The secret of making money out of these great fairs seemed to have been lost.  Although England’s second took in much more than the first, and four times as much as the first French, four hundred and sixty thousand pounds having entered its treasury, it failed to leave any such profitable memorials of profit.

By this time the spirit of French emulation was stirred to its inmost depths.  They had gone to London, argued the Gauls, under every disadvantage.  To prove that they had returned covered with glory, they hunted every nook and corner of numerical analysis.  Out of 18,000 exhibitors of all nations, they had had but 1747, and yet Paris had received thirty-nine council medals, or honors of the first order, per million of inhabitants, against fourteen per million accorded to London.  She had beaten the metropolis of fog not only in general, but in detail.  In every branch, from the most solid to the most sentimental, she was victorious.  For machinery a million of gamins beat a million of Cockneys in the proportion of seven to six; in the economical and chemical arts, four to one; in the geographical and geometrical, eight to three; and in the fine arts, Waterloo was reversed to the tune of twenty to four.

Nothing could be more conclusive; but to take a bond of fate it was determined to imitate England in trying a second display, and supplement ’53 with ’67 more effectively than Albion had ’51 with ’62.  In what gallant style this determination was carried out we all remember.  France did put forth her strength.  She illustrated the Second Empire with an outpouring of her own genius and energy the variety and comprehensiveness of which no other nation could pretend to equal; and she called together the nearest approach to a rally of the nations that had yet been seen.

The casket of these assembled treasures was hardly worthy of them, so far as the effect of the mass went.  It needed a facade as badly as does a confectioner’s plum-cake.  Had the vitreous mass been dumped upon the Champs de Mars from the clouds in a viscous state like the Alpine mers de glace, it would have assumed much such a thick disk-like shape as it actually wore.  Then decorate it with some spun-sugar pinnacles and some flags of silver paper, and the confiseur stood confessed.  Nevertheless, motive was there.  Catch anything French without it.

[Illustration:  FLORENCE EXHIBITION BUILDING, 1861]

The pavilion consisted of seven concentric ovals, the arcs and their radii effecting the duplicate division of objects and countries.  Outside, under the eaves and in the surrounding area, the peoples were encamped around their possessions.  The gastric fluid being the universal solvent, the festive board was assigned the position nearest the building, a continuous shed protecting the restaurants of all nations, each with its proper specialty in the way of viands and service.  Necessarily, there was in the carrying out of the latter idea a good deal