“THE FIRE.” ... WHO FLARED AND HOW THEY DID IT.
[Illustration]
Amid this profound silence the Chaplain proceeded to inform the Lord for
what purpose that great concourse of people was assembled.
He intimated that as “the earth was the Lord’s and the fulness thereof,
and as the United States of America formed a part of the earth, and its
citizens frequently gave evidence of the fulness thereof, it was
eminently proper that He should not be kept in ignorance of its doings.”
He quoted freely from Scripture to convince his hearers that man was not
all-powerful, but that, sooner or later, he must needs leave country,
home, greenbacks, office, and corner lots behind him.
Alluding to the nations of olden time, he aired his classical learning.
He informed his hearers that Greece and Rome were not now exactly what
they had been, and mentioned likewise that Romulus and Mr. Julius Cæsar
had both been dead for some time.
He also remarked upon several interesting historical facts of more
modern date, which he seemed to think might possibly have slipped the
memory of the angels,--namely: that a number of European countries were
governed by potentates; that some of these had not been all that
virtuous, peace-loving men could have wished them; that an assembly of
individuals had pronounced freedom to be the prerogative of all
mankind;--then, after commending Mr. Grant and his cabinet, Mr. Stokley
and his city council, Mr. Goshorn and his associates, to the good graces
of the heavenly host, he complimented that body on having the truest
republic yet organized, and retired gracefully from the pulpit.
The orchestra of ten thousand selected musicians then executed Haydn’s
magnificent “Oratorio of the Creation,” after which Mr. Ulysses S.
Grant, who as President of the United States was chairman of the
meeting, arose and made one of his powerful and eloquent
addresses:--“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said he, “I hope I see you well. I
am glad to see so many of you around me on this occasion. It is a very
pleasant occasion. Like the century plant, it blooms but once in a
hundred years. A good many of you, who I see around me on this occasion,
will not be around when it comes around again. I thank you, ladies and
gentlemen, for the manner in which you have received me, and I will make
room for a longer winded man than me. I hope you will listen to him with
attention. I thank you again, and hope you will all enjoy the
exhibition. Allow me to introduce to you the orator of the day, selected
by the Centennial Executive Committee.”
The building shook with the applause of the assembled multitude, and
when the clamor had subsided, the orator began his address in a stirring
appeal to
THE GENIUS OF LIBERTY.
[THE EAGLE SHRIEKS.]
“Ring out, ye bells, ye harbingers of liberty, ring out! The world is
hushed to listen to your joyful pealings,--the heavens open and swallow
up your golden sounds! From where the sun first breaks upon Columbia’s
slopes to where the rain-drops thunder in supernal night,--where eagles
scream and dash their pinions ’gainst the crags and peaks which blaze in
midday splendor,--where, rushing through the crimson sky, they swell the
notes which drown the shrieking gale, and flashing arrows of electric
light, piercing the groaning depths of chaos, echo beyond the shadow of
eternal hills the cry of nature’s soul, the thrilling anthem--LIBERTY!
“It is our throne--the pedestal on which our building rests! a century
agone its bed was hollowed out by pithy arms, now resting in the dust.
Oh sturdy hearts! Oh honest hands! Beyond the boundaries of space and
time, where Nature’s seedlings bud, and waters gather in a mighty deep,
to thee, to thee we look through tears we dare not hide, and glimmering
in the phosphorescent radiance of a holy past, we cry aloud, and loud
the answer comes. The waves dash high, the breakers roar, the bright bow
spans the clouds above, when lo, forth springs in brilliant splendor,
our flag--the emblem of our dearest hopes,--our pride, forth springs in
glorious purity, our flag,--the stars and stripes,--the flag of Adams
and his son John Quincy.”
At this stage of the proceedings, four hundred ladies uttered a
simultaneous scream and fainted. The gallant orator, descending from the
rostrum, helped to carry and lay them upon the greensward without, where
members of the Fire Department promptly saturated them with a portion of
the Schuylkill River. Then, taking a hasty draught of Bowers’ Centennial
Mead, the orator re-entered the hall and resumed his address. Not one
of the audience had left--during the interim they had been nicely
entertained by the Director General (always prepared for emergencies),
who gave them a comic song and dance.
