I saw thee washing sheep last night, On the bridge I stood with marble brow, The waters raged, thou clasped it tight, I sighed, ‘should both be drownded now--’ I thought Josiah, Oh happy sheep to thus expiah.” I showed the poetry to Josiah that night after he came home, and told him I had read it. He looked awful ashamed to think I had seen it, and says he with a dreadful sheepish look, “The persecution I underwent from that female can never be told, she fairly hunted me down, I hadn’t no rest for the soles of my feet. I thought one spell she would marry me in spite of all I could do, without givin’ me the benefit of law or gospel.” He see I looked stern, and he added with a sick lookin’ smile, “I thought one spell, to use Betsey’s language, ‘I was a gonah.’” I didn’t smile--oh no, for the deep principle of my sect was reared up--I says to him in a tone cold enough to almost freeze his ears, “Josiah Allen, shet up, of all the cowardly things a man ever done, it is goin’ round braggin’ about wimmen’ likin’ em, and follerin’ em up. Enny man that’ll do that is little enough to crawl through a knot hole without rubbing his clothes.” Says I, “I suppose you made her think the moon rose in your head, and set in your heels, I dare say you acted foolish enough round her to sicken a snipe, and if you make fun of her now to please me I let you know you have got holt of the wrong individual.” Now, says I, “go to bed,” and I added in still more freezing accents, “for I want to mend your pantaloons.” He gathered up his shoes and stockin’s and started off to bed, and we haint never passed a word on the subject sence. I believe when you disagree with your pardner, in freein’ your _mind_ in the first on’t, and then not be a twittin’ about it afterwards. And as for bein’ jealous, I should jest as soon think of bein’ jealous of a meetin’-house as I should of Josiah. He is a well principled man. And I guess he wasn’t fur out o’ the way about Betsey Bobbet, though I wouldn’t encourage him by lettin’ him say a word on the subject, for I always make it a rule to stand up for my own sect; but when I hear her go on about the editor of the Augur, I can believe anything about Betsey Bobbet. She came in here one day last week, it was about ten o’clock in the mornin’. I had got my house slick as a pin, and my dinner under way, (I was goin’ to have a biled dinner, and a cherry puddin’ biled, with sweet sass to eat on it,) and I sot down to finish sewin’ up the breadth of my new rag carpet. I thought I would get it done while I hadn’t so much to do, for it bein’ the first of March, I knew sugarin’ would be comin’ on, and then cleanin’ house time, and I wanted it to put down jest as soon as the stove was carried out in the summer kitchen. The fire was sparklin’ away, and the painted floor a shinin’ and the dinner a bilin’, and I sot there sewin’ jest as calm as a clock, not dreamin’ of no trouble, when in came Betsey Bobbet.