell 
you  it  was  hard,  after  dreamin'  that,  to  wake  up  to  the  cold 
realities  and  cares  of  this  life  ;  it  was  hard.  I  sot  up  in  end  of 
the  bed  and  wept,  {she  weeps)  \  tried  to  get  to  sleep  again  and 
dream  it  ovah,  but  I  could  not. 

Sam.  Wall,  to  be  sure,  husbands  are  handy  on  4*h  of  Julys, 
and  funeral  p»'ocessions.  It  looks  kinder  lonesome  to  see  a  wo- 
man streaming  along  alone;  but  they  are  contrary  creeters, 
Betsey,  when  they  are  a  mind  to  be.  How  do  you  like  my  new 
bed-spread  ? 

Bet.  It  is  beautiful. 

Sam,  Yes;  it  looks  well  enough  now,  but  it  'most  wore  my 
fingers  out  a  tuftin'  it. 


Bet.  How  sweet  it  must  be  to  wear  'the  fingers  out  for  a 
deah  companion.  I  would  be  willing-  to  Avear  mine  clear  down 
to  the  bone.  I  made  a  vow,  some  yealis  ago.  that  1  would 
make  my  deah  future  companion  happy,  for  I  would  nevah, 
nevnh  fail  to  meet  him  w^ith  a  sweet  smile  as  he  came  home  to 
me  at  twilight.  I  felt  that  was  all  he  would  require  to  make 
him  happy.  Do  you  think  it  was  a  rash  vow,  Josiah  Allen's 
wife  ? 

Sam.  Oh,  I  guess  it  won't  do  any  hurt.  But  if  a  man  couldn't 
have  but  one  of  the  two,  a  smile  or  a  supper,  as  he  came  home 
at  night,  I  believe  he  would  take  the  supper. 

WiT>.  D.  I  know  JJoodle  would.  He  had  to  have  jest  what 
he  wanted  to  eat  at  jest  the  time  he  wanted  it,  or  it  would  give 
him  the  palsy ;  he  never  had  the  palsy,  but  he  always  said  that 
all  that  kept  him  from  it  was  bavin'  meat  vittles,  or  anything 
else  he  wanted,  jest  the  minute  he  wanted  it.  Oh,  what  a  man 
that  was;  what  a  linement  he  had  on  him.  It  hain't  no  ways 
likely  I  shall  ever  marry  agin.  No,  I  shan't  never  see  another 
man  whose  linement  will  look  to  me  like  Mr.  Doodleses  line- 
ment 

Sam.  Yes,  Befse\,  I  believe  a  man  would  take  the  supper  in- 
stead of  the  smile. 

Bet.  Oh.  deah  I  such  cold  practical  itleahs  are  painful  to  me. 

Sam.  Wall,  if  you  ever  have  the  opportunity  you  try  both 
ways ;  let  your  fire  go  out  and  you  and  your  house  look  like 
fury,  and  nothing  to  eat,  and  you  jest  stand  in  the  door  and 
smile.  And  then  again  you  have  a  nice  supper — stewed  oys- 
ters and  creatn  biscuit  and  p(niches,  or  something  else  first  rate, 
and  the  table  all  set  out  as  nice  as  a  pink,  and  the  kettle  sing- 
ing, and  you  dressed  up  pretty,  nnd  goin'  round  the  house  in  a 
sensible  way,  and  you  jest  watch  and  see  w'  ich  of  the  two 
ways  is  the  most  agreeable  to  him. 

Bet.  Oh,  food!  food!  what  is  food  to  the  deathless  emotions 
of  the  soul  ?  What  does  the  aching  young  heart  care  what  food 
it  eats?  Let  my  dear  futuah  companion  smile  on  me,  and  that 
is  enough. 

Sam.  a  man  can't  smile  on  an  empty  stomach,  Betsey.  And 
a  man  can't  eat  soggy  bread  with  little  chunk'^  of  saleratus  in 
it,  and  clammy  potatoes,  and  drink  dish-water  tea  and  muddy 
coffee  and  smile  ;  or  they  might  give  one  or  two  sickly,  deathly 
smiles;  but  depend  upon  it.  Betsey,  they  couldn't  keep  it  up. 
I  have  '^een  bread.  Betsey  Bobbett,  that  was  enough  to  break 
down  any  man's  affection,  unless  he  had  firm  principle  to  back 
it  up,  and  love's  young  dream  has  been  dr(junded  in  thick  mud- 
dy coffee  before  now.  If  there  hain't  anything  pleasant  in  a 
man's  home  how  can  he  be  attached  to  it  ?  Nobody  can't,  man 
nor  women,  respect  what   hain't   respectable,    nor   love   what 


10 

hain't  lovable.     Of  course  men  have  to  be  corrected  sometimes. 
I  correct  Josiah  frequently. 

Bet.  How  any  one  blessed  with  a  deah  companion  can  speak 
about  correcting-  them,  is  a  mvstery  to  me. 

Sam.  Men  have  to  be  corrected,  Betsey  ;  there  wouldn't  be  no 
living-  with  them  unless  you  did. 

Enter  Thomas  Jeffkr^on. 

Bet.  Well,  you  can  entertain  such  views  if  you  will,  but  as 
for  me,  I  will  be  clinoing;  I  will  be  ; expected  by  men.  They 
do  so  love  to  have  wimmen  clinging,  that  I  will,  until  I  die, 
carry  out  this  beliet"  that  is  so  sweet  to  them.  Until  I  die,  1 
will  neveh  let  go  of  this  speah. 

Jhos.  J.  {aside)  She  has  been  brandishing  that  speah  for  fifry 
years. 

Sam.  There  is  them  hens  agin,  Thos.  Jefferson  ;  You  go  and 
scare  'em  out      {txit  Thos  Jefferson  ) 

Bet.  There  is  a  gentleman  coming. 

Tmz.  A.  A  peddler. 

Enter  Peddler.  Mrs.  A.  coldly  greets  him.  Betsey  gets  up  and 
lows.     He  shows  his  goods. 

Ped.  Young  lady,  can't  I  sell  you  this  beautiful  lace  neck-tie  ; 
real  old  point  lace,  and  only  18  pence. 
'     TiRZ.  A.  Oh,  mother,  do  buy  it  for  me. 

8am.  No,  Tirzah  Ann,  no. 

Ped.  Then  let  me  sell  you  this  jcautiful  valuable  rir^g.  Most 
diamond  dealers  would  want  to  make  a  protit  of  a  hundred  dol- 
lars or  so  on  it,  but  I  will  let  you  have  it  for  tive  shillings.  It 
weighs  over  a  hundred  and  4  carets, 

Sam.  a  hundred  and  4  carrots  ;  that  is  a  likely  story.  Why, 
if  the  carrots  was  any  size  at  all  that  would  be  over  a  bushel. 
No,  Tirzah  Ann,  you  can't  have  the  ring 

Ped.  Can't  1  sell  you  something,  madam. 

Wid.  D.  Oh,  no,  [  am  a  widder;  and  it  hain't  no  ways  likely 
1  shall  ever  marry  agin.     {She  loeeps,  icipet  her  eyes  on  her  apron  ) 

Ped.  Here,  1  have  got  just  w'lat  you  want  and  need.  See 
this  beautiful  mourning  handkerchief  It  is  almost  worth  the 
agony  of  bein'  a  widder  to  enjoy  the  privilege  of  mournin'  on 
such  a  handkerchief  as  that.  It  is  richly  worth  75  cents,  but 
you  may  have  it  for  25,  and  what  will  you  give? 

Wid.  D.   I  will  give  a  quarter  of  a  dollar. 

Ped.  Take  it  at  your  own  price  Mow  Malaui  {turning  to 
Samantha)  Let  me  sell  you  this  beautiful  carpet;  it  is  the  pure 
ingrain. 

Sam.  Ingrain  ;  so  be  vou  ingrain. 


11 

Ped  T  guess  I  know,  for  I  bought  it  of  old  Ingrain  himself. 
I  give  the  old  liian  12  shillings  a  j^ard  for- it ;  but  seeing  it  is 
you,  and  I  like  your  looks  so  much,  and  it  seems  so  much  like 
home  to  me  here,  I  will  let  you  have  it  for  75  cents  a  yard; 
'"heaper  than  dirt  to  walk  on,  or  boards. 

Sam.  I  don't  want  it ;  I  have  got  carpets  enough. 

Pkd.  Do  you  want  it  for  50  cents? 

Sam.  No  ! 

Ped.   Wouhl  25  cents  be  any  inducement  to  you? 

Sam.  No! 

Peu.  Would  18  cents  tempt  you? 

Sam.  Say  another  word  to  me  about  your  old  stair  carpet  if 
you  dare  ;  jest  'et  me  ketch  you  at  it.  Be  I  going  to  have  you 
a  trapsin'  all  over  the  house  after  me  ?  Am  I  going  to  be  made 
crazy  as  a  loon  by  you  ? 

Bet.  Oh,  Josiah  Allen's  wife,  do  not  be  so  hasty  ;  of  course 
the  gentleman  wishes  to  dispose  of  his  goods,  else  wliy  should 
he  be  in  the  mercanteel  business? 

Ped.  ( Turning  to  Betsey,  takes  earrings  out  of  his  pocket)  I  carry 
these  in  my  pocket  for  fear  I  will  be  robbed  I  hadn't  ought 
to  carry  them  round  at  all ;  a  single  man  going  alone  around  the 
country  as  I  do  ;  but  I  have  got  a  pistol  [he  takes  a  large  pistol, 
the  larger  the  better  from  his  pocket.  Betsey  shrieks  and  falls  back 
terribly  frightened)  I  have  got  a  pistol,  and  let  anybody  tackle 
me  for  these  car-rings  if  they  dare  to. 

Bet.  Is  their  intrinsic  worth  so  much  ? 

Ped.  It  hain't  so  much  their  neat  value,  although  that  is 
enormous,  as  who  owned  them  informally  Whose  ears  do 
you  suppose  these  have  had  hold  of? 

Bet.   How  can  I  tell,  never  having  seen  them  before. 

Ped.  Jest  so.  ^  ou  never  was  acquainted  with  them,  but 
these  very  identical  creeters  used  to  belong  to  Miss  Shakes- 
peare. Yes,  the>e  belonged  to  Hamlet's  mother.  Bill  bought 
'em  at  old  Stratford. 

Bet.  Bill? 

Ped.  Yes,  old  Shakespeare.  I  have  been  with  his  family  so 
much,  that  t  have  got  into  the  habit  of  calling  him  Bill,  jest  as 
they  do. 

Bet.  Then  you  have  been  there  ? 

Ped.  Oh,  yes  ;  I  wintered  there  and  partly  summered.  But 
as  I  was  a  saying.  Bill  give  'em  to  his  wife  ;  he  give  'em  to  Ann 
when  he  first  be^un  to  pay  attention  to  her.  Bill  bought  'em 
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 


12 

brother-in-law's  was  obliged  to  part  with  'em  to  get  morphine. 

Bet.   I  suppose  you  ask  u  large  price  for  them  ? 

Ped.  How  much!  how  mucli  you  remind  me  of  a  favorite 
sister  who  died  when  she  was  tiiteen.  6he  was  considered  by 
good  judges  to  be  the  handsomest  gii-1  in  Noi-th  Ameriea.  But 
business  befoi-e  pleasure — I  ought  to  have  upwards  ^.f  30  dollars 
a  head  for  'em  ;  but  seeing  it  is  you,  and  it  hain't  no  ways  likely 

that  r  sliall  ever  meet  with    anotlier   wo young  girl   Ihat  I 

feel  under  bonds  to  sell  'em  to,  you  may  have  'em  for  13  dollars 
and  a  half. 

Bet.   That  is  more  money  than  I  thought  of  spenciing  ta-day. 

Fed.  Let  me  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I  don't  care  seeing  it's 
you,  if  I  do  get  cheated.  I  am  willing  to  be  cheated  by  one 
that  looks  so  much  like  that  angel  sister.  Give  me  13  dollars 
and  a  half  and  I'll  throw  in  the  pin  that  goes  wiUi  'em.  I 
did  want  to  keep  that  to  remind  me  of  them  happy  days  at 
Stratford.  But  take  'em ,  take  'em  and  put  'em  out  of  my 
sight  right  quick,  or  I  shall  repent. 

Bet.  (tenderly)  I  don't  want  to  rob  you  of  them,  deah  man, 

Ped.  Take  'em,  and  give  me  the  money  quick,  before  I  am 
completely  unmanned  (takes  money)  Take  care  of  the  ear-rings, 
and  Heaven  bless  you. 

Exit  Peddler.     E?iter  Thos.  Jefp  ekson. 

