s in a single
night. In brief, they are proud of all the things of which they should
feel shame; and even when their buildings have been measured and their
pace has been recognised, their vanity is still a puzzle. For, when
all the world has been satisfactorily amazed, what boast is left to the
citizens of Chicago? They cannot take delight in the soil, since the
most of them do not belong to it. The patriotism of the cosmopolitan
horde which is huddled together amid their lofty Cliffs must perforce
be an artificial sentiment. They cannot look with satisfaction upon
the dishevelled suburbs in which they live. They need not suppose the
slaughtering of pigs and beeves is the highest duty of man. But wherever
they dwell and whatever they do, they are convinced of their own
superiority. Their pride is not merely revealed in print; it is evident
in a general familiarity of tone and manner. If your cabman wishes to
know your destination, he prefaces his question with the immortal words,
"Say, boys," and he thinks that he has put himself on amiable terms with
you at once. Indeed, the newly-arrived stranger is instantly asked to
understand that he belongs to a far meaner city than that in which he
sojourns; and, even with the evidence of misapplied wealth before his
eyes, he cannot believe it.

And what amiable visions do you carry away from Chicago besides the
majesty of the lake, ever changing in colour and aspect, and the beauty
of Lincoln Park? A single memory lingers in my mind. At sunset I saw a
black regiment marching along Michigan Avenue,--marching like soldiers;
and by its side on the pavement a laughing, shouting mob of negresses
danced a triumphant cake-walk. They grinned and sang and chattered in
perfect happiness and pride. They showed a frank pleasure in the prowess
of their brothers and their friends. But, animated as the spectacle was,
there was a sinister element in this joyous clatter. To an English eye
it seemed a tragic farce--a veritable _danse macabre_.

Unhappy is the city which has no history; and what has Chicago to offer
of history or tradition? What has it to tell the traveller? Once she was
consumed, though she was not purified, by fire, and she still lives in
the recollection. A visitor to a European city goes forth to admire a
castle, a cathedral, a gallery of pictures. In Chicago he is asked to
wonder at the shapeless residences of "prominent" citizens. And when
the present civilisation fades and