Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 14, 1896, Page 6

4+— fret, \ -0-@-C-@-@-0-@-0-0- 0-6-8 THE REHEARSEL. b-0-0-0:004-560s-08 The stalls and the balcony of the empty, crescent-shaped hall, with its scent of last night’s cigars, are, in spite of the fitful shouts of ~music, asleep under brown-holland counter- panes, and all the movement is cen- tered in the orchestra and on the stage. Now and then stout, tired gentlemen lounge into view at the side of the stalls and yawn unrestrainedly, and punch themselves on the chest, and, after list- ening to the rehearsal of a song, yawn again and write something down in a notebook with a giant silver pencil and go away. On the stage, where the T gaslights look yellow in the sunlight, that, in spite of all opposition, has gained ad- mittance, is a back-cloth of Margate Sands, with lifelike visitors in out-of- date costumes and badly-drawn silk hats, and there is a persistent sound of carpentry behind. A lean, sallow youth in a screaming tweed suit is at the footlights, giving, in a confidential y to the band a new song, and mem- bers of the band, peering at the sheets of music on the stands, keep about half an eye on the conductor and play ating, tentative fashion. hi-ti-hi-ti-hi-ti and old hi- hi who is so glorious; hi-ti-hi-ti would but hi-ti- hi-ti-hi "Bwould be jawly sight better fer all of us, The lean youth walks round the stage with a swagger and fine conduct of his hooked walking stick to the changed rhythm: Yes, a jawly sight better fer all of us, A jawly sight better fer all of us. And when— The youth, singing thus mysteriously his topical song, comes down at the third line of the chorus and sends up softly to the empty gallery what is clearly the telling line of his song: And when hi-ti-hi-ti-hi goes to hi-ti-hi- ti-hi *Twill be— Shouted now with straw hat removed: —jawly sight better fer all of us. The orchestra plays hurriedly a swift symphony, and the lean youth resum- ing his straw hat, confides to the vacant auditorium another topical verse phrased in similarly obscure and re- ticent terms. When he finishes he says complainingly that they’ll have to put a lot more go into it at night; ahd the conductor says, “That’s all right, Tom- my, old man. We’ll pull you through.” Tommy, old man, asks the conductor what he says toa liquor. The conduc- tor promptly says “Yes,” and disap- pears. The orchestra discards the sheets of music, and a boy emerges from a door and gleans them, with a view, I think, to gold from their own- er. He is a somber boy who does his work aggressively, as though he felt himself destined for higher occupation. Move your ’oof, fat ’ead!” This to the cornet. “’Ow «can.I pick up any- fing if you keep your big foot all over itz" Cornet, unscrewing the mouthpiece of his instrument, asks what the youth is doing there at that time of the day, and adds that a little more of the ag- gressive boy’s cheek and he’ll fetch him a clip ’side the ears. “Do it!” says the aggressive boy, defiantly, dodging behind the euphonium. “Go on! Do it! You lift so much as a little finger at me and your life wouldn’t be worth a momink’s purchase. I’d alter your fice for you so that you’d ’ave to ply the cornet with the back of your neck. Then you'd look foolish, wouldn’t you? You'd be a perfec’ lafin stock, and—” Three ladies. Three ladies in extrav- walking dresses, and O, such They come on from the side “WE ARE THREE YANKEE GIRLS.” and nod to the orchestra, hand across the footlights band parts, bend down to shake hands with the first violin, fan themselves with their parasols, and laugh, for no reason at all, very much indeed. One of the three is in such excellent fettle that she cannot wait while the band parts are being served out, but must waltz around the stage and affect to take a header into the sea painted on the back cloth. “See here, now! We don’ want to stay here, mister, till the day o ’judg- ment—you understand me? We want this little canter got through as quick ‘as you can without breakin’ anny- thing.” The wearied first violin says—and I ‘think he means it—that he won’t keep the lively sisters a minute longer than he can help. “That's jest what I mean. Now let her go, Gallagher. Mamie, come right here now and attend to business. Mam- ie!” . “That’s me.” “Don’t keep foolin’ around now, but jest come here. P’raps you don’t mind lettin’ us have that symphony, mister, over again once or