“Wal, then,” sez I, “know all men”—there wasn’t any other man or woman around but Josiah, but I began jest as solemn as if I was writin’ my will—“know all men, that I, Josiah Allen’s wife, have stood it jest as long as I will, and, as fer havin’ my books ravaged to pieces, as they’ve been, I won’t. I, who set such a store by my magazines and was jest as careful to keep ’em whole and clean as I was of my Sunday bonnet, now, after all my pains, have got a lot of books on my hands so dirty that, to discern the readin’, the strongest spectacles are powerless in spots; and I have had to trapze all over the neighborhood to get their mangled remains together, to mourn over, rememberin’ what they was. Thank fortune, when I borrer anything, I know enough to take care of it. But my books!” sez I, as the memory of my wrongs flooded my sole. “My books! Old men have burnt ’em by holdin of ’em too near the light, old women have peppered ’em with Scotch snuff, young men have sowed ’em with tobacco and watered ’em with tobacco-juice, young women have greased ’em for patterns, children have stuck the leaves together with molasses and pried ’em open with their tongues; they have been cut with shears, gnawed by babies and worried by pups; they have been blackened with candle-snuff and whitened with taller; and I have had to spend money for new ones, to pay for their ravagin’ my other ones to pieces. And now,” sez I, layin’ my hand on the magazine in as impressive a manner as if I was takin’ my oath on it, “now, anybody that gets my magazines will get ’em over my prostrate form. If they want my magazine, they must subscribe for it.” “Wal,” sez Josiah, who was standing with his back to the fire, warmin’ him, “I wish you’d get me a little somethin’ to eat; I should think it was about supper-time.” I rose and walked with an even and majestic step into my bed-room, put the magazine into the under buro-draw, locked the draw and hung the key over my bed, and then, with a resolute face, I calmly turned and hung on the tea-kettle. MELANKTON SPICER’SES WIFE. When Josiah and me was to Ebenezer Spicer’s a-visitin’, Ebenezer told us he did wish that we would stop and see his brother Lank, seein’ we had to pass right by his house. Melankton Spicer, Ebenezer’s twin brother, married Ebenezer’s wife’s sister, makin’ ’em double and twisted relations, as you may say. And we told him that seein’ it was right on our way, we would stop a few minutes. I told him I guessed we wouldn’t stay long, for I wuzn’t much acquainted with ’em, though they had visited me years ago, and I had seen her to Mother Smith’s once or twice.