But I see in this and in many kindred things, that he wuz a dwellin' on this thought of political life--its honors and emollients. And often, and in dark hints, he would speak of his _Plan_. If every other means failed, if he couldn't spare the money to buy enough votes, how his _plan_ wus goin' to be the makin' of him. And I overheard him tellin' the babe once, as he wus rockin' her to sleep in the kitchen, “how her grandpa had got up somethin' that no other babe's grandpa had ever thought of, and how she would probable see him in the White House ere long.” I wus makin' nut-cakes in the buttery; and I shuddered so at these words, that I got in most as much agin lemon as I wanted in 'em. I wus a droppin' it into a spoon, and it run over, I wus that shook at the thought of his plan. I had known his plans in the past, and had hefted 'em. And I truly felt that his plans wus liable any time to be the death of him, and the ruination. But he wouldn't tell! But kep' his mind immovibly sot, as I could see. And the very day of the shovel episode, along towards night he rousted out of a brown study,--a sort of a dark-brown study,--and says he,-- “Yes, I shall make out enough votes if we have a judicious committee.” “A lyin' one, do you mean?” says I coldly. But not surprized. For truly, my mind had been so strained and racked that I don't know as it would have surprized me if Josiah Allen had riz up, and knocked me down. “Wall, in politics, you _have_ to add a few orts sometimes.” I sithed, not a wonderin' sithe, but a despairin' one; and he went on,-- “I know where I shall get a hull lot of votes, anyway.” “Where?” says I. “Why, out to that nigger settlement jest the other side of Jonesville.” “How do you know they'll vote for you?” says I. “I'd like to see 'em vote aginst me!” says he, in a skairful way. “Would you use intimidation, Josiah Allen?” “Why, uncle Nate Gowdey and I, and a few others who love quiet, and love to see folks do as they ort to, lay out to take some shot-guns and _make_ them niggers vote right; make 'em vote for me; shoot 'em right down if they don't. We have got the campaign all planned out.” “Josiah Allen,” says I, “if you have no fear of Heaven, have you no fear of the Government? Do you want to be hung, and see your widow a breakin' her heart over your gallowses?” “Oh! I shouldn't get hung. The Government wouldn't do nothin'. The Government feels jest as I do,--that it would be wrong to stir up old bitternesses, and race differences. The bloody shirt has been washed, and ironed out; and it wouldn't be right to dirty it up agin. The colored race is now at peace; and if they will only do right, do jest as the white men wants 'em to, Government won't never interfere with 'em.” I groaned, and couldn't help it; and he says,-- “Why, hang it all, Samantha, if I make any show at all in public life, I have got to begin to practise sometime.”