twice.” The three young ladies unpin their violet veils and fix them on their bod- ices with a pin. They throw their par- asols on a chair. (We are three Yankee gurls and of beauty we're We're just about the smartest gurls alive, ‘We've crossed the stormy ocean, for we had a kind o’ notion To find how many beans make five. We arrove but yesterday— the purls, “You'll pardon me, conductor.” The first violin sighs and taps the desk be- fore him with his bow, and the orches- tra stops awkwardly. “You won’t«mind my mentionin’ somethin’.” The eldest girl leans down confidentially. “This is a song that we're singin’ of.” The first violin says, with some irony, that he has guessed that from the way the ladies opened their mouths. “Thought from the way your band was playin’ that they might ‘ave looked on it as a kind of handicap race. It’s not! It’s jest a song, and we all start fair. Now that we've got a prop- er understanding about this, we'll ge on afresh.” The three ladies from America are a sore and bitter trial to the first violin, and he gives a sigh of obvious relief when the conductor (with another ci- gar) returns. The conductor adopts a different manner—a decided manner. “Look here, you young New-Yorkers,” says the conductor, briskly, “your song’s all right; you'll find it go like —no, no; let me finish what I’m saying, please—you’ll find your songs g0.as good girls, because there’s others wait- ing; and if we give up all the morn- ing to you, why, naturally enough, no one else will get a chance.” “These English musicmongers,” says the eldest of the three, accepting the returned band patts—for the somber boy does not seem to think it worth his while ‘to reappear—‘make. me tired.” A very fine figure of a matronly lady, who has been looking on impatiently at the wings and muttering to herself, comes now to the front and gives a glance that indicates annoyance at the three American ladies, who are pre- paring reluctantly to leave. “Thought they were going to stay the week,” says the fine figure of a lady to the orchestra. “Seemed to have taken quite a fancy to the place. They remind me of a—” “And what are we going to try over for you?” imterrupts the conductor. “Don’t mean to say you're going to give ’em something fresh?” “It’s all the guv-nor’s fault. He’s been pestering me to put on a new song; says the public wants it. As I told him, years ago I used to sing the same old songs for a—” “Well, come on,” urges the conduct- or, impatiently. “I’m beginning to feel peckish.” He opens the book before him with amazement. “You don’t mean to say—you don’t mean to tell me that you’ve been to this chap for it? Why, I’ve got a song of mine at home now that would suit you— How- ever, you know your own business best. Hurry up!” It is an arch, satirical, serio-comic song that the lady gives to the band, whispering it as one who, knowing that her voice is not what it was, con- siders it wise to use it sparingly and to reserve its strength for imperial oc- casions. It is for this reason a little difficult to catch the words of the verses, but the refrain is more obvious, because in this the orchestra, much to its annoyance, is forced to bear a part. The lady, shaking a yellow-gloved forefinger at the dim, vacant audito- rium, whispers with affected severity of manner: You men are so backward and so awk- ward and so shy. The orchestra shouts sulkily: No we ain’t; no we ain’t. If we maidens but glance at you, you are all inclined to cry. The orchestra, as before: No we ain’t; no we ain’t. O, you are so goody-goody and you are so very mild, I b’lieve you are as innocent and guileless as a child; You're all so chicken-’earted that you nearly drive us wild. The orchestra, with increased mo- ; roseness: No we ain’t; no we ain’t. There are so many verses of this, and the lady is so anxious that the orches- tra shall, in their responses, touch per- fection that the conductor, at the stroke of the hour from a deep-voiced clock out in the street, is forced to interpose. “There’s such a thing as a chop,” says the conductor precisely, taking the violin pad from his shoulder, “and there’s such a thing as a small bottle of stout. And if you ask me, I’m going to find ’em.”—St. James Budset, Chinese Women Pile Drivers, Piles are being driven in one of the new buildings for a foundation for a punch. They were eight dnghep in diameter and fourteen feet long. 