Thos.  J.   What  have  you  got,  Betsey  ? 

Bet.  Some  ear-rings  that  used  to  belong  to  the  immortal 
Shakespeai'e's  wite  informally. 

Thos.  J.  Good  gracious!  I  saw  Miss  Morten  this  morning 
sell  them  to  this  peddler.  She  sold  them  for  a  dozen  shirt  but- 
tons, and  a  paper  of  pins. 

Bet.  I  don't  believe  it. 

Thos.  J.  It  is  the  truth  ;  he  wanted  to  buy  old  jewelry.  She 
brought  out  some  broken  rings  and  these  were  in  the  box,  and 
she  told  him  he  might  have  them  in  welcome  ;  but  he  give  her 
the  buttons  and  pins. 

Who  bought  for  gold  the  purest  brass  ? 
Mother,  who  brought  this  grief  to  pass? 
What  was  this  maiden's  name  ?  alas  ! 

Betsey  Bobbett. 

Sam.  Thomas  Jetierson,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed.  Theres 
them  hens  again.  I  siiall  have  to  scare  'em  off  inyselt.  [Sam- 
antha  goes  out  to  frighten  the  hens,  Betsey  goes  ovt  the  other  door  ;  Thos. 
J.  dances  round  and  sings.) 

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

Betsey  Bobbett, 


13 

{Samantha  screams ;  Tlios.  J ,  Tirzah  Ann  and  Widder  Doodle  rush 
out,  and  Josiah  comes  in  bringing  Samantha  in  his  arms.) 

Sam.  {groaning)  I  wonder  if  you   will   keep    that  pup    now. 

Jos.  Maybe  you  didn't  encourag-e  it  enough.  Do  keep  still 
Samantha,'  hovv  do  you  s'pose  I  am  going  to  carry  you  if  you 
touse  round  so? 

[He  lays  her  on  the  lounge ;  Thos  J  and  Tirzah  Ann  and  Widder 
Doodle  com,es  in  the  widder  a  crying)  Oh,  Doodle  ;  Doodle  ;  if  you 
was  alive,  >  ou  would  tell  your  relict  what  to  do  for  Samautha; 
I  know  you  would. 

Jos.  You  go  for  Dr.  Bombus,  Thomas  Jetierson. 

Exit  Thos.  Jefferson.     Enter  Miss  Gowdy. 

Miss  G.  I  heard  you  had  an  axident.  Miss  Allen,  and  I  came 
to  see  if  I  could  do  anything.  You  hain't  been  well  for  some 
time  Miss  Allen,  and  I  have  mistrusted  all  along  that  you  had 
the  tizick. 

WiD.  D.  I  think  it  is  the  very  oh  lord. 

Sam.  The  pain  is  in  my  foot  mostly. 

Miss  G.  I  can't  help  that ;  there  is  tizick  with  it,  and  I  think 
that  was  what  ailed  Josiah  when  he  was  sick. 

Sam.   Why  that  was  the  newraligy  the  doctor  said. 

Miss  G.  Doctors  are  liab'e  to  mistakes.  I  always  thought  it 
was  the  tizick.  There  are  more  folks  that  are  tizicky  in  this 
world  than  you  think  for.  [  am  a  master  hand  for  knowing 
tizick  when  I  see  it. 

WiD.  D.  Tt  looks  more  to  me  like  the  verv  oh  lord. 

{Enter  Thos  J  and  Doctor;  Doctor  very  solemn  and  dignified,  ex- 
amines her  J  oot ) 

Dr.  B.  Miss  /^llen  you  have  strong  symptoms  of  zebra  smilen 
marcellus.  You  need  perfect  quiet,  and  you  {to  Josiah)  must  see 
that  she  has  it ;  and  Mr.  Allen  you  must  be  cheerful. 

WiD.  D.  Hain't  it  more  like  the  very  oh  lord.  My  Doodle 
had  that.  And  oh.  Doodle,  Doodle,  shan't  I  never  see  your 
linement  again  ?  Oh  how  much  sickness  puts  me  in  mind  of 
him,  and  health,  and  everything.  Oh  Doodle,  would  it  have 
been  a  confort  to  you  to  have  lived  to  see  how  your  widder 
mourned  fo'- you.  Samantha  can't  I  help  you?  I  know  you 
have  got  the  very  oh  lord,  and  oh,  how  much  that  disease 
makes  me  think  of  Doodle. 

Miss  G.  Dr.  Bombus,  hain't  it  the  tizick  ? 

Dr.  B.  No  ;  you  can't  fool  me  on  diseases  :  I  have  never  had 
my  dognoses  disputed.  The  other  Dr.  in  Jonesville  was  called 
in  the  other  day  to  a  plain  case  of  ganders  ;  he  called  it  gailo- 
pin'  consumption.     The  minute  I  sot  my  eyes  on   the   man   I 


14 

said  ofanders.  And  this  is  a  clear  c  ise  of  zebra  siiiileii  marcollus. 
Good  landlord,  you  can't  fool  tne  on  ihe  zebi-a. 

Sam.  That  is  a  disease  I  never  inadc.o  calculations  on  liavin'. 
Where  does  the  zebra  g-enerally  tackle  folks  ? 

Dk.  B.  Wall,  people  generally  have  it  in  the  posterity  part  of 
the  brain  ;  but  you  seem  to  have  it  in  the  fi/Ot.  Now  if  I  can 
only  keep  it  in  the  foot,  keep  it  from  the  brain,  1  can  help  you. 

Sam.  The  disease  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  me  ;  do  tolks  ever 
get  over  ^he  zebra  ? 

Dr.  B.  They  do  when  I  doctor  them  ;  but  you  must  follow 
mv  directions  close.  Take  this  decoction  of  squills,  nox  vom- 
ica, visa  versa — excuse  dead  language — take  40  drops  every  half 
hour  till  reliei  is  felt  and  experienced.  [Doctor  hows  to  Saraantha 
and  stalks  out ) 

Miss  G.  I  know  it  is  the  tizick  Tirzah  Ann,  give  me  a 
piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil  ;  this  will  make  a  item. 

WiD.  D.  Oh,  how  much  that  pencil  makes  me  think  ot 
Doodle. 

Sam.   What  is  the  matter.  Josiah  ? 

Jos.  I'm  bein'  cheerful,  Samantha 

Sam.  You  are  bein'  a  natural  born  idiot,  and  do  you  stop  it. 

Jos.  I  wont  stop  it,  Samantha;  I  will  be  cheeiTul. 

Sam.  WoFit  you  go  out  and  let  me  rest  awhile,  Josiah  Allen  ? 

Jos.  No  ;  I  will  stand  hy  you  and  be  cheerful.  Doctor  Bom- 
bus  said  you  must  be  kej)t  perfectly  quiet,  and  I  must  be  cheer- 
ful before  you  ;  it  is  my  duty,  and  1  will  be. 

Sam  It  seems  to  me  I  should  like  some  lemonade,  if  the  leuj- 
ons  wasn't  all  used  uj). 

Jos.  I  will  harness  up  the  old  mare  and  start  for  Jonesville, 
and  get  you  some.  (He  goes  out,  hut  comes  hack  and  puts  his  head  in- 
side the  door  and  laughs  loud  ) 

Enter  Betsey. 

Bet.  I  had  just  got  home  when  [  heard  of  the  axident,  so  I 
thought  I  would  come  back  and  spend  the  entiah  day,  {she  takes 
off  her  hat.)     How  do  vou  feel,  Josiah  Allen's  wife  ? 

Sam.  I  feel  ver\'  bad  and  feverish  ? 

WiD.  D.  Very  oh  lord ;  jest  as  Doodle  felt. 

Miss  G.  Tizick ! 

Bet.  Yes;  I  know  just  how  you  feel.  1  have  had  sucn  a 
fever  that  the  sweat  stood  in  great  drops  all  over  me.  You 
need  quiet.  {Glares  at  the  two  women)  I  meant  to  ask  you  when 
I  was  in  here  before  you  was  hurt,  which  do  you  like  best,  a 
sun-flower  bed-quilt,  or  a  blazing  star?  So  many  young  girls 
are  being  snatched  away  lately  that  I  want  to  be  prepared.     I 


15 

am  goincr  to  line  it  with  otter  color  :  white  is  prettier,  but 
crets  soiled  so  easily  ;  and  if  two  little  children  just  of  an  age 
was  a  playin'  on  it,  it  would  keep  clean  longer.  I  think  I  will 
have  it  a  blazin'  star. 

WiD.  D  Oh,  how  much  that  blazing  star  makes  me  think  of 
Doodle  and  his  liniment. 

Enter  Editor  of  the  Augur. 

Editor.  Good  day,  Mr;^.  Allen  ;  I  have  heard  of  the  axident 
that  has  befallen  you,  and  so  as  an  oditor  in  search  of  informa- 
tion, I  have  come.  I  thought  with  your  permission  I  would 
make  you  the  leading  article  in  my  next  week's  paper. 

Bet.  She's  a  poem,  I  am  composing  her  now  in  my  own 
mind. 

Miss  G.  She's  a  tragedy  ;  I  am  putting  her  down  as  one. 

Sam.  {Putting  her  hand  to  her  head  mildly)  Am  I  a  tragedy  ? 
Yes,  I  believe  I  am,  [  feel  like  a  tragedy,  I  feel  awful. 

Ed.  Where  were  you  hurt?  by  whom?  And  what  was  the 
first  and  primary  cause  of  the  hurt? 

Sam.  I  was  hurt  by  a  hen  ;  the  first  cause  was  the  pup  ;  but 
Ihey  will  tell  you.  {Betsey  and  Miss  Qowdy  go  up  close  to  him,  one 
on  each  side.) 

Miss  G.  I  will  gladly  spend  hours  informing  you. 

Bet.  Let  me  tell  you,  aeah  man. 

Ed  T  must  go  ;  there  is  a  man  waiting  for  me  at  the  gate. 
AVid<ler  Dooflle  can  you  command  you  feelings  suflSicientl}^  to 
step  into  the  next  room  witii  me  and  give  the  particulars. 

WrD.  D.  Oh,  yes  ;  Doodle  always  said  I  could  drive  ahead  of 
me  as  big  a  drove  ot  particulars  as  any  woman  of  my   size   and 
heft.     1  was  Doodleses  wite  then,  and  now  1  am   hi^    widder  ; 
1  was  his  widder  jest  as  quiciv  as  he  was  dead  ;  and  ii  hain't  no 
ways  suposeable  that  I  shall  ever  marry  agin. 

Exit  Editor  and  Widder  Doodle. 

Miss  G.  I  must  go  too.  Little  Ben  has  got  the  croup,  and  I 
must  be  to  home.     {She  goes  out.) 

Bet.  Crou[)  is  only  a  hollow  excuse,  it  is  the  editor  that  is 
drawing  of  her  home. 

TiRz.  A.  Why  she  can't  ride,  he  has  got  a  load. 

Bet.  Oh,  she  thinks  she  can  walk  along  side  of  his  wagon, 
and  talk.  But  I  won't  worrj'  over  it  no  more,  nor 
begrech  her  her  privilages.  I  see,  Josiah  Allen's 
wife,  that  you  need  care ;  and  in  order  to  quiet  and 
soothe  you,  [  will  read  to  you  ;  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  keep  you 
quiet  to-day  ;  and  to-morrow  mother,  and  Aunt  Maria,  and  all 
)ier  family  ;  and  Aunt  Jane,  and  her  children,  will  come  down 


16  I 

and  stay  all  day  with  you — stay  to  dinner  and  supper.  Thej^ 
are  all  to  our  house  a  visiting :  and  mother  had  rather  bring 
them  with  her  than  not.  There  is  eleven  of  them  in  all,  and 
they'll  all  put  in  to  keep  you  quiet ;  and  you  needn't  make  no 
fuss  for  them  at  all,  though  they  all  love  boiled  dinners  dearly. 
And  now  I  will  proceed  to  read  to  you  the  longest  and  most 
eloquent  editorial  that  has  ever  appeared  in  the  Augur,  written 
by  its  noble  and  eloquent  editor.  It  is  six  columns  in  length, 
and  is  concerning  our  relations  with  Spain. 

Sam  Let  the  editor  and  his  relations  go  to  Spain  ;  and  do 
you  go  to  Spain  with  your  relations ;  and  do  you  start  this 
minute  !  [Betsey  loohs  frightened,  gathers  2ip  her  calico,  and  moves  to- 
ward  the  door,  and  says  : 

Bet.  I  do  not  mind  my  cold  rebufis,  . 

To  be  turned  out  with  bedquilt  stuffs,  l 

Philosophy  would  ease  my  smart,  \ 

Would  say,  Oh!  peace,  sad  female  heart.  j 

But,  oh  !  this  is  the  vf  oe  to  me. 

