“THE GLOW.” ... WHO HELPED AND WHO ENJOYED IT.
[Illustration]
We remained in the hospital three days. We did not die. Unfortunately
for the purchasers of this work and our friend of the model cemetery, we
_would_ not die in Spring time. We were discharged on account of the
crowded state of the institution. Visitors were beginning to discover
that free board might be obtained, by stratagem, at the hospital, and
the result was that a large proportion of our foreign guests found this
climate very unhealthy. The doctors were cutting, dosing, and
blistering, to their hearts’ content.
We re-entered the grounds with the intention of resuming our inspection
where we had discontinued it, but we were subjected to a severe nervous
shock the very morning of our reappearance.
[HOKEE POKEE WINKEE FUM.]
The bones of two waiters from one of the restaurants, had been
discovered in the bath-room of the Sandwich Island Commissioners, picked
clean. The gentlemen of the legation had entrapped these unsuspecting
servitors, plunged them into hot water, boiled them red as lobsters, and
then made a little feast of them, a reminder of their national banquets.
After feeding upon the poor unfortunates, they strewed their bones about
the apartment without the slightest regard for neatness or decency.
Grief-stricken relatives recognized the remains by two false teeth and
a glass eye which had not been consumed, and two weeping widows gathered
up the bones, while five sobbing orphans scrubbed the floor clean. Our
government immediately informed the court at Hawaii of this indiscretion
on the part of its representatives, hinting that any repetition in the
same quarter would be considered a gross breach of international
etiquette.
This incident so affected us that we at once applied for readmission to
the hospital. It was refused us, and we were obliged to lay off for two
days at our boarding house. When we started out again we proceeded at
once to
AGRICULTURAL HALL.
Our early progenitors having been tillers of the soil, the agricultural
display brought to mind the days of our youth and “the old tabby cat
that we threw in the well.” The turnips reminded us of the warm pressure
of a parent’s hand; the early apples caused our thoughts to wander to
the big peppermint bottle in the kitchen cupboard; in looking upon the
luscious ox-heart cherries, we could imagine the bark of our neighbor’s
dog; the parsnips brought to mind the face of our ancient
school-mistress, the beets recalled to us her blessed ratan, and the
sight of the onions finished up things by bringing tears to our eyes.
In addition to productions of the soil, this department contained
much of the field machinery for which America is so justly
famous--agricultural implements, from an oyster knife to a haywagon;
farm stock, from a potato bug to a prize ox; kitchen garden
preparations, from a rhubarb pie to a paregoric dumpling.
[DOING THE TROPICS.]
The building was divided into tropics. At one end the tropic of Cancer,
named in honor of an American disease; at the other, the tropic of
Capricorn, a cereal indigenous to our soil. The other seven tropics were
sprinkled between, at regular intervals. The live stock exhibit,
belonging to this portion of the Exposition, was most interesting.
Little piggy-wiggies with their tails neatly tied in red, white, and
blue ribbon; representatives of turkey and shanghai amicably sharing the
same Indian meal; horses eating out of silver plated fodder boxes; colts
chewing at rosewood hitching posts; animated mutton chops and undevilled
kidneys calculated to make an epicure’s mouth water; goats, cows,
calves, heifers, and most rare of all, real, genuine, spring chickens,
the very sort which the poet has so touchingly described in his sweet
lines
“You may fricassee, roast them, or stew, as you will,
But the scent of the egg shell will cling round them still.”
There was also connected with this department an aviary, containing
specimens of agricultural birds, from a bee to an ostrich.
A little corner given up to old women and their herbs was so suggestive
as to be painful; we steered clear of it and endeavored to rid our
olfactories of the remembrance of catnip and senna, by hieing us to the
birds, flowers, perfumes, and fountains of Horticultural Hall. On our
way thither we passed
THE WOMEN’S DEPARTMENT.
[UNWARRANTED LIBERTIES.]
We became aware of our approach to this sacred locality, by the
Sabbath-like stillness which marked the vicinity. Into the pavilions no
male foot was allowed to tread. The sides were of glass, and tickets
merely conferred the privilege of looking through the transparent
surface. We hinted in the preceding pages at some trouble concerning the
erection of this building, and the ladies in a spirit of refined
sarcasm, had made it a monument of man’s tyranny by building the wooden
and iron work of broken broom handles, twisted pokers, and ruptured fire
shovels. The cement was mixed with handfuls of short human hair of
variegated colors and various degrees of fineness.
