The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 9, 1896, Page 19

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALT, SUNDAY, AUGUST 9, 1896. 19 - What a Schoolteacher Saw Behind the Swinging Doots Pining for a little excitement I entered a restaurant where & waitress was wanted aod offered my services, It was almost difiner-time. The proprietor’s fran looked me over with her dall, stupid eyes and said, “Go to Tina; she'll tell you what to do.” Tina was the head waitress, a weary- looking girl with dark rings under her eyes, a frowzy head and mourning garb. A rival assistant, petite, fair and timid, had already presented herself, and Tina, aiter a trial, was to choose between us. Through the swinging doors into the of “that blooming gravy” on a dyspeptic Englishman’s roast beef after an express command to the contrary, and the irre- pressible pantry-boy, whom they all or- dered about, convulsed us with an account of his own palmy days and the considerate treatment accorded him at the Palace. There was a bumping sound at the swinging doors, and a crash of crockery. The other ‘“girlee” had disregarded the order, “keep to the right,” and had daintily kicked the left-hand portal just as the Dutch waiter-boy boomed against 1t the street. He was promptly frowned down, however, by both tbe cooks, as fre- quently happened when he ventured upon low topics of conversation or coarse famili- arity. I was surprised to see how dis- tinctly the line was drawn among these comrades. Tina had called George “a chromo” the moment before, and he had slapped her with a dishtowel, but the risque jokes of the evil-minded waiter-boy were considered *too fresh.” “Tvice on the vatermelon!’’ he vocifer- ated, 2s we left the broiling atmosphere of from the opposite side. In consequence dark anteroom, with its heaps of bread, | half a pint of soup was distributed over vegetables and groceries, and on to the sultry, crowded kitchen, where four pairs of masculine eyes peered at me through clouds of steam. My brain was reeling with endless directions, prices of dishes and rapidly succeeding orders. *‘Twice on the pot-pie, once on the roast pork, liver on the side!” I callea out triumphantly, and, reaching over my rival’s shoulder for a pile of cups and saucers, I approached the great smoking range, whereon stood two copper cal- drons of tea and coftee, with burnished spigots, and beyond them innumerable seething kettles, pots and pans. My orders were filled, and I had come back with four or five more. “Hold on, girlee!” called the pantry- boy. ‘Here's your bread for those first orders.” The blood mounted to my cheeks. “My name is Miss Ella, if you please!’ I retorted curtly, snatching up two plates of butter to crown the tower of bread. and wiping up the gravy that had poured from a tilting platter in my other hand. “Well, I—er—excuse me,”’ replied the youth, blushing, “but that’s what we always call 'em. I guess you'll have to get used to it.” And so I did, for both the cooks and the dishwasher used the endearing term with perfect impartiality and spared themselves the trouble of learning new girls’ names. Backward and forward we rushed, soreaming our orders, flinging asidestacks | of soiled napkins, broken bread and half- | eaten victuals, and clattering the great | clumsy dishes until the din was frightful, | and if George, the second cook, had not been very tall and very easy--oing, he would have been quite overwhelmed by the confusion of our demands and our persistent appropriation of each other’s | viands. His eagle eye and long arm pre- | sided over what momentarily threatened | to become hopeless chaos. 0 much milk in that coffee, girlee; | s can’t afford it. Here! Don’trun | off with that fellow’s beefsteak, now, till I | put some grass on it.” And he dived into a tin can for the nec- essary sprigs of watercress, while Tina came in to rate him for having put some | | { | | | | | | | | Just as the Waiter Boy the front of her dress and her blue eyes swam with tears. ‘Vell, velll Ve all does similar till ve gets experience, my dear!” And with a killing glance of his boid, black eyes, he smiled gayly at her predica- dishes. But his ogling was not agreeable to her and she ignored him, while he winked at the cook and went on to make some undertoned remark about having just “mashed” a certain character upon Booméf{Against It From the Opposite Side. ; ment and left her to gather up the broken | the kitchen and approached the front counter. Here the stupid fran dispensed < cool desserts and delicious hotcakes, while her handsome husband took in the money and “looked the landscape o’er” for neg- lected customers. “Once on the crab salad!” I faltered miserably, seeing a patient and picturesque member of the jeunesse doree still waitiag | for his order at a further table. | *“Where are my corn batter-cakes?’ de- I manded an elderly business man at my elbow, while the epicurean banker oppo- “This is a queer-looking mess! Dog meat, ain’t it? I ordered the best porter- house you had in the establishment.”” “Never mind,” said a mild, maternal voice across the room, as [ hastened to ef- fect the proper exchange. “Bertie likes this-just as well.” Bertie grinned and renewed his fatal at- tack unon the porterbouse with such gusto that I fled in despair to theice-water tank. The epicure had a thirsty expression, and another beefsteak would not be forthcom- ing for nearly ten minutés. The glassran over, and a dry-goods clerk observed quite audibly: I guess we're left this trip; that butter i hasn’t come yet.”’ “What's the trouble here?” demanded the proprietor, swooping down upon me with a forgotten dessert for an old lady, and Tina hastened to the rescue by appro- vriating the tardy corn batter-cakes for one of her own tables. The blue-eyed “giriee” smiled in compassion. “Don’t get excited!” said a new cus- tomer with a ferocious mustathe, as I darted wildly toward him in an effort to retrieve my reputation. “Don’t get ex- cited. I'm not a crank, and you'li'only make matters worse if you get so con- fused.” And he began complacently to peruse the bill of fare, while I went back to order more corn batter-cakes and then took them to a man who wanted buckwheat cakes. “He seemed quite satisfied,” I apologet- ically explained tothe waichful proprietor. “Yes; but perhaps the first gentleman wasn’t.” “To be sure!” I reflected, remembering the epicure, when my eye fell apon the picturesque youth in the corner. “My dear young lady,” he murmured, with an air of well-bred resignation, “would you mind bringing me a fork or a spoon, or something with which I might eat this salad ?” “1 beg your pardon!” I cried, rushing away in consternation, while Tina calmly gathered up the dirty dishes I had left be- hind and took three orders at the same time. “Blackberries coming up!” announced the proprietor cheerfully, slapping down two dishes of them on the counter in re- sponse to the Dutch boy’s demand. “Coming up right away!” echoed that individual to his impatient customers, and speeding down the aisle like a steam- engine he waved me aside with a flourish of hisdishtowel and a patronizing grimace. “Why do you go into the kitchen empty-handed so often?” asked the pro- prietor, passing me the next moment with another stack of dirty dishes. ““And you made a mistake on those last two checks.” This reminded me that four other people were waiting for checks and that he prob- ably had to cast up accounts with several site glowered at me across his platter. of my earlier customers himself if they paid anything at all, and again clutching pad and pencil I hurried down the room to scan the rows of accusing and expect- ant faces with confused misgivings about their respective teas and coffees and a haunting consciousness that some one somewhere was still hungering’ for corn batter-cakes. Thecrowds thinned out and the waiters took turnseating. Thesecond cook furhished us with a double allowance jof everything we liked, and as I sank gratefully down at an empty table I real- 1zed for the first time that I' was nearly dead. My back ached miserably and my feet seemed on fire. I was forced to wipe found a moment now and then to lean ‘wearily against the low partition of the so- called “ladies’ dining-room” and ex- change a few forlorn confidences across it. The lives of my two companions seemed dreary and aimless enough. The fact that I had been & teacher quite overawed the timid little Lucy, but the phlegmatic little Tina turned her dark, weary eyes upon me with a stolid indifference for the trifling exertions and responsibilities im- plied in that exalted office. The afternoon At6 came another rush, and at last it was 8 o’clock. I dragged myself home seemed endless. “Don’t Get Excited!” the inelegant perspiration from my brow and to smooth back the straggling remains of my morning’s curls. How many miles had 1 walked within the last two hours? 1 finished my dessert in as leisurely a manner as possible and a painful drowsi- ness stole over me. But a new install- ment of peoplecame inand I could not linger any longer. The black-eyed charmer went out to renew Lis conquests upon the street, for it was his afternoon off, and we girls said the man with a ferocious mustache. and stretched my weary length upon my welcome couch. My body was utterly ex- hausted, my brain was dizzy. I had never supposed before that servitors needed brains. As I fellinto a troubled doze the air was filled with flying checks and scrawling figures, dishes waltzed and clattered about my pillow, corn batter- cakes floated past just out of my reach and a fiendish voice echoed *“Coming up right away!” The next morning I ached all over as if I had received a beating, but I