And what I’d seen of him didn’t seem to make me hanker after any further acquaintance with him.
But when I see that Palace of theirn I felt overwhelmed with shame and regret to think I’d always slighted ’em so, and never had made any overtoors towards becomin’ intimate with ’em.
The outside on’t wuz splendid enough to almost take your breath, with its strange and gorgeous magnificence. It wuz sech a contrast in its construction to the Exposition Buildin’s that lift their domes in such glory on the East.
But if the outside struck a blow onto our admiration and astonishment, what—what shall I say of the inside?
Why, as I entered that magnificent arched vestibule, with my faithful pardner by my side, and my good cotton umbrell grasped in my right hand, the view wuz pretty nigh overwhelmin’ in its profusion of orniment and gorgeous decoration.
That first look seemed to take me back to Spain right out of Chicago, and other troubles. I wuz a-roamin’ there with Mr. Washington Irving, and Mr. Bancroft, and other congenial and descriptive minds, and surrounded with the gorgeous picters of that old time.
I wuz back, I should presoom to say, as much, if not more, than four hundred years, when all to once I was recalled by my companion.
“Dum it, I didn’t know they charged folks for goin’ to meetin’!”
“Hush!” sez I; “this is not a meetin’-house, this is a palace; be calm!”
And comin’ down through the centuries as sudden as if jerked by a electric lasso of lightnin’, I see that old familiar sight of a man a-settin’ a-sellin’ tickets.
And Josiah with a deep sithe paid our fares, and we meandered onwards.
Right beyend the ticket man, to the right on him, wuz a colonnade runnin’ round a circular room covered with a ruff in the shape of a tent. The ceilin’ and walls are covered with landscape views of Southern Spain, and a mandolin orchestra carried out the idee of a Andulusian Garden.
And then comes a labyrinth of columns and mirrors, and through ’em and round ’em and up overhead wuz splendor on splendor of orniment, gorgeousness on gorgeousness.
These columns are made to put one in mind of the Alhambria, where we so often strayed with our friend Washington Irving.
[Illustration: Josiah paid our fares.]
And oh, what curious feelin’s it did make me have to cast my eyes onwards amongst these splendid arches and pillows, and see anon or oftener a tall Moor, with his long robe and his white turban, or whatever they call it, a-fallin’ round his face!
And then another and another of the white-robed figgers, a-glidin’ round in amongst the arches, or a-settin’ there in a vista of gorgeousness, like ghosts of the past come to visit the Columbus Fair.
Way beyend the labyrinths, and to the left on’t, is the Palm Garden, with lounging places for three or four hundred visitors, and a Moorish orchestra hid by a cluster of branchin’ palms, and Arab attendants in native costumes.