IX
JASPER’S SERMON ON “DEM SEBUN WIMMIN”
“Did yer ebur git yer mine on wat Iz’er say in chapter fo’ an’ vurs wun? Listen ter hiz wurds: ‘An’ sebun wimmin shall tek hol’ uv wun man in dat day, sayin’ we will eat our own bread an’ wear our own ’parrel; only let us be called by Thy name; tek Thou erway our reproach.’ De Profit iz furloserfizin’ ’bout de mattur uv wimmin,—speshully wen dar is sebun in de lan’, wen wars dun thin out de men and de wimmins feels de stings an’ bites uv reproach. I tell yer, yer bettur not fling yer gibes an’ sneers at er ’omun. She wuzn’t made ter stan’ it, an’ wats mo’, she ain’t gwine ter stan’ it. Shure ez yer iz settin’ on dat bench she will fly erway an’ hide hersef, or she will fly at yer, an’ den, ole fellur, yer had bettur be pullin’ out fer de tall timbur fast. Gord dun settled it dat wun ’omun iz nuff fer a man, an’ two iz er war on yer hans,—bles yer, it is.
“But dar kums times wen it goze hard wid wimmin. Dey iz lef out uv de lottry uv heavun,—dey draws blanks an’ dey gits ter be a laughin’ stock uv de ungodly. Not dat dey iz crazy ter marry an’ not dat dey iz uv dat flautin’, slatturn lot dat’s allus gallantin’ eroun’ ertryin’ ter git a man ter ’sport um. Dese wuz squar, alrite wimmin. Wurk wud not skeer um. Dey wuz willin’ ter mek dere bread an’ cloes, ter pay dere own way, purvidid dey cud be Mrs. Sumbody, an’ in dat way ’skape de dev’lish jeers an’ slites uv base men. Fur my part, I feels quite sorry fur dat class uv ladiz, an’ I kinder feels my blud gittin’ up wen I finds folks castin’ reproachiz on dere fair names.
“But my mastur in de skies! Dis pikshur here uv de Profit iz too much fer me. It mek me feel lik tekin’ ter de woods, in quick ordur. Lord, wat wud I do ef I wuz pursued by er army uv seben wimmin axin me ter ’low each wun uv um ter be call’d Mrs. Jasper? It may be dat each wun wuz fer hersef ter de limit, an’ hoped ter shet out de udder six an’ hev de man ter hersef;—an’ ef she wuz ter hev ’im ertall she ort ter hav all uv im. Dar iz not nuff ter d’vide; I tel yer, dar ain’t, an’ wen yer git er haf intrest in er man yer iz po’ indeed, an’ ef only wun sevunth iz yourn, yer had es wel start on ter de po’house ’fo yer git yer dinner.
“A gud ’omun can’t byar ter be oberluked. It ain’t her nature, an’ it iz a site fer de anguls ter see wat sort uv men sum wimmin wil tek sooner dan be lef’ out inti’ly.
“But wat gits me arter all iz a man. I see ’im in de quiet uv de day,—de Sabbuth day. He teks a strole fer de koolin’ uv hiz mine, erwearin’ uv hiz nice cloes, an’ feelin’ lik a new man in de City Kounsil; de fust thing he know’d a lady glide up ter ’im an’ put her han’ lite on hiz arm. He jump ’roun’ an’ she say, mity flush’d up, ‘’skuse me!’
“He see at wunst she er lady, but he wuz kinder lo’ in hiz sperrit, an’ yit he wish in hiz hart dat she had gon ter de udder en uv de rode, but he want ter hear her out.
“She tel ’im de site uv a man wuz medsin fer bad eyes, dat nurly all uv ’em wuz cut down in de war an’ dat in konsquens it wuz er lonesum time fer wimmin; dey hev nobody now ringin’ de do’ bells in de eebnin; no boys sendin’ ’em flowers an’ ’fekshuns; no sweetarts tekin’ ’em walkin’ on Sunday arternoons, an’ weddins gwine out er fashun. An’ dis ain’t de wust uv it. It mek us shamed. De wives,—dey purrades roun’ an’ brags ’bout dere ’ole mans’ an’ cuts der eye at us skornful; an’ de husban’s iz mity nigh es bad, erpokin’ fun at us an’ axin erbout de chillun.
