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.

You are standing, sir, directly upon the equator.” Our country cousin jumped aside in terror; his face grew white, his knees trembled, his hair stood on end. It was our first visit to the Main Exhibition Building after its opening, and he had accompanied us.

“Great Heaven!” he gasped, “why did they leave it around here—is it dangerous?” and he backed into an Italian brigand who was strolling leisurely along, “it oughter be in the zoological department,” he added, and peered around for a glimpse of the animal.

We smiled pityingly.

“The equator, our dear cousin,” said we, “is that broad chalk line marked across the floor of the building. It represents the centre of the earth. Here, take the glasses;—now observe,—that main mast or telegraph pole, painted white and decked with ribbons, which you see at the extreme end of the avenue, is a very complete fac-simile of THE NORTH
POLE REACHED
AT LAST.the North Pole. Now, turn around;—that clothes prop (kindly loaned by Mrs. Forney) represents the South Pole. At one end, to speak poetically, we have Greenland’s Icy Mountain, at the other, Mrs. Forney’s Coral Strand. Let us take a cursory glance of what lies between.”

We do not propose to give more than the merest superficial account of the wonders and glories of the great display. Everywhere the eye rested it was dazzled with jewels, silver, splendor, and—and—so forth. Striped gauzes, magnificent bronzes, burnished armor, superb laces, fine inlaid work, unique carvings, rich and rare fancy goods, musical instruments, books, acres of useful articles, miles of ornamental productions, food, clothing, and—and—more so forth.

Perhaps it would be best for the intelligent reader to imagine himself, or, more happily, herself, in our pleasant company, cousin and all. But first a word of warning to the intelligent reader. After many sleepless days, the managers had decided to arrange the nations in geographical order, as far as possible—and to leave the rest to Providence. Therefore the intelligent readers will do well to follow the example of the intelligent authors, and forgetting any geographical knowledge they may happen to possess, leave their rest to Providence also. They will spare themselves many sudden shocks and annoying perplexities. Such, for instance, as this: taking one avenue straight along and passing consecutively through Austria, South Sea Islands, Manayunk, Siam, China, Morocco, Beverly, Egypt, Darby, France, Switzerland, and Tipperary, ending up with Turkey and the Sultan ready, soap and towel in hand, to give the visitor a specimen of his luxurious patent bath. Or, coming back on the other side, to find in one long line, Germany, Sweden, Norway, England, Iceland, Doylestown, Ireland, British America, Media, and in the corner Japan, where a Mandarin and a Womandarin perform “Hari Kari” every day to illustrate the custom of the country,—the same parties, however, only appearing once in the same performance.

Naturally, our own country claims our first and best attention. From Maine to Florida, from Boston to San Francisco, State after State, city after city, makes its display. In addition to the separate and peculiar exhibits of the States, clusters of identical interests from North, South, East, and West, attest the resources and development of our land. Let us pause for a moment and examine the display of the

American Bankers’ and Brokers’ Association,POPULAR
TABLEAUX.

which will serve for an example of these latter.

We find the credit system very cleverly demonstrated. A working man enters into a banking house with his month’s earnings nicely tied up in the corner of his handkerchief: a blandly smiling clerk, with well pared nails and laundried linen, receives it and notes the amount in the depositor’s account book;—the workingman departs. Then the proprietor enters, gives a portion of the money to his clerk and puts the remainder carefully away—in his pocket. In another apartment, the projectors of a railway company offer a graceful financier one-half of their beautifully printed stock certificates, on condition that he floats the other half. A widow, with the money which she has just received as insurance upon her husband’s life, comes upon the scene. She makes known to the banker her anxiety to invest this money securely for the benefit of her helpless family. He magnanimously spares her a portion of the railroad stock, charging her but a small commission for his services. With the balance of his stock as collateral, he borrows money from a national bank and makes a corner in flour. Through the window of this apartment there is a beautifully arranged vista, showing the banker building a magnificent villa and settling it upon his wife. A third compartment contains the closing tableaux:—a meeting of assignees declaring a dividend of nothing, payable in twelve, twenty-four, and thirty-six months, and the banker stepping on board of an A, 1, steamer, to pass the remainder of his life in ease and luxury among the wonders and beauties of the old world. In this department also, we find a collection of the coins of our country, at which its people look in amazement. A father is endeavoring to explain to his son, a boy of twelve, what these gold and silver pieces were once used for. It is an interesting study in ancient history for the lad, but he is doubting as youth is apt to be, and does not appear thoroughly satisfied that they were ever current money.

