Even those who have greatness thrust upon them will do well to lay the
burden down now and then, and congratulate themselves that they are not
altogether answerable for the conduct of the universe, or at least not
all the time. "I reckon," said a cowboy to me one day, as we were riding
through the Bad Lands of Dakota, "there's some one bigger than me,
running this outfit. He can 'tend to it well enough, while I smoke my
pipe after the round-up."

There is such a thing as taking ourselves and the world too seriously,
or at any rate too anxiously. Half of the secular unrest and dismal,
profane sadness of modern society comes from the vain idea that every
man is bound to be a critic of life, and to let no day pass without
finding some fault with the general order of things, or projecting
some plan for its improvement. And the other half comes from the greedy
notion that a man's life does consist, after all, in the abundance
of the things that he possesses, and that it is somehow or other more
respectable and pious to be always at work making a larger living, than
it is to lie on your back in the green pastures and beside the still
waters, and thank God that you are alive.

Come, then, my gentle reader, (for by this time you have discovered that
this chapter is only a preface in disguise,--a declaration of principles
or the want of them, an apology or a defence, as you choose to take it,)
and if we are agreed, let us walk together; but if not, let us part here
with out ill-will.

You shall not be deceived in this book. It is nothing but a handful of
rustic variations on the old tune of "Rest and be thankful," a record
of unconventional travel, a pilgrim's scrip with a few bits of blue-sky
philosophy in it. There is, so far as I know, very little useful