Women from all parts of the world were here on exhibition. All colors,
nationalities, styles, and complexions, were properly classified and
arranged within their respective departments. Each woman was ticketed
with a fancy label, on which was inscribed her name, age, nativity,
weight, prominent qualities and general record. With a few exceptions in
the Asiatic and African avenues, the women were ticketed
“These Goods Not For Sale.”
In the American District, there were some few notices such as
“Applying for a Divorce,
“Four months’ Widow,”
“Open for Negotiations.”
The greatest order and most systematic detail was everywhere observable.
Each age, from eighteen to eighty years, had a separate district. Those
exceeding the latter age were carefully packed away in the sub-cellar.
Electric wires being attached to each department, General Hawley sat
comfortably in his office, and as he touched the springs, the women
smiled, frowned, wept, and laughed in concert.
We remained gazing upon this interesting exhibit, until we felt the
temptation to break through the glass growing too strong for us, when we
continued our way and entered the building sacred to Flora and Pomona,
or in other words
HORTICULTURAL HALL.
Pansies and violets! Sunflowers and forget-me-nots!! Rhododendrons and
daffodils!!! Buttercups and dahlias!!!! Never, never, never, had such a
thing been seen before. Every plant and every flower was labelled with
its name and peculiarity, just like the women we had left. In some cases
this did very well, in others it did very ill. Take, for instance, a
single section--nay, but a small portion of the section, the hyacinth
department, and see what hurt our feelings.
“AMY; dazzling carmine, large spike.”
“DUCHESS OF RICHMOND; rose color; fine truss.”
“MR. MACAULAY; light green, thin, large truss, watery.”
“MARIA THERESA; striped; perfect form.”
“MADAME DE TALLEYRAND; pure, large compact truss, extra fine bell.”
“MRS. BEECHER STOWE; very showy spike.”
“ANNA PAULOWNA; deep; pure white eye, large truss,” and so on.
We know nothing whatever about either spike or truss, but we did not
like this publicity of description one bit. Now, “DIEBITSCH SABALKANSKY;
brilliant carmine, late,” nobody cares about. It makes no difference to
anybody save his wife, whether Mr. Sabalkansky is early or late in his
habits; but to have the heroines of our dreams, like Mrs. Beecher Stowe
and Anna Paulowna, ticketed so slightingly, was more than we could bear
with equanimity.
We wandered for hours among the grand _Victoria Regias_, the
sweet-scented _Heparusa longifolios_, the superb _Gloxianas_, the tiny
_Hopdedoodle calaboosas_, and the stately _Acacias_. Fountains of
rose-water splashed their sparkling drops among the dense and brilliant
foliage; cataracts of soda-water scattered misty bicarbonate sprays upon
the ornamental verdure. There were walks of shady palms, groves of
graceful maples, African cedars, and South American vines. The hall,
like the waist of Athen’s maid, was zone encircled. We paused for an
instant beneath an India-rubber tree and gave full stretch to our
imagination. We wondered what this world would be without flowers--a
body without a soul. If the soul of man is God’s breath, the flowers are
His smile. “Love flowers,” we said, imaginatively, to the people around
us; “the promises of Heaven are written on their leaves. At births and
marriages they are symbols of death, for with the fading sunlight they
too fade; but white and pure upon the breast of the silent sleeper, ’tis
life they typify, the life which knows no night--love flowers and teach
your children to love them.”
Thinking of flowers and children brought to mind the
SWEDISH NURSERY AND KINDERGARTEN
erected upon the grounds, and we resolved to visit it before nightfall.
We arrived there just in time to witness a good old-time spanking in the
Swedish style, which is the Norway of doing it also. Both the delight
and labor afforded the two participants in the operation seemed very
unequally divided. We heard the schoolboy yell in Swedish, however, and
learned how Swedish nightingales were made. The Swedish scholar is
evidently not a model, though his school-house may be. But we must admit
that the American youth surpasses all others in mischievous precocity.
This fact was made painfully apparent just previous to the opening of
the exhibition, in the trial of a little boy four years of age, son of
one of the Park Guards, for larceny. Judge Finletter occupied the bench.
We will insert
THE CASE.
[YOUTHFUL DEPRAVITY.]
The Park Commissioners furnish a certain quantity of old horse shoes,
nails, and scraps of iron, semi-weekly, for the purpose of keeping the
fountain of iron water in the Park up to the proper medicinal standard.
This material is placed in the charge of one of the guards, and the lad
had been in the habit of abstracting quantities of the metal and
disposing of it, it was alleged, to the Phœnix Iron Works. This latter
allegation is not yet proven. Should such be the fact, we must
deploringly conclude that a large quantity of the iron used in the
construction of the Girard Avenue Bridge was obtained from this source.
