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AMY LESLIE AT THE FAIR.

Music Is Not a Breast Soother for the Cliff-Dwellers in Iron Houses.

THE RED MAN AND THE PAPER-CUTTER.

A Medley of Interesting Scenes and Incidents Sketched with Free-Hand Skill.

There is something poetic in the sympathy, loyal devotion and hopeless pride of the people of Poland for that nameless outcast country. The gentle fraternity acceptance of inevitable malheur and stanch braving of cruel wrongs is more forcible than the firmness of a kingdom, because the oppressed minority cling together with pathetic courage and their faithful battles are beautifully heroic and genuine.

Poland has no history but that it is fair and unhappy and the nest of buried genius. Pulaski and Petrovoski head a long list of gifted Polish men and women, aristocracy refined in the flames of gnawing ingratitude and poverty; great virtuosi, celebrated painters, tragedians, musicians, frigid but intense literature; Modjeska, Paderewski, Tschaikowski and a golden tablet of names. The Polish representation at the Fair is confined to a pretty little cottage hostelry, where bigos barazez (a wonderful salad steak, augmented with Polish condiments and kuemmel of dynamitic ferocity) is served under the craned necks of typical storks, which stretch their smooth, still necks out from the pouches. Count Rudiemski and Chicago's vote commander, Kiolbassa, engineered this quiet kitchen, and it is perhaps the most popular Bohemian resort in the grounds. Modjeska and Count Bozenta both express great disappointment that the house did not take the picturesque designs of a real Polish cottage, with the peculiar gables, vine-covered windows and odd projecting caves, but at least the brave, impoverished domain is represented at the Exposition and what it lacks in wealth is made up in beautiful completeness by the art exhibit, where all that is classic and soulful speaks from the galleries' favored walls.

Painters of such note and surprise do not come in any other instance from so small and gravely sorrowful a people. Cracow and Warsaw are conspicuous by contributions to the art collection. Men and women whose brushes breathe inspired dreams and tell of rich profligacy in genius. That splendid Polish sensualist with the perfectly inexcusable name who revealed his masterpiece "Nana" to alarmed Chicagoans last year has in the exhibit a superb example of his luxuriant style.

AMY LESLIE AT THE FAIR.

Music Is Not a Breast Soother for the Cliff-Dwellers in Iron Houses.

THE RED MAN AND THE PAPER-CUTTER.

A Medley of Interesting Scenes and Incidents Sketched with Free-Hand Skill.

There is something poetic in the sympathy, loyal devotion and hopeless pride of the people of Poland for that nameless outcast country. The gentle fraternity acceptance of inevitable malheur and stanch braving of cruel wrongs is more forcible than the firmness of a kingdom, because the oppressed minority cling together with pathetic courage and their faithful battles are beautifully heroic and genuine.

Poland has no history but that it is fair and unhappy and the nest of buried genius. Pulaski and Petrovoski head a long list of gifted Polish men and women, aristocracy refined in the flames of gnawing ingratitude and poverty; great virtuosi, celebrated painters, tragedians, musicians, frigid but intense literature; Modjeska, Paderewski, Tschaikowski and a golden tablet of names. The Polish representation at the Fair is confined to a pretty little cottage hostelry, where bigos barazez (a wonderful salad steak, augmented with Polish condiments and kuemmel of dynamitic ferocity)