And then there is a border made of corn, illustratin’ the story of corn in Greek Mythology.
There is a picture called the Water Carrier—a woman made of different kinds of corn, jest as nateral as life, and the landscape round her made of grasses, and trees of sorghum, and the frame is made of ears of corn.
Josiah wuz crazy to have one to home. Sez he, “Samanthy, I am bound to have your picture took in corn, it is so cheap.” Sez he, “Ury and I could do it some rainy day, and how you would treasure it!” sez he.
Sez he, “I could make your hair out of white silk grass, and your face out of red pop-corn mostly.” Sez he, “Of course, to make you life size it would take a big crop of corn. I should judge,” sez he, “that it would take about two bushels to make your waist ribbon; but I wouldn’t begretch it.”
Sez I, “If you want to make me happy in corn, Josiah Allen, take it to the mill and grind it into samp or good fine meal. You and Ury can’t bring happiness to me by paintin’ me in corn, so dismiss the thought to once, for I will not be took.”
“Yes, break it up,” sez he bitterly; “you always do, if I branch out into anything uneek.”
It wuz some time before I could quiet him down.
The display by Norway and Sweden is very complete, showin’ the work of the lower and upper classes, laces, and embroideries, etc., etc.
And so they wuz from every other nation of the Globe. It fairly makes my brain reel now, to think of the wonder and the glory of ’em.
Wall, towards the last we went to see the model kitchen. And Miss Plank, who had been off with some friends, jined us here, and she wuz happy here, as happy as a queen on her throne; and Josiah, and I thought he richly deserved it, in the restaurant attached, he eat such a lunch as only a hungry man can eat, cooked jest as good as vittles can be, and all done by wimmen. Why, Miss Rorer herself, that I have kep (in book form) on my buttery shelf for years, wuz here in the body, a-learnin’ folks to cook. That is sayin’ enough for the vittles to them that knows her (in book form).
There wuz every appliance and new-fangled invention to help wimmen cook, and do her work, and every old-fangled one. Miss Plank hunted hard to find sunthin’ to make better pancakes than hern, but couldn’t.
But it wuz a sight—a sight, the things we see there.
Wall, we spent the hull of the day here—never stepped our feet outside, and didn’t want to, or at least I didn’t.
And as Night softly onrolled her mantilly, previous to drawin’ it over her face and goin’ to sleep, we reluctantly turned our feet away from this beautiful, sacred place, and went home on the cars. And didn’t the bed feel good? And didn’t Sleep come like a sweet, consolin’ friend and lay her hand on my gray hair and weary fore-top jest as lovin’ as Mother Smith ust to, and murmur in my ear, jest as soft and low as Ma Smith did, “Hush, my dear; lie still and slumber.”