CHAPTER X._Our Show A Humorous Account of the International Exposition in Honor of the Centennial Anniversary of American Independence, from Inception to Completion, Including Description of Buildings, Biographies of Managers, Receptions of Foreign Dignitaries, Opening Ceremonies, Poem, Oration, Amusing Survey of All Departments, Incidents, Etc., Etc.

“THE SMOKE.” ... HOW IT WENT UP.

[Illustration]

Sere and yellow grows the leaf in these closing pages of our volume, and

in now recording the last doings in connection with the Exposition, we

would have such a splendid opportunity for enlarging upon the mutability

of mundane affairs, that we regret having neither the space nor contract

for moralizing. We feel that we could say something striking, something

original, something to be remembered on the reader’s deathbed, as a balm

and consolation--but alas, prosaic publishers forbid; they will not

allow us to inscribe words which might make death appear desirable.

On the tenth day of September the charge for admission to the Exposition

was reduced one-half for the time of its continuance. This action

occasioned a great influx of European nobility and gentry, parties who

had been waiting for the reduction, and the extreme capacity of the

various steamship lines was taxed for their accommodation. Baron

Rothschild, Baroness Burdett Coutts, and the Marquis of Lorne were among

those who gave a new spurt of brilliancy to the affair. The poor Greeks

came too, during these months, and their eminent countryman A. T.

Stewart also made his first appearance upon the grounds.

By this time most of the potentates had departed. We had become so used

to affecting farewells, that the tears started voluntarily to our eyes

whenever we chanced to hear a steamboat bell or a locomotive whistle.

Only one of the potentates left without paying his hotel bill, a most

gratifying fact. We refrain from mentioning his name out of

consideration for his family.

Things in general, out upon the grounds and in the buildings, began to

look seedy, and the combined action of the Chinese and Japanese

Commissioners, in summarily shutting up their portion of the show and

going home, was productive of a general feeling of listlessness, a sort

of forewarning of the end. We are sure that everything was done that

could be done to please these pigtailed and pig-headed Celestials, but

the fact is, the old boy himself couldn’t satisfy them. We have no

desire to record anything harsh, but we deem it our plain duty to state

clearly, for the vindication of our beloved country in the eyes of

posterity, what really occasioned this sudden move.

Every candid reader will admit that it could by no possibility prove an

easy task to supply, for the many varieties of visitors of such

different tastes and habits, a full and liberal allowance of palatable

food, such as that to which they had been accustomed. After the episode

of the Sandwich Island Commission which we have noted, the gentlemen of

this delegation were given free run of the anatomical departments of

Jefferson Medical College and the University, and the Executive

Committee congratulated itself that they, at least, were provided for.

And so they were. No more waiters were missed during the entire time of

their stay. But suddenly, there was a revolution at the “Globe Hotel”

and a mutiny at the “Transcontinental.”

[GIVE ’EM RATS!]

Day after day had the stewards of these hotels scoured the Callowhill

Street, the Spring Garden Street, the Girard Avenue, and _all_ the city

markets with terrier dogs and shotguns, hunting rats to be served to the

Celestials at their establishments. Traps, too, were placed under each

stall; in short every luxury the markets afforded in this line was

prepared for them, and the products of thousands of private traps were

generously donated by patriotic citizens, and yet the supply was not

equal to the demand. Our visitors found a peculiar fascinating flavor in

the American rat, and it became absolutely impossible to satisfy them.

Then, too, the candles at these hostelries disappeared in a rapid and

mysterious manner. Mysterious until one fatal Wednesday evening, when a

Mandarin of the first rank, who was entitled to wear six swords and able

to swallow the half dozen at once, and who consequently ought to have

known better, was discovered with a box of penny dips under his flowing

robes, making his way stealthily up the cellar steps at the “Globe.” The

very same evening a great commotion was raised at the “Transcontinental”

by the discovery of Gail Hamilton’s lapdog, stewed in kerosene oil, in

the private chamber of the Secretary of the Chinese delegation. As might

be expected, the visitors joined cause, braved the thing out, and

declared that they were being starved, and were forced to this action to

sustain life. Then, packing up their goods, they left indignantly in a

body.

[THE BATTLE OF THE MOTHERS.]

Reunions and conclaves, however, and meetings of national and

international, social, philanthropic, medical and scientific bodies,

kept things tolerably lively, and the month of October was really

brilliant. There was a horse show, a cattle show, a dog show, and a

poultry show. There was to have been a baby show too. In fact, it was

announced and arranged, but was broken up on the very day of opening by

a terrible battle among the mothers.

