Then I moved the lamp to his elbow and he began reading:
'A talk with William Brower on the occasion of his going away to college and writ out in rhyme for him by his friend Jedediah Feary to be a token of respect.
The man that loses faith in God, ye'll find out every time,
Has found a faith in his own self that's mighty nigh sublime.
He knows as much as all the saints an' calls religion flighty,
An' in his narrow world assumes the place o' God Almighty.
But don't expect too much o' God, it wouldn't be quite fair
If fer everything ye wanted ye could only swap a prayer;
I'd pray fer yours an' you fer mine an' Deacon Henry Hospur
He wouldn't hev a thing t' do but lay a-bed an' prosper.
If all things come so easy, Bill, they'd hev but little worth,
An' someone with a gift O' prayer 'ud mebbe own the earth.
It's the toil ye give t' git a thing—the sweat an' blood an' trouble
We reckon by—an' every tear'll make its value double.
There's a money O' the soul, my boy, ye'll find in after years,
Its pennies are the sweat drops an' its dollars are the tears;
An' love is the redeemin' gold that measures what they're worth,
An' ye'll git as much in Heaven as ye've given out on earth.
Fer the record o' yer doin'—I believe the soul is planned
With an automatic register t, tell jest how ye stand,
An' it won't take any cipherin' t' show that fearful day,
If ye've multiplied yer talents well, er thrown 'em all away.
When yer feet are on the summit, an' the wide horizon clears,
An' ye look back on yer pathway windin' thro' the vale o' tears;
When ye see how much ye've trespassed an' how fur ye've gone astray,
Ye'll know the way o' Providence ain't apt t' be your way.
God knows as much as can be known, but I don't think it's true
He knows of all the dangers in the path o' me an' you.
If I shet my eyes an' hurl a stone that kills the King o' Siam,
The chances are that God'll be as much surprised as I am.
If ye pray with faith believin', why, ye'll certnly receive,
But that God does what's impossible is more than I'll believe.
If it grieves Him when a sparrow falls, it's sure as anything,
He'd hev turned the arrow if He could, that broke the sparrow's wing.
Ye can read old Nature's history thet's writ in rocks an' stones,
Ye can see her throbbin' vitals an' her mighty rack o' hones.
But the soul o' her—the livin' God, a little child may know
No lens er rule o' cipherin' can ever hope t' show.
There's a part o' Cod's creation very handy t' yer view,
Al' the truth o' life is in it an' remember, Bill, it's you.
An' after all yer science ye must look up in yer mind,
An' learn its own astronomy the star o' peace t' find.
There's good old Aunt Samanthy Jane thet all her journey long
Has led her heart to labour with a reveille of song.
Her folks hev robbed an' left her but her faith in goodness grows,
She hasn't any larnin', but I tell ye Bill, she knows!
She's hed her share o' troubles; I remember well the day
We took her t' the poorhouse—she was singin' all the way;
Ye needn't be afraid t' come where stormy Jordan flows,
If all the larnin' ye can git has taught ye halfshe knows.'
I give this crude example of rustic philosophy, not because it has my endorsement—God knows I have ever felt it far beyond me—but because it is useful to those who may care to know the man who wrote it. I give it the poor fame of these pages with keen regret that my friend is now long passed the praise or blame of this world.
Chapter 22
The horse played a part of no small importance in that country. He was the coin of the realm, a medium of exchange, a standard of value, an exponent of moral character. The man that travelled without a horse was on his way to the poorhouse. Uncle Eb or David Brower could tell a good horse by the sound of his footsteps, and they brought into St Lawrence County the haughty Morgans from Vermont. There was more pride in their high heads than in any of the good people. A Northern Yankee who was not carried away with a fine horse had excellent self-control. Politics and the steed were the only things that ever woke him to enthusiasm, and there a man was known as he traded. Uncle Eb used to say that one ought always to underestimate his horse 'a leetle fer the sake of a reputation'.
We needed another horse to help with the haying, and Bob Dean, a tricky trader, who had heard of it, drove in after supper one evening, and offered a rangy brown animal at a low figure. We looked him over, tried him up and down the road, and then David, with some shrewd suspicion, as I divined later, said I could do as I pleased. I bought the horse and led him proudly to the stable. Next morning an Irishman, the extra man for the haying, came in with a worried look to breakfast.
'That new horse has a chittern' kind of a coff,' he said.
'A cough?' said I.