"Well he might," sez Josiah, "well he might."

Truly, there are times when women can't, seeminly, stand no more. This
wuz one on 'em, and I jest waded right into the argiment. I sez, real
solemn like, a-holdin' the sprig of parsley some like a septer, only
more sort o' riz up like and mysteriouser. Yes, I held that green sprig
some as the dove did when it couldn't find no rest for the soles of its
feet--no foundation under it and it sailed about seekin' some mount of
truth it could settle down on. Oh how wobblin' and onsubstantial and
curius I felt hearin' their talk.

"And," sez I, "nobody is tickleder than I be to think a colored man has
had the right gin him to stand up in a Conference or anywhere else. I
have probable experienced more emotions in his behalf," sez I, "deep
and earnest, than any other female, ancient or modern. I have bore his
burdens for him, trembled under his lashes, agonized with him in his
unexampled griefs and wrongs and indignities, and I have rejoiced at the
very depths of my soul at his freedom.

"But," sez I, "when he uses that freedom to enchain another and as
deservin' a race, my feelin's are hurt and my indignations are riz up.

"Yes," sez I, a-wavin' that sprig some like a warlike banner, as my
emotions swelled up under my bask waste,

"When that negro stands there a-advocatin' the slavery of another race,
and a-sayin' that women ortn't to say her soul is her own, and wimmen
are too weak and foolish to lift up their right hands, much less preach,
I'd love to ask him where he and his race wuz twenty-five years ago, and
where they would be to-day if it wuzn't for a woman usin' her right hand