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.

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.

The bones of two waiters from one of the restaurants, had been discovered in the bath-room of the Sandwich Island Commissioners, picked clean.HOKEE POKEE
WINKEE FUM. 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

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.

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.UNWARRANTED
LIBERTIES. 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.

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, YOUTHFUL
DEPRAVITY.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,

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 A BURNING
SHAME.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.”

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 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 SEE NO
SEÑORITAS.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

visited this country incognitoA STATE
SECRET. 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.