"
Well, it warn't a bad shot that, for a first trial, that's a fact. It
hit the target, though it didn't strike the ring.
"Oh," said I, "then there is none of it at night, and things can't be
nateral in the dark."
Well, he seed he had run off the track, so he braved it out. "I didn't
say it was necessary to see them all the time," he said.
"Just so," said I, "natur is what you see and what you don't see; but
then feelin' ain't nateral at all. It strikes me that if--"
"Didn't I say," said he, "the laws that govern them?"
"Well, where are them laws writ?"
"In that are receipt-book o' yourn you're so proud of," said he. "What
do you call it, Mr Wiseacre?"
"Then, you admit," sais I, "any fool can't answer that question?"
"Perhaps you can," sais he.
"Oh Dad!" sais I, "you picked up that shot and throwed it back. When a
feller does that it shows he is short of ammunition. But I'll tell you
what my opinion is. There is no such a thing as natur."
"What!" said he.
"Why there is no such a thing as natur in reality; it is only a figure
of speech. The confounded poets got hold of the idea and parsonified
it as they have the word heart, and talk about the voice of natur and
its sensations, and its laws and its simplicities, and all that sort
of thing. The noise water makes in tumblin' over stones in a brook, a
splutterin' like a toothless old woman scoldin' with a mouthful of hot
tea in her lantern cheek, is called the voice of natur speaking in the
stream.
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