They are both water, but different, fur different.

And you have got to take in the wonder and majesty of the sight, through the pores as it wuz, through all your soul, not at first, but it has got to grow and soak in, and make it a part of yourself.

And then, when you have, you hain’t a-goin’ to describe it—­words can’t do it; you can walk through it and talk about the size of the buildin’s, and the wonders of the display, but that hain’t a-goin’ to describe it, no more than the pan of dishwater can explain Niagara.

You can converse about Niagara, the depth, the eddies, the swirl of the waters, the horseshoe falls, the rainbow that rises over it, the grotto, the slate-stun on the banks below, and so forth, and so forth, and so on.

And how to show off the might and rush of the volume of water that shakes the earth, the mountain of shinin’ mist that floats up to the wonderin’ and admirin’ heavens—­how to paint this wonderful and inexpressible glory by tongue, how to put in words that which is mightier than any words that wuz ever said or sung!  Wonder and awe, overwhelmin’ sensation that makes the pulse stop and then beat agin in bounds.

When you paint a picture showin’ the full power and depth of a mother’s love; when you can paint the ardor and extacy that inspires the hero’s soul as he leads the forlorn hope, and dies with his face to the foe—­

Then you may try to describe Niagara; no pen, no tongue can describe this ever rushin’, ever old and ever new Wonder of the new world.

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.