“Well,” says I, “Lord or no lord, I don’t over and above like his looks; he looks smart, but kinder mean.”
Jest then all of a sudden, on happenin’ to turn the eye of my speck onto a little bench under a shade tree, I see settin’ there a friend I knew; I see a face that telescopes are bein’ aimed at by the envious to spy out every little freckle, spot and wrinkle; (and where is there a complexion however light, that can stand firm under a telescope, and the strong glarin’ light of the present time, without showin’ a wrinkle?) It was the face of a man I respected, and almost loved, (a meetin’ house love, calm, yet firm as a settin’ hen.)
Without sayin’ a word, I jest drawd Josiah right up in front of him. At the first glance he didn’t know me, but I jest made him a noble curchy, and says I: “Ulysses how do you?” Says I, “The last time I see you I had the honor to rescue you from pain and poetry and Betsey Bobbet.”
Before I could say another word he took the cigar he had in his lips with one hand and reached out the other, and shook hands with me almost warmly.
“Josiah Allen’s wife, my preserver! I am glad to meet you.”
Then and there I introduced Josiah; but I was sorry to see at that moment that the knowledge that he was a talkin’ with the President of the United States, made him act bashful and meachin’; but I was that inspired and lifted up, that even my pardner’s meachin’ and almost foolish mean didn’t seem to have no effect on me. I spoke right out and says I:
“Ulysses, I never was so proud of my Nation before in my hull life as I be now, and never did I feel such feelin’s for my 4 fathers. What a undertakin’ they undertook! When a thing is done, and you are a standin’ up on the results safe and happy, then you feel well, and at rest; but the curious time, and the solemn time, is when the thing haint done, and you are a settin’ out to do it, with the risk and the uncertainty before you. When you are a steppin’ off in the darkness and don’t have no idee whether you are a steppin’ on sunthin’, or on nothin’; no idee where you are a comin’ to next. I’ve got lost in our suller several times when my candle went out, and it was a curious feelin’, Ulysses, to grope our way along in the dark not knowin’ whether we would come out all right to the bottom of the stairs, or come up sudden ag’inst the wall, or the pork barrell. I’ve fell flat a number of times, when I thought I was a steppin’ high, and doin’ the best I could; when you have reached the stairs and git holt of ’em, and Josiah has opened the door and stands there with a candle in his hand, then you feel well and safe, but you can’t forgit your curious feelin’s when you was in the dark, a gropin’ and a feelin’ and not knowin’ where you was a goin’ to.
“Now, there was a time when the colonies was a gropin’ their way along in the dark, not knowin’ where the next step would take ’em to—whether they would come out to the stairs that led up to Freedom and Liberty and happiness, or come up sudden and hard ag’inst the wall of defeat. They was walkin’ a slender, slippery pathway, and if they slipped off they knew black waters was under ’em, deep black waters, to drownd them and their posterity in. They fell a number of times, but they got up again nobly; they held firm, and stepped high, and at last they groped their way to the stairs that led up to Liberty. And by God’s help, by prayer and hard work, they mounted them stairs; and then another long flight of lofty stairs was before ’em; and they rose them stairs, and have gone up on ’em, higher and higher, ever sense to national power, and honor, and glory. And now let ’em hold firm and examine the platform they are a standin’ on.”
Ulysses smoked his cigar with a very thoughtful and attentive smoke. And oh! how sort o’ solemn and martyr-like my tone was as I went on a talkin’ to him, and a thinkin’ to myself: Here I be, advisin’ the Nation for its good—a performin’ my mission, and advisin’ the United States, E Pluribus Unim, through its chief magistrate. I felt noble and curious, fearfully so, as I continued on:
“Oh! how awful it would be for ’em, Ulysses, a standin’ up on the height they stand up on, if political rottenness should crumble away any of the tall proud ladder that holds ’em up. Oh! how it would hurt ’em to fall down flat, and lay on their backs with the ladder and platform on top of ’em. Let ’em be careful, and let ’em be prayerful; let ’em examine every inch of the lumber that they are a standin’ on; if there is a rotten spot in it, or a weak spot, or a suspicious spot, let ’em spurn it nobly; let ’em not ask wildly and blindly: ‘Did this board grow in Republican forests, or did it grow in Democratic swamps?’ Let ’em throw that question down, and trample on it; and let ’em ask this question only, and let ’em ask it in a firm loud voice: ‘Is it a sound board?’