It has already been truthfully stated that several thousand dollars of the people’s money have been set aside with which to entertain our Oriental guests. Last night’s experiment proved to be a superb success. The Masonic Temple’s insignificant proportions were dwindled to Lilliputian size in the vain effort to make it resemble some gorgeous Eastern landscape. In the vain pursuit of this Quixotic dream General Myers purchased pink and white tarletan by the rod and furlong; carpenters nailed it to the ceiling, to the roof overhead, and to every other available spot worth mentioning. Where there was no place for tarletan, the gallant general plastered the stars and stripes. A couple of fountains were placed in the upper part of the room, and it was said Japan in miniature was represented on its watery surface, but no persons present would have found it out unless they had been told previously that this was the original program. Hanging baskets were attached to the ceilings by long strings, a threatening menace to the brains below, whilst birds in cages were suspended in such a way as to cause serious alarm as to personal safety. Then cards of invitation were issued, calling the faithful together between the hours of 9 and 11 o’clock. At 9 o’clock the writer stood within the enchanted hall of the Masonic Temple. The sight was sorrowful if it was not imposing. The imperial chandeliers had not been lighted. Carpenters were hard at work nailing tarletan to finish out the eastern sky. Workmen were hurrying with tables and flower pots and other et cetera of the landscape. Humbler hands were scrubbing the floor, whilst one or more men were finishing up the corners with an unpoetical mop. In the centre of all this grandeur stood the Secretary of State, supported by General Banks; only a short distance from them, to the left, were the wives of these distinguished officials. As the landscape was to be heated after the Esquimaux style, that is, by hanging lights and the warmth of human bodies, the damp floors had to be dried by opening the windows of the magnificent temple. Through these yawning holes came the Arctic blasts. Mrs. Fish wrapped her royal ermine mantle around her; Mrs. Banks drew the folds of her opera cloak close. It had previously been agreed that those ladies who had elected themselves “to receive” should get to the temple precisely at half past 8 to put the last half dainty touches to the brilliant surroundings. It was a few moments after 9, and only Mrs. Fish and Mrs. Banks and a newspaper intruder, who was bound to tell the truth, unless she chose the majesty of silence!