Everybody is moving toward Pennsylvania Avenue, where the parade is to
march. No, not everybody: some fifty or sixty thousand make their way to
the Capitol, so as to get a glimpse of the inauguration exercises that
take place on the east portico; and although the ceremonies will not
begin until nearly one o'clock, the great space in front of the Capitol
is packed with people three hours before that time, some of them having
come as early as eight o'clock in the morning to be sure of getting a
good view.

Early in the morning Pennsylvania Avenue is cleared of all street-cars,
carriages, and bicycles, and no one is allowed to step off the sidewalk.
A strong wire rope is stretched along each side of the avenue, so as to
prevent people from getting into the street.

Soon every window and balcony along the line is crowded with spectators.
Even the roofs are black with people, and small boys may be seen
perched among the branches of the trees, or hanging on to the
electric-light poles. For a distance of nearly three miles, on each side
of the street, people are packed so closely together that it is almost
impossible for them to move. In every park and open space along the line
large wooden stands have been erected; and these, too, are filled with
those who are willing to pay for seats.

As the time for the morning parade draws near, the crowds become
restless with eagerness and excitement. Policemen on horseback dash up
and down the avenue to see that the road is clear, and every now and
then a trooper or messenger in bright uniform gallops past. Suddenly the
boom of a cannon is heard. The next moment there comes the distant roll
of drums, and then, amid the inspiring music of brass bands and
tremendous cheering, the procession appears moving slowly down the