“She say yer needn’ think we’re crazy ter marry; tain’t dat, an’ tain’t dat we want yer ter ’sport us,—no, no! We hev money an’ kin funnish our own vittuls an’ cloes, an’ we kin wuk; but it iz dat reproach dey kas’ on us, de wear an’ tear uv bein’ laff’d at dat cuts us so deep. Ef I cud be Mrs. Sumbody,—had sum proof dat I had de name uv sum un,—sumthin’ ter rub off de reproach. Dat’s it,—dis ding-dongin’ uv de fokes at me.
“De man wuz pale es linnin, an’ wuz hopin’ ter ansur, but fo’ de wud floo frum his lips ernudder ’omun hooked ’im on de ter side. Mursy uv de Lord! two uv ’em had ’im an’ it luk lik dey wuz gwine ter rip ’im in tew an’ each tek a haf. De las’ wun tel her tale jes’ lik de fust wun an’ wuss. She brung in tears es part uv her argurmint, an’ de ter wun got fretted an’ used wuds dat wud hev konkurred ’im ef jes’ den two mo’,—two mo’, mine yer, mekin’ fo’ in all, hed not kum up an’ gits er grip on de gemmun, an’ hiz eyes luk lik dey’d pop out his hed;—wun on each side an’ two ter hiz face, an’ it seems he gwine ter faint.
“‘Yer ladiz,’ he says, ‘may be rite in yer ’thuzasm, but yer iz too menny. Up ter dis time I hev bin shy uv wun, but ef I cud be erlowed ter choose jes’ wun I mite try it.’
“Den de fo’ wimmins begun ter git shaky wen a nur wun sailed in,—dat’s five, den ernudder; dat’s six, and den wun mo’—SEBUN!
“Luk, will yer! Sevun got wun man. It izn’t sed wedder de wimmin wuz fer a partnurship wid de man es de kapertul, or wedder each uv ’em hoped ter beat out de udder six; but wun thing we know an’ dat iz dat de po’ man iz in de low grounds uv sorrur. Ter my min’, de pikshur iz mity seerus, ebun do it mek us smile. Fur my po’ part, I iz glad we lives in fairer times. In our day mens iz awful plen’ful wid us, tho’ I kin not say dat de qualty iz fust class in ve’y menny. But I thanks de Lord dat mos’ enny nice leddy kin git merrid in dese times ef dey choose, an’ dat wid out gwine out sparkin’ fur de man. I notis dat ef she stay ter home, ten her buznis, min’ her mudder, an’ not sweep de streets too off’n wid her skirts, in de long run her modes’ sperrit will win de day. I ubsurv ernudder thing; de unmerrid lady, de ole maid es sum calls her,—need not hang her haid. Jes’ let her be quiet an’ surv de Lord; jes’ not fret ’bout wat fools says,—dey duz er heep uv talkin’, but it iz lik de cracklin’ uv de burnin’ sticks under de pot, a big fuss an’ a littul heat. Fer my part, I honners de ’oman dat b’haves hersef, briduls her tongue, duz her wuk, an’ sings es she goes erlong. Her contentid sperrit beats a lazy husbun’ ebry time, an’ mity off’n it brings er gud husbun’ erlong.
“Es fer dese fokes dat flurts an’ skouts at ole maids dey ain’ fitten ter live, an’ ort ter be in de bottum uv Jeems Rivur, ’cept’n’ dey’d spile de watur. No gemmun nur no lady wud do it.
“Now dis iz my wud ’bout de wimmin, an’ I hope yer lik it, but if yer doant, jes’ ’member dat Jasper sed it, an’ will stan’ by it, til de cows in de lo’er feil’ kums home.”