Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician, Marietta Holley [best books to read ever txt] 📗
- Author: Marietta Holley
Book online «Sweet Cicely — or Josiah Allen as a Politician, Marietta Holley [best books to read ever txt] 📗». Author Marietta Holley
Ever sense we left home we had seen sights and sights of brides and groomses. It seemed to be a good time of year for 'em; and Cicely and I would pass the time by guessin', from their demeaners, how long they had been married. You know they act very soft the first day or two, and then harden gradually, as time passes, till sometimes they get very hard.
Wall, as I looked at this young pair, I whispered to Cicely,—
“2 days.”
They acted well. Though I see with pain that the bride was tryin' to foller after the groom blindly, and I see she was a layin' up trouble for herself. Amongst other good things, they had a baked chicken for supper; and when the young husband wus asked what part of the fowl he would take, he said,—
“It was immaterial!”
And then, when they asked the bride, she blushed sweetly, and said,—
“She would take a piece of the immaterial too.”
And she bein' next to me, I said to her in a low tone, but firm and motherly,—
“You are a beginner in married life; and I say to you, as one who has had stiddy practice for 20 years, begin right. Let your affections be firm as adamant, cling closely to Duty's apron-strings, but do not too blindly copy after your groom. Try to stand up on your own feet, and be a helpmate to him, not a dead weight for him to carry. Do branch right out, and tell what part of the fowl, or of life, you want, if it hain't nothin' but the gizzard or neck; and then try to get it. If you don't have any self-reliance, if you don't try to help yourself any, it is highly probable to me, that you won't get any thing more out of the fowl, or of life, than a piece of 'the immaterial.'”
She blushed, and said she would. And so Duty bein' appeased, and attended to, I calmly pursued my own meal.
The next morning Cicely was so beat out that she couldn't get up at all. She wuzn't sick, only jest tired out. And so the boy and I sot out alone.
I told Cicely I would do my errents the first thing, so as to leave my mind and my conscience clear for the rest of my stay.
And I knew there wuz a good many who would feel hurt, deeply hurt, if I didn't notice 'em right off the first thing. The President, and lots of 'em, I knew would take it right to heart, and feel dretfully worked up and slighted, if I didn't call on 'em.
And then, I had to carry Dorlesky's errent to the President anyway. And I thought I would tend to it right away, so I sot out in good season.
When you are a noticin' anybody, and makin' 'em perfectly happy, you feel well yourself. I was in good spirits, and quite a number of 'em. The boy wus feelin' well too. He had a little black velvet suit and a deep lace collar, and his gold curls was a hangin' down under his little black velvet cap. They made him look more babyish; but I believe Cicely kept 'em so to make him look young, she felt so dubersome about his future. But he looked sweet enough to kiss right there in the street.
I, too, looked well, very. I had on that new dress, Bismark brown, the color remindin' me of 2 noble patriots. And made by a Martha. I thought of that proudly, as I looked at George's benign face on the top of the monument, and wondered what he'd say if he see it, and hefted my emotions I had when causin' it to be made for my tower. I realized as I meandered along, that patriotism wus enwrappin' me from head to foot; for my polynay was long, and my head was completely full of Gass'es “Journal,” and Starks'es “Life of Washington,” and a few martyrs.
I wus carryin' Dorlesky's errents.
On the outside of my head I had a good honorable shirred silk bunnet, the color of my dress, a good solid brown (that same color, B. B.). And my usial long green veil, with a lute-string ribbon run in, hung down on one side of my bunnet in its wonted way.
It hung gracefully, and yet it seemed to me there wus both dignity and principle in its hang. It give me a sort of a dressy look, but none too dressy.
And so we wended our way down the broad, beautiful streets towards the White House.
Handsomer streets I never see. I had thought Jonesville streets wus middlin' handsome and roomy. Why, two double wagons can go by each other with perfect safety, right in front of the grocery stores, where there is lots of boxes too; and wimmen can be a walkin' there too at the same time, hefty ones.
But, good land! Loads of hay could pass each other here, and droves of dromedaries, and camels, and not touch each other, and then there would be lots of room for men and wimmen, and for wagons to rumble, and perioguers to float up and down,—if perioguers could sail on dry land.
Roomier, handsomer, well shadeder streets I never want to see, nor don't expect to. Why, Jonesville streets are like tape compared with 'em; and Loontown and Toad Holler, they are like thread, No. 50 (allegory).
Bub Smith wus well acquainted with the President's hired man, so he let us in without parlay.
I don't believe in talkin big as a general thing. But thinks'es I, Here I be, a holdin' up the dignity of Jonesville: and here I be, on a deep, heart-searchin' errent to the Nation. So I said, in words and axents a good deal like them I have read of in “Children of the Abbey,” and “Charlotte Temple,”—
“Is the President of the United States within?”
