Fanny had made the acquaintance of one of the ladies in charge of the educational exhibit of one of the states, and who occupied rooms on the grounds. This lady made arrangements for Fanny to remain over night with her and view a sunrise on the lake and over the "White City." It was to be an experience well in keeping with her emotional nature. The morning came, and the two placed themselves where they could see through the columns of the peristyle across the lake in the direction of the sun. They were sitting on their camp stools on the bridge east of the statue in the basin with their cloaks drawn tightly around them, waiting in awe as they saw the suffusions of color spread upward into the grey sky. Suddenly there is a flash of fire far out on the lake. The last pink curtain of mist rolled slowly away light and fleecy as cotton wool, and the sun, behind this lazy apparel of his rising, spreads a crimson glow over the sky and lake. Miles it comes across the rippling waves, stealing through each arch and pillared opening of the peristyle, creeping over the motionless waters of the basin and bringing brightness everywhere. Slowly the great ball of fire rises higher. Now it flashes upon the statue of liberty, now on Diana, aiming her arrow down into the laughing waters. Under its rays the winged angels on the spires of the palace of mechanic arts seem to start into life, as if they had but paused for an instant in their flight toward the land of dawning. Now the statues of the seasons, flanking the four corners of the Agricultural building, greet the day. Columbus, his face ever toward the west, rides onward with the sun in his triumphal car. He looks down on the work wrought out to his glory and honor, but his journey is westward still, out of the sunlight into the gloom. Against the dark western sky hangs the majestic dome of the Administration building, now a blaze of ivory and gold. The sun lifts slowly out of the water. Its rays shine white and clear. The tired guards lean wearily over the parapets of the canals, throwing bread to hungry swans. Flocks of seabirds sweep up and down the canals like the first flurries of autumn snow. The water fowl greet the day with joyous clamor, adding a quaint, rural touch, almost startling in this city of silent palaces. They splash about the wooded island, screaming lustily when boys come in skiffs to steal their eggs. Swallows and frowsy little sparrows flit from their nests, built in the very hands of the golden goddess of Liberty. From the roofs of every building there is a sudden flash of color. A thousand flags float in the morning breeze. Ten thousand workmen hurry through the sunny park. The mystical city of dreamland is again the workshop of the world. Three hours later our family were together in the art gallery glancing at the famous paintings and statues which the nations had given to show what subtle art can achieve on canvas and stone.