The march is begun a little before two o’clock; and, although the people have been standing on the sidewalks since early morning, they have plenty of enthusiasm left, and they fill the air with their shouts and hurrahs as regiment after regiment of magnificently drilled soldiers and horses marches by.

Even after the electric lamps are lighted, men and horses are still tramping along the avenue, and people are still shouting and the bands playing and flags waving.  And all this time the President stands in front of the White House, reviewing the marching thousands as they pass along.

But although the big parade finally comes to an end, the festivities are not yet over.  Late into the night the city is brilliantly illuminated by magnificent and wonderful fireworks and powerful electric search-lights that shine from the tops of the tall buildings and light up the great dome of the Capitol and the Washington monument.  Then comes the grand inaugural ball.  There are over ten thousand people present, and the scene is a glorious and wonderful sight.

It is almost sunrise when the last carriage rolls away, and with the closing of the ball the inauguration festivities end.

=Easter Day=

Easter is the Sunday that follows the 14th day of the calendar moon, which falls upon or next after the 21st of March.  This Sunday, when Christian churches celebrate the resurrection of Christ, is one of solemn rejoicing.  Coming after the self-denials of Lent and at the beginning of spring, it seems naturally a time of hope and new life.  It is the feast of flowers, particularly of lilies, and the name had its origin in a festival in honor of the goddess of spring.  The esteem in which it is held is indicated by its ancient title, “The great day.”

=A SONG OF EASTER=

BY CELIA THAXTER

            Sing, children, sing! 

And the lily censers swing;
Sing that life and joy are waking and that Death no more is king. 
Sing the happy, happy tumult of the slowly brightening Spring;

                        Sing, little children, sing!

            Sing, children, sing! 

Winter wild has taken wing. 
Fill the air with the sweet tidings till the frosty echoes ring! 
Along the eaves the icicles no longer glittering cling;
And the crocus in the garden lifts its bright face to the sun,
And in the meadows softly the brooks begin to run;
And the golden catkins swing
In the warm airs of the Spring;

                        Sing, little children, sing!

            Sing, children, sing! 

The lilies white you bring
In the joyous Easter morning for hope are blossoming;
And as the earth her shroud of snow from off her breast doth fling,
So may we cast our fetters off in God’s eternal Spring. 
So may we find release at last from sorrow and from