“Yes!” says he, “but it places anybody under a very strong light--a very strong light. I have never done anything out of the way sense I was first born, but what I have seen it in the papers. I tore my pantaloons once,” says he, gloomily, “in gettin’ over the fence at the early age of 2 and a half, and I bit my mother once at the age of 7 months a nursin’, I could wish these two errors of my past to be forgotten by the world and overlooked, but in vain. I am taunted with ’em on every side. I never threw a boot jack at a tom cat in the dead of the night, but what my picture has been took in the act, I never swore a oath to myself in the depths of my own stomach, but what I have seen that unspoken oath in the papers. I never jawed Mrs. Greeley about my shirt buttons,” he continued, sadly, “in the depths of our secluded chamber, but what it has been illustrated with notes.”
As he spoke of jawin’ about shirt buttons, I says to myself, “How much! how much human nature is alike in all men,” and I says aloud,
“Of Josiah!” says he, and that name seemed to make him remember himself, and to come nobly out of his gloomy reflections. “Josiah, he is your husband! Oh yes, Josiah Allen’s wife! I am glad to meet you, for although I couldn’t comply with the request your letter contained, yet it convinced me that you are a sincere friend to the human race.”
“Yes,” says I, “Horace, I am, and I want you to consider my request over agin.”
But he interrupted me hurriedly, seemin’ to want to turn my mind from that subject.
“What do you think of Fourier’s system, Josiah Allen’s wife?” says he, lookin’ at me languidly over his specks.
Says I, “I never see Mr. Fourier. How can I tell you any thing about the old man’s health, whether his system is all right, or whether he is enjoyin’ poor health. Horace, I come to talk with you on more important things.”
But he continued placidly, hopin’ to draw my mind off,
“Darwin who?” says I. “Darwin Gowdey? I don’t know any other Darwin, and I never mistrusted that he had any idees, he is most a natural fool.”
Says he, “about our descendin’ from a monkey?”
Says I, with dignity, “I don’t know how it is with you, but I know that I couldn’t descend from a monkey, never bein’ on one’s back in my whole life.” Says I, “I never looked well in the saddle any way bein’ so hefty. But,” says I, in a liberal way, “if you, or anybody else wants to ride monkeys, you have the privilege, but I never had no leanin’ that way.” And agin, says I, in agitated tones, “you needn’t try to take my mind oft’en the deep and momentous subject on which it is sot, by talkin’ about ridin’ monkeys. Horace I have come clear down here to the village on purpose to ask you to examine your platform, and see if there hain’t no loose boards in it where some of the citizens of the United States, such as wimmen can fall through. Platforms, that are built over the deep waters, ought to be sound, and every board ought to be nailed down tight, so that nobody--not even the smallest and weakest--can fall through and get drownded.” Says I, “Your door step is most all good solid timber, but I feel there is one old, mouldy, worm eaten board that is loose in it.” And with emotion renderin’ my voice weak as a cat, says I, “Horace, I want you to examine your door step and lay down a new board, and I will help you do it. I come a purpose to.”