[Illustration]
In resuming, the orator alluded to the Garden of Eden. He explained how
the “S” became added to the name of Adam, and drew a pleasant word
picture of the illustrious founder of his family in his fig-tree suit.
He spoke for two hours in an interesting manner, and concluded.
The chorus then joined in the national anthem, “Pop goes the Weasel,”
after which the
POET OF THE OCCASION,
[LONGFELLOW.]
America’s sweetest singer, who touches with his gentle hand the
heart-strings of the world, waking them to musical response as pure and
truthful as his own blessed soul, stepped forward, and read his original
poem, which will live forever, a mile-stone of the nation.
The people listened with rapt attention to the words of the honored
bard. He seemed inspired; his voice was full, and each syllable he
uttered reached every corner of the immense building. We caught the
words and pinned them to our note-book in phonographic characters as
they were given birth, and we reproduce them here complete and
unabridged.
[FOREVER AND FOREVER.]
A SONG IN TWO VOICES.
_First Voice._
The silent horologe of time, which varies never,
Hath swept into the bosom of that sea
Pulsating ’gainst the rock “Eternity,”
The life-blood of an hundred years,
Forever and forever!
But crimson blood upon the Ocean’s wavelets, never
Content beneath the surface smooth to hide,
Will traces leave enrubying the tide,
Till earth in chaos disappears,
Forever and forever!
We gaze upon a restless sea, which quiets never,
And read as on a changing, moving scroll,
The nation’s living, cryptogamic soul,
Which Death’s dark lantern lights and clears,
Forever and forever!
They are our own, these dead we look upon, though never
Have we full guessed the good which passed away;
To know what we were losing day by day,
Would be, methinks, to live in tears,
Forever and forever!
Then listen, brothers, for my failing voice may never,
Be heard again throughout our fatherland;
And e’en the pen drops from my feeble hand,
As my long journey swiftly nears,
Forever and forever!
List while I read to you the graven tale, which never
May be all told by these poor lips of mine,
For coming ages still add line to line,
Till earth no longer heeds nor hears,
Forever and forever!
_Second Voice._
Speak, speak, thou dismal guest,
With gloomy thoughts oppressed,
Speak quick and give a rest,
To those who hear thee:
Much pleased we’ve read the lays,
Writ in thy youthful days,
Giving no stint of praise,
Aiming to cheer thee.
Proud of thy fame are we;
Therefore most graciously,
For what it’s worth will thee,
“Our poet” christen:
Long, long will live thy verse,
As will, too, much that’s worse,
And if thou wilt be terse,
Brother, we’ll listen.
_First Voice._
In the old colony days in London, the chief town of England,
In the cellar which runs to and fro ’neath the Parliament building,
With a pipe in his mouth and a match in his hand, made of sulphur,
On a keg of dry powder was seated Mr. Guy Fawkes awaiting the signal.
Above was King George with a sword in his hand at a table,
Drinking green tea, which he always had made “with a stick,”
While up by the urn, stood a beautiful Puritan maiden,
With sweet, smiling eyes like the bloom of the bluebells in summer,
Who opened her mouth, and with laughing lips uttered this question,--
“My liege, would you like just a little bit more of gunpowder?”
Guy Fawkes was discovered and hung, and his body was cast in the
Tiber,
King George wasn’t blown up just then--but not many years after,
His tea was the match which ignited the spark, and gave him some few
more gunpowder.
_Second Voice._
Tell us not in furlong numbers,
What we know as well as you,
Though you’ve got things mixed up “somewurs.”
King George wasn’t Cromwell too.
Life is short and time is fleeting,
And we fear, if you intend
To go on old tales repeating,
We shall never reach an end.
_First Voice._
[ABORIGINAL POETRY]
Kajo, kajo, mudjekewiss,
Jeebi ishkoodah jossakeed,
Shinghé, shingebis shah shuh gah;
Chibiabo bukadawin,
_Wahonowin! Wahonowin!_
Totem totem ahkosewin,
Minehaha, haha, haha,
Ha ha, ha ha, ha ha, ha ha.
[FAIR COLUMBIA.]
_Second Voice._
Thank you, sir.
_First Voice._
Nation of our hopes and prayers,
Time steals by us unawares,
Gravestones seal our joys and cares.