'The staging was bambao, and so was | the frame for the hammer, which a round piece of cast iron, with a hole in the center for a guide rod, says Cassier’s Magazine. Attached to the hammer block were twenty-seven carried up to the top of the frame|and down on the outside, looking very much like the old fashioned maypbles. Twenty-seven women had hold of! the ends, and with sing-song, all together, pulled down; up the rod, four feet, traveled the hammer; then, at a scream, all let go, and down it on top the pile, which was unp: by a band or ring. The women paid 20 cents in gold per day. Maypole driver is in general | uss throughout Japan and China, Taking Out the Curve. 7 “Well, doctor, what ails me?” asked Sprockett, after the physician | ha¢ made an examination. “You have bicyclistaram kyph = replied the physician, “but I t) can soon straighten you out,”—P burg Chronicle-Tele , the most remunerative. | may be obtained. “THE VOCAL STUDENT.” Madame Melba on the Exactions and Rewards of a Musical Career. Madame Melba addresses students of music in an instructive, practical paper in the-Ladies’ Home Journal. She tells in her article on “The Vocal Student” of the necessity of securing a thor- oughly competent teacher .of practice and the care of the health; emphasizes the importance of being trained musi- cians as well as vocalists; talks of the monetary value of a musical training and of European study. With regard to the monetary rewards of a capable singer Madame Melba says: “Io a girl properly trained and qualified the profession of a vocal teacher is one of Good teachers are scarce and in great demand, and as the fees are large an excellent income Next comes the eareer of the church singer. Every | church has its choir, and in the major smoothly as anything. Don’t worry us | any more,” says the conductor, “there’s | ity of cases the soloists composing it are paid, and often well paid. Engage- ments as a drawing room singer can be secured in large cities when one has talent and faculty, and when the voice is not sufficiently large for its possessor to become a.concert singer. The fees of the successful concert singer are large; she is constantly in demand; her repertoire is of songs, not of entire roles, and is more easily acquired; her expenses are limited to the cost of a few evening gowns, in the place of scores of costumes. For the opera singer there is plenty of hard work, but for that there is the compensation of being associated in many cases with the famous artists of the world, whom to know is a liberal education.” Can't Escape the Bolero. It is impossible to escape from the bolero. Even if’ it were not so, it would be most undesirabie, since the make-shift at a coat is quite the jaunt- fest affair of the present up-to-date toilette. It forms a part of every smart street costume, and is even forc- ing its way into the make-up of dainty bouse and evening frocks. A wonderfully-pretty confection for evening wear has a narrow skirt of white glace silk shot with peach pink, with, at all the gores, full fans of gauffered mousseline de soie set in, finished at the top by clusters of very natural-looking pink roses caught with knots of pink velvet ribbons. ‘The bodice has a soft blouse of gauf- ‘fered white mousseline de soie, droop- ing over a deep ceinture of peach-pink ‘velvet, fastened at the back with big penne set in rhinestones. Over this ‘blouse, which is as dainty as a bit of frost-work, is worn a short bolero of jeach-pink velvet, with mousquetaire sleeves of the same. A rich Oriental ‘embroidery sets all along the edge of ‘he coat and sleeves, with a thick ruch- ing of mousseline de soie at the throat, uilt to set high up behind the head. | The bolero is a germent of economy. By possessing: two or three, one may evel in a seeming variety of costumes, yorn always with the same skirt. Be- ides, they are so-small as to be easily ade from left-overs from a costume, br from remnants of rich stuffs bought et sales. Brocades in big floral patterns make np beautifully in this way, and give a Gistinguished appearance to a plain gown. A pretty half-mourning house-gown Mousquetaire Sleeves. of black and white striped taffeta has a tiny bolero of pleated black chiffon, all set over with tiny jet butterflies. A Debutante's Revolt. “TI think it is so vulgar to come out,” said a coming debutante to her mother, half crying as she spoke. “Why, my dear,” exclaimed the latter, astonished, “what reason have you