She  would  not  listen  unto  he. 

CURTAIN    FALLS. 

\ 
\ 


17 

ACT  III. 

Scene. — SamantJia's  hitchen,  with  a  great  deal  of  work  about. — Enter 

Editor  of  the  Aitgur  leading  a  twin  ty  each  hand. 

Eu.  My  hired  ^iiM  has  left  nie,  Mrs.  Allen,  and  I  want  to  go 
to  Shackeville  this  morning  and  see  if  I  can  find  one.  And  I 
called  to  see  if  1  could  leave  a  twin  or  two  with  you  while  I  am 
gone.  And  Mr.  Allen  invited  me  to  come  l)ack  to  dinner;  I 
told  him  I  would,  and  1  would  read  to  you  a  political  argu- 
ment I  have  written  for  the  next  \^- qqM' &  Augur .  It  is  as  long  as  the 
President's  message,  and  is  in  blank  verse.  {Samantha  groans) 
Mr.  Allen  told  me  that  the  VVidder  Doodle  and  Tirzah  Ann 
had  gone  a  visiting,  and  you  had  sights  of  work  to  do.  I 
hated  to  ask  you  io  take  care  of  the  twins  ;  but  1  really  didn't 
know  what  to  do  ;  I  was  at  my  wit's  end. 

Sam.  Probable,  there  has  been  longer  journeys  took  than 
tiiat  was  ;  but  1  will  keep  the  twins.  I  will  try  to  do  just  as 
my  friend  John  Rogers  would  have  done. 

Ed.  Who? 

Sam.  The  first  martyr  in  Queen  Mary's  reign.  Here  chil- 
dren let  me  take  ofi'  your  things.  But  1  have  got  sights  and 
sights  of  work  to  do  to-day,  and  I  have  got  to  go  up  into  the 
wood-house  chamber  to  do  some  work,  and  you  will  have  to 
stay  here  with  the  twins  till  I  come  back.  Here  is  a  picture 
book  they  may  take  to  recreate  on  while  I  am  gone.  It  is 
Foxe's  book  of  martyrs  ;  and  oh  what  a  comfort  that  book  is  to 
me  on  days  like  this.  Anybody  may  say  they  are  patient  and 
unselfish,  .'tnd  are  willing  to  be  martyrs;  but  I  tell  you  you 
can't  tell  what  [)rinciples  folks  are  made  of  till  thev  are  sot  fire 
to.  Now  the  religion  and  selt-denial  and  sound  principles  of 
them  old  tnartyrs  of  Foxes,  they  couldn't  burn  U!),they  couldn't 
make  a  fire  h:)t  enough.  And  when  I  am  tied  to  different 
stakes  of  niartyruom,  I  tell  you  it  keeps  my  mind  cool  and 
calm,  to  think  of  the  i)atience  of  them  old  martyrs  of  Foxes, 
and  coHi])are  my  sullerin's  with  thiern,and  meditate  on  this  fact, 
that  fire  hain't  no  hotter  now  than  it  was  then,  and  though  the 
soul  may  boy  the  body  up  triumphant,  there  couldn't  be  any 
body  burnt  up  without  smartin.  Yes,  I  will  keep  the  twins, 
and  I  will  hear  your  blank  verses;  I  will  be  down  shortly. 
[Exit  Samantha;  Enter  Betsey  Bobbett). 

Bet.  Good  morning,  deah  sir. 

Ed.  Good  morning. 

Bet.  1  saw  you  coming  in  here  and  I  hurried  over  to  bring 
some  poet'-y  that  I  have  been  composing  for  \our  paper.  It  is 
called  "Gushings  of  a  Tender  Soul."  And  would  it  be  any 
more  soothing  and  comforting  to  you  if  1  should  sign  my  name 
Bettie  Bobbett,  or  Betsey  as  1  always  have  I  asked  Josiah 
Allen's  wife  if  she  liked  the  "Bettie,"  and  she  said  she  expected 


1« 

every  day  to  hear  some  minister  preach  about  Johnnie  :he 
Baptist  and  Minnie  Magde  en,  but  she  is  cold  and  practical  ; 
but  1  will  read  it.  [The  ticins  cry  and  she  says):  Oh  poor  little 
motherless  thint^s,  how  much  you  need  a  step-mother;  but  I 
will  read. 
Ed.  {aside)  Gracious  Heavens!   What  shall  I  do! 

Oh  let  who  will,  oh  let  who  can, 

Be  tied  unto,  a  horrid  male  man. 

Thus  said  I  ere  my  tendeh  hea'-t  was  touched  ; 

Thus  said  I  ere  my  tendeh  feelings  gushed  ; 

But,  oh  !  a  change  hath  swept  o'er  me, 

As  billows  sweep  the  deep  blue  sea  ;' 

A  voice,  a  noble  lorm,  one  day  I  saw. 

An  arrow  flew,  my  heart  is  nearly  raw. 

His  first  pardner  sweetly  lies  beneath  the  turf. 
He  is  wandering,  now,  in  sorrow's  briny  surf; 
Two  twins — the  deah  little  cherub  creeters, 
Can  wipe  the  tears  from  off  his  classic  features ; 
Oh !  sweet  lot,  worthy  angel  risen, 
To  wipe  the  tears  from  eyes  like  hisen.    {Editor  groans.) 
Bet.     May  I  ask  you,  deah  man,  if  the  twin  has  got  oveh 
swallowing  the  thimble  ?     I  heard  it  swallowed  the  hired  girl's 
thimble  the  very  day  she  hired  out  to  another  place,  and  left 
you  alone. 

Ed.  It  aid,  and  I  wish  it  had  swallowed  the  hired  girl !  I 
feel  reckles«,  and  bad. 

Bet.  Oh  !  deah  man  ;  you  need  to  be  southed.  Poetry  is 
soothing,  and  comforting,  when  rehearsed  bv  a  tendeh  female 
voice.  I  have  a  few  lines  here,  composed  "  On  a  Twin  Swal- 
lowing a  Side  Thimble."  It  is  more  on  a  mournful  plan  ;  but  I 
will  read  it  to  yo  •. 

Ed.  [Aside)  Did  Heaven  ever  witness  such  tribulations?  [And 
icliile  Betsey  is  reading  he  takes  ajnstol  out  of  hisjjocket^  airns  it  at  her. 
and  then  replaces  it.     Betsey  reads)  : 

Bet  -Oh,  when  side  thimbles  swallowed  be. 
How  can  the  world  look  sweet  to  he 
Who  owns  the  twins,  fair  babe,  heaven  bless  it. 
Who  hath  no  own  mother  to  caress  it. 

Its  own  mother  hath  sweetly  gone  above, 
Oh,  how  he  needs  a  mother's  love. 
My  own  heart  runs  o'er  with  tenderness, 
And  its  own  noble  father  tries  to  do  his  best. 

But  housework,  men  can't  perfectly  understand. 
Oh,  how  it  needs  a  helping  hand. 
Ah!  when  twins  are  sick,  and  hired  girls  have  flown. 
It  is  sad  for  a  deah  man  to  be  alone. 


19 

Enter  Thos.  Jefferson. 

Thos  J.  Good  morning-,  editor,  good  morning,  Betsoy ;  I 
have  got  a  poem  of  yours  here,  Betsey,  that  I  found  in  father's 
tin  trunk  the  other  day.  I  hav'nt  seen  you  before  since  I  found 
it. 

Bet.  {delighted)  Is  it  possible  ;  your  pa  probably  cut  it  out  of 
some  paper  and  has  been  treasuring  it  up. 

Thos.  J.  Shall  I  read  it  ? 

Bet    Oh,  yes;  do  read  it,  Thos.  Jefferson. 

Thos.  J.  Josiah,  I  the  tale  have  burn 

With  rigid  ear,  and  streaming  eye, 
I  saw  from  me  that  you  did  turn, 
I  never  knew  the  reason  v\iiy  ; 
Oh!  Josiah,  it  seemed  as  if  I  must  expire! 

[Betsey^  as  he  begins  to  read^  is  lost  in  thought,  and  does  not  seem  to 
hear,  then  springs  up). 

Bet.  Thomas  Jefferson  this  is  cruel.  Give  it  to  me ;  don't 
read  it,  don't ! 

Ed.  {in  low  tone)  Go  on. 

Thos.  J.  I  saw  thee  coming  down  the  street, 
She  by  your  side  in  bonnet  blue, 
The  stones  that  grated  'neath  thy  feet. 
Seemed  crunching  on  my  vitals  too. 

Oh!  Josiah,  it  seems  as  if  [  must  expire. 

Bet.  {mildly)  Don't  read  any  more,  don't! 

Ed.  Go  on !  go  on ! 

Thos.  J.  I  saw  thee  washing  sheep  last  night, 

On  the  bridge  I  stood  with  marble  brow  ; 
The  water  raged,  thou  clasped  it  tight 

I  sighed,  "Should  both  be  drounded  now," 
I  thought  Josiah, 
Oh,  happy  sheep,  to  thus  expire. 

[Enter  Samantha,  carrying  a  pair  of  swifts  with  soms  sheins  of  yarn 
on  it) 

Bet.  Josiah  Allen's  wife,  shall  your  cruel  boy  be  allowed  to 
injure  a  cause,  and  bleed  a  tendeh  heart? 

Sam-  Thomas  Jefferson  what  have  you  been  up  to  now  ? 
Ed.  He  has  done  nobly  ;  but  I  must  go  at  once.     Hired  girls 
must  be  seen  to  immediately. 
Thos.  J.   And  I  must  go  and  fodder  the  steers. 
Exit  Editor  and  Thos.  J. 


20  •  \ 

{ One  of  the  twins  runs  up  to  the  swifts  and  hegins  to  tangU  the  yarn 
on  it,  and  while  Samantha  attends  to  that,  the  other  one  tips  ovei'  a  has- 
Tcet  of  apples.  Samantha  holds  the  child  off  with  one  hand  while  she 
picks  iqy  the  apples  loith  the  other.) 

Bet.  If  there  is  any  object  on  eartli,  Josiah  Allen's  wife,  that 
I  warm  to,  it  is  the  sweet  little  children  of  widowers.  I  have 
always  felt  that  I  wanted  to  comfort  them,  and  their  deah  pa's.| 
I  have  alwa\s  felt  that  it  was  women's  highest  speah,  her  onlyj 
mission,  to  sooth,  to  clinof,  to  smile, to  coo.  I  always  felt  that  it 
was  women's  greatest  i)rivelege.  her  crowning  blessing  to  soothe; 
lacerations,  to  be  a  sort  of  a  poultice  to  the  manly  breast  when; 
it  is  torn  with  the  cares  of  life.     Do  you  not  think  so  ? 

Sam.  Am  I  a  poultice,  Betsey  Bobbett  ?  Do  I  look  like  one? 
Am  I  in  a  condition  to  be  one  ?  I  have  done  a  big  ironing  to^ 
day,  churned  ten  pounds  of  butter,  scalded  two  hensand  picked 
'em,  made  seven  pies  and  a  batch  of  nutcakes,  two  pans  of 
cookies,  and  mopped  all  over.  And  now  I  have  got  these 
twins  on  my  hands,  all  this  carpet  yarn  to  double, blank  verses,; 
ahead  on  me,  and  dinner  to  get,  and  now  I  am  called  on  to  be; 
a  poultice.  What  has  my  sect  done  that  they  have  got  to  be! 
lacerator-soothers  and  poultices,  when  they  have  got  ever)-: 
thing  el"e  under  the  sun  to  do.  Everybody  says  that  men  are 
stronger  than  wimmen,  and  w^^-y  should  they  be  treated  like 
glass-china,  liable  to  break  to  pieces  every  minute?  And  if 
they  have  got  to  be  soothed,  why  can't  they  git  some  man  to, 
soothe 'em  ?  They  have  a-^  much  agin  time  as  wimmen  have.; 
Evenin's  they  don't  have  anything  else  to  do,  they  might  jestj 
as  well  be  a  soothin'  each  other  a>  to  be  ;«  hangin'  round  gro-: 
eery  stores,  or  settin'  bv  the  fii"e  whittlin'.  .'  i 

Bet.  Oh  !  it  iiiust  be  so  sweet,  so  strangely  sweet,  to  sootli^j 
the  manly  breast :  to  soothe,  to  smile,  to  coo. 

