thing.

Then mebby my mind will jest jump to the "Age of Iron" or to the
"Secrets of the Tomb," or "The Eagle and the Vulture," or "Washington
and Lafayette," or "Charity"--a good-lookin' creeter she wuz--she could
think of other children besides her own; or mebby it will jump right
over onto the "Indian Buffalo Hunt"--a horse a-rarin' right up to git
rid of a buffalo that wuz a-pressin' right in under its forelegs.

I don't see how that hunter could stay on his back--I couldn't--to say
nothin' to shootin' the arrows into the critter as he's a-doin'.

Or mebby my mind'll jump right over to the "Soldier of Marathon," or
"Eve," no knowin' at all where my thoughts will take me amongst them
noble marble figgers.

And as for picters, my revery on 'em now is a perfect sight; a show as
good as a panorama is a-goin' on in my fore-top now when I let my
thoughts take their full swing on them picters.

Amongst them that struck the hardest blows on my fancy wuz them that
told stories that touched the heart.

There wuz one in the Holland exhibit, called "Alone in the World," a
picter that rousted up my feelin's to a almost alarmin' extent. It wuz a
picter by Josef Israel.

It wuz a sight to see how this picter touched the hearts of the people.
No grandeur about it, but it held the soul of things--pathos,
heart-breakin' sorrow.