picture the graces
winning ways, and rare promise
not the faults and flaws
I love the book Tom Sawyer/
There are passages as full of what makes writing writing that had I written, I could die a happy man/
White washing the fence.
The unearned prize Bible.
Lost in the cave.
Right there with is the scene when Tom, Huckleberry Finn and Joe Harper march down the aisle at their own funeral.
Recent events have allowed me to reveal a great piece of personal news.
The comments, congratulations and well wishes of so many friends and family and folks whose comments and friendship I value a lot have reminded me of this scene.
Had I known I would heard such wonderful things I would have arranged to die a long time ago.
Thank you all.
As Mr. Twain put it, “Tom got more cuffs and kisses that day — according to Aunt Polly’s varying moods — than he had earned before in a year; and he hardly knew which expressed the most gratefulness to God and affection for himself.”
I am grateful to God for his affection.
I am grateful to God for your affection.
From The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.
As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys. The minister related many a touching incident in the lives of the departed, too, which illustrated their sweet, generous natures, and the people could easily see, now, how noble and beautiful those episodes were, and remembered with grief that at the time they occurred they had seemed rank rascalities, well deserving of the cowhide. The congregation became more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit.
There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment later the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! First one and then another pair of eyes followed the minister’s, and then almost with one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery listening to their own funeral sermon!