Sam.  T  am  perfectly  willing  to  coo  it  T  had  time  ;  and  I  hadj 
jest  as  lives  soothe  lacerations  as  not,  if  I  hadn't  everything! 
else  under  the  sun  to  do.  I  had  jest  as  lives  sit  down  and| 
smile  at  Josiah  Allen  by  the  hour,  and  smooth  down  his  baldj 
head  affectionately,  but  who  would  fry  the  nut-cakes,  and  make! 
f  he  ginger  cookies  I  could  coo  at  him  day  in,  and  day  out,; 
but  who  would  skim  milk,  and  wash  pans,  and  darn,  and  fry,j 
and  bake,  and  bile,  while  I  was  a  cooin'  ?  i 

Bet.  Oh!  Josiah  Allen's  wife;  we  shall  always  difieh  on^ 
the  subject  of  coos.  But  I  wish  to  crave  your  advice  on  a  deep! 
and  solemn  subject.  Martin  Farquieh  Tuppeh  is  one  of  thej 
sweetest  poets  of  the  ages.  My  sentiments  have  always  blend-; 
ed  in  with  his  sentiments.  I  have  always  flew  with  his  flights, 
and  soared  with  his  soars.  And  last  night  after  I  had  retired, 
one  of  his  sublime  ideahs  come  to  me  with  a  power  I  neveh 
felt  before.  It  knocked  the  bolted  door  of  my  heart  open,  and 
said:  "Betsey  Bobbett, you  have  not  neveh  done  it."  He  remarks; 


21 

that  if  anybody  is  going  to  be  married,  tlieir  deah  future  com- 
panion is  on  earth,  though  we  may  neveh  liave  seen  him,  or 
her,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  pray  for  tlmt  future  companion. 
Josiah  Allen's  wi^'e.  I  have  not  neveh  done  it ;  I  feel  condemned. 
Would  vou  begin  to  pra)^  now  ? 

Sam    Are  you  going  to  pray  for  a  husbanti,  or  about  one  ? 

Blt.   [mournfully)  A  little  of  both. 

Sam.    Wall,  I  don't  know  as  it  would  no  any  hurt,  Betsey. 

Bkt.  1  will  begin  to  pray  to-night,  but  that  is  not  all.  Folks 
must  work  as  well  as  pray  ;  I  am  going  to  take  a  decided  stand. 
Be  you  a  going  to  the  quire  mteting  to-morrow  night  ? 

Sam.  I  am  layin'  out  to  go  if  I  hain't  too  lame. 

Bet.  Josiah  Allen's  wife  will  you  stand  by  me?  There  is 
not  another  female  woman  in  Jonesville  that  I  have  the  firm 
unwaverin'  confidence  in  that  I  have  in  you.  You  always 
bring  about  whatever  you  set  your  hands  to,  and  I  want  to 
know  will  you  stand  by  me  to-morrow  night? 

Sam.  What  undertakin'  have  you  got  into  your  head  now, 
Betsey  Bobbett  ? 

Bet.  I  am  going  to  encourage  the  editor  of  the  Augur.  That 
man  needs  a  companion.  Men  are  offish  and  bashful  and  do 
not  always  know  what  is  best  for  them.  1  have  seen  horses 
hang  back  in  the  harness  before  now ;  I  have  seen  geese  that 
would  not  walk  up  to  be  picked  ;  I  have  seen  children  hang 
back  tVom  pikery  The  horses  ought  to  hQ  made  to  ^o  ;  the 
geese  oujiht  to  bo  held  and  picked;  the  children  ought  to  take 
the  pikery  if  you  have  to  hold  their  nc^-es  to  make  them.  The 
editor  of  the  Augur  needs  a  companion,  and  I  am  going  to  en- 
courage that  man  to-morrow  night,  and  I  want  to  know  Josiah 
Allen's  wife,  it  yoi;  will  stand  by  tne  ? 

Sam.  You  Isiiow,  Betsey,  that  1  can't  run  ;  I'm  too  fat  and 
lame;  and  then  I'u)  gettin'  too  old.  Mebby  I  might  walk  up 
and  help  you  coi-ner  him,  but  you  know  I  can't  run  for  any- 
body. 

Enter  Josiah. 

Jos.  The  Editor  has  come,  and  wants  me  to  fetch  out  the 
twins. 

Sam.  Why  I  thought  he  was  coming  back  to  take  dinner, 
and  read  his  blank  verses. 

Jos.  Wall,  he  was  unhitchin'  his  horse, and  I  happened  to  men- 
tion that  I  gut  ssed  Betsey  would  be  here  to  dinner  too  ;  and 
lie  jumped  into  that  buggy  agin'  like  iightnin',  and  hollered 
out :  "  Fetch  out  the  twins  ?"  Be  acted  sort  o'  crazy  like,  and 
skairt. 

Bet.  So  sweetly  sensitive,  he  lears  to  be  forward  and  intru- 
sive. 


22 

Jos.  I  told  him  to  stay ;  I  told  him  3^011  would  have  a  awful 
good  dinner,  and  I  knew  what  it  was  to  be  a  widower  and  live 
on  pancakes.  But  all  he  said  was  to  yell  out,  "Fetch  out  the 
twins." 

[Samantha  goes  to  jmtting  on  the  childrens'  wraps  ) 

Bet.  Oh,  do  not  be  in  such  haste,  Josiah  Allen's  wife.  The 
editor  may  come  in  to  dinner  if  you  don't  hurry  so,  and  I  will 
stay  too.  [Betsey  fixes  herhnir,  arranges  her  neck  tie  and  looTcs  anx- 
iously from  the  window  ;  then  goes  and  walks  from  the  windoto  to  the 
door  peering  out  in  hopes  he  will  come  in) 

Jos.  There  hain't  no  use  on  waiting-,  you  won't  ketch  him  in 
here.     Hear  him  now.     [A  voice  fro7n  hehind  the  scenes): 

Ed.  Fetch  out  the  twins. 

CURTAIN  FALLS. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene — Outside  of  cottage — Josiah  and  Samantha  within.  —  Cats 
heard  fighting  drendj  ully  behind  the  scenes  —  Upper  icindow  opens^ 
and  TTwmas  J  throws  out  something  to  scare  cats.  —  When  Josiah  real- 
izes that  it  is  a  serenador,  he  gets  out  of  bed  and  starts  for  the  door  — 
Samantha  pulling  him  back  again  —  Yoic  can  see  their  head  and 
shoulders  as  they  passby  an  open  window  below — Samantha  with  night- 
gown and  night  cap  on  ;  Josiah  in  similar  raiment^  only  with  a  tall  hat 
and  umbrella- They  pass  by  the  leindow  several  times,  as  he  is  determined 
he  tcillgo  out  and  stop  the  music,  and  she  will  not  let  him. — During 
the  serenade  Tirzah  Ann  appears  at  an  vppm'  window  opj^osite  Thomas 
Jefferson  with  a  night-cap>  on  and  a  bouquet  of  flowers  — She  vainly 
endeavors  to  attract  Shakespeare's  attention. 

Thos.  J.  You've  preached  long-  enough  brothers,  on  that 
text;  I'll  put  in  a  7thly  for  you.  [Throws  boot.)  You've  pro- 
tracted your  meeting-  here  long  enough;  you  may  adjourn, now, to 
somebody  else's  window,  and  exhort  them  a  spell.  [Throws 
something  more )  Now  I  wonder  if  you'll  come  round  on  this 
circuit  right  away. 

Sam.  Thomas  Jefferson,  stop  that  noise. 

Jos.  Do  let  him  be  ;  do  let  him  kill  the  old  creeters,  I  am 
wore  out. 

Sam.  Josiah,  I  don't  mind  his  killin'  the  cats,  but  I  won't 
have  hiiii  talking  about  holding  protracted  mectin's  and 
preechin' ;  I  won't  have  it. 


23 

Jos.  Wall,  do  lay  down  ;  the  most  I  care  for  is  to  get  rid  of 
the  cats. 

Sam.  You  do  have  wicked  streaks  Josiah,  and  the  way  you 
let  that  boy  go  on  is  awful.  Where  do  you  think  you  will  go 
to,  Josiah  Allen  ? 

Ji'S.  I  shall  go  into  another  bed  if  you  can't  stop  talkin'.  I 
have  been  kept  awake  till  midnight  by  them  awful  creeters,and 
now  you  want  to  tinish  me.  Oh,  dummit^  them  dum  cats  are 
at  it  agin 

Sam.  ^Yell,  you  needn't  swear  so   if  they  be  ;  but  I  say   it 
hain't  cats. 
Jos.  It  is. 

Sam.  I  know  better ,  it  hain't  cats 
Jos.  Wall,  if  it  hain't  cats,  what  is  it  ? 
Sam.  It  is  a  acordeun. 
Jos.  How  come  a  acordeun  under  our  window  ? 

Sam.  It  is  Shakespeare  Bobbett  seranadin'  Tirzah  Ann,  and 
he  has  got  under  the  wrong  window.  Josiah  Alen  come  back 
here  this  minute';  do  you  realize  your  condition  ;  you  hain't 
dressed. 

Jos.  Wall,  I  can  put  my  hat  on  I  'spose. 

Sam.  Yes,  a  stovepipe  hat  is  a  great  protection.  Josiah 
Allen  if  you  go  to  the  door  in  that  condition,  I'll  prosicute  you. 
What  do  you  mean  bv  acting  so.  You  was  voung  once  your- 
self. 

Jos.   I  wasn't  a  confounded  fool,  if  I  was  young 

Sam.  Comeback  to  bed,  Josiah  Allen  ;  do  you  want  to  get 
the  Bobbetses  and  the  Doodleses  mad  at  you  ? 

Jos    ^  es,  I  do. 

Sam.  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
swearin'  and  actin'  as  you  have  ;  and  you'll  end  by  gettin'  your 
death  cold.  [S1iakes2)eare  Bobbett  has  appeared  outside  with  a  guitar, 
and  played  a  strain,  as  if  uncertain  of  the  Tcey.  Think,  oh,  think 
of  me). 

Jos    No  danger  of  our  not  thiiikin'  on  you,  no  danger  on  it. 

{Shakespeare  ylays  and  sings  ) 

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  beaming, 
Moonlight  hours  in  mv  opinion, 

Is  the  time  for  love. 


24 

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

Sam.  Josiali  Allen,  if  you  make  another  move  I'll  part  with 
yon.  It  does  beat  all  how  you  act.  Do  you  think  it  is  any 
comfort  for  me  to  lay  here  and  hear  it  ?  You  was  yourg  once 
yourself. 

Jos,  Throw  that  in  my  face  ag'in  will  you  ?  Whut  if  1  wuz  ? 
Oh  !  do  hear  him  beginnin'  agin.  I  should  like  to  know  what 
comfort  there  is  in  his  prowlin'  round  here,  makin'  two  old 
folks  lay  all  night  in  perfect  agony. 

Sam.  It  hain't  much  aftef  midnight,  and  if  it  was,  do  yoi. 
caicolate  to  go  through  life  without  any  trouble  ?  It  you  do 
you'll  find  yourself  mistaken.     {Shakespeare  sings  to  the  same  time.) 

When  I  think  ofthee,  thou  lovely  dame. 

I  feel  so  weak  and  overcame 

That  tears  would  flow  from  my  eye-lid. 

Did  not  my  stern  manhood  forbid. 

For  Tirzah  Ann— for  Tirzah  Ann, 

I  am  a  melancholy  man. 

I'm  wasting  slow,  my  last  year's  ves-t 
Hangs  loose  on  me;  my  nightly  rests 
Are  thin  as  gause,  and  thoughts  of  you, 
Gashes  'em  wildly  through  and  through. 
Oh  I  Tirzah  x\nn  ;  oh,  Tirzah  Ann  ; 
I  am  a  melancholy  man. 
Jos.   You'd  be  a  melancholy  man  my  young  feller  it  I    was 
out  there  half  a  minute    with   a   club.     Sjunautha,    lemme    go 
out,  dummit  ;  I  will  go  I 

Sam.  Do  you  stop  swearin'  and  be  calui. 

Jos,  I  won't  be  calm,  and  I  will  say  dumuiit;  there  now, 
dummit! 

S.  Bob.  {sings)  Oh!  I  languish  for  thee;  lam  languishing  for 
thee.     {Upper  iciadow  opens  again.) 

Thos  J  My  musical  young  friend,  havn't  you  languished 
enough  tor  one  night?  Because  if  you  have,  father  and  mother 
and  I,  being  kept  awake  by  other  serenaders  the  fore-part  of 
the  night,  will  love  to  excuse  you,  will  thank  you  for  your  labors 
in  our  belialt  and  love  to  bid  you  good  evening — Tirzah  Ann 
being  fast  asleep  in  the  other  end  ot  tlie  liouse.  But  don't  let 
me  hurry  you  Sliakespeare,  my  dear  young  friend,  if  you  havn't 
languished  enough,  you  keep  right  on  languishing,  1  hope  I 
hain't  so  hard  hearted  enough  to  deny  a  young  man  and  neigh- 
bor the  privilege  of  languishing,     {Shakespeare departs.) 

