At another time this weak pun would not have been noticed, but upon that weary, slow ride anything was a relief: when the horses stopped to drink, it was an event; when a new passenger got on (one did), the excitement was intense. But nothing hastened the wagon. It meant to get to Chicago if it took all day; and after awhile they did begin to see buildings more closely set, and then they entered a beautiful park. The driver said it was Washington Park, and on consulting a map afterward, the boys made up their minds that he had guessed right—there were some things the driver knew.
The park was flat as a board, as is all the country for miles around; but as the ground was mainly given up to beautiful green lawns extending as far as one could see, the effect was excellent, and marred only by some very florid designs laid out in colored plants. One of these designs formed a sun-dial, called “Sol’s Clock”; another showed a few bars of “Hail Columbia.”
THE POST-OFFICE. THE CITY HALL, CHICAGO.
(From photographic prints. By permission of C. Ropp & Sons, Chicago.)
Even Mr. Douglass had now given up his visions of dashing along to the sound of a “yard of brass,” and so far from being at all nervous, would not have been afraid to stand upright in any part of the coach. He kept thinking of a parody upon Shakspere’s description of the school-boy: “A tarry-whoa, creeping like snail, unwillingly to Chicago.” By this time they were in Michigan Avenue,—a thoroughfare with beautiful grass plots along the street, but houses that did not please an architect who was also on top of the coach. He declared all but a few of the houses to be fussy and tiresome; and the boys noticed that those he commended were plain and simple in their outlines, and little decorated.
At Twenty-second Street, they saw the Chicago street-cars, and found that they ran in trains of three coupled together, an arrangement of which they heartily approved. As they passed a baker’s cart, a small boy leaned out and whipped the horses of their coach; whereupon several of the passengers thanked him warmly, even though his efforts produced, no result. Still, in time they did reach the city, and recognized the lofty Auditorium, an enormous pile of stone, so many stories high that the boys lost count in attempting to reckon them. Soon after they admired the Art Institute, “a broad and low building of impressive design.” They also saw the foundations being laid for another great building, and remembered having read in St. Nicholas that these heavy structures could be supported only upon artificial foundations, such as long piles driven deep into the soft ground. The Masonic Temple was also seen as they passed through the busy part of the city.
There was a smoky smell in the air, and their first impression was of being down-town in Broadway, New York, when a great fire was raging, filling the air with smoke. Possibly the smoke was worse than usual, for rain was falling at intervals and the air was heavy.
HOUSE OF JOHN KINZIE,
THE FIRST WHITE SETTLER.
None of them talked much, for the slow drive was anything but enlivening. They went along Lake Street for some time, and then wandered on until they drew up at the Waterworks. Here, despite the protests of the passengers, there was a halt of five minutes, and some got out and went in to see the machinery. When all were on board again, the scenery slowly changed, and they found out that they were in motion once more. But as they had reached the Lake Drive,—a beautiful boulevard, and one of the system of drives that encircles the city, connecting Chicago’s great parks into a ring of pleasure-grounds,—the slow driving was not so irritating. They saw Mr. Potter Palmer’s castellated mansion fronting the lake, and passing other fine dwellings, reached Lincoln Park.