And no more can any pen describe the World's Fair, the tall, towerin' fruit of the four-century tree of civilization, and liberty, and equal rights. You can talk about the buildin's--how they are made, how long and wide they are. You can talk about the lagoons, the Grand Basin, the Bridges, the Statutes, the Fountains, the wonders of the flowers and foliage, the grandeur of the display, and so forth, and so forth, and so forth. But how to describe this as a hull, its immensity, its concentrated might of material, practical beauty and use, that moves the world with its volume and power-- Or the more wonderful forces and influences that arise from it, like a gold mist seekin' the Heavens, to fall in showers of blessin's to the uttermost ends of the earth--knowledge, wisdom, and beauty, of Freedom, and Individual Liberty, Educational, Moral, and Beneficent influences--who is a-goin' to describe all this? I can't, nor Josiah, nor Miss Plank, nor nobody. No, Mr. Bolster couldn't. Why, jest a-lookin' at it cracked the Old Liberty Bell, and I don't wonder. I spoze she tried to swing out and describe it, and bust her old sides in the attempt; anyway, that is what some think. The new crack is there, anyway. Who'd a thought on't--a bell that has stood so many different sights, and kep herself together? But I wuzn't surprised a mite to think it wuz too much for her--no, nobody could describe it. [Illustration: She bust her old sides in the attempt.] I know Miss Plank couldn't, for we met her there, or ruther she come onto us, as I stood stun still and nearly lost, and by the side of myself, and I felt so queer that I couldn't hardly speak to her. I don't know but she thought I felt big and haughty, but good land! how mistook she wuz if she thought so! I felt as small as I stood there that very minute, as one drop of milk in the hull milky way. But when my senses got kinder collected together, and my emotions got quelled down a little, I passed the usual compliments with Miss Plank--"How de do?" and so forth. And she proposed that we should go round a little together--she said that she had been here so many times, that she felt she could offer herself as our "Sissy Roney." She looked at Josiah as she spoke kinder kokettish, and I thought to myself, You are a-actin' pretty kittenish for a woman of your age. "Sissy!" Sez I to myself, the time for you to be called "sissy" rightfully lays fur back in the past--as much as fifty years back, anyway. As for the "Roney," I didn't know what she _did_ mean, but spozed it wuz some sort of a pet name that had been gin her fur away in that distant past.