belong!" exclaimed Belle. "I've seen before those
Eastern-looking towers and minarets, with the sunset glow on the cloud
masses behind them. Look! there's a Turk and a Hindoo crossing the
bridge. This is the region, this the soil, the clime. I always knew I
wasn't meant for Western America."

"You must have been very naughty _last time_ to have been raised in
Michigan this trip. Still this is only Chicago!"

"It's not Chicago! It's the world! Listen to that now--the music of the
spheres!"

We approached another gondola that had withdrawn itself from the center
of the channel close in to a small island. The man at the stern was
doing nothing very picturesquely, but the man at the bow, a swarthy
Venetian, was pouring out his soul in an aria from "Cavalleria
Rusticana." His voice might not have passed muster at Covent Garden, but
in the unique stage setting, which included a group of eager listeners
on abridge behind him, one could forgive a break on a high note or two.

The singer threw himself into the spirit of the composition, cast his
eyes upward with hand on his heart, and bent them to earth again for the
approval of his passengers. There were but two, a young man and a young
lady, and to the latter was the hero in costume directing his amorous
glances.

"There's romance for you!" said I to Belle, who is notoriously on the
lookout for it. I directed our gondolier to draw nearer to his
enamoured compatriot. My wife replied uneasily:

"I don't know the man, or boy, for that's all he is, but if that isn't
Mary's hat----"

"Mary! Phew! What's become of Axworthy?"

As we approached the comfortable-looking pair, Mary bowed to us
smilingly, and called the attention of her companion to her "father and
mother"--darn her impudence!

The boat ride was spoiled for Belle and me, our white elephant having
arisen to haunt us once more. We landed and walked over to the lake
front, where the whole slope was packed with people waiting for the
fireworks to begin.

Someone started to sing "Way Down upon the Swanee Ribber," and everybody
joined in. "Nearer, my God, to Thee" was also most impressive from the
vast impromptu chorus. In the foreground Lake Michigan lay darkly
expectant, with a large black cloud upon its horizon, though the stars
shone overhead. A half-circle of boats extended from the long Exhibition
Wharf on the right, round to the warship _Illinois_ on the left, and
from the latter a search light, an omnipres