This battle was consequent upon the arrival of a

MRS. MCDUFF,

with a red-headed and cross-eyed infant.

“Begurra, what are ye doin’ here? go home wid ye,” was her greeting to

the fond mammas seated in the live-stock yard of the Pennsylvania R. R.

Co. with their babies in their arms. “What’s the good o’ ye a sittin’

here, compating wid me Mickey?--arrah, luk at the child and tell me

where’s his ekul--sure there’s nary one among ye has a baby fit to go

’longside o’ him, wid his beautiful awburn hair and the shwate smile

atwixt his eyes--go home wid ye, go home!”

And, rolling up her sleeves she improvised a war dance.

After four buckets of gore had been spilled, the managers adjourned the

exhibition, giving every survivor, without exception, a gold medal.

Under the circumstances this was their wisest possible action.

Of all the live-stock exhibitions the dog show was the most successful.

The International Exposition would have been sadly wanting in

completeness if the faithful companion of man had been denied a place

and recognition within its hallowed precincts. He had a place. The R. R.

Drove Yards were arranged in tiers, after the style of _La Scala_ at

Milan, only, instead of accommodating but thirty-six hundred spectators,

the drove yards accommodated, easily, as many thousands. We know of

nothing to which this show can be likened save the dog pound in August.

Wherever the lorgnette or opera glass was directed, spaniels, poodles,

bloodhounds, terriers, pointers, setters, and bone-crunchers of every

species, from the board yard mongrel who never earned an honest meal, to

the noble St. Bernard who saves a life every morning before breakfast;

from the lady’s pet with his golden collar, to the pugilist’s bull-dog

with his iron chain, met the gaze and bewildered the senses. Every dog

had his day with him, tied up in tissue paper, and it was a pleasing

sight to notice--at a distance--the wistful eye with which many of the

canines followed the forms of plump visitors, and the broad grin with

which they greeted a well-developed thigh.

THE INTERNATIONAL REGATTA

was the last affair of prominence, save the distribution of prizes,

directly connected with the Exposition.

During the entire Spring and Summer our local boat clubs had been in

active training, sitting on the ornamental balconies of their houses,

smoking good cigars and telling bad jokes; but they generously vied

with one another in the attention bestowed upon visiting clubs,

sustaining well the reputation for hospitality usually accorded to jolly

watermen.

The 12th day of the month was the great day of the Regatta, the sports

opening with a single scull race between the commodores of the leading

American navies.

Early in the morning Commodore Ferguson, of the Schuylkill Navy, might

have been seen cruising up and down the river, in his flag-ship, the old

frigate “Constitution.” In one hand he held a long stick with a hook at

the end, which he used for fishing old boots, hats, and other

obstructions from the stream; in the other he held a pair of opera

glasses. These he raised now and then to his weatherbeaten eye,

inspecting ratline, spar, spike, mast, shroud, windlass, and jib-boom of

the fleet under his command. The fish from the river had been removed

temporarily to the aquaria in the Zoological Gardens, and the Turbine

wheels were reversed to pump water into the river from the reservoir, so

that the boats might not run aground too easily. Both sides of the

river, along the entire course, from the Steamboat landing to Rockland,

were actually lined with spectators. Ensigns, pennants, signal flags,

and streamers were flying from every available point, and old Sol smiled

down graciously from above, with his time honored face newly burnished

for the occasion, and reflecting its own happiness in the splashing

water-drops below.

First in position was James Gordon Bennett of New York, stripped to the

waist, with only a scarf of Scotch plaid thrown negligently about his

editorial form. This poor young man makes his living by rowing and

walking matches, literally the sweat of his brow, and the sympathies of

the crowd were with him. He was in a paper boat, made of old “Heralds”

and weighing just nine pounds. On his left was Mr. Lorillard, in a skiff

made of pressed tobacco leaves. Occasionally he leaned over to the edge

of his boat and bit a piece out. Commodore Forbes of Boston, was seated

in the identical boat used by Paul Revere when he rowed from Lexington

to Boston to give that alarm Mr. Longfellow wrote about, and Commodore

Kingsland had a silver boat. His colors were blue, and he looked his

colors all over when he glanced towards Bennett. Commodore Dickinson of

Brooklyn, was accompanied by his sister, Anna E., as coxswain; this

being required of him on account of the family light weight; his colors

were green.

