THE PARKS 113 



Lincoln Park has a holiday air of gaiety that 

 suggests some European capital, rather than 

 business-like Chicago. The park is fairly over- 

 flowing with people, mostly of two types heavy 

 German families that have sat bare spots in the 

 grass, and chance visitors in eager haste to see 

 everything there is to be seen and to do everything 

 it is possible to do. 



There is zeal for accomplishment rather than 

 for enjoyment. Infected by it, the o. m.'s peda- 

 gogical spirit becomes rampant, and the children 

 are dragged into the Academy of Sciences, and 

 made to look at bones and bugs. Gentle reader, 

 tell me why? In Jackson Park is the Field 

 Museum, much ampler and more attractive, 

 yet never on a sunny picnic day is she moved to 

 visit it. At other times Art goads her on and 

 she marshals the children off to the park's chief 

 glory, the St. Gaudens' figure of the Great Eman- 

 cipator. As we sit on the stone bench surrounding 

 the statue, and gaze at the great kind face kissed 

 by the afternoon sunbeams that glint through the 

 trees, we find quiet and momentary repose. But 

 soon the children demand the statue of their own 

 Hans Christian Andersen and his ugly-duckling 

 swan, and we snub Schiller and Franklin and the 

 other dignitaries to go to find it. From this swan 