We push our way rapidly through the States. Maine has her liquor law, charmingly framed—but we find her Commissioners in Kentucky drinking Kentucky lemonade. Vermont exhibits a green mountain boy; the look in his eye belies his color. Massachusetts presents her genealogical tree. Rhode Island is represented by an immense specimen of inflated bullfrog. New York has on hand her canal ring, blazing with diamonds. Pennsylvania has her Switchback. Delaware another kind of switchback—her whipping post, and here we delay our progress to admire hers. Great bodies move slowly, and the Delawareans have great bodies—but mighty little souls. Their “stocks” are up, however, and they don’t seem to care. We suggest that the Governor of the State and the members of the Legislature be thrashed alternately every hour, to give a general idea of the modus operandi to foreigners. Our suggestion is not received in the spirit in which it is offered.

But we do not succeed in completing our trip through the Union this day. Our country cousin brings us to a stoppage by his absurd conduct.

MISTAKEN
HOSPITALITY.One exhibitor offered him half a pound of mince meat: he devoured it. A Connecticut woman presented him with a small cheese, her own manufacture: it followed the footsteps of the meat. In Massachusetts he received a package of corn starch: he put it serenely where he kept his cheese. We looked upon him in amaze, but said nothing. A New York merchant handed him a small cake of transparent shaving soap. “My golly!” he remarked, “this beats a lunch route,” and he swallowed it whole. A New Jersey farmer offered him a string of dried apples: they went the way of his preceding receipts. A Pennsylvania matron begged him to try a draught of her buttermilk: he complied, and we saw him swell visibly before our eyes. Two ounces of Virginia Baking Powder was the next tribute: he winced a little at this, but—down it went. We tried to stop him, but too late—he just chewed a small stick of South Carolina stove polish, and then the baking powder accomplished its fatal mission. He mentioned that he did not feel very well. We expressed surprise and sympathy. He said he felt worse, and then he tried to smile, but alas, the apples lay heavy on his soul—he couldn’t. He asked if it wasn’t time to go home—he said it was a splendid show, but he thought he’d seen enough of it.

“Come home,” said he, “its dinner time.”

“Why,” we replied, “you’re not hungry, are you?”

He didn’t answer; he turned a reproachful glance upon us. We were now in Georgia, and a colored man held out to him a sweet potato pudding. Savagely he turned upon that negro, his eyes rolled wildly, he labored under intense emotions, mingled emotions of cheese, soap, and baking powder, he uttered one long despairing yell and sank down upon the floor. A crowd gathered about him in a second; two or three officials pushed their way through the assemblage and grabbed hold of him. “The first case,” they cried triumphantly; “carry him to the Hospital.” They bore our poor cousin to the

Grand International Hospital,

east of the Main Building, and we followed in tears.

A Turkish physician ran to meet us as we approached the structure. The Turks believe in radical cures—this one wanted to smother our relative between two feather beds. We objected. Two Chinese doctors stopped us at the doorway. One wanted our cousin to swallow three green lizards, the other recommended the immediate extraction of all his front teeth. An Indian medicine man here commenced dancing around us, yelling at the top of his voice, and banging an old tambourine with the shin-bone of an ass.

This was nothing! When we entered the building the international surgeons came down upon us like—like—like “a wolf on the fold.” This was the first case, and they were spoiling for a job. Our cousin looked in their eager and varied faces, he gazed upon the assortment of cutlery flashing around him—his lip quivered—he closed his eyes—and fainted. In less than two seconds that

Unfortunate Countryman

would have been dissected, and the doctors engaged in mortal strife above his severed limbs, had not a most diabolical uproar outside suddenly distracted their attention.

We all rushed to the grounds, and a blood-freezing scene of terror met our eyes.

“LONE SHIRT”
ON THE CHINESE
QUESTION. Mr. Lone Shirt, Mr. Full o’ the Rye, and Man with the Seven Big Bunions, Esq., the Chiefs of the Indian encampment, had been illustrating their native customs by a sudden

Raid on the Chinese Laundry.

They had attired themselves in the napkins, towels, and nightcaps there contained, painted themselves with the washing blue, burnt down the building, and were just about finishing up things by scalping the startled celestials when we burst out upon them. The Chinese doctors took one glance at affairs, swallowed their lizards, and jumped into the lake north of Machinery Hall.

The Exhibition Military, led by the Marine Cavalry, hurried towards the fearful scene. Would they be in time? The tomahawks of the Indians were raised, their hands grasped firmly the pigtails of their victims—when suddenly—behold!—The savages grew rigid as though turned to stone, motionless they stood with tomahawks still elevated, their hands still pigtailentwisted—Oh providential chance!—They had swallowed the starch contained in the laundry, and this stiffening was the fortuitous result.

