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The nation's birthday party, which should have been somewhat of an occasion, has been a flop. From its opening last May, amid the glory of Shrine rituals, the Sesquicentennial at Philadelphia has proved a grim burlesque. It is now dragging itself to a timely death and the chief, the only attraction which remains is the fact that a celebration of such low vitality could have so long endured; and even this wonder is is explained by the presence of contracts preventing an earlier closing.

One hundred and fifty year is a respectable age; it demands either adequate recognition or honorable silence. But a Coney Island holiday lasting for months and drooling away into a hug loss for all concerned is an insult.

World Fairs may be relics of the mauve decade, in which case the failure of the Sesquicentennial is more easily understood. Such an explanation, though if he the kindest, is not the most logical, for a good jamboree will always attract the multitude. In some other cause lies the reason for the fiasco. And the most probable is that of a lack of preparation, coupled with an over abundance of graft. It is possible that the fifteen million dollar loss which she will suffer may teach Philadelphia the lesson of preparedness; and it is also possible that Philadelphia is through giving parties.

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