“Wall,” sez I, a-lookin’ round on the inside of my mind, and takin’ up the first idee that happened to be in sight—“look at that great society, that seems like the mission of angels, to help relieve the wants of the wounded and dyin’ on the battle-field—the Red Cross, the gleam of which, a-fallin’ on the dyin’ soldier, lights up his face with hope and courage. The foreign nations protect that insigna—they keep it sacred to this sacred cause; while the Goverment of the United States allows it to be used on liquor casks, and cigar boxes, and etc., etc., a-trailin’ its glorious beams in the mud and dirt for a little money.
“Why, the noble woman who stands a-holdin’ up the Red Cross, a-tryin’ to have its pure rays fall only on the victims of war, pestilence, famine, and other national calamities—she has to see it a-shinin’ jest as bright on the causes of national crime and shame. How must she feel to see it go on?
“Uncle Sam has been urged year after year to protect this insigna, and I should think that he would feel a good deal as if somebody wuz a-urgin’ him to not stun meetin’-housen, and whip grandmas and babies—I should think that he would sink down with shame for permittin’ sech things to go on.
“I declare I d’no what that old creeter will do next. I believe he’d sell the steelyards that Jestice weighs things in, if he could git a few cents for ’em; and I d’no but he’ll use that bandage of hern that she wears over her eyes to stop up bung-holes in whiskey barrels; he seems to be bendin’ his hull mind on helpin’ the liquor traffic.
“I believe he’d sell the steelyards that Jestice weighs things in, if he could git a few cents for ’em.”
“He tries me dretfully. But mebby he’ll brace up and do right in this matter of the Red Cross. I mean to tackle him about it, anyway, when I git a good chance.
“And then,” sez I, “our country is jest as much behind these European countries in beauty and art as Josiah’s new wood lot is that he is jest a-clearin’ off, with stumps and brushwood a-lyin’ on every side, compared with what that lot would be after centuries of improvements and culter had smoothed the ground off into velvet lawns, with posey beds, like rainbows and fountains a-sparklin’ on it, etc., etc.
“America, to foller out the metafor, has only jest got her giant trees chopped down—the stumps stand thick, the brushwood lays round in fallers.” Sez I, “It will take years and years and years to give America the beauty and perfection these countries have been growin’ gradual for centuries.
“We’ll do it, Martin,” sez I; “we’ll git even with ’em, and then go ahead on ’em—as fur ahead as Lake Superior is bigger than their inland lakes—”