Sposen he would be elected--I didn't really think he would, but I couldn't for my life help sposen. Sposen he would have to go to Washington. I knew strange things took place in politics. Strange men run, and run fur: some on 'em run clear to Washington. Mebby he would. Oh! how I groaned at the idee! I thought of the awfulness of that place as I had heard it described upon to me; and then I thought of the weakness of men, and their liability to be led astray. I thought of the powerful blasts of temptation that blowed through them broad streets, and the small size of my pardner, and the light weight of his bones and principles. And I felt, if things wuz as they had been depictered to me, he would (in a moral sense) be lifted right up, and blowed away--bones, principles, and all. And I trembled. At last the idee knocked so firm aginst the door of my heart, that I had to let it in. That I _must_, I _must_ go to Washington, as a forerunner of Josiah. I must go ahead of him, and look round, and see if my Josiah could pass through with no smell of fire on his overcoat--if there wuz any possibility of it. If there wuz, why, I should stand still, and let things take their course. But if my worst apprehensions wuz realized, if I see that it was a place where my pardner would lose all the modest worth and winnin' qualities that first endeared him to me--why, I would come home, and throw all my powerful influence and weight into the scales, and turn 'em round. [Illustration: JOSIAH BEING BLOWN AWAY.] Of course, I felt that I should have to make some pretext about goin': for though I wus as innocent as a babe of wantin' to do so, I felt that he would think he wus bein' domineered over by me. Men are so sort o' high-headed and haughty about some things! But I felt I could make a pretext of George Washington. That dear old martyr! I felt truly I would love to weep upon his tomb. And so I told Josiah the next mornin', for I thought I would tackle the subject at once. And he says,-- “What do you want to weep on his tomb for, Samantha, at this late day?” Says I, “The day of love and gratitude never fades into night, Josiah Allen: the sun of gratitude never goes down; it shines on that tomb to-day jest as bright as it did in 1800.” “Wall, wall! go and weep on it if you want to. But I'll bet half a cent that you'll cry onto the ice-house, as I've heard of other wimmen's doin'. Wimmen don't see into things as men do.” “You needn't worry, Josiah Allen. I shall cry at the right time, and in the right place. And I think I had better start soon on my tower.” I always was one to tackle hard jobs immejutly and to once, so's to get 'em offen' my mind. “Wall, I'd like to know,” says he, in an injured tone, “what you calculate to do with me while you are gone?”