But for half an hour little Mary’s soul wuz gone away, I wonder where it wuz, anyway, it wuzn’t here. No, her white, cold body didn’t have any tenant in it, no sign of one, there wuz no fire in it, the light wuz blowed out, she wuz gone.
The sweet little soul had gone away visitin’, and I would give—oh! I don’t know what I wouldn’t give to know where it had gone. It couldn’t be the Great Home we move into when our life lease ends here on our earthly property. No, for when we once move out of this earthly body we don’t move back into it agin, that is one of the conditions of the transfer. No, it wuzn’t there, and where then wuz it? I don’t know, nor Josiah don’t. But after a long, long time it come back slowly, lingerin’ly, as if it hated to come.
Celestine hung over her with a look on her face that made me believe that if she ever did come back she would come into a new world where love and care rained instead of art exclusively. Yes, she come back agin, but Jack, dear little boy, he had gone away for good. Yes, I say that word a-purpose, he had gone for good, good for him, but for them who loved him so, what shall we say?
I wonder if he wuz permitted to look forward and see what wuz to be in the future; Tamer and Hamen brung together by the awful hand of Grief and mutual remorse, Hamen a different, more Christian man. Tamer’s icy, cold mean broke up and pulverized by the hand of Grief, the flood of awakened remorse sweepin’ away on its current old foolish ambitions, pride and self-will. Anna left free to marry the man of her choice, Tamer and Hamen rousted up to good deeds and the performance of duty, so layin’ up a store of blessed remembrances to replace the old wretched ones. Cicero comin’ home repentant to begin a new life under the guardianship of a new father and mother, all this and more.
But yet, oh, my poor Jack! that your dear little ice cold form wuz to be the centre from which such blessed events should flow out! Icy cold forehead with the brown curls layin’ on it like gleams of gold, not warmin’ it up any; roses heaped in the tiny cold fingers that did not close on what they loved so; tears falling on the sweet face onnoticed and in vain.
Good-by, dear little Jack—good-by!
A FEW FROM HUNDREDS OF PRESS NOTICES OF
Around the World with Josiah Allen’s Wife
By MARIETTA HOLLEY
“The persons who do not love quaint Josiah Allen’s wife have something serious the matter with them. A more original and delightful character does not exist. The homely old philosopher, with her rugged sense, her quick wit, her unfailing humor, and her lively faculty of observation, will make her old friends more steadfast than ever and gain a host of new ones, by her latest adventures. It is a rare privilege to read a book which combines so happily the qualities of being both amusing and wholesome.”—Albany Times-Union.