It was a short walk from the Art Palace to the Auditorium Building, which is a grand hotel and a theatre, and whose corridors might have been halls of the Pharaohs, they are so dazzling, airy, and beautiful. Every one here seemed to be in a hurry. If each one’s life were to be fated to end with the day, no one could be more in a hurry. Yet every one looked happy; it was not an anxious hurry, but an inspired hurry. New York is slow and Boston slower, but here is the clock of destiny, and one must _do_, ere it strike. The Chicagoan loves Chicago, and resolves to make it the grandest city in the world. [Illustration: LA SALLE.] The dream is likely to be fulfilled. Our good Quaker friend said to a boy in the pillared waiting-room of the Auditorium: “My boy, how many miles is it to Boston?” The boy gave a lightning glance, gathered up his mouth for one long breath, and answered:— “Thirty-two hours from Boston (1150 miles); twenty-nine hours from Montreal; twenty-six hours from New York; twenty-four hours from Philadelphia; twenty-six hours from Washington; three and a half days from San Francisco; five days from the City of Mexico; nine days from Queenstown; ten days from Paris; fifteen days from Rome, and sixteen from St. Petersburg. Are there any other places that you would like to inquire about?” “The land of the ocean! No, not now. You seem to know all about the world. Who is your father, my lad?” “Daddyism don’t count in Chicago. You came from the East.” “Yes, I came from the East; and how might a man from the East best see Chicago?” “Take an elevator—don’t you know the dining-room here is up top, and the roof sweeps the city, the Lake, the Fair and everything!” “Take an elevator?” said our sedate friend. “I never take any; I favor temperance principles.” “Oh, then take _the_ elevator. There, it is running now!” “How many inhabitants do you claim, my lad?” The answer was as extraordinary as the first:— “South Division, half a million and more; West Division, half a million and more; North Division, quarter of a million and more. I reckon we are about two million in all. Can’t keep the run of the census here.” “My boy, if I should conclude to go to Lincoln’s tomb at Springfield, what road would I take?” The answer was more amazing still:— “Oh, take the C. A. or the A. T. S. F. and change, or the C. A. and change, or the C. I. If you take the C. A. or the A. T. S. F. or the C. I., you will have to change in this way”—Here the boy began such a distortion of the alphabet as could only be heard in a primary school. “Do you know all the railroads that go out of Chicago?” asked the Quaker.