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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 219 pages of information about Samantha at the St. Louis Exposition.

The two pipes havin’ the lowest notes a small horse can walk through or two good-sized men standin’ side by side.  So you can imagine the streams of melody that can float through them immense channels.  It has one hundred and forty stops, every one on ’em that will stop if told to quick as a wink.

It took a train of ten cars to bring it from Los Angelus where it wuz made.  You can imagine how its music fairly shakes the ground and carries you off your feet, seemin’ly like the very music of the spears.

Good land! what’s Tirzah Ann’s organ compared to it?  And I thought that wuz as good as any they make, the agent said it wuz; we paid over sixty dollars for it.

And who do you think dedicated this most beautiful structure that wuz ever built, to the music of the biggest organ in the world’?  Why, it wuz woman, my own female sect.  I tell you it made me proud to think on’t.  It wuz told me by one that wuz there that it wuz filled with wimmen on that occasion, and as many men as could git in after the wimmen wuz seated.

Jest think on’t, oh, my sect! who have been used to sneakin’ up back stairs to look down on men seated in state at banquet tables, or peak from the gallery at the Capitol to see ’em nobly engaged in makin’ laws to govern her, tellin’ her how to spend the money she earned herself, and how long to send her to jail, and where and when to hang her, and etcetery; while she could only jest peak at ’em.  Oh, my soul! wuzn’t it a agreeable state of affairs the doin’s here at Festival Hall?  As I said to Josiah as we sot there, “Don’t it show my sect is lookin’ up?”

And he said he never found wimmen backward in lookin’ up, he said he never see a place that would dant ’em and stop their tongues from waggin’.  He made light of the great incident and would been glad to had men dedicate it; indeed he jest the same as told me he felt the Exposition had stood in its own light in not havin’ a certain leadin’ man in Jonesville, who wuz way up in political and moral life, havin’ held the offices of path-master and deacon.  “But,” sez he, with some bitterness of sperit and speakin’ skornfully: 

“What if wimmen did dedicate it?  They can git up dressed in their silks and shiffoniers, and talk, talk, but they can’t vote no matter how well off they be.  They’ve got to pony up and pay taxes and toe the mark in law jest as men tell ’em to.”

“Why,” sez he, warmin’ with his subject, “we men can set on you in juries and you can’t help yourselves, and hang you and so forth.  And you W.C.T.U. wimmen would have to let your tax money go to pay for drinkin’ shacks if we men of Jonesville, and the world, took it into our heads to make you.  Why,” sez he, lookin’ more and more big feelin’ as he went on, as why shouldn’t he, as he recounted men’s glorious advantages,

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