CURTAIN  FALLS. 


25 

ACT  Y. 

Scene — Jodah  Allen'' s  toife  with  honnet  on  ready  to  start. — She  says  to 

herself:  '"7  wonder  why  Josiah  Allen  don't  come.      We  shall  le  lata 

to  that  quire  meetin\'' —  When  Simon  Slimpsey  rushes  in  and  sinTcs 

down  in  a  chair. 

Simon.  Am  I  pursued  ? 

Sam.  There  hain't  nobody  in  sight.  Has  your  life  been  at- 
tacked by  burglers  and  incindiarys  ?  Speak,  Simon  Slimpsey, 
speak ! 

Simon.     Betsey  Bobbett ! 

Sam.  What  of  her,  Simon  Slimpsey  ? 

Simon.  She'll  be  the  death  on  me,  and  my  sou]  is  jeopard- 
ized on  account  of  her.  To  think  that  I,  a  member  of  a  auth- 
ordox  church,  and  the  father  of  thirteen  small  children,  could 
be  tempted  to  swear.  But  I  did,  not  more'n  two  minutes  ago. 
I  said,  By  Jupiter!  I  can't  stand  it  so  much  longer.  And 
last  night  to  meetin',  when  she  was  payin'  attention  to  me,  I 
wished  I  was  a  ghost ;  for  I  tii ought  if  I  was  a  apperition  I 
could  vanish  from  her  view.  Oh !  1  have  got  so  low  as  to  wish 
I  was  a  ghost.  She  come  a  rushin'  out  of  Deacon  Gowdy's 
just  now  as  I  came  past  jest  a  purpose  to  talk  to  me.  She 
don't  give  me  no  peace.  Last  night  she  would  walk  tight  to 
my  side  all  the  way  from  meetin'  and  she  looked  so  hungry  at 
the  gate,  as  [  went  through  and  fastened  it  on  the  inside. 

Sam.  Mebby  she'!'  marry  the  editor  of  the  Augur.  She  is 
payin'  attention  to  him. 

Simon.  N©  ;  she  won't  get  him  ;  I  shall  be  the  one,  I  always 
W'as  the  one.  It  has  always  been  so,  if  there  was  ever  a  under- 
lin'  and  a  victim  wanted,  I  was  that  underlin'  and 
that  victim.  And  Betsey  Bobbett  will  get  round  me  yet,  you 
see  if  she  don't. 

Sam.  Cheer  up.  Simon  Slimpsey;  folks  hain't  obleeged  to 
marry  it  they  don't  want  to. 

Simon.  Yes  they  be  ;  if  folks  get  round  'em.  Hain't  you  seen 
her  verses  in  last  week's  Aiigur? 

Sam.  No,  I  liaint.     {Simon  hands  Tier  the  paper  and  sh£  reads): 

Oh,  wedlock  is  our  only  hope. 

All  o'er  this  mighty  nation, 
Men  are  brought  up  to  other  trades, 

But  this  is  our  vocation  ; 
On !  not  for  sense  or  love  ask  we, 

We  ask  not  te  be  courted. 
Our  watchword  is  to  married  be, 

That  we  may  be  supported. 


26 

Say  not  you're  strong  and  love  to  work, 

Are  healthier  than  your  brother, 
Who  for  a  blacksmit*'  is  desicrnecl, 

Such  feelings  yon  i-iii-t  Piiiotlier; 
Your  restless  hands  fold  up  or  ^ripe 

Your  waist  into  a  span, 
And  spend  your  strength  in  looking  out 

To  hail  the  coming  man. 

Chorus. — Press  onward,  do  not  fear,  sisters, 
Press  onward,  do  not  fear, 
Kemember  women's  spear,  sister. 
Remember  women's  spear. 

Sam.  Wall,  she  believes  that  marryin'  is  wimmens  only 
spear. 

Simon.  It  is  that  spear  that  is  going  to  destroy  me. 

Sam  Don't  give  up  so  Simon  Slimpsey  ;  I  hate  to  see  you 
lookin'  so  gloomy  and  deprcsted 

Simon.  It  is  the  awful  determination  of  them  lines  thai  apauls 
me.  I  have  seen  it  in  another.  Betsey  Bobbett  remind«  me 
dreadfull)"  ot  another ;  she  makes  me  think  of  that  first  wife  of 
mine.  And  I  don't  want  to  marry  again  Miss  Allen,  I  don't 
want  to.  I  didn't  want  to  marry  the  first  time,  I  wanted  to  be 
a  bachelder.  I  think  they  have  the  easiest  time  ofitbyhalf. 
Now  there  is  a  friend  of  mine  that  is  only  half  an  hour  younger 
than  I  be,  and  that  hadn't  ought  to  make  much  difference  in  our 
looks,  liad  it  ? 

Sam.  No,  Simon  Slimpsey.  it  hadn't. 

Simon.  Well  ;  you  ought  to  see  what  a  head  of  hair  he's  got 
now  ;  sound  to  the  roots,  not  a  lock  missing.  I  wanted  to  be 
one.  but  my  late  wife  come  and  kept  house  for  me,  and — and 
married  me.  I  lived  with  her  for  eighteen  years,  and  when 
she  left  me  I  was — I  was  reconciled.  I  was  reconciled  some 
time  before  it  took  place.  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin'  against 
nobody  that  hain't  round  here  in  this  world,  but  I  lost  a  good 
deal  of  hair  by  my  late  wife  ;  and  I  wanted  to  keep  a  lock  or 
two  for  my  children  to  keep  as  a  relict  of  me.  I  have  got  thir- 
teen, as  you  know,  countin'  each  pair  of  twins  as  two,  and  it 
would  take  a  considerable  number  of  hairs  to  go  round.  I 
don't  want  to  marry  agin. 

Sam.  Mebby  you  are  borrowin'  trouble  without  cause,  Simou 
Slimpsey,  with  life  there  is  hope.  Don't  give  up  so  Simon 
Slimpsey;  mebby  she'll  marry  the  editor  of  the /Iw^wr ;  she's 
payin'  lots  of  attention  to  him. 

Simon.  No,  he  won't  have  her,  she'l  get  round  me  yet — you 
mark  my  words,  and  when  the  time  comes  you  will  think  of 
what  I  told  you.  (Simon  weeps)  You  see  if  she  don't  get  round 
me  yet. 


Sam    Chiriv  up,  Simon  Slimpsey,  be  a  man. 

Simon.  That  Ir  the  trouble,  if  I  wasn't  a  man  she  would 
give  me  some  peace.  {He  weeps  Utterly.  The  curtain  falls,  hut 
rises  ifnmediately  for  the  quire  scene  ) 


Scene — II— Quire  Meeting — Two  or  three  rows  of  seats, — Any 
number  of  Singers,  the  more  the  better — Editor  takes  chair  in 
center  offii'st  row — Betsey  and  Iliss  Gowdy  both  try  to  take  the 
vacant  seat  at  his  left :  Ifiss  Gowdy  gets  it— Betsey  sits  in 
front  7'ow  at  right  of  Editor,  not  7iext  to  him — Samantha  and 
Josiah  sit  at  left  of  Hiss  Gowdy— Elder  Peedick,  the  leader, 
stands  at  the  right— Josiah  and  Samantha  come  in  arm  in  arm 
after  most  of  them  get  seated — Josiah  says  as  they  walk  in, 
Don't  le  a  lockin'  arms,  Samantha,  it  will  make  talk— Elder 
Peedick  distributes  books. 

Eld.  p.  We  will  commence  this  evening  by  singing  the 
hvmn— "How  blest  was  Jacob."  We  will  sing  it  to  the  tune  of 
Ortenville.  Widder  Tubbs,  will  yon  play  the  instrument  ? 
{some  old  melodeon). 

8.  Bob.  The  metre  is  too  long. 

Tfios.  J.  Yes,  there  i^;  too  much  tune  for  the  w  rds. 

Eld.  p.  I  believe  I  am  running  this  qui  e  {He  takes  out  a 
tuning  fork  and  tries  it,  and  commences).  How  blest  was  Ja-a- 
a-a-cob.  Lenime  see.  I  didn't  get  the  riglit  key.  {tries  again) 
How  blest  was  Ja-a-fol-de-rol-cob. 

Thos.  J.  You  had  be'ter  try  some  other  patriarch,  and  see  if 
you  caa  run  him  througli  the  tune. 

S.  Bob.  I  knew  when  the  tune  and  words  was  added  up 
there  would  be  tune  to  carry. 

Eld.  p.  Shakespeare  Bobbett,  do  you  keep  still,  and  don't  let 
me  ketch  you  a  pressin'  the  key  to-night. 

S.  Bob.  I  shall  press  as  many  keys  as  I  am  a  minter  for  all 
you  :  you  are  always  tindin'  fault  with  sumthin'  or  other. 

Eld.  p.  Perhaps  we  had  better  try  some  more  familiar 
hymn.  We  will  sing  on  page  200.  The  duet  between  the 
sultireno  and  the  beartone  will  be  sung  by  the  editor  of  the 
Augur  and  Betsey  Bobbett. 

Miss  G.  I  believe  I  can  sing  that  full  as  well  as  another  cer- 
tain person. 

Bet  Sophrona.  I  shall  sing  it,  it  has  been  give  out,  and  Elder 
Pedick,  you  had  better  give  Miss  Gowdy  a   book.     She  seem 


28 

to  have  to  look  over  with  the  editor.     {Elder  Peedlck  gives  the 
key  and  they  all  sing). 

Though  the  old  man  rises  fearful, 
In  our  hearts  renewed  by  sfrace, 
Yet  his  work  is  sad  and  direful, 
That  old  man  is  our  disgrace. 

{Duet — That  same  vei^se  set  to  the  song,''  When  thy  bosom  heaves 
a  sigh/^  Betsey  ayulthe  editoi^  stai'ts.  Betsey  gets  her  part  too 
low,  they  sing  it  as  far  as  ^^  Though  the  old  man'' '  —when  Josiah 
rises.) 

Jos.  It  is  a  shame  for  a  woman  to  sing  alone  in  a  room  full 
of  men.  {He  begins  and  sings  the  ivhole  verse  through  to  the 
tune  of  Greenville.) 

Sam.  Josiah,  if  you  say  another  word  I'll  part  with  you. 
What  do  you  mean,  Josiah  Allen? 

Jos.  I'm  singing  base. 

Sam  Do  you  sit  down  and  behave  yourself;  she  has  pitched 
it  to  low.     It  hain't  base. 

Jos.  I  know  better,  Samantha  ;  it  is  base.  I  guess  I  know 
base  when  I  hear  it,  and  as  long  as  I  call  myself  a  man,  I  will 
have  the  privilege  of  singing  base. 

Sam.  Sing!  I'd  call  it  singing 

[So'phronia  and  the  Editor  now  take  advantage  of  Betsey'' s  con- 
fusion and  go  triumphantly  through  it.  All  then  repeat  the  first 
part  singing  it  well  to  the  tune  of  Arlington.) 

Peedick.   We  will  now  have  a  inte"mi^.>ion  of  five   minutes. 

[Editor  drains  Samardhato  front  of  stage  n.nd  says)  : 

Ed.  How  sweet  it  is  Josiah  Allen's  wi-^e,  for  a  noble  but 
sto»'U)-iosted  bark  to  anchor  in, a  beautlftd  calm.  How  sweet 
it  i«!  when  you  see  ;he  ?-aveuin'  tempest  asuiilin'  at  you,  I  mean  a 
•  lowerin'  at  you,  to  feel  that  it  can't  harm  you.  that  you  are 
beyond  its  reach.  Josiah  Allen's  wife.  I  feel  safe  and  happy 
to-night;  I  believe  you  are  my  friend 

Sam.  Yes,  and  you  well-wisher ;  whateve'*  hai)pen^,  if  you 
are  ever  encouraged, or  any  othe<"  trial  comes  to  you,  remember 
that  I  wished  you  well  and  pitied  you. 

Ed.  Instead  ot  pi<.ying  me,  wish  me  joy.  I  am  mar''ied,  I 
was  married  a  week  ago. 

Sam.     Who  to  ? 

Ed.  The  prettiest  o:i"l  in  Log  London.     She  is  at  her  father's 
now,  but  will  be  here  in  a  few  days.     I  must  go,  the  twins  will 
be  waking  up.     Yes,  M'ss  Allen,  I  am  married  and  safe. 
Exit  Editor. 