to say such an absurd thing as that?” “But I do,” persisted the girl. “Boys never come out. What is the reason of it all, 1 should like to know? It is really to an- nounce to the world that we are of a marriageable age and that we are upon the market. And then the way people have of discussing us and our chances, and whether we are ‘a success’ or not. It is perfectly intolerable. I think we are like victims decked for sacrifice. Do you for one instant suppose that papa would pay the enormous bills from the dressmaker and milliner and allow you to give a series of expensive dinners if it were not for that? He does not say so, and you do not say so, but you both know it is true. Of course, if I am not a success—that is, if I do not have attention and marry off—you will both be kind to me and resign yourselves to circumstances; but I know you will consider me a failure all the same. Then the criticism a girl is exposed to is almost as bad; her looks, her dress, her manners, her pow- ers of conversation are all discussed and decided upon. Altogether, it is a horrid ordeal, and I wish you would give me the money it will cost and let me start in business,” concluded this new young woman to the undissembled horror of her mamma.—Boston Tran- script. A Motner'’s Duties and Claims, In an article deprecating the ten- dency of mothers of the present day to escape the care and responsibility of their Edward W. training children, Bok, in the Ladies’ Home Journal, em- phasizes the distinction between a mother’s duties and the claims upon her time: “* * * When to a woman is given the sweetest delight that can come to her, motherhood, God gives with that delight a duty, the duty of a personal training of the child. Before that duty all outside work—I care not by what religious, charitable or philan- thropic word you may call it—should fall. No matter what outside work a woman may be engaged in, the best can only be a claim upon her time, and not a duty. And duties never conflict. God gives no more duties to a woman than she has the time or ability to fulfill. The exactions of the world are mot duties; they are claims. If there is time it is well to meet them. But claims being man-made and duties be- ing God-made the former must often be ignored and should be put aside where the latter calls. Women should think of this and bear it in mind a lit- tle more constantly than they do, es- pecially in these days of organizations, Tyrolean Hat, , White felt hat with high bent crown, bound and encircled with graduated folds in black velvet. Tuft of cock'r feathers. Maids’ Caps and Aprons. You can hardly allow your maid ser- vant to dress this year as she dressed last year if you want your establish- ment up to the fashions. Maids’ aprons and caps have chang- ed materially. The fashionable house apron is linen, @ coarse quality being the best. The linen should be very even and of that curious canvas-like texture observed in certain weaves. The cap matches the apron. The only trimming to the cap is a small bow of linen strings tied at the back and a little ruff of the same around the front. This is made by cutting the cap in circular shape and shirring it with the linen strings. Apron strings are a quarter of a yard wide and trimmed with two rows of homestitching. Very neat housewives buttonhole around the entire edge of the linen to strengthen it against tear- ing. While these aprons are not cheap they outwear many times the muslin ones.—Washington Times. Household Hints. Absorbent gauze is recommended by those who have used it for such house- hold use as drying glass and for towels and wash-cloths in traveling, as it dries very quickly and is very cheap. It is sold at wholesale drug stores. Excellent caramel ccokies are made from four eggs beaten until light, with two and one-half cupfuls of brown su- gar added, with one level cupful of flour, two teaspoonfuls of vanilla and eight ounces of melted chocolate. Drop the batter in small tablespoonfuls on a buttered pan. Bake in a quick oven. Seedless raisins with a fine flavor, both rich and sweet ,are of the novel- ties at the Boston food fair. These rai- sins are much finer in every way than the sultanas, which, though they may have the merit of being without seeds, are very insipid. The new raisins are made fro the white California grapes, ad are sold in three grades, according to their size. Those who buy ground spices will be glad to know