We shall suspend judgment, however, and continue using the bridge as
usual until the firm is heard from and the matter settled. The boy was
hanged.
We obtained permission from the Superintendent of the Kindergarten to
relate this little incident to young Sweden. We warned him against
having Park guards for fathers, and demonstrated the pettiness of such a
business as selling old iron, when the very highest price to be realized
therefrom, under the most favorable circumstances and general state of
commerce, is half a cent a pound. The children rose in a body when we
had concluded and passed us a vote of thanks, so we left the
establishment in the consciousness of duty well performed, and resolved
to send our children of the future to Sweden to be kindergartened.
Next morning we started out very early, with the determination of
proceeding at once to the Main Building to make a tour among the foreign
exhibitors, but our progress was arrested by the most remarkable
occurrence ever happening in a civilized country.
The day previous, Alderman Carpenter, of the Central Station, had
invited
PRINCE HADJEE SADI CURRYHOTTE,
[A BURNING SHAME.]
cousin of the Rajah of India, to drive with him through the Park. The
Alderman having been the recipient of much attention from crowned heads
during his recent visit to the old world, desired to reciprocate, hence
the invitation. Most unfortunately, however, on approaching the
Zoological Gardens, a train of cars rattled suddenly over the
Pennsylvania Railroad Bridge. The horses became frightened, Carpenter
lost control of the animals, the carriage was overturned, and
Curryhotte, falling upon his head, was killed instantly. Of course this
occurrence caused no surprise to Philadelphians. Upsets and “accidental
deaths” in the Park from the same cause are looked for and expected at
least three times a week; the trouble arose from the fact that the
Prince had his wife in this country with him. As soon as she ascertained
that she was a widow, she resolved upon a _suttee_. She called her
relatives and friends together and bade them get the funeral pile in
readiness upon the
“GRAND PLAZA,”
where the fireworks are usually exhibited. The gentleman in charge of
the model cemetery, already mentioned in these annals, was the only
Caucasian informed of her intention, and he cheerfully colored his face,
donned the flowing robes of a Brahmin, and accepted the appointment of
Master of Ceremonies.
Imagine our astonishment at coming upon this scene. The fire was
crackling merrily away, the corpse was frizzling a beautiful brown, and
the assembled participants were singing Hindoo hymns. The Master of
Ceremonies was standing at the head of the flames with the widow in his
arms. He was waiting till her husband should be nearly gone before he
chucked her on, in order to keep up the fun as long as possible.
“Stop! hold!!” we shouted, as soon as we could control enough breath to
utter the sounds; “stop! We cannot allow any such proceedings--drop that
woman.”
[Illustration]
The Master of Ceremonies turned upon us fiercely--
[“WHOSE FUNERAL IS THIS?”]
“Whose funeral is this?” he asked ironically, and there was a wicked
gleam in his eye which plainly indicated that he wasn’t going to be
defrauded of his job without a struggle. “Go on with the music,” he
added, turning to the Hindoos, who had ceased singing at the
interruption, and he raised the widow in his arms ready for the throw.
Our bosoms swelled; we were about to annihilate him, when chance
intervened to save his life. Some rumor of the contemplated ceremony had
reached the ears of the Park Commissioners. Naturally indignant that any
such thing should take place in the Park, without their permission being
first asked and obtained, they now came rushing upon the ground with
their little fire engine, closely followed by the Insurance Patrol. In
less time than it takes to record it, the widow was wrapped up in oil
skin blankets, the natives were howling other than hymn tunes, and the
fire and Master of Ceremonies were both put out by well-directed streams
of water. The latter threatened vengeance. He was the most disappointed
man we have ever seen.
Whether war with India will be the result of this interference in a
national and religious custom, the future alone can tell. We proceeded
upon our way, and entering the Centennial precincts, the world within
the palings, we passed a week in inspecting the
FOREIGN DEPARTMENTS.
The foreign display within the Main Building was grand, that outside
was grander still. Had our minds been one whit less strong, we should
have been bewildered by the conglomeration.
Turkish kiosks, Chinese pagodas, Japanese pavilions, Arabian tents,
Persian bazaars, Egyptian temples, Mohammedan mosques, Gypsy
encampments, and American drinks, enough to confuse any one. Then
monuments, booths, fountains, and cigar stands innumerable. We will give
one day as an example of our travels.
