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 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