that someone has thought of the inconvenience of pack- ing them in tin boxes, frcm which one must always remove the lid to see if her stock is low, and put upon the mar- ket first-class spices in sn all bottles, sealed with sifter tops. Larger pack- ages have the mouth of the bottles so large that a spoon may be inserted. Scent for the linen closet: Take half a pound of dried lavender flowers, half an ounce of dried thyme, Lalf an ounce of dried mint, one-fourth of an ounce each of caraway and grounnd cloves. One ounce of common salt, dried in the oven. Mix all well together and put into linen bags, which may be put into drawers of linen closets. The perfume will be delicate. A recipe for a very superior furniture polish given by a dealer in musical in- struments to a housewife, as the cause for the shining surfaces of the pianos in his rooms, consists of four table- spoonfuls of sweet oil, four tablespoon- fuls of, turpentine, a teaspoonful of lemon juice, and ten drops of house- hold ammonia. This polish must be thoroughly shaken before using, and applied with an old flannel or silk cloth. Rub briskly and thoroughly, which is at least a third of the merit. of all polishes. Use a second cloth to rub the mixture into the grain of the wood, and a third for the final polish. $ When sweet peppers are to be had, they may be stuffed with highly-sea- soned boiled rice or with cold meat chopped fine. An economical house- wife uses the ends of porterhouse steaks for stuffing the peppers, as well as for stuffing egg plant. The ends are cut from the steaks before they are broiled and simmered in a very little water until they are tender. The meat for stuffing should be well seasoned and have a little butter mixed with it, if too lean. Celery, chopped very fine, or parsley may be added to the meat, or a few chopped almonds, or oysters used occasionally, will make an old food seem a new one. IN SHAKESPEARE’S TOWNS. The Burgesses Refuse a License to the Lord High Admiral’s Players. “Master Skylark,” by Johh Bennett, is the leading serial of the coming year in St. Nicholas, beginning in the No- vember number. It is a story of the time of Shakespeare, and the poet fig- ures in it, This is a scene from the first instalment: “Oh, Nick! sucly goings on!” called Robin Getley, whese father was a bur- gess, as Nick Atwood came slowly up the street, saying his sentences for the day over and over to himself, in hope- less desperation, having hud no time to learn them at home. “Stratford coun- cil has had a quarrel. and there’s to be no stage-play, after all.” “What?” cried Nick, in amazement. “No stage play? And why not?’ “Why,” said Robin, “it was just this way: My father told me of it. Sir Thomas Lucy, high sheriff of Worces- ter, y’now, rode in from Charlcote yes- ternoon, and with him Sir Edward Gre- ville of Milcote. So the burgesses made a feast for them at the Swan Inn. Sir Thomas fetched a fine, fat buck and the town stood for ninepence wine and twopence bread and brouched a keg of sturgeon. And when they were all met together there, eating and drink- ing and making merry—what? Why. it came out that my Lord Admiral’s players from London town, ruffling it like high dukes, and not caring two pops for Sir Edward or for Stratford burgesses all in a heap; but sat then down at the table straightway, and called for ale as if they owned the place, and, not being served as soon as they desired, they laid hands upon Sir ‘Thomas’ server as he came in from the buttery with his tray full, and took both meat and drink.” ‘What?’ cried Nick. “As sure as shooting, they did!” said Robin; “and when Sir Thomas gentry yeomanry would have seen to it—what? Why. my Lord Admiral’s master play- er clapped his hand on his poniard- hilt, and dared them come and take it if they could.” “To Sir Thomas Lucy’s men?” ex- claimed Nick, aghast. “Ay, to their teeth! Sir Edward sprang up then and said it was a sbame for players to behave so out- rageously in Will Shakespeare’s own home town. And at that Sir Thomas, whom, ye know, has always misliked Will, flared up like'a bull at a red rag, and swore that all stage players be Yunagate rogues, anyway, and Will Shakespeare nither more nor less than a deer-stealing scape-gallows.” \ “Surely, he did na say that in Strat- ‘ford council?” protested Nick. “Ay, but he did—that very thing,” said Robin, “and when this was out, the master-player sprang upon the table. overturning