And thinks I to myself, "if this keeps on, you are in a fairway to git your wish."He wuz a good singer, a beartone, and she a secent.They loved to sing together.They needed some air, but then they got along without it; and it sounded quite well, though rather low and deep.
Wall, it run along for weeks and weeks, he with his hopes a risin' up sometimes like his yeast and then bein' pounded down ag'in like his bread, under the hard knuckles of a woman's capricious cruelty.For I must say that she did, for sech a soft littte creeter, have cold and cruel ways to Abram.(But I s'pose it wuz when she got to thinkin' about the Prince, or some other genteel lover.)But her real feelin's would break out once in a while, and lift him up to the 3d heaven of happiness and then he'd have to totter and fall down ag'in.Abram Gee had a hard time on't.I pitied him from nearly the bottom of my heart.But I still kep' a thinkin' it would turn out well in the end.For it wuz jest about this time that I happened to find this poetry in a book where she had, I s'posed, left it.And I read 'em, almost entirely unbeknown to myself.
It wuz wrote in a dreatful blind way but I recognized it at once.
I looked right through it, and see what she wuz a writin' about though many wouldn't, it wuz wrote in sech a deep style.
"STANZAS ON BREAD;
"or "A LAY OF A BROKEN HEART.
"Oh Bread, dear Bread, that seemest to us so cold, Oft'times concealed thee within, may be a sting!
Sweet buried hopes may in thy crust be rolled;A sad, burnt crust of deepest suffering.
"There are some griefs the female soul don't tell, And she may weep, and she may wretched be;Though she may like the name of Abram well And she may not like dislike the name of G , "Oh Fel Ambition, how thou lurest us on, How by thy high, bold torch we're stridin' led:
Thou lurest us up, cold mountain top upon, And seated by us there, thou scoffest at bread.
"Thou lookest down, Ambition, on the ovens brim;Thou brookest not a word of him save with contumalee:
And yet, wert thou afar, how sweet to set by him And cut low slices of sweet joy with G , "Oh! Fel Ambition, wert but thou away, Could we thy hauntin' form no more, nor see;How sweet 'twould be to linger on with A-, How sweet 'twould be to dwell for aye with G-."Wall, as I say, she gin good satisfaction in the deestrict and Ideclare for it, I got to likin' her dretful well before the winter wuz over.Softer she wuz, and had to be, than any fuz that was ever on any cotton flannel fur or near.And more verses she wrote than wuz good for her, or for anybody else, - Why she would write "Lines on the Tongs," or "Stanzas on the Salt Suller," if she couldn't do any better; it beats all! And then she would read 'em to me to get my idees on 'em.Why I had to call on every martyr in the hull string of martyrs sometimes to keep myself from tellin' her my full mind about 'em unbeknown to me.For, if I had, it would have skairt the soft little creeter out of what little wit she had.
So I kep' middlin' still, and see it go on.For she wuz a good little soul, affectionate and kinder helpful.A good creeter now to find your speks.Why she found 'em for me times out of number, and I got real attached to her and visey versey.And when she came a visitin' me in the spring (at my request), and Ihappened to mention that Josiah and me laid out to go to Saratoga for the summer, what did the soft little creeter want to do but to go too.Her father was well off and wuz able to send her, and she had relatives there on her own side, some of the Pixleys, so her board wouldn't cost nothin'.So it didn't look nothin'