The managers released the half dead Chinamen, and pointed out to Messrs. Lone Shirt, Full o’ the Rye, and Man with the Seven Big Bunions, the impropriety of their conduct. When the chieftains thawed limber, they promised solemnly not to repeat anything of the kind, and smoked the liberty bell pipe with the laundrymen.

This incident saved our cousin’s life. When we returned to the hospital, he had vanished, much to the sorrow and chagrin of the disappointed M.D.’s.

We did not feel like returning to the Main Hall immediately after this. We thought a stroll through Memorial Hall might be soothing to our system, and so we took it.

Philadelphians familiar with that

Chamber of Horrors

in old Fairmount Park, which the Park Commissioners persist in styling an Art Gallery, have been bred up to a proper appreciation of the “pageant which rose like an exhalation” before our admiring eyes; upon others, especially foreigners, the effect must have been tremendous.

It is not our intention to criticize the pictures separately, or to draw invidious comparisons between the work of our own and other artists. Courtesy to our late visitors forbids it; and besides, the national peace must be preserved at any cost. We must admit, however, that it struck us that a number of the paintings might have been improved by a liberal paring at the nails from which they were suspended. Some of the Italian sketches looked to us as though they had been painted with raspberry jam. The chiara oscura effect, so to speak, was visibly heightened by the tone of the sombre shades, and the clever intermixture of the mediæval style with the ante-Raphaelite touches—the extreme fulness of the light and motion, and the mellowness of tint, produced, as it were, in the minds of connoisseurs like ourselves, the comparison which we have made.

Artists, like fishes, go in schools. Masters, pupils, janitors, scrapers out, and pot boilers. They were all well represented, Flemish, Dutch, Italian, French, and American schools making the most extensive report. We will mention a few of the biggest paintings in the handsomest frames.

“MURILLO AND RUBENS—
PAINTING AND GLAZING.”Mr. Murillo, a Spanish painter and glazier, sent—in addition to his famous “Madonna”—“The Parable of the Seven fat and Seven lean Cows.” This was a six-foot-square job. The seven fats were done in oil—the leans in water-colors.

Rubens was represented by a magnificent head of “Vasco De Gama;”—his feet were too large to frame. The likeness was excellent. Even a stranger, unacquainted with Mr. De Gama, could have recognized it at once—by the name in the corner.

A fine painting of Marat, executed by Miss Corday, was the biggest little gem in the French collection.

France also sent some sacred paintings, among them “St. Anthony’s Temptation” and “St. Vitus’ Dance.” Great Britain also had two sacred companion pieces—“Christ before the Priest” and “Christ after the Priest.”

In the American Department, a superb work entitled “The Salary,” appealed most directly to our feelings. It could not have been drawn with more ease by a Vandyke or Paganini.

“Wm. Penn treating the Indians” occupied a prominent corner.

“The Empty Jug” was a pathetic masterpiece, a subject which came directly home to the hearts of many who looked upon it.

For square inches and lavish extravagance in paint, “The Norsemen landing at Vineland, New Jersey,” deserved a prize.

Scores of virgins of all styles and sizes adorned the walls. Virgins clad in every costume worth mentioning, and a great many not worth mentioning. They were consigned by the Angelo Factory at Rome.

The sign and fence painters of the United States school made a very fine display.

Rothermel had his patent “S. T. 1860 X.” beautifully done in white-wash on the south wall of the building, and Moran, who pays more attention to marine work, had “Sea-weed Tonic” tenderly drawn in blue and gold. Bierstadt, the architect, sent a plan for a model brewery.

We felt so completely soothed after seeing this much that we didn’t enter the statuary department. We left that for another day, and jumping on a horse-car we made our way over to

Machinery Hall.

Imagine all the machinery the world contains in motion at the same time, and add about five million more machines to that. This will bring you as near the truth as this volume ventures to approach.

Fire, smoke, sweat, and labor; whirring and whizzing, banging and clanging, pounding and puffing, tinkling and jingling. One would think there were seventy thousand horses at work instead of the forty we have mentioned. Everything is being manufactured here—from a tooth-brush to a locomotive; from a latch-key to a wash-boiler. Each workman at a machine is attended by another man placed there expressly to answer questions and be interrogated by visitors. These latter men are carried away and revived every hour.

The famous individual who took a prize at the Paris Exposition, is here with his wonderful machine. You give him a live rabbit, and in fifty minutes he returns you a felt hat and a Welsh stew.

