for police duty. We may add that the Centennial has brought back
the red-coats, a detachment of Royal Engineers, backed by part of
Inspector Bucket's men, doing duty in the British division.

After these first drops of the military shower one looks instinctively
for the gleam of the spiked helmet at the portals of the German
building, seated not far from that of Spain, and side by side with
that of Brazil. It does not appear, however. Possibly, Prince Bismarck
scorns to send his veterans anywhere by permission. Neither does he
indulge us, like Brazil, with the sight of an emperor, or even with
cæsarism in the dilute form of a crown prince. Such exotics do not
transplant well, even for temporary potting, in this republican soil.
It is impossible, at the same time, not to reflect what a capital card
for the treasury of the exposition would have been the catching of
some of them in full bloom, as at the openings of 1867 and 1873. A
week of Wilhelm would have caused "the soft German accent," with its
tender "hochs!" to drown all other sounds between Sandy Hook and the
Golden Gate.

Let us step over the Rhine, or rather, alas! over the Moselle, and
look up at the tricolor. It floats above a group of structures--one
for the general use of the French commission, another for the special
display of bronzes, and a third for another art-manufacture for which
France is becoming eminent--stained glass. This overflowing from her
great and closely-occupied area in Memorial Hall, hard by, indicates
the wealth of France in art. She is largely represented, moreover, in
another outlying province of the same domain--photography.

Photographic Hall, an offshoot from Memorial Hall, and lying between
it and the Main Building, is quite a solid structure, two hundred and