Wall, as I said, they come—Mr. Bamber and his wife, and his wife’s sister (she wus Irish), and the children. And, oh! How neat Josiah Allen did feel. He wus over there before they had hardly got sot down, and offered to do anything under the sun for ’em and offered ’em everything we had in the house. I, myself, kep’ cool and cullected together. Though I treated ’em in a liberal way, and in the course of two or three days, I made ’em a friendly call, and acted well toward ’em. But instead of runnin’ over there the next day, and two or three times a day, I made a practice of stayin’ to home considerable; and Josiah took me to do for it. But I told him that “I treated them jist exactly as I wanted them to treat me.” Says I, “a megum course is the best course to pursue in nearly every course of life, neighborin’ especially,” says I. “I begin as I can hold out. I lay out to be kind and friendly to ’em, but I don’t intend to make it my home with ’em, nor do I want them to make it their home with me.” Says I, “once in two or three days is enough, and enough, Josiah Allen, is as good as a feast.” “Wall,” says he, “if I ever enjoyed anything in this world, I enjoy neighberin’ with them folks,” says he. “They think the world of me. It beats all how they wership me. The childern talk to me so they don’t want me out of their sight hardly a minute. Bamber and his wife says they think it is in my looks. You know I _am_ pretty-lookin’, Samantha. They say the baby will cry after me so quick. It beats all, what friends we have got to be, I and the Bamberses, and it is aggravatin’, Samantha, to think you don’t seem to feel toward ’em that strong friendship that I feel.” Says I, “Friendship, Josiah Allen, is a great word.” Says I, “True friendship is the most beautiful thing on earth; it is love without passion, tenderness without alloy. And,” says I, soarin’ up into the realm of allegory, where, on the feathery wings of pure eloquence, I fly frequent, “Intimacy hain’t friendship.” Says I, “Two men may sleep together, year after year, on the same feather bed, and wake up in the mornin’, and shake hands with each other, perfect strangers, made so unbeknown to them. And feather beds, nor pillers, nor nothin’ can’t bring ’em no nigher to each other. And they can keep it up from year to year, and lock arms and prominade together through the day, and not be no nigher to each other. They can keep their bodies side by side, but their souls, who can tackle ’em together, unless nature tackled ’em, unbeknown to them? Nobody.