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brightest rugs of the Orient are displayed, attar of roses is for sale, a genuine Ottomon theatre is in full blast, and the services of Mahommedan worship continued all day.

Directly opposite is the Austrian village, and next to the Turkish theatre is the panorama of the Bernese Alps, in which Mont Blanc makes quite a figure. Next to that is the natatorium, the largest ever built, where one can be a duck if agreeable, and if the bather is hungry from his bath the Vienna café is next to the natatorium to provide refreshments. Over the way is the Javanese and South Sea Islands village, which is put down on the maps of the "Dutch Settlement." There the natives may be seen in their aboriginal glory. Snake charmers and jugglers from the palace of the sultan of Johore are also in the list of attractions. The architecture of the village, being entirely of bamboo and rushes, invites close attention, and, in all, the village is one of the most unique congregations of the White City.

Following the Javanese is the Japanese bazaar, where articles made in that faraway kingdom may be bought; and across the street is the French cider press, where Normandy peasant girls in strikingly brilliant costumes and quaint headdresses will serve fresh and "hard" apple juice as suits the taste. After that Carl Hagenbach's animals come in for attention. He has six African lions in an iron-barred cage over the lintel of his entrance door. They are precursors of the sight within, and form a living zoölogical picture once seen never to be forgotten. Inside all sorts of animals do all sorts of tricks in a big iron cage. Horses, tigers, bloodhounds, leopards and elephants sit upon their stools and behave as commanded. Opposite the Zoo is an Irish village, where the industries of County Donegal are displayed. Next to that is the Libby glass works, and opposite it is the Venetian glass blowers' headquarters.

The Natatorium is a large swimmingpool inclosed within a building two hundred and fifty by one hundred and ninety feet, where one may take a real "swim" in water of agreeable temperature, and afterwards refresh himself at a café beneath the same roof. Boys who go to the Fair will find this natatorium a very attractive addition to the "features."

The Sliding Railway extends along the entire south side of the Plaisance. It is

not an inclined plane, as its name might suggest, but resembles an ordinary elevated railroad. Here, by purchase of a ticket, one may ride at rapid speed. The motive power is water under high pressure. The cars have no wheels, but are provided with shoes which fit closely to rails about eight inches wide. Connected with each shoe is a pipe through which water at a pressure of one hundred and fifty pounds to the square inch is forced out betwixt the surface of the rail and the shoe, thus continuously lifting the shoe on a film of water about a sixteenth of an inch in thickness. Joined with every second car of the train there is a turbine motor, driven by water from the same large pipe, which extends beneath. the track. The motors impel the train, which glides onward very easily and smoothly, since it literally rests on the water film between rail and car shoe.

DESCRIPTIVE HUMOROUS SKETCH. From a humorous sketch of the Midway in gay attire on opening day, and how the barbarians and others saluted the President, we take the following:

Midway Plaisance was the fuse. Jackson park with its domes and flapping pennants was the bomb. It was after 10 o'clock when the five Columbian guards at the Cottage Grove entrance drew back and permitted the presidential party to enter the street. The fuse began to burn the instant the mounted escort left the avenue and started on its march to the park. Its flame grew fiercer as the carriage of the President rolled slowly over the muddy roadway leading to the golden dome of the Administration building. The men of the Hungarian café and theatre were the first to salute the President. Three flags floated from the top of their big building, and downstairs, banked against the railing leading to the entrance, were half a hundred waiters with uncovered heads and white aprons tossing from side to side in the wind. Across the way the Chinese had stretched a hundred or more flags from the pagodas of their theatre, and standing high upon the roof of their building was a mandarin in a black cap and a red button, waving his hands frantically as the procession passed beneath him. The crowd cheered wildly at the salute of the Celestial, but this was only the beginning of a spectacle which President Cleveland will scarcely see again.

The Austrian village farther down the street was as black and grim as during the late storm of Sunday. The rain-soaked flags which had given its walls much color twenty-four hours before, had been taken in and in their place were fastened stiff and crisp emblems of brighter hues. They

flapped from the windows, from the peaks of quaint gables, and hung bright and gay over the archways to the main court. As the procession passed this remarkable village the workmen dropped their tools, crowded to the windows and waved their aprons and trowels to the President, who courteously lifted his hat and bowed right and left.

