That is the nater of wimmen, the weaker it wuz and the humblier it wuz,
and the more it needed me, the more I thought on it.

And as is the nater of man, Josiah Allen didn't seem to care so much
about it while it wuz weak and humbly and spindlin'.

He told me time and agin, that I couldn't save it, and it never would
amount to anythin', and wuzn't nothin' but legs any way, and lots of
other slightin' remarks. And he'd call it "horse corset" in a kind of
a light, triflin' way, that wuz apt to gaul a woman when she come back
with icy night-gown and frosty toes and fingers, way along in the night.

[Illustration: "BEEN OUT TO TEND TO YOUR 'HORSE CORSET,' HAVE YOU?"]

He'd wake up, a-layin' there warm and comfortable on his soft goose
feather piller and say to me: "Been out to tend to your 'horse corset,'
have you?"

"_Horse corset_! 'Wall, what if it wuz?"

Such language way along in the night, from a warm comfortable pardner to
a cold one, is apt to make some words back and forth.

And then he'd speak of its legs agin, in the most slightin' terms--and
he'd ask me if didn't want its picter took--etc., etc., etc.

(I believe one thing that ailed Josiah Allen wuz he didn't want me to
get up and get my feet so cold).