r, instead of weepin' over your loss, goes on wreathin' new
flowers for new hands to gather, and mebby forgits to drop even a bud
on the dusty mound where you lay sleepin'--the sleep of long
forgetfulness.

"Of what account are you anyway? Poor blind voyagers, floatin' by me
jest as so many generations have gone past--canoe and white sails
floatin' along, floatin' along, comin' in view of me in the fur blue
hazy distance, comin' into the broad light before me and glidin' off
and disappearin' in the shadows. Forever and ever, new ones comin,'
comin', goin', goin', year after year, generation after generation.
And here we have stood calm, settled down, pintin' up into the heavens
where our history is gathered up, where the ones that made our history
are gathered like the drops of spray from the river that has washed on
the shores at our feet, and then evaporated up agin into the blue
sky."

And as I lost sight of them stun towers in the distance, they seemed
to say, "Float on, poor voyagers; float along with your pitiful little
crumbs of knowledge and wisdom carried so proudly. How soon the
shadows will drift apart to take you into 'em and then close up and
hold you there forever. And out of the shinin' west new faces will
come growin' plainer and plainer as the boat draws near; they will
shine out full and clear in front of me and then glide away into the
mist--I shall lose sight of 'em jest as I do of you to-day. Comin'!
comin'! goin'! goin'! They will look at me and wonder jest as you do
to-day, and I will say to 'em jest as I do to you, 'Hail and
farewell!'"

Oh what emotions I did have! And I hadn't more'n got to this pint in
my meditatin', when I hearn a voice on the off side on me (Josiah wuz
on the nigh side).

The voice said, "Oh how I wish I could be put back there jest a
minute and see what them tall towers see when they wuz built!"

I felt that here wuz a congenial soul and I felt friendly to him as
one would hail a familiar sail when they wuz floatin' on foreign
waters. The voice went on:

"Oh how I wish I could be a fly, and fly back there for a hour."

Instinctively I looked round. The speaker weighed three hundred pounds
if he did an ounce, and the idee of his bein' turned into a fly seemed
to bring down my soarin' emotions more than considerable. Truly, we
ort to be careful how we handle metafors. If he'd said he wanted to be
changed into a elephant or a camel, or even a horse, it wouldn't have