Bet.  Ketch  hold  of  me,  Josiah  Allen's  wife,  ketch  hold  of 
me.     I  am  on  the  very  point  of  swooning. 


29 

Sam.  Ketch  hold  of  yoai-self. 

Bet.  One  of  my  deaL'est  gazelles  is  a  dying.  One  of  my  fond- 
est hopes  is  a  withering. 

Sam.  Let  'em  withe.'.  Betsey  Bobbett,  this  gaze  lie  is  mar- 
r'ed.  and  tuere  hain't  no  use  in  yourfollowm'  on  that  trail  any 
longer.  *  Do  'ry  and  behave  till  meeiin'  is  out. 

P^  :dick.  We  wi'l  now  sing  on  page  99.  Sing  the  words  on 
page  99  to  the  tune  of  old  Noi-thfield. 

All.  We're  sinners  wandering  every  day, 
P"e-sum-shu-ous,  and  bo'd. 
We  all  a,-e  sheep — 
We  all  are  sheep  — 
We  all  ai'e  sheep  that's  gone  astray, 
And  wande**ing  from  the  fold. 

[Widdcr  Doodle  cWing  in  the  corner  weps  and  says:)  Ob 
how  much  that  sheep  mates  me  think  of  Doodle. 

All  S)  sa.  Oh  yes,  pre-sum-shu-ous  we  a'^e, 
And  blind,  and  halt,  and  lame. 
We  all  are  mean — 
We  all  are  mean — 
We  all  are  raeau'ng  to  be  good, 
But  nothing  can  we  claim 

Peedick.  We  will  now  sing  ihe  verse  which  Miss  Bobbett 
composed  for  her  own  private  devotions,  but  which  she  kindly 
pei'inits  the  qu're  tO  u^e.  She  says  it  should  be  sung  with 
g -eat  expression  ;:nd  feeling.  [Be'jsey,  who  has  been  weeping 
gets  up  and  sings  inia.) 

All  Sing.  Oh!  sad  [  wander  down  life'*  vale, 
And  d-!nk  life's  bilte'*  cup. 
Send  down  the  man — 
Sena  down  the  man — 
Send  down  tlie  rn.inna  of  -ich  grace, 
And  I  will  rake  it  up. 

Tir.z.  K.  I  don't  like  the  hymns  we  have  sung  to-nignt.  We 
hain't  all  sheep,  and  we  don't  all  of  us  want  men  seat  down. 

Mtss  G.  It  don't  look  well,  Tirzah  Ann,  for  you  to  be  cor- 
!"ec^  mg  your  betters. 

Bet.  [Severely.)  Tirzah  Anw  Allen,  you  are  too  young  to  re- 
alize t-nngs. 

Peedick.  We  will  now^sing,  "How  Sweet  for  Bretheren  to 
Agree."     Sing  it  to  the  tune  of  Bovlslon. 

All.   How  sweet  for  b-etheren  to — 

Peedick.  T.-y  again  ;  now:  {Gives  hey.) 

All.   How  sweet  for  bretheren  to — 


30 

S.  Bob.  You  hain't  got  tune  enough  for  the  Nvords  ;  the  best 
calculator  in  tunes  couldn't  do  it. 

Peedick.  I  can't  do  anytbhig  ;  j^ou  flat  the  notes  so. 

S.  Bob,  I  don't  flat  any  more  than  the  rest  do. 

Peedick.  You  young  viilian,  you  do.  {Widde?'  Tubbs  jumps  up 
in  front,  stands  with  her  bach  to.  tne  audience,  beats  time  and  sings.  All 
join  in  after  thefirct  line,  ajid  when  the  rest  sing  ••  unity,''  Shakespeare 
Bobbeit  sings  •'  oaion  iea."''     They  sing  chorus  to  "'Oh  that  will  he  joyful  " 

How  sweet  for  bretheren  to  agree, 
How  sweet  for  bretheren  to  agree, 
How  sweet  for  bretheren  to  agree, 
And  dwell  in  unltee  ; 
And  dwell  in  unitee-e-e, 
And  dwell  in  unitee. 
How  sweet  for  bretheren  to  agree. 
And  dwell  in  unitee.     {Shakespeare  singing  out  last  full 

and  clear,  "Onion  tea.''') 

WiD.  D.  My  Doodle  loved  onions  {As  they  go  out  Josiah  looks 
back  and  says :) 

Jos.  You  come  right  home,  Tirzah  Ann  ;  don't  be  loiterin' 
along  the  way.  {Widder  Doodle  goes  out  last,  and  as  she  gets  almost 
to  the  door  Elder  Peedick,  w7io  fujs  been  picking  up  the  books,  calls  her 
back.) 

Eld.  p.  Widder,  I  want  to  speak  with  you  {She  goes  back  and 
they  sit  down  on  one  of  the  benches.) 

Eld.  p.  I  hain't  seen  you  but  once  beforr>  since  I  was  a  wid- 
ower. It  was  a  awful  blow  to  me  ;  a  hard  blow.  {Smiting  his 
breast. ) 

WiD  D.  I  feel  to  sympathize  with  \  ou  ;  I  know  how  I  felt 
when  I  lost  Doodle. 

Peedick  Yes  ;  I  tell  you  Widder.  T  have  seen  trouble  lately. 
A  spell  ago  I  lost  the  b^^st  cow  I  had  ;  then  I  lost  a  new  um- 
brel\  and  a  whale-bone  wh'p,  and  now  my  wife  is  dead.  [ 
tell  you  it  cuts  me  right  down;  it  makes  me  feel  poor.  You 
wasn't  acquainted  with  the  corpse,  I  believe. 

WiD.  D.  No,  but  I  have  heard  her  well  spoke  of. 

Peedick.  Yes,  she  was  a  lovely  woman.  My  heartstrings 
was  wrapped  completely  around  he.  Not  a  pair  of  panta- 
loons have  1  hired  made  sense  we  was  both  married  to  each 
other,  nor  a  vest.  I  tell  you  it  wasfhard  to  lose  her,  dretful 
hard.  I  never  realized  how  much  I  loved  that  woman  till  I 
see  I  must  give  her  up,  and  hire  a  girl  at  2  dollars  a  week — and 
they  waste  more  than  their  necks  are  worth.  I  tell  you  my 
heart  is  full  of  tender  memories  of  that  woman,  when  I 
think  how  she  would  get  no  and  build  fires  in  the  winter  — 


31 

WiD.  D.  That  is  what  I  always  dUl  lor  my  Doodle.  He 
would  be  a  dreamin'  how  pretty  I  was,  and  how  much  he 
loved  ii)e,  and  he'tl  want  to  ^j^o  to  sletp  agin  and  dream  it  over 
So  I  woi'ld  get  up  and  split  the  kindlin'  wood  and  bflild  th 
fire,  and  get  breakfast,  so's  to  let  him  lay  and  dream  about  me- 
1  love  to  btiild  fires. 

Peedick.  Do  you  love  to  build  fires,  Widder?  I  wish  you 
had  been  acquainted  wi<^h  >he  corpse;  I  believe  you  would 
have  loved  each  other  like  sis'ers. 

WiD  D  You  must  ch'rk  up  Elder  Peedick,  you  must  look 
forward  to  happier  days. 

Peedick.  I  know  there  ^*s  another  spear  and  I  try  to  bang  my 
hopes  up  on  it,  a  spear  where  hi'-ed  girls  ai'e  unknown  and 
partings  are  no  roo"e. 

WiD,  D.  I  can't  bear  b'red  girls. 

Peedick.  You  look  like  the  corpse;  you  do  look  like  he^",  I 
see  it  plainer  and  plainer.  And  oh,  what  a  woman  that  was, 
she  knew  her  place  so  well;  she  always  said  w'mxnen  wasn't 
equal  to  men.  You  couldn't  have  h.-red  her  to  have  had.^-ights. 
she  always  said  wimmin  was  too  dellca'e  and  feeble  io  have 
rights;  she  said  that  she  had  rather  dig  potaioes  any  day 
than  to  have  'em.     She  could    dig  po.atoes  as  fast  as  a  man. 

TViD.  D.  I  knew  I  wasn't  tae  equal  of  Doodle.  He  rsed  to 
set  in  the  rock'n'  chair  wh^^e  I  would  be  aho'ngout  the  garden, 
or  bringin'  in  wood,  or  churnm'  and  read  such  beautiful  argu- 
ments 10  me,  and  so  convincin',  provia'  it  ah  out  how  havin' 
rights  would  be  too  much  for  the  weaker  sect;  and  iuatmen 
wouldn't  feel  nigh  so  tender  ana  reve  ential  towards  'em  as  ^liey 
did  now. 

Pekdick.  Then  you  used  to  hoe  out  the  garden  and  bring  in 
wood 

WiD.  D.   Yes,  I  loved  to;  I  loved  to  dear'y. 

Peedick.  Widder,  I  am  a  man  of  business.  My  wiie  has 
been  dead  three  weeks,  and  she  won't  be  no  deade"  if  I  should 
wait  three  months  as  some  men  do.  I  hea -d  you  a  praisin'  up 
my  wagon  and  span  of  mares  to-nignt,  and  if  you'll  be  my 
br'ide,  the  wagon  is  yours  aiid  i  he  mares.  Widder,  I  th 'ow 
myself  onto  your  feet,  and  I  throw  the  wagon  and  the  mares 
onto  'em,  and  with  them  and  me.  I  throw  eighty-five  acres  of 
good  land,  14  cows,  5  calves,  4  th'-ee-year-oMs,  and  a  yearlin',a 
dwell 'n'  house,  a  good  hoi'se  barn  and  myself.  I  Ihrow  *em 
all  onto  your  feet,  and  there  we  lay  on  'em. 

Wid.  D.  Oh,  Doodle  !  Doodie !  if  you  was  alive  yoa  would  tell 
your  widdet'  what  to  do  to  do  right. 

Peedick.  Widder,  I  am  a  laylu'  on  your  feet,  and  my 
property,  my  land,  my  live  stock,  my  housen  and   my   housen 


32 

stuff,  a'-e  all  a  laym'  on  'em.  Mai  e  up  your  rri'nd  at  once,  fo* 
if  you  don't  consent,  I  have  g-Ot  othei*  views  ahead  of  me  which 
must  be  seen  to  at  once.  Time  is  hasten^n'  and  the  wo -Id  is 
full  of  will'n'  wlmmen.     Widder  what  do  you  say? 

WiD.  D.  Wail,  I  have  got  Irincier  out. the  hab't  of  ma-'ryin',  it 
comes  kinder  natu'-a^  to  me,  and  your  linemen^  looks  a  good 
deal  like  Dood(e'«  linement 

Peeoick.  Then  you  consent,  wkUler.  Wall  we  w'll  be  ma'*- 
r*ed  a  week  from  Sunday  ;  we  will  be  ma  vied  Sunday  so's  not 
to  break  into  tne  week's  wo-k.  And  I  w'il  turn  oT  my  h'-ed 
gi''i,  and  yon  can  come  right  to  my  house  and  do  the  liouse- 
work,  and  help  me  what  you  can  out  doo-'S.  and  tend  to  the 
m'lk  of  14  .:ows  and  be  pe  fectiy  happy. 

CURTAIN  FALLS. 

ACT  VL 

Scene — Betsey  and  Simon  Slimp^cy  at  home. — Eight  or  nine  children 
in  varioLS  stages  of  distress^  races  tied  up,  etc. — Two  cradles  with 
children  in  them. — Betsey  sewing  — Simon  trying  to  take  care  of  th£ 
children. 

Enter  Josiah  Al^en. 

Jos,  Good  mornin',  Simon  ;  good  mornin',  Betsey. 

Bet.  {Haughtily.)  Excuse  my  not  getting  up  and  setting  you 
a  chair,  Josiah  Alien.  Being  married,  I  don't  have  to  be  so 
particular  in  my  mannei-s  as  I  used  to.  Thank  heavens  !  I  can 
hold  my  head  up  now  as  high  as  anybody. 

Jos.  We  heard  you  was  all  sick  up  here,  and  I  thought  [ 
would  come  in  and  see  how  you  was. 

Bet.  Are  yo'i  not  all  coming  to  the  reception  (o-n<ght  ? 

Jos.  Yes,  I  'spose  so  ;  and  Samant  ha  told  me  if  there  was 
anything  she  could  do  tor  the  children,  she  wouUI  come  earlier. 

Simon.  I  wish  she  would  come  and  see  if  something  can't  be 
done  for  'em.  They  have  all  got  the  mumps  and  measles,  and 
colic,  and  evejwth^ng.  And  she's  to  work  all  the  time  on  hef 
ridjn'  d'-ess,  and  fi::in'  for  ih's  doin's  of  her'n.  [  t  "led  to  have 
her  put  it  off  tMl  tive  or  six  of  the  children  got  better ;  but  she 
won't. 

