it spreads its wings and flies away from the Present and the Real into the Beautiful, the Ideal."
And I thought to myself I didn't blame the soul for wantin' to git away somewhere, but knew that it ort to be right there up and a-doin' sunthin' to make matters different.
Well, after a long interval we wuz called out to the supper table. There wuz a crumpled, soiled tablecloth hangin' onevenly on a broken legged table, propped up by a book on one side. I looked at the book, and I see that it wuz "The Search for the Beautiful," and I knowed that it could never find it there. Some showy decorated dishes, nicked and cracked, held our repast—thick slices of heavy indigestible bread; some cake fallen as flat as Babylon (you know the him states "Babylon is fallen to rise no more"), some dyspeptic lookin', watery potatoes and cold livid slices of tough beef; some canned berries that had worked, the only stiddy workers I judged that had been round; some tea made with luke-warm water. Such wuz our fare enlivened by the presence of three of the worst actin', worst lookin' children I ever see in my life, clamberin', disputin', sassy little demons, reachin' acrost the table for everything they wanted, sassin' their Ma and makin' up faces at us sarahuptishously, but I ketched 'em at it. The girl with the nooraligy waited on the table; her dress hadn't been changed, but a mussy lookin' muslin cap wuz perched on top of the yeller flannel and a equally crumpled, soiled, white muslin apron surmounted her dress, but, style bein' maintained by these two objects, Evangeline seemed to be content.
She wuz the only serene, happy one at the table, and she led the conversation upward into fields of Poesy