wounld not give up just yet. I would show Tina that schoolma’ams were not altogether lack- adaisical and undeserving. By noon my feet’ were so swol'en that I could have screamed, and yet not a moment had come for rest. To and fro incessantly, hurry and worry, more mistakes, more good-natured advice from the kitchen and civil rebukes from the proprietor. The stupid frau I now thoroughly detested, for she not only had let hotcakes burn and orders wait while she gossiped with friends, but had waddled out into the ante-room and told the gallant cooks not to give us girls “‘any of that chicken”— it was ‘‘too expensive.” As I came into the room I heard Henry, the “nistrionic” pantry-boy, descanting as usual upon his unhappy lot and our lack of consideration for his aristocratic lineage. “I1did have some hopes, but now that the poor little blue-eyed girlee is gone there ain’t any manners among you.” And rising from the damp and darksome cor- ner where he had been slicing Saratoga chips he cast his empty pan ruefully upon the sink-table, and striking a heroic atti- tude nerved himseli for the grand bread- and-butter act. - ““Aw, come off! You’re gettin’ spoony !" growled the red-headed dishwasher, who was married. “Take that!” cried Tina, throwing a bunch of radishes at the boy’s Paderewski hair and upsetting one of his skillfully erected towers of bread on a row of duinty butter-pats. “It’s no disgrace ter be poor, but it’s aw ful unbandy,” observed George, as he stooped down to rake out some ashes from the range. “That’s what!” echoed everybody, and the head cook, a dashing young fellow at- tired like a Parisian chef, emphasized his approval by jerking open the oven door to take out the smoking meats. His hilarity over Henry’s tragic predicament proved too much, however, and the huge roasting- pan suddenly landed upon the floor, send- ing beef, pork, veal and mutton broadcast around us. He quickly and gracefully impaled each succulent mass upon his long fork and tossed it back. House- wifely scruples had no place in the curly head beneath that snowy cap. “Schwei times.on the roast lamb, once on the kidney sante!” An the rush was upon us. At the end of the third day my strength gave out and, bidding them all good-by, I went home to recuperate. But for several weeks afterward 1 took my Junches here, arousing the envy of my neighbors at table by the marvelous discriminations made in my favor ar.d enjoying to the full the good will of the busy toilers behind the swinging doors. Miss PEDAGOGUE. The Social Status of Jack Tar and His Who is Jack Tar? Where is his home? Does he vote? Ishe fiee or bond? What kind of a life is his? ck is a seanian. alike belang to the Tar family. Merchant and ma- | And the social status of Jack Tar varies | somewhat, but until he gets a handle to me there is no danger that “society’” | ouble itself about him. The family | lumped together under the name of sailors, and classed as amphibious animals of no account except-to sail ships and | ell the profits of water-front grogshops. | tbe sojourner of a night, and the m is to get all his scanty wages in ne as possible. does Jack slave for if not to bene- fit his friends who make life glorious for Lim during tbe first three days after be is It is pleasant to have his back to hear the coaxing ‘*‘Come, v, and he forgets the *'Scat! that will follow when his gone. not because of innate depravity that Jack gets drunk and wild on shore. It is reaction. It is striking the average, finding the mean temperature of life. re is only monotony in the hfe of a sailor on a long voyage. Work that is done, that comes with the coming every aay, and that he knows will you money ne of come as Jong as he ison the deep; food that never varies; an utter lack of per- sonal freedom, and a firm check on origi- nality. It is not to be wondered at if, loosed for a few days or weeks, after months or years of such life, Jack seeks noise, lawlessness, and reckless freedom. He finds it. To welcome him there stand at the landinz the rum-seller, the gambler, and the woman of the dark. They love Jack. They remember him from voyage to voy- age and welcome him with beaming eyes whose light dazzles the sailor lad and blinds him to their gaping pockets. And Jack is nota miser. On the con-. when dross, even & philosophical concevtion of its uselessness in the abstract. Indeed, | Jack is always a philosopher, and the real trouble is that the lind of no civilized A | nation is a fit abding place for a real | society. ily it is, and in common with all | philosopher—and Jack lacks wit enough | houses, he can go to the Sailors’ Home ilies of size it contains many types. | (in most cases) to stow away his philos- | and be cleanly lodged among his own ophy when the anchor touches bottom. And these people who greet Jack’s ar- rival in port—they are a product of the civilization