half the ale, and evied out that Will Shakespeare was his very own true fricnd, and the swentest fellow in all England; and that whosoever gainsaid it was a hemp- eracking rascal, and that be would prove it upon his back with a quarter- staff whenever and wherever he chose, be it Sir Thomas Lucy, St. George and the Dragon. Guy ef Warwick, and the great dun cow, all rolled in up one!” “Robert Getley, is this the very truth, or art thou cozening me?” “T!pon my word, it is the truth,” said Robin. “And that’s nvt all. Sir Kd- ward cried out, ‘Fie!’ upon the player for a saucy varlet; but the fellow only laughed and bowed quite lo: ,and said he took no offense from Sir Edward for saying that, since it could not honestly be denied, but that Sir Phomas did not know the truth froth oo in broad daylight, and *wa@but the rem- nant of a gentlemay.to boot.” “The bold-faced rogue!” “Ay, that he is,” nodded Robin; “and for his boldness, Sir Thomas st-saight- way demanded that the high sheriff re- fuse the company license to play .2 Stratford.” *“Refnse the Lord High Ad niral’s players?” “Marry, no one else. And then Mas- ter John Shakespeare, wroth at what Sir Thomas had said of his own son, Will. vowed that he would send a let- ter down to London town, and lay the whole coil before the Lord High Ad- miral himself. For ever since that he was hich bailiff, the best companies of England had always heen bidden to play in Stratford, and it would be an ill thing now to refuse the Lord High Admiral’s company, after granting Ji- cense to both my Lord Pembroke’s and the High Chamberlain’s.” “And so it would,” spoke up Walter Roahe, “for there are our own towns- men, Tichard and Cuthbert Burbage, who are cousins of mine, and John Hemynge and Thomas Green, desides Will Shakespeare and his brother Ed- mun, all playing in the Lord Cham- ebriain’s company in London »efore the queen, it would be a black score against them all with the High Ad- miral—I doubt not he would pay them out.” “That he would, said Robin; “and so said my father and Alderman lienry Walker, who, y’know, is Will Shakes- peare’s own friend. And some of the burgesses who cared not a rap for that, were afeared of offending the Lord High Admiral. But Sir Thomas vowed that my Lord Howard was at Cadiz with Walter Raleigh and the young Earl of Sussex ,and would by no means hear of it. Se, Master Bai- liff Stubbes, who, ’tis said, doth owe Sir Thomas forty pounds, and is, there- fore, under his thumb, forthwith re- fused the company license to play in Stratford guild-hall, inn-yard er com- mon. And at that the master-player threw his glove into Master Stubbes’ face, and called Sir Thomas a stupid old bell-wether, and Stratford burgess- es silly sheep for following wherever he chose to jump. ‘When the master-player threw his glove into Master Stubbes’ face, the chief constable seized him for contempt of Stratford council, and held him for trial. At that some cried ‘Shame!’ and some ‘Hurrah!—but the rest of the ! players Sed cut of town in the night, Jest their baggage be taken by the law and they be fined.” What One Girl Has Done. Listen to what one sixteen-year-old girl has done. Two weeks ago she passed the entrance examination of Harvard university, which will admit her to Radcliff college, the woman's annex. This fact is remarkable enough in itself, but the wonder grows W! we are told that this girl is deaf and blind and has been ever since she was a few months old. Her name, which js known all over the world, is Helen Keller. Helen was born in Alabama, and up to her seventh year her mind was @ total blank. She did not even have the sense of taste. But in a little moze than eight years she has been trained through the single sense of touch until she is further advanced in the ordin- ary branches of learning than girls of her age who can see, hear and s Much of this wonderful progress has been due to the patience and care of her teacher, Miss Sullivan. Helen was first taught to understand by signs tapped on the hands, thus enabling her to catch glimpses through her fin- ger tips of the great world around her, which she can never see. For a long time she talked with her fingers as deaf and dumb people usually do. But one day she took her teacher’s hand in hers and spelled on it; “I must speak.” Miss Suilivan finally found a way to teach her to use her voice, and now she speaks clearly. The only way, however, by which