“Wall,” sez I, “that is another place, Josiah Allen, that is a likely well-meanin’ spot. Middlin’ curius to look at,” sez I, reesonably. “It makes one’s head feel sort a strange to see them criss-cross, curius poles, and floors up in trees, and ladders, and teterin’ boards, and springs, etc., etc., etc. But it is a well-meanin’ spot, Josiah Allen. And it highly tickled me to think that the little fresh air children wuz brung up there by the owner of the woods and the poor little creeters, out of their dingy dirty homes, and filthy air, wandered round for one happy day in the green woods, in the fresh air and sunshine. That wuz a likely thing to do, Josiah Allen, and it raises a man more in my estimation when he’s doin’ sech things as that, than to set up in a political high chair, and have a lot of dirty hands clapped, and beery breaths a cheerin’ him on up the political arena.”
“Oh wall,” sez Josiah, “the doin’s in them woods is enough to make anybody a dumb lunatick. The crazyest lookin’ lot of stuff I ever set eyes on.”
“Wall, anyway,” sez I, “it is a good crazy, if it is, and a well-meanin’ one.”
“Oh, how cross Josiah Allen did look as he heered me say these words. That man can’t bear to hear me say one word a praisin’ up another man, and it grows on him.
But good land! I am a goin’ to speak out my mind as long as my breath is spared. And I said quite a number of words more about the deep enjoyment it gin’ me to see these broad, pleasure grounds free for all, rich and poor, bond and free, hombly and handsome, etc., etc.
And I spoke about the charitable houses, St. Christiana’s home, and the Home for Old Female Wimmen, and mentioned the fact in warm tones of how a good, noble-hearted woman had started that charity in the first on’t.
And Josiah, while I wuz talkin’ about these wimmen, became meak as a lamb. They seemed to quiet him. He looked real mollyfied by the time Ardelia got there, which wuz anon. And then we sot sail for the Encampment.
The Encampment is encamped on one end of a big, square, wild-lookin’ lot right back of one of the biggest tarvens in Saratoga. It is jest as wild lookin’ and appeerin’ a field as there is in the outskirts of Loontown or Jonesville. Why Uncle Grant Hozzleton’s stunny pasture don’t look no more sort a broke up and rural than that duz. I wondered some why they had it there, and then I thought mebby they kep’ it to remember Nater by, old Nater herself, that runs a pretty small chance to be thought on in sech a place as this.
You know there is so much orniment and gildin’ and art in the landscape and folks, that mebby they might forget the great mother of us all, that is, right in the thickest of the crowd they might, but they have only to take these few steps and they will see Ma Nater with her every-day dress on, not fixed up a mite. And I s’pose she looks good to ’em.
I myself think that Mother Nater might smooth herself out a little there with no hurt to herself or her children. I don’t believe in Mas goin’ round with their dresses onhooked, and slip-shod, and their hair all stragglin’ out of their combs. (I say this in metafor. I don’t spose Ma Nater ever wore a back comb or had hooks and eyes on her gown; I say it for oritory, and would wish to be took in a oritorius way.