Wall, the hull house, take it all in all, is such a seen of wonder, and enchantment, and delight, that it might have been transplanted, jest as it stood, from the Arabian nights entertainment.

And you would almost expect if you turned a corner to meet Old Alibaby, or a Grand Vizier, or somebody before you got out of there.

But we didn’t; and after feastin’ our eyes on the beauty and wonder on’t, we sot off to see the rest of the flowers and plants, for we laid out when we first went to the World’s Fair to see one thing at a time so fur as we could, and then tackle another, though I am free to confess that it wuz sometimes like tacklin’ the sea-shore to count the grains of sand, or tacklin’ the great north woods to count how many leaves wuz on the trees, or measurin’ the waters of Lake Ontario with a teaspoon, or any other hard job you are a mind to bring up.

But this day we laid out to see as much as we could of the immense display of flowers.

But where there is milds and milds of clear flowers, what can you do?  You can’t look at every one on ’em, to save your life.

Why, to jest give you a small idee of the magnitude and size, jest think of five hundred thousand pansies from every quarter of the globe, and every beautiful color that wuz ever seen or drempt of.  You know them posies do look some like faces, and the faces look like “the great multitude no man could number,” that we read about, and every one of them faces a-bloomin’ with every color of the rainbow.  And speakin’ of rainbows, before long we did see one—­a long, shinin’, glitterin’ rainbow, made out of pure pansies, of which more anon and bimeby.

And then, think of seein’ from five to ten millions of tulips.  Why, I had thought I had raised tulips; I had had from twenty to thirty in full blow at one time, and had realized it, though I didn’t mean to be proud nor haughty.

But I knew that my tulips wuz fur ahead of Miss Isham’s, or any other Jonesvillian, and I had feelin’s accordin’.

But then to think of ten millions of ’em—­why, it would took Miss Isham and me more’n a week to jest count ’em, and work hard, too, all the time.

Why, when I jest stretched out my eye-sight to try to take in them ten millions of globes of gorgeous beauty, my sperits sunk in me further than the Queen of Sheba’s did before the glory of Solomon; I felt that minute that I would love to see Miss Sheba, and neighbor with her a spell, and talk with her about pride, and how it felt when it wuz a-fallin’.  I could go ahead of her, fur, fur, and I thought I would have loved to own it up to her, and if Solomon had been present, too, I wouldn’t have cared a mite—­I felt humble.  And I jest marched off and never said a word about gittin’ a root for me or Miss Isham—­I wuz fairly overcome.

And still we walked round through milds and milds of solid beauty and bloom.  Every beautiful posey I had ever hearn on, and them I had never hearn on wuz there, right before my dazzled eyes.