_Harry gets a Camera_ — _The State and National Buildings_ —
_The Eskimo Village_ — _Snap-shots out of doors_ — _A passing
Glance at Horticultural Hall_ — _Doing their Best._
[Illustration]
“In the absence of any special instructions from your father, Harry,”
said Mr. Douglass, as they walked over toward the entrance of the
Fair Grounds on the following morning, “I have so far let you have
your own way. I think that Mr. Blake perhaps forgot that his letter
of instructions would not arrive at Chicago until we had been here at
least a week.
“Now that we have a general idea of the display, of the grounds and
their arrangement, I think it would be wise to go at them a little
more systematically. What do you think?”
“I should like that better,” said Philip. “I feel all the time that we
are missing some good things, and seeing poorer ones twice over. Don’t
you, Harry?”
“I suppose so,” Harry answered slowly; “but I find it all too much for
me. I find myself thinking more of the people I see than of the show.”
“Let us go and see some one part more especially,” Mr. Douglass
suggested; “some part that we know less about than we have learned of
the larger buildings. How would you like to look at some of the larger
State buildings?”
“I’d like it,” Harry agreed. “But I’ll tell you what, while Philip was
using his camera yesterday I wanted one ‘like sixty.’ Why can’t I hire
one?”
“You can,” the tutor answered. “Where do we go to get it, Philip?”
“To the free dark-rooms back of the Horticultural. We can walk there:
it isn’t far from where we usually go in; or, if you want to go in a
new way, we can keep outside until we get to the proper entrance.”
[Illustration: THE CENTURY CO’S ROOM IN THE MANUFACTURES AND LIBERAL
ARTS BUILDING.]
All three were willing; and, keeping outside of the high board fence
topped with several lines of barbed wire, they walked on for two
or three blocks above the main entrance. The street was lined by
booths for the sale of the omnipresent souvenirs—glass paper-weights,
watch-charms, canes, lockets, and every sort of cheap knickknack; and
these booths were elbowed by temporary shops and stands made to serve
for restaurants, fruit-stands, shooting-galleries, tintype-galleries,
cake-kitchens,—all the cheap-John establishments that could find room
to claim a nickel from the passers-by.
Coming to the entrance they sought, they met a young man in a blue
uniform and cap showing that he was an agent of the Photographic
Department. Harry paid him two dollars, and received a “hand-camera
permit, good for that day only,” the date being stamped on it in green
ink. They found themselves, after passing the gates, not far from the
photographic rooms. Here Harry secured a small, easily handled kodak,
upon which Mr. Douglass made a deposit of ten dollars.
“Now,” said Harry, “I’ll show you how cameras are handled by experts.”
“But remember,” the tutor reminded him, “that you are here to-day with
the intention of going through some State buildings at least. Don’t
think mainly of taking snap-shots.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Harry replied, more seriously; “I only mean to take
pictures of the groups of people here and there—especially the
children. Children are always so interesting when they are at a place
like this.”
Mr. Douglass smiled at the boy’s grown-up airs, but said nothing more.
“Come,” said Philip, “I want to go over to the Manufactures Building. I
saw in my magazine that one could register there, and I’m going to do
it. Besides, I haven’t been in the galleries of that building yet, and
I’d like to go. We won’t stay long, and we can meet there if we should
separate for a while.”
They entered by the north door, climbed into the gallery, and found
that some of the periodicals had arranged tasteful little rooms for the
accommodation of the public. People entered these small compartments
with a homelike feeling that was very pleasant to see. There were
tables and chairs, books for the registry of visitors, and glass
cases showing magazine- and book-work in full detail, besides many
other things connected more or less directly with the subjects of the
books and articles published. But, intending to return again, the
boys did not linger over the exhibits, pausing only long enough to
register their names. Here Mr. Douglass remained to talk to one of the
attendants, as he expected some letters to be addressed to him in care
of that exhibit, and the boys started together for the National and
State buildings.
These filled a large part of the grounds around the great art galleries.
Their first visit was to the house devoted to Great Britain. They
marched boldly up to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.
A guard came forward and politely told them that on this morning the
building was open only on presentation of a card. The boys turned
to go out, but one of the gentlemen in charge—a handsome young
Englishman—courteously invited them to go through the rooms. They
gladly accepted his invitation and guidance.
“This,” he told the young Americans, so politely that for the moment
they almost regretted the famous “tea-party” in Boston harbor,—“is
called Victoria House by the Queen’s own wish. It represents a
manor-house of the Tudor period, of about Queen Elizabeth’s time; but
was made by a Chicago firm.” Then he went on to call their attention
to the fine ceilings, fireplaces, staircases, and inlaid cabinets; and
the boys found the house full of richly carved woodwork and furniture.
Of the chairs, one was a model of that in which King Charles sat
during his trial in Westminster Hall, and others were quite as well
worth attention, among them being chairs designed for the use of Queen
Victoria and the Prince of Wales.
[Illustration: VICTORIA HOUSE.]
Our sturdy young Americans gazed with becoming reverence upon all this
elegance and grandeur, took a few notes of what they had seen, and
walked down the steps much gratified by the attention shown them.
