freedom and space. The openings of the arches, being the only free and
unconfined passageways through the south facade of the palace group,
provide the natural draft on this side for the interior courts. The air
rushes through at all times, even when no breeze is stirring outside.
This uncramped movement of air currents, far from being unpleasant,
gives the same sense of open freedom that one gets on a bold headland,
where the ocean winds whip the flowers and lay the grass flat.

From the court behind the Tower you see the mansioned hills of San
Francisco through the colonnades like panelled strips of painting; and,
looking northward, the long spaces over the bay to the great Marin hills
beyond.

The jewels on the Tower give it a singularly gay and lively touch when
the sun is bright and the wind blowing. The wind is seldom absent around
the top of so lofty a structure, and there these bits of glass are
always sparkling. At night they produce, under the strong white light of
a whole battery of giant reflectors hidden on other buildings, the
mystic haze that shrouds the Tower. They were a fine idea of the chief
of illumination, W. D'A. Ryan, giving just a touch of brilliance to an
Exposition otherwise clothed in soft tones. The jewels are only hard
glass, fifty thousand of them cut in Austria for the purpose, prismatic
in form, and each backed with a tiny mirror. Hung free to swing in the
wind, they sparkle and dance as they catch the sun from different
angles.

As the great gate to the Exposition, the Tower becomes historical in
relation to the event celebrated beyond its archway. Its purpose, from
this point of view, is to tell the entering visitor briefly of the
milestones along the way of time up to the digging of the Canal. Its