I had writ a hull chapter full of the most beautiful and high flown eloquence on this most congenial subject, and proved I thought to every right minded person that it wuz the duty and delightful privelige of every female to stop immegiately seekin' for Rights, and marry to a man to once. It wuz a lovely chapter, and very affectin' in spots, so much so I shed several tears over it, as I told Samantha, when she glanced over it at my request. I longed for her appreciation of my genius, if she didn't share my idees, but she only made this remark: "No wonder you shed tears! it is enough to make a graven image weep." She didn't explain what she meant by this remark. But I most knew by the looks on her linement that she wuz makin' light on't. But I wuzn't goin' to pay no attention to slurs comin' from them that want Rights. Her remark only goaded me on to amplify on the beautiful subject, and I had spent I presoom to say most a teaspunful of ink, and pretty nigh half a pad of paper, besides a soul full of emotion on it, when my dear friend and Literary Adviser, Uncle Sime Bentley come in, and Samantha bein' then out in the buttery makin' sugar cookies and spice cake, I had a clear field and read the chapter over to him, longin' for sympathy and admiration, and feelin' sure I'd tapped the right tree to git the sweet sap of true understandin' and appreciation flow out and heal my wownded sperit, when to my great surprise (and it wouldn't been any more shock to me if I'd tapped a butnut tree and see it run blue ink) Uncle Sime jined in with Samantha's idees, and objected to my hullsale insertion that it wuz the bounden duty of every human bein' to marry. As I read it over to him, expectin' to be interrupted by a warm hand grasp of sympathy and lovin' praise of my idees, I see a dark shadder pass over his linement and he wiggled round oneasy in his chair and finally he said: "That won't do, Josiah! You've got to change that or you'll git lots of the Jonesvillians down on you," sez he. "There are a good many bacheldors round here, and their feelin's will feel hurt." Sez I in a sombry dissapinted axent, "I guess I can handle the subject so's not to hurt their feelin's." "Id'no," sez he, "lots on 'em might have married if they'd wanted to, and there are three or four grass widowers too, or mebby I should say hay widowers, for they're pretty old for grass." And Simon continued feelin'ly: "This book of yourn, Josiah, is as dear to me as if it sprung like a sharp simeter from my own brain, and I can't bear to see you make any statement in it that will be called a slur on our sect."