“Where next?” said Harry, at the same time taking a deft snap-shot at
some little folks in the road before the door.
“Germany comes next,” answered Philip, holding up a fluttering map.
“Sprechen Sie deutsch?” said Harry. “If you do, come along.”
Entering the imposing German Building, they found at last some of the
foreigners as to whom they had been inquiring. No sooner were they
inside the door than guttural accents assured them that there were
foreigners at the great World’s Fair. The hallway was full of German
publications, and in a lower story were many religious figures, modeled
life-size and colored. Taking a stairway to the right, the boys came
to a lofty mechanical clock, called a “Passion Play Clock,” because
figures, moved by machinery, went through a representation of the
crucifixion. They heard a woman say, “Oh, I wish it was going! Don’t
you?” Then they descended the stairs again, and, returning to the main
hall, they noticed a very beautiful stained-glass window at the further
end. The middle panel showed Christ walking on the water, and those
above and below contained modern steamships. A placard stated that the
window was to be presented to the Naval Academy at Annapolis.
Coming out, they were met by a puzzled woman, who inquired in a dazed
way:
“Where is that Anthropo—I don’t know the name?”
“’Way down at the other end, madam,” answered Philip, politely raising
his cap. To which the woman responded despairingly, “Oh, my!” and
wandered off.
[Illustration: INDIA HOUSE.]
“They never get much beyond ‘Anthropo,’” said Harry; “and I don’t blame
them. I heard one of the guides the other day confidently call it
‘Anthro-polo-logical’ and look proud. But this isn’t photography,” and
he turned his back to the sun and held his camera in readiness. Snap!
went the shutter, and then they walked on.
“What did you take?” Philip asked.
“I’m not telling,” said Harry, slyly. “I may be new at this business,
but at least I know enough to keep dark until the negative is
developed. ‘Don’t count your negatives before they’re developed’ is my
motto as an amateur photographer!”
“Here’s the French Building,” said Philip; “and isn’t it French,
though? See the green grass, trees, and fountain in the middle. Let’s
go in and see it. It is sure to be good.”
They found the French Building, as Philip expected, both artistic and
interesting. There was an exhibit of transparent photographs on glass,
explaining the method of measuring and describing criminals so that
they may be always identified after being once in the hands of the
police. Here was a panel devoted wholly to queer noses; next came one
upon eyes, or chins, or foreheads, each with a line of explanation in
French, which Harry translated. Then there was a wax figure before a
camera, giving a vivid idea of the way these photographs were secured.
A camera upon a very high tripod stood over another figure representing
a body found dead—to explain how a picture-record is made of such cases.
[Illustration: THE MASSACHUSETTS STATE BUILDING.]
There were specimens of the work of invalids, probably hospital
patients, and around another part of the building were large paintings
showing views of city squares and streets. The whole building was a
proof of the skill of the French in arranging exhibits both sensibly
and artistically, so that they would be both easy to view and pleasant
to behold.
A room devoted to relics of Lafayette was marked “Closed,” for which
the boys were sorry. They gave the French-Building a good mark in their
note-books, and went away wishing they could give more time to it—the
best proof of excellence.
[Illustration: THE NEW YORK STATE BUILDING.]
They had intended next to see the Massachusetts house; but that also
was not open, and they went by it on their way to New York’s mansion.
Entering the great door, they noted first a pavement of tessellated
blocks in which were set the signs of the zodiac in brass, finely
modeled. Just before them they saw a long line of people crowding
toward an enormous book that looked at least half a foot thick. A sign
told them that they should register and have their names published
in the “Daily Columbian,” the Fair paper, as a means of finding old
acquaintances.
“Here she goes!” cried Harry, as he took his place at the end of the
queue, with Philip next. They could see the book from where they stood,
and were much amused, though a little impatient, to see the painstaking
efforts of country folks to write a creditable signature. One nice
old lady dotted an “i” at least three times, and each time with due
deliberation.
As each visitor wrote name, temporary address, and home address,
Harry had to wait several minutes for his turn. The result was that he
scrawled his own name in a great hurry rather than keep others waiting.
Then he went half-way up the stairs, and took two short-time exposures
toward the registering crowd. He doubted whether he could get anything
worth preserving, but thought he would risk it.
[Illustration: THE OHIO STATE BUILDING.]
Then Philip and he went up-stairs to the banqueting-room—a stately
apartment of which the boys were patriotically proud. Other rooms—one
a colonial drawing-room with an old spinning-wheel, and an old cannon
that was “fired at the births and deaths of members of the Rensselaer
family,” and the other a more modern apartment—fittingly flanked the
central apartment.
“Well, we’ve got a splendid building,” remarked Philip, with a sense of
satisfaction.
“Yes, sir,” said Harry; “the old ‘Empire State’ always comes up smiling
and takes a front seat right next to the band-wagon”; but he, too, was
glad that his State was so creditably housed.
Pennsylvania, with a great “Keystone” on the front, was next in their
pilgrimage; and here they found the genuine old Philadelphia Liberty
Bell occupying the post of honor in the vestibule. Though “marred
and bruised by many a thump,” the boys gazed upon it with genuine
reverence. No American boy could see it without something of the
thrill in his veins that is the old bell’s due.
