Travels in Philadelphia/On the Sightseeing Bus
ON THE SIGHTSEEING BUS
A feeling of sour depression, consequent upon mailing the third installment to Ephraim Lederer, led us to seek uplift and blithe cheer. The sightseeing bus was filled except one seat by the driver, and we hopped aboard. The car was generously freighted with Sir Knights and their ladies, here for a convention of Templars. There was also one baffled gentleman from South America, who strove desperately to understand what was happening to him. From some broken remarks he let fall we think he had boarded the vehicle under the impression that he was taking a taxi to a railway terminal, where he wanted to catch a train for New York. At any rate, when we approached Independence Hall he was heard to ask plaintively if this was Broad Street Station. He kept uttering this inquiry with increasing despondency throughout the voyage.
It was a merry and humorous occasion. The gentleman who sits on a little camp stool in the prow of the bus and emits history and statistics through a megaphone is a genuine wag. His information is copious and uttered with amazing fluency. But we were particularly interested in the Sir Knight who slept peacefully through most of the ride, which was a long one, as we were held up by the big industrial parade on Broad street and had to take a long detour up Thirteenth street and Ridge avenue. During a spirited wrangle between our guide and the conductor of a trolley car, who asserted that we were nesting on his rails and would not let him pass, the drowsy Knight awoke and took a keen interest in the proceedings. Otherwise he will look back on the tour in a pleasantly muddled haze of memory.
The pathetic zeal and eagerness with which the passengers hang upon the guide's words is worthy of high praise. It is an index of our national passion for self-improvement. But after two hours of continuous exhortation we began to wonder how much of it would stick in their minds. The following, we imagine, is not an unfair representation of the jumbled way in which they will remember it:
Guide: Observation car now leaving Keith's million-dollar theatre for a systematic tour of the City of Brotherly Love. As soon as William Penn had taken possession of the land he laid plans for a large city at the junction of the Drexel and Biddle families. On your left you see the site where Benjamin Franklin, the first postmaster general, discovered the great truth that a special delivery letter does not arrive any faster than the ordinary kind. Also on your left is Black's Hotel, where Benedict Arnold was married. On your right is Independence Hall, the office of the only Democratic newspaper published in the city. Further down this street is the Delaware river, which separates the city from Camden, the home of the largest talking soup factory in the world.
We are now turning north on Fifth street, approaching Market street, the city's fashionable residential thoroughfare. Directly underneath your comfortable seats in this luxurious car pass the swift conveyances of the subway, forming the cheapest entrance into the great department stores. By means of this superb subterranean passageway ocean steamers arrive and depart daily from all ports of the globe. On your right observe old Christ Church burial ground, all the occupants of which were imported from England. Under the large flat slab lies Benjamin Franklin, the first postmaster general, and his wife, the beautiful Rebecca Gratz, the heroine of Walter Scott's novel, "Hugh Wynne." Now touring past the Friends and Quakers' meeting house, the birthplace of Old Glory. On your left the Betsy Ross house, occupied by 1600 poor orphan boys. Not far from here is the Black Horse Tavern, the favorite worshiping place of General George Washington.
Touring west on Market street. Directly in front is the tower of the City Hall, 36 feet in height, surmounted by the statue of Russell H. Conwell. The building with the dome is Mr. Cattell, the city statistician, the author of the famous baseball poem, "Acres of Diamonds." The vast edifice on your left is Temple University, founded by Stephen Girard, the originator of the price "$1.98, marked down from $2." Here we make an interesting detour to avoid the congestion on Broad street. On your right the residence of the late Doctor Munyon, the famous hair restorer, the man who said that every self-respecting man should have a roof garden of his own. This is the city of homes: there are 375,000 single homes in the city, each one equipped with the little instrument you will notice attached to the second-story windows. This is called a Busybody, and is a reflecting mirror used to tell when the rent collector is at the front door. On your right is the North Penn Bank, where Benjamin Franklin flew his famous kited check, extracting electricity from the bank examiners.
We are now approaching Fairmount Park, the largest public playground in the world. On your left is the aquarium, the local headquarters of the Anti-Saloon League. It is open to the public six days a week and to the fish at all times. In this aquarium is held the annual regatta of the Schuylkill Navy. The building in the distance with the dome is Horticultural Hall, filled with all manner of weird tropical visitors. This commodious tunnel was carved out of the solid rock of the Vare organization by J. Hampton Moore, the well-known sculptor of public opinion. Across the river is the Zoological Garden, the summer residence of Robert Morris, the well-known cigarette maker. On your right, carved out of sandstone, are the lifelike figures of Tom Robins and the other three members of the committee of 1000, immortalized in Edgar Allan Poe's poem, "Tam o' Shanter." Returning down the Parkway we pass the magnificent grand stands erected at the time of the Centennial Exposition and maintained ever since for the resuscitation of those unable to get seats on the Market street trolleys. I thank you for your kind attention and have here some nice postal cards—