The Dahomeyans displayed no colors whatever. Their park was still filled with water and mud, and the peppery Frenchman, who is their manager, stood grim and unenthusiastic against one of the posts of the entrance. When the President passed him he raised his hat in an off-hand way, bowed once or twice, and then retired to a hut which was being thatched by three men in overalls.

The barbaric splendor of President Cleveland's march down Midway did not begin to be seen until he reached the Algerian village. Early in the morning Manager Blume, of this colony, gave orders for his men and women to clothe themselves in their finest raiment to receive the President. All was bustle in the little white house back of the theatre until 9 o'clock. The men arrayed themselves in white robes, which were fastened about their waists by girdles of gold and silver. Then they put on their red Mephistopheleau slippers, combed their hair into long braids, and fastened bangles upon the chains encircling their necks, wrists and ankles. It was not Manager Blume's intention to have the women of his village greet the President. But during the night they urged him to be permitted to stand in line with the stalwart warriors. This request was granted after considérable palaver, and at 10 o'clock yesterday morning when the procession entered the roadway, the entire Algerian village, man, woman and child, stood in line in front of the unfinished temples and bazaars. There were six musicians in the column. Three of them beat tom-toms which they held between their knees, two more sawed away at queer fiddles, and the sixth blew a flute which sounded like the wind swinging a dentist's sign. President Cleveland was greatly interested at the spectacle. He raised his hat as the Algerian band struck up a fiendish melody, and when they all salaamed he rose in his seat and bowed profoundly.

The street in Cairo was astir at an early hour. Manager Pangelo had gone from house to house the night before, informing the people that the President of the United States would pass beneath their minaret before noon. The dancing-girls doubted this statement and refused to believe that the executive would salute the village on his way to open the Fair. Even Achmed, the donkey boy, laughed at Pangelo and pointed to the mud west of the Ferris wheel, asking how it was possible for so big a man as the President of the United States to get through

such a quagmire. The Cairenes were quickly convinced, however, that the President was to pass through Midway, and then all made haste to array themselves in their finest raiment. Achmed hurried to the stable and, bawling out something unintelligible to visitors in the village, ordered a man with gray whiskers and a greasy calico turban on his head to harness the camels and donkeys in their brighest trappings. The men clothed themselves in long flowing robes of purple and blue and white, and screwed down upon their heads fezzes as rich in color as the heart of a ripe watermelon. The Soudanese, who have hair something like Fred Douglass and more like Paderewski, stuck some skewers in it and washed their faces in cocoanut oil. The President and his escort were already in Midway when the Arabs, Soudanese and Nubians fell into line in the court of the village and marched out behind Manager Pangelo. Men and women were drawn up in line near the centre of the street, with the priests of the temple in their white turbans and flowing robes, kneeling on the ground at the entrance to the village. Many of the women were veiled, the black tulle falling from the nose far down the waist.

The musicians who had assembled in the tomb of Rameses II. for rehearsal were mounted upon the backs of seven camels. As the President passed the village this wild orchestra started up a desert greeting on tom-toms, hewgags, flutes, fifes and harps. At the same time the priests bowed very low, their white turbans almost touching the mud in the street. Then all the men and women salaamed and prayed for the welfare of the President, for the good health of the Khedive, and for the success of the Fair.

The Soudanese, who were at the extreme left of the managers of the village, were several minutes in satisfying the President that they were really glad he had come. They drew their swords and flashed the keen blades in the air, and then leapt in their red shoes like plantation hands on a wharf of the Mississippi. The President bowed again and again, and each time that he removed his hat the flags from Cairo, Khartoum, Assowan, were dipped to the mud.


