No, give me the country,
and the folks that live in it, I say."
CHAPTER XXI.
THE HONEYMOON.
After having given vent to the foregoing lockrum, I took Jehosophat
Bean's illustrated "Biography of the Eleven Hundred and Seven
Illustrious American Heroes," and turned in to read a spell; but arter
a while I lost sight of the heroes and their exploits, and I got into
a wide spekilation on all sorts of subjects, and among the rest my
mind wandered off to Jordan river, the Collingwood girls in
particular, and Jessie and the doctor, and the Beaver-dam, and its
inmates in general. I shall set down my musings as if I was thinking
aloud.
I wonder, sais I to myself, whether Sophy and I shall be happy
together, sposin' always, that she is willing to put her head into the
yoke, for that's by no means sartain yet. I'll know better when I can
study her more at leisure. Still matrimony is always a risk, where you
don't know what sort of breaking a critter has had when young. Women
in a general way don't look like the same critters when they are
spliced, that they do before; matrimony, like sugar and water, has a
nateral affinity for and tendency to acidity. The clear, beautiful,
bright sunshine of the wedding morning is too apt to cloud over at
twelve o'clock, and the afternoon to be cold, raw, and uncomfortable,
or else the heat generates storms that fairly make the house shake,
and the happy pair tremble again.
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