I wont pray the Lord my soul to take.
And when he’d say the Lord’s prayer, he’d say: “Lead us into Temptation,” jest as loud as he could yell, and cross as a bear. Jest as quick as I got him civilized down, he’d tell ’em off like a little pasture. But oh! how cross and surly he did look at first, jest for all the world, like this little feller. I hunched Josiah to take notice, and he said if Thomas J. had been sculped in the act, it couldn’t look more natteral.
And there was such lovely female wimmen faces, innocent as angels—one with a veil over her face; only think on it, a marble veil, and I a seeing’ right through it.
But there was some Italian statutes that instinctively I got between and Josiah, and put my fan up, for I felt that he hadn’t ort to see ’em. Some of the time I felt that he was too good to look at ’em, and some of the time I felt that he wasn’t good enough; for I well knew when I come to think it over, that human nater wasn’t what it once was, in Eden, and it wasn’t innocence, but lack of innocence that ailed folks. But whether he was too good, or not good enough, and I couldn’t for my life tell which; either way I felt it wasn’t no place for him; so I hurried him through on a pretty good jog.
SAMANTHA IN THE ART GALLERY.
And among the statutes of my own Nation, was Aurora; it seems as if it struck me about as hard a blow as any of ’em. To see that beautiful figger of Mornin’ risin’ right up sailin’ over the earth with her feet on nothin’; her arms over her head scatterin’ the brightness of day down in roses upon the earth, and the stars and the shadders of night a fallin’ away from her; it was as beautiful a marble thought, as I ever laid eyes on—or I’d think so till I see some other one, and then I’d think that was the beautifulest. There was Nydia the blind girl of Pompeii! What pain and helplessness was on her face, and what a divine patience born of sufferin’. What a countenance that was! And then there was two little Water Babies layin’ in a sea shell—I don’t believe there was ever any cunniner little creeters in the hull world.
And havin’ such feelins for her, feelin’ so sort o’ intimate with her and Hamlet, it was very affectin’ to me to see Ophelia, a lookin’ jest as I have heerd Thomas J. read about her. She was standin’ holdin’ some flowers in her dress with one hand, and with the other hand she was holdin’ out a posey jest as if she was a sayin’:
“There’s rosemary, that’s for rememberance; pray you love remember, and there’s pansies that’s for thoughts.” She was dressed up in store clothes too, which was indeed a treat, and a sweeter face I don’t want to see. And then there was a noble group—Death a tryin’ to kill Honor, and couldn’t. Strength and Courage and Perseverance had gone down before him, but Honor he couldn’t kill; it was a very noble and inspirin’ sight. And Media was another dretful affectin’ statute to me; what trials and tribulations that woman did go through, killin’ her childern, and ridin’ after serpents, and everything. I was some acquainted with her (through Thomas Jefferson.)
And then there was Night and Mornin’; I never see ’em look better in my life, either of ’em. And Ruth a gleanin’; she was a kneelin’ down on one knee, and looked first-rate, though I did think it would have been better if she had pulled her dress waist up where it belonged. Howsumever, everybody to their own mind. There was two statutes of Cleopatra, pretty nigh together, one by a man, and one by a woman. Mebby you’ll think I am parshal to my sect, but if I wasn’t a woman—if I was a man—I’d say and I’d contend for it that her Cleopatra looked fur handsomer and better than hisen. And there was a minute man, that looked stern and noble, and as if he would be right there jest to the minute.