We must leave thee whilst thou’rt young,
Whilst the bell for freedom rung,
Echoes still from heart to tongue:
Standing on Oppression’s tomb,
In thy youthful beauty’s bloom,
Monument of tyrants’ doom;
Gazing with a lofty pride
O’er thy hearthstone, boundless, wide,--
Oceans washing either side;
Towns and cities, hills and vales;
Earth with joy thy Queenship hails,
Seas and rivers bear thy sails!
Fair Columbia, we must go,
Far beyond thy oceans’ flow,
Far beyond thy mountains’ snow;
Other sons will ’bout thee rise,
Love thy blue and starlit eyes,
Love the white thy life flow dyes:
May their hearts’ love never leave thee,
May they dream no thoughts to grieve thee,
Never of a star bereave thee;
May the olive in thy hand
Spread until its branches grand
Shelter safely all thy land;
And as days and years are told,
May thy brilliant flag enfold
Strength which never groweth old.
May the world beneath the sun,
In the freedom thou hast won,
See a boon denied to none.
For a gift from God thou art,
Missioned bravely to impart
Sunshine to the sunless heart.
This poem was telegraphed, word for word as spoken, to the “New York
Herald,” appearing in that sheet next morning. From its columns it was
copied, the week after, into the Philadelphia journals.
After the poem, Messrs. Arbuckle and Levy, the cornetists, played “Old
Hundred.” It proved a great success, as it had never before been
attempted--in a horn.
The Massachusetts gentleman selected for the honor, then read an essay
by Thomas Jefferson, entitled
THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.
[AN APPRECIATIVE PRESIDENT.]
This production was replete with witty sayings and wise aphorisms,
doubtless very applicable to the time in which it was written, but
somewhat obsolete and wanting in point at present. The soda-water
fountain was much patronized during this portion of the ceremonies.
General Grant sat it out, however, and mentioned afterwards that he
considered it one of the finest things he had ever listened to. He
inquired particularly concerning the author, and seemed disappointed
when informed that he was dead. He would doubtless have enjoyed making
Thomas a revenue inspector or an Indian commissioner.
Again the combined orchestra and chorus howled forth. This time it was
“Paddle your own Canoe.”
Mr. L.Q.C. Lamar, of Mississippi,
ORATOR OF THE DAY NO. 2,
stepped forward. He remarked that as it was growing late he should not
detain them long. At this, those favored ones to take part in the
banquet concluding the ceremonies, brightened up wonderfully.
The orator then proceeded to say that this was the first centennial
celebration in which he had taken part; he therefore hoped that any
shortcoming might be overlooked in consideration of his quick going. He
remarked that he came from where the Mississippi wound her silvery
length through rich green fields, by thriving towns and mighty cities;
that he was a native of the Sunny South, those happy realms where
nightingales tuned harmonious song and alligators sported in their
lukewarm baths. He mentioned that this was a great country, that the sun
rose in the East and set in the West, and that while the snow-flakes
fell and whitened all the northern plains, the orange bloomed and gentle
breezes blessed the southern groves.
“We are but travellers here,” said he, pathetically, “and while we
breathe the air and walk upon the earth, we have two duties which should
command the energies of our minds, the strength of our arms, and the
honor of our souls;--one, to our fathers, those who have gone
before--the other to our children, those who have already come and those
yet to come after.” Mr. Lamar did not exempt bachelors from the latter
of these duties, but in eloquent language urged upon all the great
mission of an American citizen.
The orator continued for three hours, and ’twas only when darkness fell
and the chambermaid came in to light the gas, that he concluded; telling
his spell-bound listeners, that, although he had much more to say, he
would remember his promise to be brief, and postpone the remainder of
his address until the next centennial, hoping that in the mean time they
would ponder well upon the truths which he had uttered.
General Sherman here nudged the President, who had fallen into a gentle
spell-bound doze, and who, awakening with a start, rose and said:--
“And now, by virtue of authority in me vested, I, Ulysses S. Grant,
President of the United States of America, do declare this Exhibition
open for the transaction of all such business as may be legally brought
before it.--Amen.”
The musical fraction ended up with Beethoven’s Twelfth Mass, and “Little
Brown Jug” for _encore_, and thus was the
INTERNATIONAL EXPOSITION
inaugurated.