Bet.  No  ;  I  told  my  husband,  Mr.  Slimpsey,  that  my  dignitv 
as  a  married  woman  was  at  stake.  In  common  times  it  is  well 
to  attend  to  sickness,  but  now,  dignity  and  style  both  demand 
that  I  recieve  to  night. 

Jos.  Wall ;  Samantha  will  come  right  over. 

Bet.  Tell  her  Mrs.  Simon  Slim}>sey  will  be  glad  to  see  her; 
formally  Bobbett.  [Exit  Josiah,  and  soon  Samantha  comes  in  follow- 
lyy  Miss  Gowdy  and  Mrs.  Elder  Peedich.) 


33 

Miss  G.   How  do  j^ou  do,  Betsey  ? 

Bet.  [Coldli/,  liolcUng  out.  her  hand,  hut  not  rising.)  I  am  glad  voii 
come  early,  Sophronia  1  want  you  to  feel  free  with  me,  just  as 
if  I  was  not  mari-ied.  I  shaU  still  associate  with  my  old 
friends.  I  don't  mean  to  show  out  no  more  haughtiness  than 
I  can  help.  I  have  told  my  husband,  Mr.  Slimpsey,  that  I 
should  not  turn  my  back  on  all  single  women  now,  if  I  was 
rose  above  'em  in  station.  Help  yourself  to  some  chairs.  {They 
sit  down  and  Samantha  and  Mrs.  Peedick  each  of  them  take  uiJ  a  child 
on  their  laps  ) 

8am.    How  are  the  children  now? 

Simon.  The  seventh  boy  is  worse,  and  the  twin  girls  are 
took  down  with  it.  It  would  be  a  melancholly  pleasure  if  you 
could  do  something  for  'em. 

Sam.   Have  they  been  sweat  ? 

Bet.  No;  I  told  my  husband,  Mr.  Slimpsey,  that  I  would 
not  sweat  them  until  after  our  reception.  Sweating  child- 
ren is  more  or  less  depressing  in  its  effects,  and  I  felt  that  1 
needed  all  my  youthful  spirits  and  energies  to  support  the 
weight  of  dignity  that  will  enwrap  me  on  this  occasion  like  a 
mantilly. 

Mrs.  Peedick.  I  sweat  Doodle  when  he  had  the  very  oh  lord, 
till  the  sweat  run  righi  ofi  his  linement,  and  blistered  both  his 
feet  till  he  couldn't  stand  up  on  em  ;  and  I  shall  probably  try 
to  make  Elder  Peedick  jest  as  comfortable  when  he  is  sick. 
But,  oh  Doodle,  Doodle;  your  relict  never  can  forget  you, 
never. 

Sam.  Ciiii-k  \\\)  Mis^  Peedick;  don't  try  to  be  a  widder  and 
a  wife  at  the  same  time.  Don't  try  to  be  a  mourner  for  one  man 
and  a  bride  to  another  man  simultanius  It  is  jest  an  onre- 
sonable  as  it  would  be  to  try  to  set  down  and  stand  up  at  once. 
Betsey,  have  you  give  'em  any  smart  weed  ? 

Bet.  No;  If  my  husband,  Mr.  Slimpsey,  approves,  I  shall 
probably  s  eep  up  some  after  the  reception,  and  after  I  com- 
plete this  riding  dress.  [  have  had  to  write  a  poem  to  read 
ui)on  this  occasion.  'A  Him  of  victory,"  and  it  has  hindered 
me  about  my  dress.  I  need  it,  for  I  shall  want,  to  ride  out  and 
take  the  air  as  soon  as  the  (children  get  well,  for  eyen  married 
people  cannot  breathe  without  air,  and  I  wan't  to  finish  this 
for  my  first  appearance  on  horseback  after  marriage.  I  have 
nothing  to  wear  suitable  for  a  bride,  and  this  pale-plue  cambric 
trimmed  with  otter  color,  will  be  becomin'  to  me,  and  very 
dressy.  I  knew  a  good  deal  would  be  expected  of  me  in  my 
changed  circumstances  I  shall  probably  attract  a  great  deal 
ofa<     ntion. 


34  • 

Miss  G.  I  should  think  you  would,  ridin'  that  old  horse  of 
your'ii.     His  ribs  look  like  wash-boards. 

Sam.  I  should  jest  as  lives  ride  a  case-knife. 

Miss  G.  Most  dead  with  blind  stag-gers!  and  lame  as  he  can 
be,  a  stuniblin'  and  a  fallin'  all  the  time. 

Bet.  L  got  something  now  to  sustain  mt-  and  hold  me  up,  if 
horses  do  fall  under  me.  They  may  lame  me,  but  I  haye  got  a 
dignity,  now,  Sophronia.  that  horses  cannot  give  neither  can 
they  take  away.  I'm  married  mow.  [Simon  groans).  I  shall 
also  appear  at  conference  meeting  next  Sunday  evening  for  the 
first  time  alter  marriaofe.  There  is  one  thing  I  feel  as  if  I  must 
say  in  public  at  once,  and  that  is,  that  I  believe  in  the  perse- 
verence  of  saints. 

Miss  G.  Saints  ! 

Bet.  I  will  now  go  and  make  a  few  changes  \a  ray  toilet  for 
the  occasion.     [She  goes  out  carrying  her  riding-dress  ) 

Sam.  I  havn't  seen  you  before,  Simon   since  your  marriage 

Simon.  I  knew  it  would  come  to  this,  Miss  Allen  ;  I  told 
you  how  it  would  be.  She  always  said  it  was  her  sp{!ar  to 
marry,  and  I  knew  I  should  iie  the  one  ;  I  always  was  the  one. 

Sam.  Does  she  use  you  w^ell,  Simon. 

Simon.  She's  pretty  hai-d  on  me.  I  hain't  had  my  way  in 
anything  sense  the  day  she  mar'ied  me.  She  began  to  hold 
my  nose  to  the  grindstone,  as  the  sayin'  is,  before  we  had 
been  married  two  hours;  and  she  hain't  no  house-heeper,  or 
cook  I  have  had  to  live  on  pan-cakes  'most  of  the  time  since 
it  took  place,  and  they're  tougher  than  leather.  1  liave  been 
'most  tempted  to  cut  some  out  of  my  boot-leg,  to  see  if  they 
wouldn't  be  tenderer;  but  [  never  should  hear  the  last  of  it  if 
I  did.  She  jaws  me  awfully,  and  ordei's  me  'round  as  if  I  was 
a  dog.  If  I  was  a  yeller  dog  she  couldn't  seem  to  look  down 
on  me  more,  and  treat  me  any  worse. 

Sam.  Wall ;  I  always  did  mistrust  them  wimmen  that  don't 
want  any  rights,  only  to  cling  and  coo.  But  I  don't  want  to 
run  anybody  to  their  back.  She  thought  it  was  her  spear  to 
marry. 

SixAioN.  I  told  you  that  spear  of  her'n  would  desti  oy  me,  and 
it  has.  [He  weeps  ) 

[Enter  Betsey,  with  several  pairs  of  ragged  pantaloons  to  mend  over 
Tier  arm,  and  several  sheets  of  foolscap)  p>aper  in,  her  hand. ) 

Bet.  I  thought  perhaps  I  could  get  a  few  minutes  to  sew  be- 
fore the  arrival  of  our  guests.  I  have  7  pairs  of  pantaloons  to 
mend  before  I  retiah.    l^hildren  wear  out  clothing  so  rapidly. 


35 

and  onr  children  seem  to  make  a  specialty  of  ripping-  and  tear- 
ing. We  have  been  obleeged  to  put  two  of  them  to  bed  on 
that  account,  and  they  are  swearing  now  violently  in  bed,  at 
their  step  niotheh,  because  I  have  not  been  able  to  mend  their 
clothes  in  time  for  the  receinion.     . 

Sam.  Are  you  happy,  Betsey  ? 

Bet.   r  am  at  rest ;  more  at  rest  than  I  have  been  for  years  ! 

Miss  G-.  {LooMng  round  at  the  sick  children  and  talcwg  uv  the  rag- 
ged iiantaloons  and  looking  at  them  .•(  At  rest  I 

Sam.  Are  you  happy,  Betsey  ? 

Bet.  1  feel  awful  dignified.  There  is  not  any  use  in  a 
woman's  trj^ing  to  feel  dignified  until  she  is  married.  I  have 
tried  it  and  I  know.  I  can  truly  say,  Josiah  Allen's  wite,  that 
I  never  knew  what  dignity  was  until  one  week  ago  last  Sunday 
night,  at  half-past  7  in  the  evening. 

Sam.   Are  you  happy,  Betsey? 

Bf:t.  I  have  got  sointhing  to  lean  on. 

Sam.  Don't  lean  too  hard,  Betsey. 

Bet.   Why? 

Sam.  You  may  be  sorry  if3ou  do.  Do  you  love  your  hus- 
band, Betsey  ? 

Bet  1  don't  think  love  is  necessary.  I  am  married,  and  that 
is  enough  to  sati'jfy  anv  woman  who  is  more  or  less  reasonable — 
that  is  the  main  and  important  thing ;  as  I  have  said,  love  and 
resi)ect  arc-  miners. 

Miss  G.    Miners! 

WiD.  D  My  Doodle  nevoi-  called  it  a  miner;  and  he  wor- 
shiped the  ground  1  walked  on,  ami  the  neig'hbors  all  said  he 
did  ;  they  said  he  loved  the  ground  better  than  he  did  me, 
but  he  didn't,  he  worshiped  us  both. 

Sam.   Miners,  Betsey  Bobbett. 

Bet.  Mrs.  Betsey  Bobbett  Slimpsey. 

Sam.  Wall,  Mrs.  Betsey  Slimpsey,  there  hain't  no  more  beau- 
tiful sight  on  earth  than  to  see  two  human  souls  out  of  pure 
love  to  each  other  gently  approaching  each  other  as  if  they 
must;  and,  at  last,  all  their  hopes  and  thoughts  and  affections 
rwmiiiig  together  like  two  (Irops  of  water  in  a  morning  glory 
blow,  and  to  see  them  nestling  there,  not  caring  for  nobody 
outside  the  blow,  bound  up  in  each  other  till  the  sun  evapo- 
rates 'em  as  it  were,  and  draws  'em  together  up  into  the  heav- 
ens, not  separating  'em  even  up  there.     Why  such  a  marriage 


36 

as  that  is  a  sight  that  does  men  and  ang-els  crood  to  look  at. 
But  when  a  woman  sells  herself,  swops  her  purity,  her  self- 
respect,  hei  truth  and  her  soul,  for  any  kind  of  barter,  such  as 
a  home,  a  few  thousand  dollars,  the  name  of  being-  married,  a 
horse  and  buggy,  some  jewelry,  etc.;  and  not  only  sells  herself, 
but  worse  than  the  Turk  wimmen,  goes  'round  herself  hunting 
up  a  buyer :  crazy,  wild-eyed,  afraid  she  won't  find  none  Sup- 
pose she  does  liave  a  minister  for  a  salesman— ray  contempt  for 
such  a  female  is  inmitigable.  '     ^ 

Miss  G.  And  so  is  mine. 

WiD.  D.  And  so  would  my  Doodleses  have  been  ;  you  could' 
see  that  by  his  linement. 

Sam.  And  I  don't  want  to  hear  such  wimmen  talk  about  in- 
famy. For  in  what  respect  are  they  better  than  these  other  infa- 
mous wimmen  weall  despise  ?  Do  you  'spose  their  standln"  up  in 
front  of  a  minister  and  tellin'  a  few  lies,  such  as  I  promise  to 
love  a  man  I  hate,  and  honor  a  man  I  despise,  and  obey  a  luan 
I  calculate  to  make  toe  the  mark?  Do  yo'>  'spose  these  few  lies 
make  'em  any  purer  in  the  sight  of  God  ?  Marriage  is  like  bap- 
tism, as  1  have  said  mor'n  a  hundred  tiuies.  Yoa  have  got  to 
have  the  inward  grace  aud  the  outward  form  to  m  ike  it  law- 
ful and  right.  W  hat  good  does  the  water  do  if  your  soul  hain't 
baptized  w^ith  the  love  of  God  ?  It  hain't  no  better  than  Tallin' 
into  the  creek 

Bet.  Some  of  us  married  folks  feel  differently,  Josiah  Allen's 
wife.  Let  me  read  to  you  a  short  poem  of  20  or  30  verses  writ- 
ten recently  bv  a  married  woman,  by  she  that  was  formerly 
Betsey  Bobbett,  now  Mrs.  Simon  Slimpsey.  I  auj  to  read  it 
to  the  reception  to-night,  but  I  think  it  will  be  well  for  me  lo 
read  it  over  so  I  can  deliver  it  more  eloquently.  Hear  my 
Bridal  Owed,  hear  my  Him  of  Victory 

Sam.  How  can  I  be  calm  and  hear  it?  Oh,  John  Rogers  1 
and  Foxes  Martyrs!  how  I  sympathize  with  you. 