Keeley’s Motor was set up here a few days previous to the opening of the Exhibition, but somehow the machine got loose and knocked things into splinters.THE UNDERLAND
ROUTE. It dashed through the main entrance, got on the track of the Market Street cars, rushed clean down to the foot of Market Street, destroying everything in its way, and plunged into the Delaware River just eight seconds after leaving Machinery Hall. Workmen were put at dredging for it immediately, and before they gave up hope of recovering it, a telegram was received from Pekin, saying that it had passed through the Emperor’s palace, carrying the roof with it, and vanishing into space. From the hour telegraphed as the time of this occurrence, it was calculated that the machine landed in China just nineteen minutes after it left Elm Avenue. Mr. Keeley ascribed the cause of this freak to one drop of water too much, being in the reservoir.

There was another sort of motor on exhibition, however, which seemed especially attractive and novel to the boys. It consisted of nine strips of leather attached to a wooden handle.

The improved hotel front-tooth-picker was an object of attention in the American department, as was also the automatic hen for laying egg plants.

The patent American awning post rest, a neat pair of extended arms to support a reclining form, was much remarked; and a patent range, “warranted to save half the coal,” was very well spoken of: you buy two of them and you require no fuel at all.

Herring’s Hay Making Machine, for making hay in cloudy weather, and Rollin’s improved Iron Pump, for the use of newspaper reporters, also deserve mention.

In naming this pump to be used by interviewers, we must not forget an ingenious little instrument invented expressly for the protection of the parties interviewed.THE INVENTION
OF THE AGE. It is a silver-plated contrivance, which may be readily fastened to the bottom of any chair. The interviewer is invited to take a seat. At his first impertinent remark, a little knob is touched and a flat implement shaped like a No. 22 foot, begins bouncing up and down at the rate of seventy bumps a minute, and before the reporter knows what has happened, the top of his head is interviewing the ceiling of the room.

When he comes down to see what’s the matter, this implement follows him to the door, accelerates his progress down stairs, and giving him a parting bump on the sidewalk, shuts the front door and hops up stairs again. The papers pooh-poohed this contrivance, but it gained a first prize nevertheless.

A French apparatus for winding silk out of cocoons was also truly wonderful. While the cocoons are serenely enjoying their dinner or dreaming of the pains and pleasures of the world, a huge bobbin is quietly unravelling their interior department. They don’t know what has been going on till they turn around and see the silk dress which has been stolen from them.

We stopped for a moment before a condensed baker, and saw crackers and biscuit baked, buttered, and eaten by steam. This made us think of lunch. We selected the American Restaurant from the many within the inclosure, and entered.

We were politely handed chairs and a bill of fare. The chairs were low,—the bill must have been made out on the top of Sawyer’s Observatory, there was no other way to get it so high. The list was printed in three languages, and the customer was expected to pay in half a dozen languages, though only allowed to eat in an a b c. We drank a cup of tea, ate a biscuit, looked at the Beefsteak à la mode de Paris, and the Potatoes fricasse haute nouveate, sighed, and left our watches in pledge, while we sallied out to try to raise the amount of our bill on our life insurance.

After completing this negotiation at the International Insurance Bureau, we started for the Horticultural Building, but the

Model Cemetery

which we were obliged to pass, suited the state of our feelings so well that we paused to examine it.—We soliloquized:—

“In the midst of death we are in life,” said we originally,—“oh death, sweet death, in the midst of all this life are we reminded of thee;—in the excitement and the turmoil thy quietness is here. Lo, the labor of man’s hand and the production of man’s mind we find about us,—we look, we wonder, we admire, but what, what are these hands and minds to thee? Nothing; nothing save the dust which in thy mill——” We were interrupted by a THE UNDERTAKER’S
DRUMMER—A
DEAD BEAT.gentleman who approached us and invited us to invest in one of his patent coffins. He had any number of testimonials from parties who had used them, stating that under no consideration would they use any other. He said we might try one, and if we didn’t like it we needn’t feel compelled to keep it. He seemed very anxious to discover whether we had any sickly relatives. He took us through the undertaker’s department; showed us shrouds, sombre trappings, gold and silver trimmings, rosewood caskets, all the paraphernalia for a pleasant and comfortable send off. He escorted us through the marble yard, mentioned what kind of a tombstone he thought would best suit our condition, quoted verses of poetry which he thought would make suitable inscriptions, and was really so attentive and persistent that the truth dawned upon us at last;—he was placed there to talk visitors to death and brisken up business for the exhibitors.

He earned his salary,

whatever it was. He explained the system of cremation, and told us if we had any old aunts or grandmothers about the house to bring them down and he would take pleasure in demonstrating its beauties practically. He induced us to purchase three or four little coffins made from the wood in Independence Hall, to be worn as watch charms;—“very sensible mementos of the occasion,” said he.

It was by an almost superhuman effort that we broke from him at last,—we barely saved our lives,—that is all—we walked off a few yards and then—oh, intelligent reader, let us draw the veil!—we ourselves were carried to the Hospital.