It towers up in the circumambient air with its great gilded dome, and seems to begen to us all to come and pass through it into the marvels beyend.
This buildin’ is like a main spring to a watch, or the pendulum to a gigantick clock—it regulates the hull of the rest of the works. Here is the headquarters of the managers of the World’s Fair—the fire and police departments—the press, and them that have charge of the foreign nations.
Here is a bank, post-office, and the department of general information about the Fair.
And never, never sence the creation of the world has old General Information had a better-lookin’ place to stay in.
Why, some folks call this high, magnificent buildin’, with its great shinin’ dome, the handsomest buildin’ amongst that city of matchless palaces. It covers four acres, every acre bein’ more magnificent than the other acres. Why, the Widder Albert herself gin Mr. Hunt, the architect, a ticket, she was so tickled with his work.
The dome on top of it is the biggest dome in the world, with the exception of St. Peter’s in Rome. And it seemed to me, as I looked up at the dome, that Peter might have got along with one no bigger than this.
Howsumever, it hain’t for me to scrimp anybody in domes. But this wuz truly enormious.
But none too big, mebby, for the nub on top of the gate of the World’s Fair. That needs to be mighty in size, and of pure gold, to correspond with what is on the inside of the gate.
But never wuz there such a gorgeous gate-way before, unless it wuz the gate-way of Paradise.
Why, as you stood inside of that dome and looked way up, up, up towards the top, your feelin’s soared to that extent that it almost took you offen your feet.
Noble pictures and statutes you see here, too. Some on ’em struck tremendious hard blows onto my appreciation, and onto my head also.
And a-lookin’ on ’em made me feel well, dretful well, to see how much my sect wuz thought on in stun, and canvas, and such.
There wuz Diligence, a good-lookin’ woman, workin’ jest as she always has, and is willin’ to; there she sot a-spinnin’ and a-bringin’ up her children as good as she knew how.
Mebby she wuz a-teachin’ a Sunday-school lesson to the boy that stood by her.
He had his arms full of ripe fruit and grapes. I am most afraid for his future, but she wuz a-teachin’ him the best she could; you could see that by her looks.
Then there wuz Truth, another beautiful woman, a-holdin’ a lookin’-glass in her hand, and a-teachin’ another little boy. Mebby it wuz the young Future she wuz a-learnin’ to tell the truth, anyway, no matter how much it hurt him, how hard it hit aginst old custom and prejudices. He wuz a-leanin’ affectionate on her, but his eyes wuz a-lookin’ away—fur off. Mebby he’ll hear to her, mebby he will—he’s young; but I feel kinder dubersome about it.