He said he was, but said sunthin' about his not receiving calls in the mornings.
But I says in a very polite way,—for I like to put folks at their ease, presidents or peddlers or any thing,—
“It hain't no matter at all if he hain't dressed up—of course he wuzn't expectin' company. Josiah don't dress up mornin's.”
And then he says something about “he didn't know but he was engaged.”
Says I, “That hain't no news to me, nor the Nation. We have been a hearin' that for three years, right along. And if he is engaged, it hain't no good reason why he shouldn't speak to other wimmen,—good, honorable married ones too.”
“Well,” says he finally, “I will take up your card.”
“No, you won't!” says I firmly. “I am a Methodist! I guess I can start off on a short tower, without takin' a pack of cards with me. And if I had 'em right here in my pocket, or a set of dominoes, I shouldn't expect to take up the time of the President of the United States a playin' games at this time of the day.” Says I in deep tones, “I am a carrien' errents to the President that the world knows not of.”
He blushed up red; he was ashamed; and he said “he would see if I could be admitted.”
And he led the way along, and I follered, and the boy. Bub Smith had left us at the door.
The hired man seemed to think I would want to look round some; and he walked sort o' slow, out of courtesy. But, good land! how little that hired man knew my feelin's, as he led me on, I a thinkin' to myself,—
“Here I am, a steppin' where G. Washington strode.” Oh the grandeur of my feelin's! The nobility of 'em! and the quantity! Why, it was a perfect sight.
But right into these exalted sentiments the hired man intruded with his frivolous remarks,—worse than frivolous.
He says agin something about “not knowin' whether the President would be ready to receive me.”
And I stepped down sudden from that lofty piller I had trod on in my mind, and says I,—
“I tell you agin, I don't care whether he is dressed up or not. I come on principle, and I shall look at him through that eye, and no other.”
“Wall,” says he, turnin' sort o' red agin (he was ashamed), “have you noticed the beauty of the didos?”
But I kep' my head right up in the air nobly, and never turned to the right or the left; and says I,—
“I don't see no beauty in cuttin' up didos, nor never did. I have heard that they did such things here in Washington, D.C., but I do not choose to have my attention drawed to 'em.”
But I pondered a minute, and the word “meetin'-house” struck a fearful blow aginst my conscience;' and I says in milder axents,—
“If I looked upon a dido at all, it would be, not with a human woman's eye, but the eye of a Methodist. My duty draws me:—point out the dido, and I will look at it through that one eye.”
And he says, “I was a talkin' about the walls of this room.”
And I says, “Why couldn't you say so in the first place? The idee of skairin' folks! or tryin' to,” I added; for I hain't easily skairt.
The walls wus perfectly beautiful, and so wus the ceilin' and floors. There wuzn't a house in Jonesville that could compare with it, though we had painted our meetin-house over at a cost of upwards of 28 dollars. But it didn't come up to this—not half. President Arthur has got good taste; and I thought to myself, and I says to the hired man, as I looked round and see the soft richness and quiet beauty and grandeur of the surroundings,—
“I had just as lives have him pick me out a calico dress as to pick it out myself. And that is sayin' a great deal,” says I. “I am always very putickuler in calico: richness and beauty is what I look out for, and wear.”
Jest as I wus sayin' this, the hired man opened a door into a lofty, beautiful room; and says he,—
“Step in here, madam, into the antick room, and I'll see if the President can see you;” and he started off sudden, bein' called. And I jest turned round and looked after him, for I wanted to enquire into it. I had heard of their cuttin' up anticks at Washington,—I had come prepared for it; but I didn't know as they was bold enough to come right out, and have rooms devoted to that purpose. And I looked all round the room before I ventured in. But it looked neat as a pin, and not a soul in there; and thinks'es I, “It hain't probable their day for cuttin' up anticks. I guess I'll venture.” So I went in.
But I sot pretty near the edge of the chair, ready to jump at the first thing I didn't like. And I kep' a close holt of the boy. I felt that I was right in the midst of dangers. I had feared and foreboded,—oh, how I had feared and foreboded about the dangers and deep perils of Washington, D.C.! And here I wuz, the very first thing, invited right in broad daylight, with no excuse or any thing, right into a antick room.
Oh, how thankful, how thankful I wuz, that Josiah Allen wuzn't there!
I knew, as he felt a good deal of the time, an antick room was what he would choose out of all others. And I felt stronger than ever the deep resolve that Josiah Allen should not run. He must not be exposed to such dangers, with his mind as it wuz, and his heft. I felt that he would suckumb.
And I wondered that President Arthur, who I had always heard was a perfect gentleman, should come to have a room called like that, but s'posed it was there when he went. I don't believe he'd countenance any thing of the kind.
I was jest a thinkin' this when the
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