Mrs.  p.  Oh,  Doodle!  Doodle!  what  shall  I  do  to  do  right  ? 

Sam.  [In  a  loio  tone )  Nine  children,  and  one  at  the  breast  I 
Thumb  screws  and  grid-irons  !  (Speaking  in  he?'  usual  tone.)  No, 
I  will  not  ontie  myself  from  this  stake  of  martyrdom.  I  vvill 
cling  to  duty's  api;on  strings.  Simon,  if  I  was  in  your  place,  I 
should  sweat  the  five  biggest  boys  to-night,  and  most  of  the 
girls.  I  should  give  the  twins  and  the  smallest  girls  some 
strong  smartweed  tea,  and  I  should  let  the  rest  of  'em  be  till 
the  Dr.  comes.  Betsey  I  will  hear  the  him.  (Simon  groans,  and 
hirys  his  face  in  his  handkerchief.     Betsey  ibises  and  reads  :) 

Once  grief  did  rave  about  my  lonely  head, 

(flere  two  oj  the  children  pull  at  her  dress  and  ash  for  water,  and  one 


37 

siys  :  Gimme  a  piece  of  bread'n  butter.  She  tells  them  to  get  it 
themselves,  and  then  resumes  her  reading.) 

Once  orief  did  rave  about  my  lonely  head  ; 

Once  I  did  droop,  as  droops  a  drooping-  willow  bough  ; 

Once  I  did  tune  my  liah  to  doleful  strains — 

[One  of  the  children  calls  out)  Say,  can't  you  gimme  somethin' 
to  eat,  I'm  most  starved.  {Another  says)  Won't  you  lemme  have 
some?  Say,  won't  you  lemme?  (Another,  in  a  loud  defiant  tone) 
Gimme  some;  gimnie  some  quick. 

Bet.  [To  one  of  the  children)  Bring  me  my  thimble.  {He  brings 
it  oMd  she  puts  it  on  and  snaps  their  heads  icith  it.  and  they  cry  and  go 
into  a  corner  and  make  up  faces  at  her  and  one  of  them  pinches  the  child 
in  the  cradle,  and  he  hides  against  it  and  yells.) 

Once  I  did  tunc  my  liah  to  doleful  strains, 
'Tis  past,  for  Betsey  Slimpse}^,  formally  Bobbett, 
is  married  now. 

{Here  Simon  groans  so  loud  that  Betsey  stops  and  says):  Husband 
keep  still  and  listen  to  your  wife's  hiui  of  victory  ! 

No  trouble  now  can  touch  my  haughty  head, 
I  no  liumiliation  never  more  shall  know 

Sorrow  stand  off,  my  tears  have  all  been  shed. 

For  Mrs.  Betsey  Bobbett  Slimpsey's  married  now. 

Mrs.  Peedick.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  go  Betsey,  it  is  getting 
late,  and  being  a  bride  uiyself,  I  want  to  make  some  changes  in 
my  clothing.  I  shall  wear  uiy  vvodding  dress.  It  is  blaclv  and 
wjiite  lawn  even  checks.  [  wanted  to  look  sort  of  bridy,  and 
still  1  wanted  to  mourn  a  little  at  the  same  time.  The  white 
cliecks  means  Elder  Peedick,  the  black  checks  stands  for  Doo- 
ble.     For  oh,  what  a  man  that  was. 

Sam.  Miss  Peedick  if  you  don't  take  my  advice,  you'll  see 
tiouble  ahead  on  you.  When  a  widder  man  or  a  widder 
woman,  embarks  on  anew  voyage,  let  'em  burn  the  ship  behind 
'em  that  they  sailed  round  in,  in  their  former  voyages.  This 
trying  to  be  a  pai-clner  and  a  mourner  at  one  time  is  gaulin'  to 
man  or  woman  Mournin'  for  Doodle  was  jest  as  honorable  as 
anything  could  be  ;  marryin'  Elder  Peedick  was  another  hon- 
orable job,  and  you  ort  to  made  up  your  mind  which  business 
would  be  the  most  'lappyfyin'  and  proftable  to  you,  and  then 
toiler  it  up  with  a  willin'  mind,  but  don't  try  to  do  both. 
Betsey,  we  will  be  here  in  good  season.  I  have  got  a  nice  pres- 
ant  for  vou,  but  bein'  pretty  hefty,  I  shant  probably  bring  it 
to  night.  It's  a  piller  case  full  of  dried  apples  and  a  jar  of  butter. 
Josiah  will  bring  a  sack  of  flour. 

Exit  Samantha,  Mrs.  Peedick  and  Miss  G. 


38  • 

Bet.  Come,  Mr.  Sliiiipsey,  stand  up  here  by  ine  and  receive 
our  bridal  congralulations. 

Simon.  Yon  know  T  can't  stand  up,  Betsey,  not  for  any  length 
of  time,  most  dead  \yith  the  rheumatiz. 

Bet.  My  husband   you  must. 

Simon.  Why  can't  you  stand  up  there  alone  and  lemme  be. 
I  wish  you  would.  I  wanted  you  to  go  ofi*  on  a  weddin'  tower  ; 
you  was  crazy  for  one  and  I  told  you  to  go,  and  I'd  stay  to 
home  and  tend  to  thmgs.  ami  the  longer  you  stayed  the  better 
I'd  like  it.  But  no,  you  wouldn't  go  unless  I  went,  and  now  you 
want  to  make  me  stand  up  there  by  you  half  the  nigiit,  when 
yon  know  it  is  all  I  can  do  to  get  up  onto  my  feet  any  way. 
You  don't  seem  to  have  no  mercy  on  me  at  all,  orderin'  me 
round  all  the  time. 

{One  of  the  children  looking  out :)  There  is  a  hull  lot  of  folks  a 
comin'. 

Bet.  Husband,  you  must  get  up;  our  bridal  guests  are  arriv 
iog. 

Simon.   Wall  the:-,  give  me  my  cane,  and  I'll  try  it 

Bet.  And  your  raiment  is  disordered  ;  it  looks  bad. 

Simon.  It  looks  as  well  as  I  feel,  I  know  that.  {They  stand  up, 
Betsey  haughtily  erect,  Simon  leaning  on  his  cane,  aud  occasionally  shed 
ding  tears  They  all  bring  presents,  the  more  ridiculous  the  better.  Jo- 
siah  brings  a  sack  of  Jiour  ;  Dr  Bombas  brings  a  large  bottle  of  medi- 
cine ;  the  Editor  of  the  Augur  a  Hie  of  th"  Augurs  etc  Thomas  J 
ank  Tirzah  Ann  comes  in  first,  congratulate!^  them  ) 

Bet.  {2)roudly)  i  thank  vou,  Mr.  Allen,  I  tliank  von  Miss 
Allen. 

Simon,   {mournfully)   I  told  your  mother  how  it  \>-ould  be 

Bet.  {hunching  him.  whimpers)  How  you  act !  Do  put  on  some 
style  ;  thank  him. 

Simon.   Much  obreged.     I   knew {He  stops  and  wipes  his 

eyes      Betsey  reproves  him  for  his  actions,  and  just  then  Elder  Peedick 
and  wife  enter.) 

Eld.  p.  My  wife.  Miss  Peedick 

Simon.  [Grasping  her  hand)  Widder,  you  can  feel  lor  me  ;  you 
heve  seen  trouble. 

Mrs.  p.  Oh  yes,  I  see  trouble  when  I  lost  Doodle. 

Eld.  p.  [froicning)  Miss  Peedick.  the  subject  of  Doodle, 
hain't  at  all  appropriate  for  the  occasion.  [Several  come  up  and 
wish  them  joy,  at  last  Shakespeare  Bobbett.) 


39 

S.  B.  I  wish  you  joy,  Mi-.  Slimpsey. 

Simon.  Oh  yes  ;  keep  on  !  keep  it  up  ! 

Dr.  B.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Slimpsey,  I  wish  you  prosperity  and 
health  I  can  safeh/  promise  you  the  iatter  [loaving  his  hand  to- 
wards the  medicine)  Take  it  according  to  directions,  40  drops 
every  half  hour,  and  if  you  don't  get  better  send  for  me. 
Dies  irae  anno  domini.     Excuse  dead  language 

Simon.  Oh  yes  ;  I'll  excuse  it.     I  believe  it  is  better  ofl*   than 

we  be.     [Edior  of  Augur  and  bride  come  last.) 

Ed.  A.cce[)t  my  hearty  congratulations.  I  can  truly  say  that 
1  never  felt  more  heartfelt  happiness  and  relief  than  on  this 
occasion. 

Simon.   Well  you  may  teel  happy  ;  well  you  may. 

Ed.  I  am  not  a  natural  singer,  in  fact,  my  efforts  in  that  di- 
rection have  always  been  of  such  a  nature  as  to  cause  sadness 
to  my  best  friends  ;  but  on  this  occasion  I  feel  like  bursting 
forth  into  song.  And  we  will  now  wit!)  the  permission  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Slimpsey,  gi-eet  iheui  with  a  bridal  song. 

Bkt.  Oh,  yes  ;  sing  to  us  -^ome  rejoicing  authcni,  or  some 
sweet  and  tendeli  love  song. 

Simon.   Can't  you  sing  China  ? 

Ed.    Why.  th;it  is  a  funeral  hymn,  Mr.  Slimpsey. 

Simon.  1  know  it  has  been  used  as  such,  but  it  seems  as  if  it 
would  be  a  sort  of  a  melancholy  pleasure  to  me  to  hear  it  now. 
But  [hain't  peticular  ;  sing  anything — sing,   it  you  feel  like  it. 

Mrs.  p.  Thev  sung  China  to  Doodleses  funeral. 

Eld.  p.  { Looking  very  angry  )  Doodleses  name  hain't  no  name 
to  be  used  on  this  occasion,  Miss  Peedick.  I  wish  to  gracious 
that  [  could  get  five  minutes  rest  from  Doodle. 

Mrs  p.   Wall  he  had  a  beautiful  linement  on  him. 

Eld.  p.  [very  cross)   What  if  he  had  ? 

.     Mrs.  p.  But  you  have  got  a  beautiful  linement,  too.     You 
are  what  would  be  called  very  handsome. 

Eld.  p.  [siceetly)  You  are  a  sensible  woman,  Miss  Peedick. 
You  are  a  lovely  woman.  Every  day  of  your  life  you  make 
me  think  more  and  more  of  the  corpse.  But  I  suppose  they 
are  waiting  for  me  to  pitch  the  tune.  Being  leader  of  the 
quire  they  naturally  lean  on  me  for  harmony.  So  we  will  now 
sing  the  bridal  song,  kindly  arranged  for  this  happy  occasion 
by  the  Editor  of  the  Augur.  {They  all  sing  to  the  tune  of  the  jubi- 
lee song^  '■Mary  and  Maj-tha'^s  jus^  gone  along  " 


40  .      • 

Betsey  Bobbett's  married  now, 
Betsey  Bobbett's  married  now, 
Betsey  Bobbett's  married  now, 
So  ring-  the  marriage  bells.     [Simon  grorms). 

It  is  the  way  she  long  has  sought. 
And  mourned  because  she  found  it  not, 
But  now  she's  reached  that  blissful  lot; 
So  ring  her  wedding  bells.     (Simon  groans  and  buries  his 
face  in  his  haiidkerchief. 

'Tis  Betsey  Bobbett  Sliinpsey,  how, 
With  joy  she  took  that  blessed  vow, 
She's  Simon's  wife  forever  now  ; 
So  ring  their  wedding  bells. 

{Simon  uncovers  his  face  and  says  in  a  heart  hrolcen  tone):  Couldn't 
you  ioZnhe  bells?  But  I  don't  want  to  make  no  trouble.  I 
don't  feel  like  arguin',  ring  'em  if  you  drather,  ring  'em  if  you 
feel  like  it.  {They  fay  no  attention  to  him,  and  hecovers  his  face  with 
his  handkerchief  again  and  loeeps  aloud. ;  they  turn  to  the  audience  and 
sing): 

Good  night,  and  pleasant  dreams, 
Hearts  full  of  sunny  gleams  ; 
Good  nig'-'t,  and  happy  dreams, 
.And  ring  ve  merrv  bells. 


3477-17 
67 


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