the opposite side of the avenue; the regimental canteen, in the shape
of the Southern Restaurant, jostling them rather too closely. Somewhat
in keeping with the over-prominence of the latter adjunct is the
militia-like aspect of the array, wonderfully irregular as are its
members in stature and style. Pennsylvania's pavilion, costing forty
thousand dollars, or half as much as the United States building, plays
the leading grenadier well; but little Delaware, not content with the
obscure post of file-closer, swells at the opposite end of the line
into dimensions of ninety by seventy-five feet, with a cupola that, if
placed at Dover, would be visible from half her territory.

[Illustration: NEW JERSEY BUILDING.]

These buildings are all of wood, with the exception of that of Ohio,
which exhibits some of the fine varieties of stone furnished by the
quarries of that State, together with some crumbling red sandstone
which ought, in our opinion, to have been left at home. All have two
floors, save the Massachusetts cottage, a quaint affair modeled after
the homes of the past. Virginia ought to have placed by its side one
of her own old country-houses, long and low, with attic windows, the
roof spreading with unbroken line over a portico the full length of
the front, and a broad-bottomed chimney on the outside of each gable.
The State of New York plays orderly sergeant, and stands in front
of Delaware. She is very fortunate in the site assigned her, at
the junction of State Avenue with several broad promenades, and her
building is not unworthy so prominent a position.

From the Empire State we step into the domain of Old England. Three
of her rural homesteads rise before us, red-tiled, many-gabled,
lattice-windowed, and telling of a kindly winter with external