ation between the spectators and
the guests--a separation at least sufficiently complete for working
purposes. There was no time during the festivities which ensued when
there were not groups of onlookers in the doorways and the corners;
and if any one of these onlookers came sufficiently close, or looked
sufficiently hungry, a chair was offered him, and he was invited to the
feast. It was one of the laws of the veselija that no one goes hungry;
and, while a rule made in the forests of Lithuania is hard to apply
in the stockyards district of Chicago, with its quarter of a million
inhabitants, still they did their best, and the children who ran in
from the street, and even the dogs, went out again happier. A charming
informality was one of the characteristics of this celebration. The men
wore their hats, or, if they wished, they took them off, and their coats
with them; they ate when and where they pleased, and moved as often as
they pleased. There were to be speeches and singing, but no one had to
listen who did not care to; if he wished, meantime, to speak or sing
himself, he was perfectly free. The resulting medley of sound distracted
no one, save possibly alone the babies, of which there were present a
number equal to the total possessed by all the guests invited. There was
no other place for the babies to be, and so part of the preparations
for the evening consisted of a collection of cribs and carriages in one
corner. In these the babies slept, three or four together, or wakened
together, as the case might be. Those who were still older, and could
reach the tables, marched about munching contentedly at meat bones and
bologna sausages.

The room is about thirty feet square, with whitewashed walls, bare save
for a calendar, a picture of a race horse, and a family tree in a gilded
frame. To the right there is a door from the saloon, with a few loafers
in the doorway, and in the corner beyond it a bar, with a presiding
genius clad in soiled white, with waxed black mustaches and a carefully
oiled curl plastered against one side of his forehead. In the opposite
corner are two tables, filling a third of the room and laden with
dishes and cold viands, which a few of the hungrier guests are already
munching. At the head, where sits the bride, is a snow-white cake, with
an Eiffel tower of constructed decoration, with sugar roses and two
angels upon it, and a generous sprinkling of pink and green and yellow
candies. Beyond