When things are moving slick as grease, it's easy to be moral then, to
wear a gentle smile of peace, and talk about good will to men. Such
virtue doesn't greatly weigh, in making up the books of life; the man
who cheerful is and gay, in times of sorrow and of strife, is better
worth a word of praise, than all the gents of smiling mien, who swear
in forty different ways when life has ceased to be serene. This
morning, as I ambled down, a neighbor fell (the walk was slick) and
slid half-way across the town, and landed on a pile of brick. He slid
along at such a rate the ice was melted as he went; his shins were
barked, and on his pate there was a large unsightly dent. And when
he'd breath enough to talk, he didn't cave around and swear, or blank
the blanked old icy walk; he merely cried: "Well, I declare!"