And I eppisoded to myself and to Josiah, “That is a good deal like life. The good of this world seems onequally divided some times, but the rich has troubles and the poor have compensations. The poor man has to git up early and toil all day, but if he hates to leave his bed so early mornings, his sleep is sweet while he rests, and his labor makes his food taste good and nourishes his strength, while the rich man who can lay till noon, turns on his restless pillow and can’t sleep night or day. And while he has plenty to buy rich viands he has no appetite to eat or health to digest his food.
“The morning song of the lark sounds sweet to the laborer as it rises over the dew-spangled fields, as he goes forth to his daily toil, while the paid songs the rich man hears palls on his pleasure-tired senses. At home you have rest of body, and in travel you have education and variety; yes, the gouts and twits in life even up pretty well and the yarn runs pretty smooth offen the reel of Time to the traveller and the stay-at-home, the rich and the poor.”
Josiah wuz brushin’ his back hair with two brushes (one would have been plenty enough), and he kep’ on with his employment and sez without lookin’ up:
“I wonder where the Widder Rice’s grandson, Ezra, is? He wuz out to the West the last I hearn on him.”
There it wuz! My eloquence had rolled offen him like water from a tin eavespout; hadn’t touched him at all nor uplifted him, though I felt real riz up. You know you can talk yourself up onto quite a hite if you try; but Josiah wuzn’t moved a mite from the place he’d stood on.
Well, that wuz one of the gouts in my yarn of life, but a twit wuz near by––it had its compensation. He worships 335 me! And I went on and eppisoded to myself to bring myself up to the mark as I wadded up my back hair. Sez I to myself: “If Josiah had the eye to see the onseen eagles soarin’ up in the sky above his head, mebby he would also see my faults too plain. If he could hear in winter midnights the murmur of dancin’ waters and the melogious voice of the south wind blowin’ over roses and voyalets, he might also hear the voice of Distrust. If he had the wisdom of Solomon he might also have his discursive fancies, his various and evanescent attachments. But as it is, his love is stiddy and as firm as a rock. So the gouts and the twits evened each other up after all, and the yarn run pretty smooth.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
The next mornin’ Tommy wuz delighted with the idee of goin’ in a boat after some hair-pins for me and a comb for him––he had broke hisen. It wuzn’t fur we went, and I spoze we might have walked by goin’ a little furder; but variety is the spice of life, and it seemed to kinder refresh us.