And he says, “They don’t believe anything. That is their belief—to believe nothin’.”
“Nothin’!” says I.
“Yes,” says he, “Nothin’.” And, says he, “to-morrer they are goin’ to prove beyond any question, that there haint any God, nor anything, and never wuz anything.”
“Be they?” sez I.
“Yes,” says he, “and won’t you come and be convinced?”
I looked off onto the peaceful waters, onto the hills that lay as the mountains did about Jerusalem, onto the pillow of fire that seemed to hold in it the flames of that light that had lighted the old world onto the mornin’ of the new day,—and one star had come out, and stood tremblin’ over the brow of the mountain and I thought of that star that had riz so long time ago, and had guided the three wise men, guided ’em jest alike from their three different homes, entirely unbeknown to each other, guidin’ ’em to the cradle where lay the infant Redeemer of the world, so long foretold by bard and prophet. I looked out onto the heavenly glory of the day, and then inside into my heart, that held a faith jest as bright and undyin’ as the light of that star—and I says, “No, I guess I won’t go and be convinced.”
Wall, we riz up to go most immediately afterwerds, and the Deacon (he is very smart) observed:
“How highly tickled and even highlarious the man seemed in talkin’ about there not bein’ any future.” And he says, “It wuz a good deal like a man laughin’ and clappin’ his hands to see his house burn down”
And I sez, “it wuz far wurse, for his home wouldn’t stand more’n a 100 years or so, and this home he wuz a tryin’ to destroy, wuz one that would last through eternity.” “But,” says I, “it hain’t built by hands, and I guess their hands hain’t strong enough to tear it down, nor high enough to set fire to it.”
And the Deacon says, “Jest so, Miss Allen, you spoke truthfully, and eloquent.” (The Deacon is very smart.)