in which they seem to fit so | | versions. | self-respect, loss of independence, loss of philosophy even, for the time being. ‘When you think it over there is little | chance for Jack to enter a higher class of He can go to better boarding- kind, with books and games and other di- He is sung and prayed at by so- cieties and Salvationists, but in all there is a feeling of inequality. land where social lines are most plainly and arbitrarily drawn. In England, the housemaid considers the common sailor quite ber equal, and is proud to go about with him during his stay 1n port. In America the housemaid, with her eye upon the retail clerk, turns up her nose at him, leaving him to the tender mercies of our sisters, who measure all men by the sum in their pockets. Oh, yes; they are our sisters, much as we would like to dis- —— well. Do they give Jack something for nothing? If they took his gold alone Jack would be a better man for it and a { truer philosopher. But they are only symbols for the accumulated dregs of land vices. They welcome him with acup in which there is an admix- ture of more than what one ordinarily trary Jack bas a magnificent disregard for means by vice, in which there is loss of ‘Who but the vampires that feed upon him come to him in perfect equality, take him into their lives and make him feel at home? Jack Tar longs for the society of women, and he gets it—of a kind. I cannot point out the remedy, but I can see the wrong. Anmerica, the home of the free, with its boasted absence of class distinction, is the own them. And Jack is our brother. And we are our brother’s keepei, whether we wish to be or not. And so long as she and he grovels and suffers you and I may not enjoy our wings entirely and soar as high with them as we could wish. We must give Jack wings—other than canvas ones —aad the black vampire’s wings must be changed to as spotless a white as our own i Temptations When Ashore [ before we can all soar together. Anditis | not only a pretty sentiment, but a fact in | nature, that we must soar together, not | alone. But to return to earth again—and the sea thereof. The sailor who leaves somewhere a wife and little ones has a safeguard—often a poor one, still a safeguard. If it only makes him head straight for the office to send part of his pay to Nancy before he ~ £ e turns his face ashore, it helps that much. Whether it is pleasant to be Nancy and think of Jack in danger on the sea and in worse danger on a foreign shore isan- other story. The sailor cannot be a real success as a family man as long as he fol- lows his trade. I wonder if the sailor cares because he loses his vote so often. Does he remem- ber election day when the waves rise and fall to the horizon’s edge and long for the ballot and the poll, or does he feel that with his dominion over the sea he can af- ford to smile at the smaliness of political struggles? The sailor ought to be free. He should be more independent than his brother whose very foothold on the land is con- tested. No one ciaims the sea, its quiver- ing breast belongs to each Jack Tar alike- 1 | He needs pay no rent for the space his ship covers, and no man can say, “You must not cross this waste. Itis mine. I bonght it.”’ But Jack Tar is aslave, He is subject to most arbitrary rules, and at the mercy or the caprice of a few, often the vassal of one man. He works hard and lives hard, He has fewer pleasures than the farmhand, and receives less for his work. His chances for advancement are few, and year by year they are decreasing. Jack Tar leaves the sea sometimes and becomes a toiler on the land. He tills the soil, buys and sells, and sometimes he sits in a dingy or a handsome office. The song of the sea is yet in his soul. The pictures he loves best are of wastes of foam or stately craft. He reads the poe- try of the deep and smells the brine. He likes to watch the ships go out from the haven under the hill, and with each there goes an unexpressed longing. a vision of new lands, and of a creature living and pulsing, who carries her human freight so nobly. The sight of a wreck beating on the rocks brings a pang as from watching the agony of some great soul. We all feel some of this sadness at the sight of a dead or dying ship, even though we know not why. The sailors wko enter the port of San Francisco are of all nations. There are many of the broad and ruddy sons of Johnny Bull, for whose benefit the saloons hang out their notice, “English Ale and Dublin Porter.” The fair-haired Swede comes in numbers, and the dark Italian feels at home. In the Sailors’ Home which is not a charity, but a temperance boarding-house, may be seen almost every type of face and figure, and more intelli- gent faces than stupid ones. The American Jack Taris worthy of a higher social status than is now granted him. He is worthy of more moral help, more brotherly