It was four o’clock P. M. before the last howl died on the summer air, and then the crowds began moving towards the “Grand Plaza.” Here the display of fireworks was to take place under the direction of Professor Jackson, son of the Professor Jackson who directed the famous fireworks at New Orleans some years previously. One large piece was erected in honor of each State in the Union, and one in honor of each Nation represented in the Exposition. We make a few extracts from the programme (printed on white satin) which was handed to each attendant at the “Plaza,” young and old, rich and poor. 21. THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA:--A large Quaker with broad-brimmed hat in blue and gold. His feet represent, respectively, Philadelphia and West Philadelphia, with the Schuylkill River, at white heat, flowing between. The tip of his hat typifies the State House steeple, and Seybert’s bell will ring inside while the piece is burning. 40. THE EXHIBITION BUILDINGS:--Gold, silver, and currency flames, with violet lights in relief. The commissioners in red, white, and blue, with stars darting from their eyes, distributed judiciously through the piece. 54. THE LION AND THE EAGLE LYING DOWN TOGETHER:--Symbolic of the peace ’twixt England and America. N.B. The Eagle is inside of the Lion. 72. PEARLS BEYOND PRICE:--A golden oyster opens and emits in order the coats of arms of the thirteen original States. 84. A GOOD PUFF:--A mammoth cigar, which, shedding its outer wrapper, will reveal the form and features of General Grant in blue blazes. [GETTING HOME.] At 5.15 o’clock, Professor Jackson thanked the Lord that all his preparations were completed; at 5.20 the Lord responded with the heaviest shower of rain witnessed since the deluge. It exceeded Mr. Jackson’s usual showers, in the same proportion as this spectacular effort was to have exceeded his former pyrotechnic exhibitions. The fire-works were turned to water-works, and the crowd sadly and slowly worked its passage home. CHAPTER X. “THE SMOKE.” ... HOW IT WENT UP. [Illustration] Sere and yellow grows the leaf in these closing pages of our volume, and in now recording the last doings in connection with the Exposition, we would have such a splendid opportunity for enlarging upon the mutability of mundane affairs, that we regret having neither the space nor contract for moralizing. We feel that we could say something striking, something original, something to be remembered on the reader’s deathbed, as a balm and consolation--but alas, prosaic publishers forbid; they will not allow us to inscribe words which might make death appear desirable.