Across the way the Turks stood in a line reaching from one end of the village to the other, with Manager Levy in a new fez and a big watch-chain bowing and smiling at the main entrance. Many of the women of the colony were so ill with colds and rheumatism that they could not leave their rooms. there was enough of the Turks as it was. Faraway Moses, the famous guide of Constantinople now an old man-half bent upon an umbrella stick, stood near the centre of the column, with his black silk turban pushed far back upon his head. Near him towered the strong man of the village, the Samson of all Turkey, an infantryman who had fought his way through blood at Plevna and Shipka pass. He was dressed in the

uniform of the Turkish soldier, his massive shoulders bulging out above the heads of the men who stood on either side of him. This giant, it is claimed, can carry upon his shoulders 1,000 pounds of dead weight, and waltz around with it as though it were but a paper collar. The muezzin of the village was up in the minaret. As the carriage of the President rolled by, this venerable man held his hands aloft and cried aloud to the faithful below. At the same instant the men and women began to sing. It was not a tinkling song by any means. It sounded

like a man drawing a saw through a stick of green hemlock wood. But it was music, after all. Twelve musicians with drums and flutes played a weird accompaniment, and then the column of men and women from the Ottoman Empire bent their backs and saluted the President. As they did so Manager Levy, with his fez pushed far back on his head, rushed into the street and hurled a big bouquet of American beauty roses into the lap of the Executive. The latter arose and bowed again and again, and as he did so the Turkish musicians beat their drums with fiercer energy and the women whirled about their heads the long filmy robes they


The German village, which is one of the most meritorious features of Midway, had no men in turbans nor women in silken gowns to salute the President. But they had no trouble in turning out a band of lusty workmen who swung their hats and cheered with all the enthusiasm of a successful team at a schutzenfest. They had made little effort to decorate their village, the flag of the empire and the emblem of America being the only colors displayed. These two flags floated from the top of the castle.

There was a great commotion in the unfinished house at Sixtieth street and Greenwood avenue in the morning. Manager Ferrari went from room to room the night before and informed the little people from the equator that the President would pass their village before dinner time. Sick as many of them were, they gladly accepted the opportunity to salute what they called the rajah ot the sultan. The weather was too cold for the women to go to Midway, but the men fell into line early in the morning and marched behind Manager Ferrari, who wore a big white sombrero. The procession was passing the Chinese theatre when the Javanese reached their village. There was but little time left for them to make any sort of demonstration, but Manager Ferrari grouped his men into three columns at the entrance to the village, with the noblemen kneeling in front of the first line. All the men wore the blouses they bought in Hong Kong, and each head was wrapped in a turban of brown calico. There were no musicians in this strange group of Mohammedans; they were left at home. The Chinese salute was bad enough; the greeting of the Egyptians was

even worse; but if the Javanese had ever cut loose on their rain-barrel drums and fiddles the probability is that President Cleveland's horses would have plunged out of the street and taken no further interest in the Fair. As the procession passed the Javanese village the three columns of natives screwed their heads into the mud, touched their breasts and foreheads, and then made a noise which sounded like a man gargling something for a sore throat.

If the weather had been warmer, Herr Hagenbeck would have taken a lion or a tiger or two out into Midway to add more zest to the reception. But as it was, the best he could do was to march a band of redbreasted musicians from Frankfort-on-theMain into the street, and as the presidential carriage rolled by a whirlwind of patriotic music burst from the big horn and the drum, which a flaxen-haired fellow beat with all his strength. This set the crowd to cheering again, and while President Cleveland, it is to be inferred, doesn't know much about lions and tigers and bears, he appreciated the salute he received from these sturdy Germans, and dipped his hat over the side of the carriage.

It was II o'clock when the fire kindled by the presidential party burned itself into Stony Island avenue. Then there was a terrific explosion. The air snapped and cracked with the vibrations of the guns of the war-ship Michigan. Then the flags rolled out upon the staffs of all the majestic buildings in the park, and, standing along. their muddy and rain-beaten road, the men and women from Tunis and Southampton saw through the gray light the opening of the greatest Exposition which they or the world had ever seen.

