But oh! what lovely forms and faces was round me on every side, as I moved on. Grace, and beauty, and sublimity, and tenderness, and softness all carved out of hard stun marble for my delight; all painted out on canvas and hung up for me to smile upon and weep over—for beauty always affects me dretfully. One little piece of beauty that I could take up in my hand, such as a bit of moss, or a sea shell, or a posey, has made me happy for over half a day. A pussy willow bendin’ down to see its face in the water, has reflected its grace and pretty looks right into my soul. Why even a green grass blade in the spring of the year has had power to cut the chains that bound my spirit down to unhappiness, and let it soar up nobly, clear away from Jonesville, Betsey Bobbet, Widder Doodle, and all other cares and worryments of life. And havin’ such feelins for beauty, such a close affection for her that I was always a lookin’ for her, even where I knew she wasn’t nor never would be; jest imagine what my emotions must have been to walk right into acres and acres of the most entrancin’ beauty; miles and miles of grace and loveliness; dreams of immortal beauty caught by artist souls from heaven knows what realm of wonder and glory, all wrought out in marble, and painted on canvas for me to wonder at, and admire over, and almost weep upon.
The tears did run down my face every few minutes all through that Artemus Gallery, entirely unbeknown to me; and I shouldn’t have sensed it at all if I had cried out loud, for I was perfectly carried away from myself for the time bein’.
Oh what beautiful little white stun childern there was before me, in every beautiful posture that childern ever got into—a laughin’ and a cryin’, and a feedin’ birds, and a pickin’ thorns out of their feet and a hidin’ and a seekin’. And one little bit of a girl baby was holdin’ a bird in her hand, and she had bared her little chest on one side and was squeezin’ up the flesh to form a breast, and holdin’ up the bird to nurse. The roguish looks of her face would almost make a grindstun or Zebulin Coffin smile. And there was one gittin’ ready for bed, and one tellin’ his prayers when he didn’t want to. He looked exactly as Thomas J. did when I married his pa. _He_ had run wild, and wouldn’t pray; I’d git him all knelt down, and he’d say: