第2章 A SORT OF PREFACE(2)

And what did they know of the hardships of civilization? Now to sposen the case, sposen Miss Abraham had to live in New York winters, and go to two or three big receptions every day, and to dinner parties, and theatre parties, and operas and such like, evenin's, and receive and return about three thousand calls, and be on more 'n a dozen charitable boards (hard boards they be too, some on 'em) and lots of other projects and enterprizes -- be on the go the hull winter, with a dress so tight she couldn't breathe instead of her good loose robes, and instead of her good comfortable sandals have her feet upon high-heeled shoes pinchin'

her corns almost unto distraction.And then to Washington to go all through it agin, and more too, and Florida, and Cuba; and then to the sea-shore and have it all over agin with sea bathin' added.

And then to the mountains, and all over agin with climbin' round added.Then to Europe, with seas sickness, picture galleries, etc., added.And so on home agin in the fall to begin it all over agin.

Why Miss Abraham would be so tuckered out before she went half through with one season, that she would be a dead 4 mother.

And Mr.Abraham -- why one half hour down at the stock exchange would have been too much for that good old creeter.The yells and cries, and distracted movements of the crowd of Luker Gatherers there, would have skairt him to death.He never would have lived to follow Miss Abraham round from pillow to post through summer and winter seasons -- he wouldn't have lived to waltz, or toboggen, or suffer other civilized agonies.No, he would have been a dead patriark.And better off so, I almost think.

Not but what I realize that civilization has its advantages.Not but what I know that if Mr.Abraham wanted Miss Abraham to part his hair straight, or clean off his phylackrity when she happened to be out a pickin' up manny, he couldn't stand on one side of his tent and telephone to bring her back, but had to yell at her.

And I realize fully that if one of his herd got strayed off into another county, they hadn't no telegraf to head it off, but the old man had to poke off through rain or sun, and hunt it up himself.And he couldn't set down cross-legged in front of his tent in the mornin', and read what happened on the other side of the world, the evenin' before.

And I know that if he wanted to set down some news, they had to kill a sheep, and spend several years a dressin' off the hide into parchment -- and kill a goose, or chase it up till they wuz beat out, for a goose-quill.

And then after about 20 years or so, they could put it down that Miss Isaac had got a boy -- the boy, probably bein' a married man himself and a father when the news of his birth wuz set down.

I realize this, and also the great fundimental fact that underlies all philosophies, that you can't set down and stand up at the same time -- and that no man, however pure and lofty his motives may be, can't lean up against a barn door, and walk off simultanious.

And if he don't walk off, then the great question comes in, How will he get there? And he feels lots of times that he must stand up so's to bring his head up above the mullien and burdock stalks, amongst which he is a settin', and get a wider view-a broader horizeon.And he feels lots of time, that he must get there.

This is a sort of a curius world, and it makes me feel curius a good deal of the time as we go through it.But we have to make allowances for it, for the old world is on a tramp, too.It can't seem to stop a minute to oil up its old axeltrys -- it moves on, and takes us with it.It seems to be in a hurry.

Everything seems to be in a hurry here below.And some say Heaven is a place of continual sailin' round and goin' up and up all the time.But while risin' up and soarin' is a sweet thought to me, still sometimes I love to think that Heaven is a place where I can set down, and set for some time.

I told Josiah so (waked him up, for he wuz asleep), and he said he sot more store on the golden streets, and the wavin' palms, and the procession of angels.(And then he went to sleep agin.)But I don't feel so.I'd love, as I say, to jest set down for quite a spell, and set there, to be kinder settled down and to home with them whose presence makes a home anywhere.I wouldn't give a cent to sail round unless I wuz made to know it wuz my duty to sail.Josiah wants to.

But, as I say, everybody is in a hurry.Husbands can't hardly find time to keep up a acquaintance with their wives.Fathers don't have no time to get up a intimate acquaintance with their children.Mothers are in such a hurry -- babys are in such a hurry -- that they can't scarcely find time to be born.And Ideclare for't, it seems sometimes as if folks don't want to take time to die.

The old folks at home wait with faithful, tired old eyes for the letter that don't come, for the busy son or daughter hasn't time to write it -- no, they are too busy a tearin' up the running vine of affection and home love, and a runnin' with it.

Yes, the hull nation is in a hurry to get somewhere else, to go on, it can't wait.It is a trampin' on over the Western slopes, a trampin' over red men, and black men, and some white men a hurryin' on to the West -- hurryin' on to the sea.And what then?

Is there a tide of restfulness a layin' before it? Some cool waters of repose where it will bathe its tired forward, and its stun-bruised feet, and set there for some time?

I don't s'pose so.I don't s'pose it is in its nater to.Is'pose it will look off longingly onto the far off somewhere that lays over the waters -- beyend the sunset.

JOSIAH ALLEN'S WIFE.

NEW YORK, June, 1887.