There wuz a picter there of a boat in a storm.

And on that boat is thrown a vivid ray of sunshine.  You’d think that it wuz the real thing, and that you could warm your fingers at it, but it hain’t—­it is only painted sunshine.  But it beats all I ever see; I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute to use it for a noon-mark.

In the German Exhibit wuz as awful a picter as I want to see.  It was Julia, old Mr. Serviuses girl—­Miss Tarquin that now is—­a-ridin’ over her pa and killin’ him a purpose, so she could git his property.

To see Miss Tarquin, that wicked, wicked creeter, a-doin’ that wicked act, is enough to make a perfect race of old maids and bacheldors.

The idea of havin’ a lot of children to take care on and then be rid over by ’em!

But I shall always believe that she wuz put up to it by the Tarquin boys.  I never liked ’em—­they wuzn’t likely.

But the picter is a sight—­dretful big and skairful.

And in that section is a beautiful picter by Fritz Uhele, whose figgers, folks say, are the best in the world.

“The Angels Appearing to the Shepherds.”

Oh, what glowin’ faces the angels had!  You read in ’em what the shepherds did: 

“Love, Good Will to Man.”

There wuz some little picters there about six inches square, and marked: 

“Little Picters for a Child’s Album.”

And Josiah sez to me, “I believe I’ll buy one of ’em for Babe’s album that I got her last Christmas.”

Sez he, “I’ve got ten cents in change, but probable,” sez he, “it won’t be over eight cents.”

Sez I, “Don’t be too sanguine, Josiah Allen.”

Sez he, “I am never sanguinary without good horse sense to back it up.  They throwed in a chromo three feet square with the last calico dress you bought at Jonesville, and this hain’t over five or six inches big.”

“Wall,” sez I, “buy it if you want to.”

“Wall,” sez he, “that’s what I lay out to do, mom.”

So he accosted a Columbus Guard that stood nigh, and sez he—­

“I’m a-goin’ to buy that little picter, and I want to know if I can take it home now in my vest pocket?”

[Illustration:  “I’m a-goin’ to buy that little picter, and I want to know if I can take it home now in my vest pocket?”]

“That picter,” sez he, “is twenty thousand dollars.  It is owned by the German National Gallery, and is loaned by them,” and sez he, with a ready flow of knowledge inherent to them Guards, “the artist, Adolph Menzel, is to German art what Meissonier is to the French.  His picters are all bought by the National Gallery, and bring enormous sums.”

Josiah almost swooned away.  Nothin’ but pride kep him up—­

I didn’t say nothin’ to add to his mortification.  Only I simply said—­

“Babe will prize that picter, Josiah Allen.”

And he sez, “Be a fool if you want to; I’m a-goin’ to git sunthin’ to eat.”