Says I (still entirely unbeknown to me) “Some folks thinks it lifts ’em up and makes ’em higher and nobler, if they have somebody beneath ’em to look down on and feel contemptuous towards; but it haint Christ-like. And they who are the most like Him, the loftiest, truest souls, have the most generous and helpful spirit, the tenderest compassion for them who are accounted beneath them. They would much rather offend an equal, than to add, by a word or a look, to the burdens of those already burdened by a sense of their poverty and inferiority. And that is one reason why I always liked the sun Mr. Pedro, why I always fairly took to him: because he is so great and noble and royal hearted, and with all his kingly and soarin’ grandeur, has such awful tender streaks to him, so thoughtful and helpful to the little neglected cast off things of the earth. If he turns the cold shoulder to any one, it is to the high, the hauty, and the big feelin’. How different he appears how much more cold and icy his mean is to the loftiest mountain peaks, to what it is to the little cowslip blow and blue-eyed violet down by the swamp, or the low grasses growin’ in fence corners and by the door-steps of the poor. How warm and almost tender he is to them, never twittin’ them of their worthlessness and how much he has done for them, but smilin’ right down on ’em, helpin’ ’em to grow, and makin’ no fuss about it. Not a mite afraid of losin’ his dignity the sun haint, when he is bendin’ himself down to lift up a myrtle blow, or encourage a skairt little dandelion, trampled down by the side of the road. He has got a big job of shinin’ on his hands. He has took the job of lightin’ the world, and he haint got no time or disposition to be exclusive and nurse his dignity, as little naters do, and he don’t need to.”
I knew by the expression of Mr. Pedro’s face, that he mistrusted that I was comparin’ him to the sun, and bein’ so modest—jest like all great naters—it was fairly distressin’ to him. And givin’ a glance round the room, at the noble pictures, and gorgeous doin’s, he says:
“I congratulate you all Madam, on your great display. I see much to admire.”
That man is a perfect gentleman, if there ever was one. But I wasn’t goin’ to be outdone in politeness; I wasn’t goin’ to have him feel uncomfortable because we had better doin’s than he had to home. And so says I, “Yes, we have got up a pretty fair show, but you mustn’t think we have such doin’s every day Mr. Pedro. Columbia has got her high heeled shoes on, as you may say, and is showin’ off, tryin’ to see what she can do. She has been keepin’ house for a hundred years, and been a addin’ to her house every year, and repairin’ of it and gettin’ housen stuff together, and now she is havin’ a regular house warmin’, to show off, what a housekeeper she is.”
Again he said with that courteous and polite look of hisen: that “it was a grand, and instructive scene; nothing like it had met his eyes in his own land. He didn’t blame the nation for the pride they felt, it was deserved; the display was grand, magnificent, and the country was prosperous; in traveling through it he had been delighted and amazed.”
I thought then, he was so generous, and praised us up so, it would be polite for me to sort o’ run ourselves down, a very little. Principle wouldn’t let me run far, and says I:
“Yes, our American Eagle has laid quite a pile of eggs and hatched out quite a quantity of likely growin’ states and territories, and I don’t know as she ort to be blamed too much if she does cackle pretty loud, and look as wise, and satisfied, and knowin’ as a hen turkey.”
And then thinkin’ it would be very polite in me to turn the subject away from our national and personal glory, I spoke out in as friendly a tone as I had by me—for I truly felt as if the nation and I couldn’t do too much, or say too much to show our admiration and appreciation for the smartest and sensiblest monarch we ever had amongst us. Says I in a real neighborly tone:
“How is your wife, Mr. Pedro? How glad I should be if you and she could come to Jonesville before you go down home, and make us a good visit;” says I, “I would love to git acquainted with her and so would Josiah; and I don’t s’pose I shall ever git so far from home as Brazil, for Josiah and me don’t visit much anyway, and South America seems to be sort o’ out of our way. But”—says I, in that same friendly, and almost affectionate manner—“don’t wait for us Mr. Pedro, if you and she can come now, or after you git home, come right up; we shall be glad and proud to see you at any time.” And then I happened to think, what I had heerd about her enjoyment of poor health, and says I, “How is Theresy’s lameness now, does she git any the better of it?”
He thanked me dretful polite, and said she “wasn’t any better.”