Human happyness being a subject that interests most persons, and having never bin writ upon bi enny boddy else, i thought i would write upon it immediately.
But fu ever git tew be happy, for the reazon they try so hard.
Comfort in this world is about awl that mortals kan expect; happyness has bin reserved, bi an all wise Providence, for futur use.
Those who are the most happy appear tew kno it the least; in fact, happyness seems tew consist in not knowing it.
The best way i kno ov tew be happy is not tew want enny thing till yu hav got it, and then be saving of it.
Pudding and milk is a good thing tew git happy on, but too mutch pudding and milk, even, will worry a man.
The most happy individual i ever knu had no under garment, and he probably would have remained happy, until his back had wore out, if the Femail Billingsville sowing society had not furnished him a cotton seclusion for hiz body, and got him riled up, bekauze the collar tew the seclusion want starched stiff enuff.
It iz a verry dangerous peace ov bizzness tew interfere with enny man's private plans, for hiz own partiklar happyness, (or partiklar misery,) upon the same principle, that it iz a verry dangerous enterprise to pull a thorn out ov a mule's hind leg, and dodge the kick.
Awl human hapness iz conservatiff; 2 thirds ov the pleasure in sliding down hill consists in drawing the sled back. I don't serpoze thare would be enny fun in sliding down a hill 34 miles long.
A verry large share ov our happiness iz derived from anticipation; i kan rekoleckt now ov having tremenjus fun, years ago, in the western wilderness, hunting bees, and also hav a lively reminiscence ov gitting awfully stung, when i found the bees.