she can receive oral communications is by the sense of touch. Let her place her finger tips upon the throat or lips of any one speaking and there is instantly con- veyed to her brain understanding of what is said. She has rapidly acquired knowledge of French, German and history, and already she has written much in these two languages, and her own as well. She has a very strong poetic tempera- ment, and her diary, which she has been keeping for two years, abounds with beautiful thoughts, ngost beauti- fully expressed. When your lessons seem altogether too hard ,and you think there’s not much use trying, when you are discon- tented and feel that the world is not using you well—you who have all your senses and can see and hear the beau- ties of the world—just stop a moment and think. Think of Helen Keller! “Setting the River on Fire.” Sometimes, when a person wants to make an unpleasant remark in a pleas- ant sort of way about a dull boy he will say, “That boy will never set the river on fire.” Now, that is all very true; for even the smartest man in the world could never set a stream of wa- ter on fire, and so perhaps many of you who have heard this expression have wondered what is meant by set- ting the river on fire. In England, many, many years ago, before the millers had machinery for sifting flour, each family was obliged to sift its own flour. For doing this it was necessary to use a sieve, called a temse, which was so fixed that it could be turned round and round in the top of a barrel. If it was turned too fast the friction would sometimes cause it to catch fire; and as it was only the smart, hard-working boys who could make it go so fast as that, people got into the way of pointing out a lazy boy by saying that he would never set the temse on fire. After a while these sieves went out of use, but as there were still plenty of stupid boys in the world, people kept on saying that they would never set the temse on fire. Now, the name*of the rives Thames is pronounced exactly like the word i “temse;” and so, after many years, those persons who had never seen or heard of the old-fashioned sieve thought that “setting the temse on fire’ meant setting the river Thames on fire. This expression became very popular and traveled far and wide, until people living near other streams did not see why it was any harder for a slothful boy to set the Thanies on fire than, any ocher river, and so the name of the river wa »yped, and everybody after that s ) id “the river,” meaning the river of his par- teular city or town; and that is how it is that people to-day talk of setting the river on fire—St. Nicholas. Ways of Saying How D'y Do. ‘There are all kinds of ways for say- ing “How d’y do?’ A Frenchman, when he sees a friend coming, hastens forward with his hand stretched out and says. “How. do you carry your- self?” The Italian greets an acquaint- with, “How do you stand?’ and the German asks in his hearty way, “How do you find yourself?” It is quite proper that the Kgyptian, who lives in a-hot country, should greet his frignd with, “How do you perspire?’ While the Chinaman, thinking of his dinner, says to his friend anxiously, “How is your stomach? Have you eaten your rice?’ The Poles say, “How do you have yourself?’ The Russians, “How do you live on?” and the Dutch, “How do you fare?” The Persian has one of the pleasantest of all the greetings. He says to his friend, “May thy shad- ow never grow less.” And you and your friends say, “How are you? I’m glad to see you.” How a Cat Counts. The cat is less expert in arithmetic than the dog, not being capable of vounting farther than six. A writer in Our Animal Friends says that he used to hold a piece of meat to his cat's nose and draw it away suddenly, al- ways repeating the action five times before allowing the animal to take the morsel. Puss soon grew accustomed to the performance, and waited witht calmness and dignity until the sixth* offer was made. when she sprung up and seized the piece of meat with her teeth. Ae ‘or some weeks the doctor repeat this experiment, and the cat did ae make a single mistake. When, hony- ever, he tried to increase her knowl- edge by making four more approaches and retreats before letting her take the meat, she lest the count completely and jumped at the wrong moment. our Elastle Language. Successful Writer—I get all my checks fron: editors. Unsuccessful Ditto.—So De troit Free Press, pes gees » ~.