We enter an Egyptian structure and behold an oriental barber shaving one
of his countrymen. Egypt cannot teach us anything about shaving our
countrymen; we do not linger here. As we leave the building a Russian
britzska, a carriage invented especially for the use of spelling bees,
dashes by us drawn by the very cream of Tartar steeds. We catch on
behind until we reach a Persian bazaar. We gaze upon the long bearded
native men, and the white shrouded native women, busily engaged in their
national occupation of going to sleep, and become wrapped up in the
shawls of imagination. We are aroused by a wailing outside, cries of
grief mingled with curses and lamentations in choice Persian and gum
Arabic. The cause of this wailing was soon made evident.
LITTLE JOHNNY SHAH,
heir-apparent to the throne of Persia, in a laudable thirst for
knowledge, offered a piece of cake to one of the young lions in the
Zoological Gardens. He wished to find out how old he was, by his teeth.
The experiment will not affect the scientific world as much as it did
the young Persian. That lion may still be seen picking finger-nails out
of his teeth, and as all loyal subjects in Persia are expected to do as
their sovereign does, a dispatch sent to Teheran announced the pleasing
intelligence, that under the next Shah it would be the fashion to wear
but half a finger and a thumb on the left hand. We remain awhile to
share the grief of the stricken father and seventeen mothers, and then
resume our pilgrimage.
We pause for a moment before the French restaurant, enraptured, looking
at the pretty girls and other dainties served up there. We decline the
invitation of a Chinese drummer, hanging around to inveigle parties into
the restaurant established by his country, with a long rigmarole about
“kittens fried in castor oil,” and enter the Main Hall.
[WE SEE NO SEÑORITAS.]
We land in the desert of Sahara, but desert Sahara and step over to
Spain. We look for bright-eyed señoritas, with black lace veils and
stringless guitars; we have been educated to expect this in Spain, by
the ladies of the “International Tea Party.” We are disappointed; we
find a few men who look as if they had walked all the way from Madrid,
selling wine, fruit, and olive oil. We pass through Portugal; more wine,
fruit, and olive oil. We hop through Japan, change a ten cent note for a
bushel of their “hard money,” and sachey on. We linger for hours in fair
France, principally in the Paris department. We saunter through Austria,
stopping to speak a word of complimentary encouragement to the Emperor,
who looks a little down-hearted, evidently thinking of Vienna; then
through Germany and Switzerland, until we reach Great Britain.
She is gay and festive. She exhibits models of all her public buildings,
among the most interesting being the tower in which Anna Bowlegs was
decapitated. The order of this lady’s garter too is very curious, and is
exhibited, together with her marriage certificate. The only article sold
in this department is
WINDSOR SOAP,
put up in neat boxes, _fac similes_ of the castle in which its peculiar
properties were first discovered. Victoria and the girls are faithful
attendants at the table. They are assisted by Mr. John Bright, the
eminent proprietor of a popular kidney disease, and also by the Chief of
our Fire Department, who is suspiciously attentive to the oldest of the
ladies. We end up our day’s travels in Russia. The tardy participation
of this power was attributed in some quarters to the exertions of a Mrs.
Catacrazy, who was offended by a Washington lady, and took this means,
it is said, of “getting even.” Such is not the fact. The cause was,
briefly, as follows:--
PRINCE GORTSCHAKOFF
[A STATE SECRET.]
visited this country _incognito_ a short time ago, and of course passed
a few days in Philadelphia. One day, leisurely walking through East
Park, with his clay pipe in his mouth and his _shillalah_ in his hand,
he carelessly broke a small spray of green from a bush by the wayside
and stuck it in his hat. A careful Park guard saw him and arrested him
at once, on a charge of malicious mischief. The Prince remonstrated in
choice Russian. The guard, pretending not to understand him, answered in
Chaldaic, and dragged him before Magistrate Smith. He was fined five
dollars for destroying the shrubbery and ten dollars for speaking
disrespectfully to a Park guard. When it was discovered who the offender
was, Mr. Wm. M. Bunn, in his capacity as Guardian of the Poor, at once
paid the fine. Mr. Bunn explained to the Prince what a valuable country
this was, when a foreigner is obliged to pay five dollars for a single
green sprig.
Gortschakoff gratefully presented Mr. Bunn with the order of the “Golden
Fleece,” and regretted that he hadn’t another to bestow upon the
magistrate.
This and this alone was the cause, and we tell it confidentially to our
countrymen.
The tardiness, however, did not materially affect either the exhibit of
Russia or the success of the Exposition. Indeed, the French visitors
freely asserted that the Exhibition far surpassed the Vienna fair of
’72, and the German guests boldly declared, with a unanimous voice, its
superiority to the Paris Exhibition of ’67.