The sun has set for the last time on the World’s Fair of ’93; for the last time his dying smile has lighted up the fairy courts, the gleaming splendor of statue and portal. Slowly as he sinks to rest, so slowly, solemnly, sinks the forest of fluttering flags and banners; each tall staff soon reaches up in the gathering night bare and stark.
View from the Administration Plaza. [Image from The Graphic History of the Fair. Graphic Co., 1894.]
To-day we wandered through the desolate streets, resounding to the rattle and clatter of trucks; climbed over railways in every direction; tried to enter building after building but were refused admittance. Everywhere dust and ashes; only the lake was the same, and even that, put on a cold repellant look unlike its summer smile of welcome.
We wandered about like lost souls and could have wept for the pity of it. We felt that we could have sympathy with Chicago’s martyred mayor when he replied to the question what would he do with the World’s Fair buildings “put the torch to them. Let them disappear in one night.” Yes, let them be remembered only in their beauty. Let them die young, before the despoiling hand of time has marred them.
The Fish and Fisheries Building.[Image from The Graphic History of the Fair. Graphic Co., 1894.]
As we left the grounds for the last time the evening mists were rising. We stood on a bridge near the Fisheries’ building; its broidered tracery of column and towers clearly reflected in the lagoon. The mirroring water stretched far away, and through the rising vapor the huge glass dome of the Horticultural building rose dimly and was repeated in the water which was mournfully fringed with leafless shrubs, all sadly drooping towards its surface. The water lost itself in the gathering gloom and far away the domes and spires of the Court of Honor showed like cloudy visions, that would soon melt and disappear. Passing, passing; we shall see thee no more.
The Horticulture Building looking south and across Wooded Island. [Image from The Graphic History of the Fair. Graphic Co., 1894.]
On by the Woman’s building, resounding no more with the voice of the multitude, past the Midway where a locked gate forbids entrance, through the turnstile for the last time. Farewell. Thou wert a foretaste of Heaven in thy satisfying completeness; thy charm which cast away all thought of self; thy witchery, which made man look on his fellow as a brother, hushed all loud and angry voices, filled each heart with kindness, and taught all courtesy of manner. Thou wert a faint shadowing forth of the fullness of joy surrounding the great white throne, where the soul absorbed in tranquil love and beauty, shall lose itself in the contemplation of its source.
FINIS.
The End. [Image from The Graphic History of the Fair. Graphic Co., 1894.]