Buffalo Bill did not take his Indians to Midway Plaisance to meet the President.. Rocky Bear, the venerable chief of the Sioux, issued orders Sunday night for his. young warriors to dress themselves in their best clothing for Monday noon. Having painted themselves yesterday morning and. tied fresh ribbons in their long black hair, seventy-five Ogalallas and Brules were taken to the Administration buildingto meet. Mr. Cleveland. They were in charge of Major Burke and Jack Nelson, a scout. It was the biggest crowd Nelson ever got into in his life. He had not gone far before a wall of people swept him off his feet and drove his old coonskin hat into the jaws of a mountain lion resting on a pedestal at. one of the approaches to the lagoons. The Indians were taken into Administration: building and led to the top floor. The pan-orama spread out before them was so grand and so startling that they could not suppress› their emotions. It was with difficulty that they were led downstairs. Rocky Bear was introduced to the President. They shook hands. The President said "How do you do?" the Sioux said "How?" and then both. bowed profoundly.



THE climax in electricity's upward

march through the eighteenth century is reached when the World's Fair buildings and grounds are illuminated. Administration building is the first to be electrified, and its beautiful exterior from base to top of dome is gilded with rows of incandescent lights. At the base of its dome are thirty-two blazing torches on the bronze stands, ranged equi-distant around its circumference, adding much to its splendid appearance. The Peristyle soon adds its row of lights, and this is the signal for the triple row of arc lamps along either side of the lagoon to lend their aid, and in an instant they are sending bright rays across the waterway, completing the band encircling the grand plaza.

The main lagoon gleams under the sheen of the thousands of lights like a great mirror. The arc and Peristyle lights form its gilded frame, and around the sides about a foot from the water's edge a row of electric bulbs lends the added beauty of a golden bevel to the splendid plate. Powerful search-lights on top of the Manufacturers' and Agricultural Buildings and Music Hall bring out new beauties in the scene for the benefit of the spectators. Golden "Diana" perched on the dome of the Agricultural building with arrow pointed directly toward Music Hall light comes in for a share of inspection. The three search-lights when concentrated upon the magnificent MacMonies fountain situated immediately in front of the Administration building render the marble figures immaculate in an instant, and the glare falling full and powerful upon the handsome women at the oars and in the seat of honor, send dazzling rays of crystal purity down and across the silvery wave.

The truth is, this electrical display is, next to the palaces and the architectural effect, the most brilliant and entrancing thing in the Exposition. If there were nothing here but the big buildings, their ornamentation of statuary, their water fronts, and the electricity, the show would be worth traveling across the continent to see. There is not a single feature in which the Exposition is a disappointment. It is strong in every department. But the electrical display partakes of the marvelous, the sublime, the incredible.

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Naturally it is a thing which must be seen to be appreciated. You never saw an artist who could paint the constellations of the heavens? You never knew a writer who could describe the glories of the firmament? Nor could artist or writer, or both together, give you anything like an adequate idea of the beauty of this electrical manifestation. The most that he can hope to do is to impress the fact that it is a spectacle which every man, woman and child in America who can do so should see and enjoy. Spend a night in beholding the brilliancy of the scene about the central court and within the Electricity building. See the mammoth pillar of fire, composed of thousands upon thousands of electric lights in various hues and with alternating currents which produce effects beautiful beyond one's dreams. See the lightning arresters-electrical posts with broad, spreading arms up and along which the current leaps with magic strides, leaving behind it a counterfeit representation of the lightning of nature, only more vivid, infinitely more beautiful, See the Assyrian temple, illuminated by innumerable electric lamps placed behind screens of inlaid glass made with all the soft hues known to the art. See a hundred ingenious contrivances for the display of the power and the effect of this new and most wonderful servant of our race— things which will thrill and astonish you, and fill your mind with thoughts of the almost infinite ingenuity of man and his almost divine control of the forces of nature. Another correspondent writes of this blaze of living light:

Jackson Park at night is a perfect flood of electric glory, and for many visitors is far more attractive than by day. Every foot of it is resplendent with light, and many of the effects produced are startling in their novel brilliancy. The electric fountains are a never-failing source of delighted wonder to thousands and thousands of people, and the crowds never seem to tire of watching the incessant changes of color, form and force which create the beautiful effects that evoke their admiration. The search-lights, too, attract a deal of attention because of their novelty, especially the powerful one casting its radiance from the summit of the Manufactures building, which casts a trail of light as brilliant as the sun, and can be seen, it is said, for a distance of a hundred miles. But it is not only these unusual features that deserve commendation.