[Illustration: THE CALIFORNIA STATE BUILDING.]
As they were gazing speechless upon it, a man behind them tried to
express what all felt. He began, “That is the bell that—that rang,
reverberating down through”—but here words failed him, and he passed
silently on, a good though speechless patriot.
Up-stairs they found tired Philadelphians in welcome quiet and
seclusion. Even in the “Press-Correspondents’ Room” pens moved with
Quaker-like dignity over the paper; indeed, one kindly old lady, on
looking in at the door, remarked with sympathy; “Ah, yes, I see; people
writing home to their friends!”
In another up-stairs room were shown the original charter to William
Penn,—a beautiful piece of antique writing,—and the Constitution of the
State of Pennsylvania. Attached to the charter was a large wax seal,
labeled over two hundred years old.
“Pretty old wax, isn’t it?” said a quiet man near Harry.
“Yes—waxing old,” the boy replied; but as the man gazed upon him in
puzzled surprise, the boy moved off, rather ashamed of his forwardness.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF ESKIMO.[1]]
Going out, they noticed General Greene’s Revolutionary battle-flag,
“baptized in the enemy’s smoke” at Bunker Hill. They visited the Ohio
Building, also, and then walked toward the Art Gallery; and Harry tried
a snap-shot again. This time it was at a chubby youngster who walked
before them, carrying two packages of lunch, while his parents walked
beside him. Winding up the film, the boys set forward at a rapid pace
toward the California Building, pausing only to admire the great logs
that formed a foundation to the structure the residents of the new
State of Washington had proudly built. The California house was like
the pictures of old Spanish Missions; it had an arched doorway, tiled
roof, and fine tower.
[Illustration: ESKIMO WOMAN AND CHILDREN.]
[Illustration: ESKIMO GROUP WITH SNOW HOUSE.]
Though they spent a long time in this building, they were dissatisfied
when they came away. There was “so much too much” to see. A relief-map
of San Francisco, the knight “Sir Preserved Prunes,” the grizzly bear
modeled from life, the piece of Laura Keene’s skirt showing dark
stains where Lincoln’s bleeding head had rested, the exhibits of
school-work,—drawing, modeled maps, and exercises,—and especially the
stage-robbery exhibition made by the Wells Fargo Express Co., delighted
both the boys. Then, too, there were paintings—one of Leland Stanford
driving the last railroad-spike uniting the Central Pacific and the
Union Pacific railroads, several of scenes in midwinter, showing trees
in full leaf—in short, the California show sent two Eastern youngsters
away full of hearty admiration for the young giant of the far Pacific
coast.
[Illustration: THE ESKIMO AND THEIR DOGS.]
But by this time, useful knowledge was palling upon the two friends,
and they gladly agreed to go back to the Eskimo village, which they had
seen just as they turned south toward the Californian mission-house.
They deposited two quarters, surrendered two tickets, and walked into
Greenland, only to be disappointed in the show. The sledge was upon
wheels, which the boys hadn’t bargained for—though they hardly expected
real ice-floes; and the row of bark huts were dark and commonplace. The
natives themselves looked furry and real, and the reindeer and dogs
were interesting.
[Illustration: “THE SLEEP OF THE FLOWERS.” A Bas-relief on the
Horticultural Building.]
Two of the Eskimos, one the well-known young “Prince,” held whips in
their hands, ready to dislodge coins that might be set up as targets.
Harry threw down a five-cent piece. The man stuck it up on edge, and
then the whip-cracking resounded through the air. Judging by the number
of shots they made unsuccessfully, Harry calculated that a five-dollar
bill would have lasted them a month; but he didn’t try it.
As they passed the building called “The Bureau of Public Comfort,”
Harry tried a shot at some people who were eating lunch upon the grass.
Later, he saw a young girl with a kodak making for the middle of one
of the bridges, and walked after her, hoping to take a picture of her
while she herself was snapping the button. As she leaned against the
parapet and leveled the camera, Harry saw that he could get a pretty
negative, and himself took the young photographer.
On their way home the boys walked through Horticultural Hall, with
its palm-trees, its flowers, and its lofty glass dome. By this time,
however, they had learned to see without noticing, and they decided to
come back some other day if they had time—a resolution already made in
regard to perhaps one hundred and fifty equally absorbing collections.
But there were several fine groups of sculpture. One the boys felt was
full of sentiment and beauty; it was called “The Sleep of the Flowers,”
and meant to be typical of autumn. The drooping of the vegetation and
the lethargy of the coming winter were admirably translated into the
action of the figures.
“Philip,” said Harry, “we ought to see all these groups—everywhere.”
“Harry,” replied his cousin, “we are doing our level best.” And,
consoled by this thought, they rejoined Mr. Douglass and went home.
[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF THE HORTICULTURAL BUILDING.]
[Illustration: AN UNFRAMED PICTURE.]
[1] _These photographs of the Eskimo village were made in March, 1893,
when there was snow on the ground._