“And so with principles. Lots of folks spend most of their days a plantin’ seeds that wont come up. What is worthless wont amount to nothin’—in accordance with that great mathematical fact, that scientific folks like me apply to lots of things, and find that it comes right every time—that ort from ort leaves nothin’, and nothin’ to carry. But if the idee is true and has got life in it, no matter how dark the mould that covers it, it is morally bound to sprout—positively bound to, and can’t be hindered. Don’t you know, when a big forest has been cut down, berry bushes will spring right up, seem to have stood all ready to spring up for the refreshin’ of men and wimmen jest as quick as the shadders of the tall trees had got offen ’em; curious, but so it is. Who knows how many centuries them seeds have laid there a waitin’ their time to grow, gittin’ sick of the shadders mebby, but jest a waitin’ with considerable patience after all.
“And thinkin’ of these things mom, ort to make us considerable patient too, willin’ to work, and willin’ to wait; knowin’ that gittin’ mad and actin’ haint a goin’ to help us a mite; knowin’ that the seeds of good and right, planted with tears and prayers, are bound to spring up triumphant; knowin’ that the laughin’ and cold sneers of the multitude haint a goin’ to frost bite ’em; knowin’ that the tears of weakness, and weariness, and loneliness, fallin’ from human eyes over the hoe handle in plantin’ time, only moistens the sod, and kinder loosens it up first-rate. And that even the ashes of persecution, and all the blood that falls in righteous cause, only nourishes the snowy flowers and golden grain of the future. Mebby it is our mission to clear away trees and stumps—sort o’ wood choppers, or sawyers—I don’t care a mite what I am called. We may never see the seed spring up; we may not be here when it breaks through the dark mould triumphant; but somebody will see it; happy skies will bend over it; happy hearts will hail it; and if Freedom, Truth, and Justice is remembered, what matters it if Josiah Allen’s wife is forgotten.”
Says she, “I will hammer ’em.”
I declare for’t I had forgot where I was, and who I was, and who she was, and who Josiah was—I was carried away such a distance by my emotions. But her remark soared up like a brass pin or a tack nail, and pierced my wrapped mood. I see I hadn’t convinced her, her eyes looked wild and glarin’.
“Well,” says I, “if you do you will probable have the worst of it, besides injurin’ the hammer.”
Jest at that very minute I see Josiah a comin’, and I watched that beloved and approachin’ form for mebby half or two thirds of a minute, and when I looked round again she was gone, and I was glad on’t; I never liked her looks. And in a few minutes Miss Bean come too, and says she: “Don’t you want to go and see some relicks?”
Says I, “I haint particular either way. Bein’ a respectable married woman with a livin’ pardner of my own, I shant make no move either way, I shant run towards ’em or from ’em. Havin’ lived a vegetable widow for so many years, I s’pose you feel different about relicks.”
Says she, “I mean relicks from Jerusalem and other old places, made out of wood from Mount Olive, and the cross, and the Holy Sepulchre, and so 4th.” And then she kinder whispered to me: “They do say that they have used up more than ten cords of stove-wood right here in the village of Filadelphy, a makin’ relicks for Turks to sell—Turks right from Ireland.” Says she, “You are so awful patriotic you ort to see George Washington’s clothes, and old Independence Hall, and Liberty bell.”
AMONG THE RELICS
Says I in agitated axents: “Cousin Bean has George Washington got any clothes here to the Sentinal?”