nd. The two swung together into a harmony of marching. These boys,
ordered to the front, were going, steadfastly, as in duty bound. They
loved this "send-off." They marched with vigor in their steps, because
ten thousand handkerchiefs waved from the windows along the line of
march.

On the sidewalks was assembled a strange crowd. There were the
stenographers taking their noonday outing. Many were carefully
over-powdered and perfumed. They were dressed after the latest
fashion--a long way after it!

But the Midinettes were a very small proportion of those wild to see the
real soldiers.

All New York had heard the troops were to march that day. And all New
York turned out to see the regiments.

There are a myriad phases of metropolitan life. Those phases were
illustrated that day in the crowds along the line of march. The bulk of
those clustering at the curb were of a sort eager for a free show. In
the countless loft buildings bordering the avenue were hordes of men and
women too busy in earning a pitiful wage to think of anything so
frivolous as a procession, with banners waving and bands playing. But
while these had no thought of marching troops, there were innumerable
others. For New York is a city gigantic. Within it are hosts. Some of
these always are idle. Some, always eager for the free show of the
streets.

So, to-day, when the troops are to march by with shrill of fife and
blatant noise of band, the multitude comes scurrying, curious to see,
patriotic with the emotional patriotism of one just become a citizen of
a free country, where before he was the unrecognized and unhonored
subject of despotism, from which he fled in search of liberty.

New York is a city of millions. It is the biggest city on earth. It is
the melting pot of nations. The crowd that lines the curb is of one
sort. There is another sort marching the length of the avenue. And this
is a mixture to bewilder any beholder. A countryman from New Jersey,
with his wife and children comes to-day for this splendid free show of
the troops that are to march; the countrymen from the reaches of New
York along the Hudson, with the same purpose; his fellows from Long
Island, from Connecticut. With these alien figures, treading the
principal city street of the world, are others. Those who walk there
daily walk there again to-day. The clubman, coated, hatted, gloved to
perfection, takes his accustomed stroll on the avenue, and looks with
contemptuous disg