[WHO FIRED THAT BRICK?]

At precisely half past ten, Commodore Ferguson fired a brick into the

river, which was the signal agreed upon, and the half score of

contestants, after the usual salute, dipped their oars and made such a

splendid start that it was vociferously _encored_.

Secretary Robeson took the lead, closely followed by Bennett, the latter

being hotly pressed by Forbes of Boston. Then McGinnis of St. Louis,

made a spurt, got alongside of the “Herald,” which was soaking up water

like a sponge. The race was now bow to bow for a few seconds, when

O’Brien of Chicago, got rapidly forward. Robeson would still have had a

good lead if the boats had been on the return trip. Opposite the Girard

Bridge Commodore O’Shaughnessy of Baltimore, fouled Commodore Riley of

New Orleans, and the other contestants being in the rear, the race

narrowed down to Bennett, Lorillard, Forbes, and McGinnis. Near the

Columbia Bridge, McGinnis ran his penknife through Forbes of Boston’s

tub, and though Lorillard promptly tendered a plug from his vessel to

stop the leak, this delayed all but the irrepressible Bennett, who won

the race in 23 minutes 33½ seconds. This, strangely enough, was the same

result which had been published in the “N. Y. Herald” that same morning,

five hours before the race began.

[Illustration]

There remains now but little more to record. “Screw up your courage to

the sticking point” (sticking things into the fire), for we shall soon

part, mayhap to meet no more in print. We are happily permitted,

however, before concluding, to add weight to the oft-repeated assertion

that HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF. Let sceptics reading what follows, change

the current of their unbelieving thoughts.

Now the end of the days of the Exposition was drawing nigh, and it

came to pass that the chief of all the city’s people dreamed a dream.

And lo, in this dream he beheld a man sitting lonely upon a lump of

frozen water; his features were set and stern in mould, and icicles

dangled from the tips of his fingers and his nose.

[AND THE VOICE SAID “WOE!”]

And it seemed to the chief that he heard in his dream a voice, and the

voice said, “Woe!”

Yea, “woe to those who have done this thing, who have placed me here

in this frigid spot and forgotten my existence.”

“When they die may their noses long for icicles and long in vain, may

their parched tongues cleave into the gum roofing of their mouths, and

in their misery may they think of me.”

And the chief man rose up early in the morning and summoned before

him, Mr. Sansom, the interpreter of the court, and related to him his

dream.

But the interpreter shrugged his shoulders, and muttering, “nix

firstay,” he retired to his studies of the mystic and the profound.

But it happened that when the city’s organs published the dream, the

minds of men reverted to their solicitor in the vaults of the

Knickerbocker Ice Co., and the interpretation of the dream was clear.

And the hearts of men were moved to pity and impulses of compassion,

and they desired that the incarcerated man might view the fading

glories, which in their brilliancy, had gladdened his fellow-citizens.

And the chief called his counsellors together, and Bardsley the son of

his father rose up and spoke. “Listen, ye pilgrims, to the words of

wisdom which fall like wild honey and locusts of the wilderness from

my lips!”

“Behold, the days of the Exposition are not yet quite done; it is

still unsafe to risk this man’s attendance thereat; but lo, I would

suggest a plan whereby we may display in safety our compassion.

“Let him ascend to the top of Sawyer’s Observatory, and from thence

look down upon the grounds, even as Moses of old looked down from

Nebo’s Height upon the Holy Land.”

Yes, reader, it seems almost beyond belief that the lion-hearted

solicitor should have been forgotten. That the city managed to worry

along for six months without his supervision, is one of those mysterious

chances which may only be explained when the light of history and

careful, unprejudiced investigation shall, in the far distant future,

illuminate the cobwebbed darkness of ages long then past.

As Bardsley suggested, so was it done. A committee was appointed with

power to act, and at high noon one clear, bright day, while special

thanksgiving services were being chanted in all the churches, the

General’s congealed form was hauled out of a wagon, with golden ice

nippers, and landed safely on the flag pavement of Independence Hall. A

gentle fire of rosewood shavings and sweet cacia wood was built around

him, and he was gradually and tenderly thawed out. The coat of ice

melted away; the stern features relaxed, the water dripped from all

portions of the herculean frame, the fog, mist, and steam generated by

the process cleared away, and

CHARLIE WAS HIMSELF AGAIN.

