“Chicago is Mr. Nobody without the smoke, like Japan without a fan. The prosperity of a modern city is measured by the bulk of its smoke, Morning Glory. But I don’t approve of their using a cheap coal. Health has to be guarded,” my uncle said. A driver carried us from the station as if we were pigs. Mind you, this is Chicago illustrious for its hams. I barred my ears with my hands in the carriage. The thunderous noise menaced me so. Do roses blossom well in the turbulent air? I have no doubt that Chicago has no poet. “Cook County fosters three thousand poets, one paper says, my young woman,” Uncle said in laughter. “Don’t say so!” “As soon as I had established myself in the hotel, I inscribed—with the longest apologetical ojigi to Mr. Shelley—as follows: “Hell is a city much like Chicago, A populous and a smoky city.” 8th—How sad I felt, not to be greeted by even one star from my hotel window last night! I was disgusted with the poor taste of the coffee. Such a first-class hotel! Coffee and maxim, I have said, should be of the very best. Commonplace words with the golden heading of Maxim would be as cheap as a negress with white powder. I would choose even a bread pudding rather than a suspicious cup of coffee. Uncle failed to secure a box of cigarettes. The most delicate shape for smoking is the slender stalk of a cigarette. The cigar ever so much impresses me as barbarous. Chicagoans might say it was the only manly smoke. Truly! Chicago is the City of Man (whatever that means). I’m glad that the young gentlemen with genteel canes under their arms don’t open any cigar-stand conference here. Such an abomination in Frisco! No drones, whatever. My uncle was going out sight-seeing with me in a silk hat. I objected to it. Plug hat doesn’t suit informal Chicago. He changed his frock-coat for a sack-coat. “Now, Uncle, you look more like a Chicago gentleman!” I said. Yes, this is a plain sack-coat city. He was fussing with a handkerchief. I said, laughing: “Never mind, Uncle! I am sure the men don’t carry it here, since the women never carry a purse in their hand.” Isn’t it awful that one (even a stranger) ought to know everything in Chicago? A slight question to the street people would be condemned as a nuisance. Even the policeman shows no chivalry. I was sorry that the colour of his suit was bitterly faded. Isn’t Chicago rich enough to furnish a new one? I suppose many dogs must be hanging around here, because the policeman arms himself with a piece of wood for chasing them off. I should like to know if there is any blacker house than the City Hall. It will be a matter of a short time before the Chicago River turns to ink. Then we went to observe the Lake of Michigan from Lincoln Park.