dings and admiring impartially sections
of trees from Cuba and plates of apples from Wyoming, modestly
expressed a desire for some relaxation.

"The Midway is something more than a feature, it is an element. It
is the laugh that follows the tears; the joke that relieves the
tension; the Greeks invariably produced a comedy with their
tragedies; human nature demands relaxation; to appreciate the
serious, the humorous is absolutely essential. If the Midway were
not on the grounds the people would find it outside. Capacity for
serious contemplation differs with different peoples and in
different ages,--under Cromwell it was at a maximum, under Charles
II. it was at a minimum; the Puritans suppressed the laughter of a
nation; it broke out in ridicule that discriminated not between
sacred and profane. The tension of our age is such that diversions
must recur quickly. The next great Exposition may require two
Midways, or three or four for the convenience of the people. You
can't get a Midway any too near the anthropological and
ethnological sections; a cinematograph might be operated as an
adjunct to the Fine Arts building; a hula-hula dancer would
relieve the monotony of a succession of big pumpkins and prize
squashes."

At that moment the Professor became interested in the strange
procession entering the streets of Cairo, and we followed. Before
he got out it cost him fifty cents to learn his name, a quarter
for his fortune, ten cents for his horoscope, and sundry amounts
for gems, jewels, and souvenirs of the Orient.

Through his best hexameter spectacles he surveyed the dark-eyed
daughter of the Nile who was telling his fortune with a strong
Irish accent; all went smoothly until the prophetess happened to
see the Professor's sunburnt nose, fiery red from the four days'
run in wind and rain, and said warningly,--

"You are too fond of good eating and drinking; you drink too much,
and unless you are more temperate you will die in twenty years."
That was too much for the Professor, whose occasional glass of
beer--a habit left over from his student days--would not discolor
the nose of a humming-bird.

There were no end of illusions, mysteries, and deceptions. The
greatest mystery of all was the eager desire of the people to be
deceived, and their bitter and outspoken disappointment when they
were not. As the Professor remarked,--

"There never has been but one real American, and that was Phineas
T. Barnum. He was the