CHAPTER XVI.

CONFLAGRATION CITY.

HICAGO has become familiarly known to most persons, from its fires, and there are few, I opine, who have had

any experience of that city, who have not suffered through fire. Fire would appear a special idiosyncracy of certain cities, Constantinople for example. America, as a whole, is greatly given to fires. Chicago is the fire capital. All the fires I have ever seen in the course of my life have been in America or Constantinople. To be "burnt out" in Chicago is a matter of course. I, however, was "burnt in," and could not get out, and was obliged to sit on my window-sill, three storeys high, waiting for the fire-escape, the stairway having been cut off by flames and smoke. The scene at the top of the stairs was terrific. About two hundred people were trying to rush down together, and to carry with them some of their belongings.

Trunks, portmanteaus, baskets, hat-boxes, valises, bundles, men, women, and children, were all jumbled together in one inextricable, struggling mass. A theatrical troupe was staying in the hotel, and their déshabille was marvellous, infinitely more comic than anything they had ever displayed on the boards! Even at that horrible moment one's risible faculties were evoked, as well as one's disgust, for I saw not one instance of gallantry towards these fascinating beauties.

The fire occurred on a Sunday morning about seven o'clock, when few toilettes were complete, or even begun. I chose the rope-ladder rather than the staircase, and emptying my trunks into the blankets, made them up into bundles, and hove them into the street, having first communicated with one of the hundreds of spectators to take charge of them. The fire-engine service, though usually voluntary, is most effective in America. It was a great sight to see the engines come tearing down the street, unlumber in a moment, and throw up a perfect mitraille of water, like a battery. Then it fell upon our roof, and nearly drowned me, as I sat perched on my window-sill. That same hotel had been burnt down twice, and "If they are burnt out this time," said a spectator, "I guess that ought to be the end, and a caution to them not to put it up again!"

But it was not burnt down this time; no lives were lost, and no property of any account, except to the proprietor of the hotel, who, besides the damage sustained by fire and water, had the misfortune to lose half his boarders. Most of them carried off their effects in the mélée, and forgot to return to pay their bills.

Beside the peril of fire, Chicago is also notorious for the "peril of marriage." The Paradise of bachelor and maid, it is woe to married man and woman. It is no respecter of status. is prone to "giving in marriage," and married men commit bigamy in their own despite, while married women are snapped up like flies on a

trout stream.

It

It is asserted that all trains passing through Chicago stop twenty minutes for divorces and for the performance of the marriage ceremony. Missing husbands may generally be found at Chicago. A lost wife has most frequently been kidnapped there. It is a dangerous city to visit. Whether the "burning out" will save you from matrimony, or, vice versa, wedlock from fire, I cannot undertake to say, but one or other is surely imminent, and it may be a lesser evil to sit on a window-sill three storeys high on a cold, bitter winter's morning, than to get more husbands than one knows what to do with, like the celebrated Duchess of Kingston.

Chicago, as a town, is about thirty years old, having been previously only a trapper settlement; now the commerce in corn and pork is gigantic. It has been wholly or partially burnt nearly as often as it numbers years; but, like a hardy beggar, it prospers on its wounds, and, finally, it has persuaded the world at large to furnish supplies to build it up again, and handsomer than ever. It is one of the least pleasing or interesting cities of America, though for rapid wedlock or making a fortune, the most go-a-head of them. By the way, wedlock is not a proper term; there is no lock whatever to the wedding. Chicago bridals are as easily dissolved as made.

CHAPTER XVII.

INDIANAPOLIS. -CIVILIZED POLYANDRY.

NDIANAPOLIS is the capital of the state of Indiana, which covers an area of ground larger than the whole of Ireland; but when this is said the likeness ceases. Big is the striking feature everywhere. Extent is the thing which forces itself on the attention of every traveller. In any other respect Indiana would fail lamentably in comparison with the Emerald Isle. Whilst Ireland has splendid cities, and a population of six millions, Indiana has for its capital a small town of fifty thousand inhabitants, who are dubbed with the title of "Hoosiers"-a rough set of people, similar to those of Rochdale, Burnley, etc.

Indianapolis was not so flourishing as might have been expected from its being in a Republican, non-slavery state. More than half of the working men were idle, and the high rate of