She is a small boneded woman, dretful softly lookin’; and truly, her looks don’t belie her, for she seems to me that soft, that if she should bump her head, I don’t see what is to hinder it from flattin’ right out like a piece of putty. I guess she was pretty good lookin’ in her day; on no other grounds can I account for it, that two men ever took after her. Her eyes are round as blue beads, and sort of surprised lookin’, she is light complected, and her mouth is dretful puckered up and drawed down. Josiah can’t bear her looks—he has told me so in confidence a number of times—but I told him I have seen wimmen that looked worse; and I have.
“I have seen them that looked far better,” says he.
“Who Josiah?” says I.
Says he, “Father Smith’s daughter, Samantha.”
Josiah thinks a sight of me, it seems to grow on him; and with me also, it is ditto and the same.
“THE VOYAGE OF LIFE.”
When two souls set out in married life, a sailin’ out on the sea of True Love, they must expect to steer at first through rocks, and get tangled in the sea weed, the rocks of opposing wills, and the sea weed of selfishness. And before they get the hang of the boat it will go contrary, squalls will rise and most upset it, and they’ll hist up the wrong sails and tighten the wrong ropes and act like fools generally. And they’ll be sick, very; and will sometimes look back with regret to the lonesome, but peaceful shores they have left, and wish they hadn’t never sot out.
But if they’ll be patient and steer their boat straight and wise, a calmer sea is ahead, deeper waters of trust and calm affection, in which their boat will sail onwards first rate. They’ll git past the biggest heft of the rocks, and git the nack of sailin’ round the ones that are left so’s not to hit ’em nigh so often, and the sea weed, unbeknown to them, will kinder drizzle out, and disappear mostly.
I don’t have to correct Josiah near so much as I used to, though occasionally, when I know I am in the right, I set up my authority, and will be minded; and he hisen. I never see a couple yet, whether they’d own it or not, but what would have their little spats; but good land! if they love each other they git right over it, and it is all fair weather again. The little breeze clears the air, and the sun will shine out again clear as pure water, and bright as a dollar.