Without a warning bell or a signal note lines of fire sped up the ribs of the dome of the Administration building and leaped to scattered points in the crown. A ring of beaded light swept around the base of the dome, and as the mightiest coronet conceived by man was outlined against the darkening vault of heaven the multitude below broke into admiring applause. Across the south fronts of the Mining and Electricity buildings lines of twinkling lights burst into the glory of being. Down the façade of the leviathan Manufactures building, across the manycolumned Peristyle and along the Agricultural and Machinery halls, flashed the rows of electric lamps. Over the building sacred to the products of the field hung a bright circle like a golden aureola. The skylights in the Manufactures building were great opalescent bands, and the interior was flooded with the radiance of the big electric chandeliers. Fire answered fire. The torches on the Administration building, sentinel beacon lights, were answered by twinkling fires on the steamers out at sea. Magnesium fires in the central arch of the Peristyle threw its columns and statues into a ruddy glow and made the golden statue of the Republic stand out in rosy relief.

The crowning act in this glorious spectacle was the illumination of the south lagoon. A row of incandescent lamps in the walls inclosing the lagoon and a few feet above the water flashed out in a serrated line of glowing electricity. The waters, stirred into gentle ripples by a soft wind, shimmered in brilliant radiance. Around the edge of the lagoon ran a broad band of reflected light, and every tiny wavelet had a thousand facets with answering scintillations.

The street lamps, arc lights in white globes, dotting the grounds, were reflected in the lagoons as globes of fire with radiant, comet-like streamers, and faded out of sight in the darkness of the north, where the dome of the Illinois building loomed up as a bright beacon. A glare in the sky beyond was the only hint of the great city near at hand, and a flitting streak of light across the dim horizon proved, on closer inspection, to be the electric lights of the intra-mural railroad.

The Administration building was brilliantly illuminated within, and hundreds of enthusiastic people climbed the laborious stairs to the balconies about the dome. The sight from this point of van

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tage was magnificent and awe-inspiring. The ten thousand, incandescent lamps made the adjacent grounds as light as day. The waters of the MacMonies' fountain rose in arching jets and fell in misty spray. The rush and splash were blended into a murmuring anthem, which rose and spread in soothing gentleness. A search-light on the music hall, mounting toward the dark zenith, was turned upon the fountain, transmuting the jets into silvery rainbows and the falling drops into sparkling pearls.

The girdle of light around the grand basin, made of electric lamps two feet apart and about three feet above the water, reflects the light and seems to double its volume. Around the big buildings at a uniform height of about 60 feet are bands of incandescent lamps. These add new beauties to the architecture and lend their radiance to the general illunrination, while the statue of Diana stands out above the Agricultural building, bathed in a flood of glory cast by a hidden reflector. See these effects from the pier just once, and then go home and forget the glorious vision if you can.

And still another correspondent, attempting description of this scene of matchless splendor, says:

With incandescent lamps blazing from all sides of the Administration building, that mammoth structure presents a magnificent spectacle. These lights are 16candle power, and their rays illuminate the grounds and adjacent buildings so brilliantly that a pin can be seen in the roadway. The dome of the building looks as if it were studded with diamonds, while the cornice illumination, with a background of white, is a sight never to be forgotten. The Peristyle, Casino and Music hall are also illuminated, nearly two thousand globes casting their rays on the bronzed statue of the Goddess of Liberty at the east end of the building. The reflection from the lights casts dancing shadows on the water, and, looking east from the Administration building, the lagoon forms a picture of wondrous beauty. But these are not the only illuminations. The Manufactures, the Mining and the Agricultural buildings are also lighted brilliantly.

On the dome of the Administration building are eight ribs, and on each rib are forty incandescent lights that burn. for hours. The cornice just below the dome is studded with four hundred and

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