Through the courtesy of the Centennial Managers, we were supplied with
copies of several odes, poems, essays, etc., forwarded to the committee
by various distinguished authors of this and other countries, and
rejected for reasons best known to the committee. Of these we cannot
refrain from inserting a contribution from Lord Alfred Tennyson. It is
in the shape of a two-act drama, entitled
“GEORGE W. WASHINGTON.”
[CLARA’S NEXT ROLE.]
It has been pronounced by competent judges to be equal to much that
Shakspeare did not write. It has been translated into the celestial
tongue, and will be produced during the next century at the Theatre
Royal, Hong Kong. We understand that Miss Clara Morris is studying the
_role_ of G. W. Washington.
ACT FIRST.
SCENE--WINTER QUARTERS AT VALLEY FORGE. _The American Army sleeping on
the left side of the stage. Delaware River flowing in the rear. Seven
42-pounders pointed towards the audience (to be discharged if they
leave before the curtain falls). A full regiment of cavalry ready to
issue R. I. E. Practicable window in flat._
THOMAS JONES, a farmer, and SAMBO, Washington’s servant, discovered.
SAMBO.
You may not enter--the General snores in sleep;
Sweet sleep, that balm in heaven distilled,
Has fallen on his eyelids.
(Sings) _Low, galoot; speak low, galoot, or you may wake him--
Low, galoot, low!_
FARMER JONES.
Yet listen, gentle knave; a farming man am I
From Jersey. Should’st open now my heart,
Lo, thou would’st find but two words graven on it--
Trenton and whiskey!
[THE PLOT THICKENS.]
SAMBO.
(Sings) _Low, galoot; speak low, galoot, or you may wake him--
Low, galoot, low!_
FARMER JONES.
The keystone of our government is shattered,
The Hessians are in Trenton!
SAMBO.
Methinks some traitor spoke. ’Tis not yet lost.
Send out, send out the constables,
And have them all
Arrested. Egg Harbor is not taken yet?
FARMER JONES.
(Joyously) Egg Harbor is not taken yet!
SAMBO.
Then there is hope. But, hush!--he’s here!
(_Washington enters through window and listens._)
FARMER JONES.
Who?
SAMBO.
Our General--great George Washington!
FARMER JONES.
Oh!!
[_All exit. Curtain falls._
ACT SECOND.
SCENE--STATE-HOUSE AT PHILADELPHIA. _Continental Congress in session,
John Hancock in the chair; representatives ground around; large
concourse of citizens in the hall; the back window open, through which
a view of Independence Square in flat. Procession passing with flags
and banners, and band of music. A political meeting in the Square;
also a few Indians lassooing buffalo. Eagle screams as curtain rises._
JOHN HANCOCK. Ah!
ROBERT MORRIS.Indeed!!
THOMAS JEFFERSON.Possible!!!
JOHN ADAMS.Very remarkable!!!!
[_Exit all the representatives except_ BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
[GRAND DENOUEMENT.]
FIRST CITIZEN. Shall we go too?
SECOND CITIZEN. Go to!
THIRD CITIZEN. For which we should be thankful.
[_Exit all the citizens._ FRANKLIN _alone_.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
From Jersey, New York, Delaware, and Pennsylvania,
Virginia, Massachusetts, and both the Carolinas,
These men have come who have but just gone out.
There’s Hopkinson, and Middleton, and Harrison,
And William Ellery, George Taylor, and Josiah Bartlett;
Morton, Walton, Joe Hewes, and Willie Hooper,
And many more; and I am left alone--
No!--here come Roger Sherman, Gerry, and George Whytte.
(_Milkman sings without._)
_“Bully for you, Susie,
Bully for you now,
To go and milk the water pump,
’Stead of the cow.
Chalk is very cheap,
Milk is quite a heap,
Healthier when diluted than it came from the cow.”_
FRANKLIN.
I wish I was a milkman; methinks it is a better
Business than being a philosopher--
Ah, gentle friends, what news?
(_Enter_ ROGER SHERMAN, GERRY, and GEORGE WHYTTE.)
SHERMAN.
Washington has crossed the Delaware!
(_Chorus outside_) [_many voices_]. “Washington forever!”
GEORGE WHYTTE.
Lo, he will be our President!
(_Shouts again_) [_many voices_]. “Three cheers for Washington!”
GERRY.
Who knows?
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
Let us pray.
(They all kneel, and the orchestra strikes up “Yankee Doodle” as the
curtain drops.)