[THE CÆSAR OF THE AGE.]

While he was still receiving the congratulations of his friends, the

contractors who were required to remove the buildings approached, and

publicly offered him one hundred thousand dollars to remain in his own

dwelling until the close of the exhibition and then go out to the

grounds and cause a final crash. This, of course, would save them

immense time, labor, and expenditure. With the dignity of Cæsar on the

Lupercal, he drew his form to its full height, and casting one look of

disdain upon the contractors, who instantaneously disappeared beneath

the flagging to rise no more, he walked slowly up Chestnut Street,

followed by the plaudits of an enthusiastic mob.

THE AWARDS OF THE JUDGES,

though of immense importance, are of especial interest only to the

exhibitors. Others desirous of posting themselves on this point, are

referred to the musty, fusty rows of figures and statistics which will

soon flood the American rag market. Two cents a pound is not an

exorbitant price for information which is at all desirable. From the

list of nine hundred and eight foreign and domestic judges, we will

merely select the following familiar names:--Ludlow, Thayer, Biddle,

Dwight, Paxson, Hackett, Cardoza, and Finletter; Dr. Mary Walker, Prof.

Proctor, Stephen Pearl Andrews, Bret Harte, Lydia Thompson, Wm.

Gladstone, Elwood Rowan, Gen. Garibaldi, Susan B. Anthony, and the

Marquis of Lorne.

As the style of report was similar in all cases, an example will give a

general idea of the plan adopted. The scriptural quotations were altered

to suit each instance.

+-----------------+-------------------------------+-----------+

| “He giveth his | No. 1724. |“There is |

| beloved sleep.” | “Persian Roach Powder.” | death in |

| | |the pot.” |

+------+-------+--+---+-------+------+-------+----+----+------+

+------+-------+------+-------+------+-------+---------+------+

| 427 | 426 | 10 | 10 |$12.75| 5 |12 boxes.| 2165 |

+------+-------+------+-------+------+-------+---------+------+

| --Three Gold Medals-- |

| |

|Parent or Guardian will sign here ...........................|

| |

|“LORNE”--Judge of Roach Powder and Mother-in-Law Departments.|

+-------------------------------------------------------------+

The only squabble among the judges was concerning the report on American

fried oysters. Councilman Rowan and Premier Gladstone indulged in some

marked personalities. They might have come to blows but for the prompt

intervention of Miss Lydia Thompson and her little cowhide. She cornered

the belligerents. Mr. Gladstone apologized to our distinguished

councilman over a dish of the matter in dispute, and they compromised on

two gold medals and an honorable mention.

[AN END TO EVERYTHING.]

And now--

When the hands of Nature began stripping the foliage from the trees, the

hands of man began stripping the decorations from the gay palace-like

structures which had been the theatre of the world’s interest for six

memorable months. Like the possessions of that happy but mythical

“family declining housekeeping,” the hope and mainstay of the cheerful,

chirping auctioneer, little by little, piece by piece, the furniture and

contents of the great buildings were going--going--gone!

The white beard of Winter covers our beautiful Park; he has laid his icy

hand upon the quiet stream which dances happily in the Summer days

between its green fringed banks; the tall trees stand bare, looking into

the gray-faced sky, and the jingle of sleigh-bells dies away in the

hollows, and rings out sharply o’er the frozen roads. The busy noise of

Machinery Hall is hushed and forgotten; if you wish to hear the humming

and the buzzing of a few weeks back, you must e’en apply to a

humming-bird or a buzz-saw. The cries of the different animals from the

vicinity of Agricultural Hall no longer reach the ear, no matter how

long the ear may be, and the scent of a million flowers from

Horticultural Hall no longer steals the senses. The stealing is all

over; the visitors have all gone home.

Our country has had her holiday, and, donning her honest homespun suit,

she goes quietly, surely, and confidently to work upon her second

century. ’Tis but her babyhood which has passed into years gone, and

yet--she has proved herself a man.

[FAREWELL.]

Let us not endeavor to lift the veil which marks the boundary of the

present. Blessed are the eyes which have seen these glories past, for

many anticipating eyes grew closed and dulled before the fire blazed.

Dear reader, as its smoke is carried upward and beyond, reluctantly we

say--

“Farewell!”

[Illustration]

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Granules of Podophyllin Comp.

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(Formerly 729 Market Street.)

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CONSTIPATION, DYSPEPSIA, HEADACHE, &c.

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