treatment. To make a sailor there must be used material that would make a good man for any work. He must be brave, for ms fighting is done without hope of escape, and on our modern warships he must endure the tortures of a lost soul in the heat of battle. He carries his life in his hand ever, and must ever be ready to yield it up to the voice of the storm. He must have the trained muscles and the quick eye of an athlete and the stoicism of a philosopher. Orive HEYDEN. Seven Minor Tragedies of a Midsummer Week in a Gay and THE FATAL DIAMOND. DRAMATIS PERSON ZE—MARI1ANA, a Be ful Maiden; PorssoN, an Unlucky Fish; ~Naxpo, 2 Lucky Reporter; BENJAMIN, sympathetic Lepidary. MariTANA — He does not come. night wears on apacs. auti- The Fair Luna grows apale as on she walks in festal garb alone | althrough the corridors of awful space. Ab, am I not alone, bereft, when dear Bernardo is afar? What holdg his Jagzard feet—or is he false? Fair bauble | (apostrophizing ring on her engagement fin- ger), mirror thou the rays of yonder moon, and as my tears upon thy facets fall be- come thou lovelier, as snow and moon- | light ’hance each other's charms. Ha!/ (The ring falls off the end of the wharf and she faints.) ACT IL Porsson (solus)—Unlucky was I born, inlucky live. These shining scales pre- doomed to fade on market slab. Ah! vhat is that? (Swallows the diamorid ring.) Bersarpo—What, Maritana not here! Then I wili fish, (Drops linc.) Porssox (feebly taking kook)—1 die, I diel (Dies.) ACT IIL BerNARDO— Even so. This diamond found in vonder fish a fortune is. Now to the lapidary. [A little later; scene, Third street.] Fexsavin—Diamond, my young frend? Veiy good, very good! (Laughs.) That is aprize-package ring. B:ryarpo (ezamining ring)—'Tis s0, and Ian saved! “T'is Maritgna's ring and she is dead. Devoured by fish—sad fate and straxge! So small a fish to eat so large a girl! But I am free! Alone! RAVELING OF A SKEIN. DRAMATIS PERSON E—MARY, a child; Mus- TAPHA, & green and red esthetic parrot; DIoG- ENES, & night-watchman with a lantern. Act 1—Time, day. Mary—Pretty Poll, poor Poliy. MusTAPEA—Qrrp. Mary—Polly want a cracker; good-by, PorLy, good Polly. (Drops bail of green and red worsted near the catch, which Mus- apha pullsin.) MusraPHA—No use talking. 1 must bave a ball. (Gulps ball down with much difficulty and begins to use a shocking amount of profanity; curtain falis.) Act IT—Time, night. Drocexes (flashing lantern into the aviary) —Mother of Moses, what is that? MusTAPHA (singing)—I'll wind off my little ball of yarn. Drogexes—Why, wh-y-y the blooming bird is unraveling, don’t you know. MustarEA—(Spouting forth green and red worsted)—The threads of life are going.. Drocexes—Gott in himmel, he’s aus ga spiel! MustarHA—(Disgorging more red and green worsted)—Here's to the green above the red. Drogenes—Waal, T kinder reckon I'd better call the boss. MustaPHA—( With a final effort to unravel his inwardness)—Throw out the life-line, forsome one is drifting. Poll, hello A TRIP JO THE DOG STAR. A tragedy of proud Octavia street, in one act. Scene, a back yard. DRAMATIS PERSON —MARGARET, a chance sojourner from Calaveras County; OLD DoG TRAY, & canine; PISTOL, an engine of dispatch. Orp Do TRAY—Bow-wow-wow, brrrr-ow! MAaRrGARET—I wake from dreams of city joys with pain at heart, for on my slum- bering ears there fell a sound that made me think of home and I am with nostalgia whelmed. - (Falls asleep with a tear on her lovely and natural eyelashes.) Orp Doe Teay—Wow, wow, wow, ow, OW, OW, WOW, WOW, Wow, etc. MarGARET—Once more 1 wake, but ’tis Dot home, nor is the sound the voice of Bruin on the everlasting and aspiring hills. Ursus Majesticus! Perhaps my Latin’s mixed, but ’tis not he, OLp Doc TrAY—Wow, wow, wow, ow, ow, Wow, ow, etc. MARGARET (her great soulful orbs turned toward the chimney-pots)—How beautiful the moon! How like a silver gondola the lacy cloud sails through the ambient air! How's that? Pretty good for Calaveras, don’t you think? Orp Do TrAY—Bow wow! Wow, bow!! Bow, wow, wow! Bow, bow, bow!!! Wooo-w!l!l MarGaret (slowly raises window and some- thing glitters silvery in her sculptured right hand )—Take that, you brute. PisrorL — Bang! (Perfect silence follows and con'inues without interruption. The moon looks askant at the closing window and (Diogenes falls in a dead faint.) RED LIGHT. at Margaret, who appears to be clad in white samite.) THE PAGE THAT KILLS. DRAMATIS PERSONZE—LUcULLUS, & kind- hearted Jehu; BUCEPHALUS, 8n antiquated nag. ACCESsORTES—Streetear in which General Wash- ington rode to the frontat the battle of Tren- ton; & whip with bale-rope lash. Lucvrius—To right and left proud build- ings rise and I can almost think this is the Appian way. But, ah! how fallen is Tra- jan’s son—that’s me—g'lang! BucepHALUS—Proud Alexander, where art thou?” Ages have gone since thou be- strode my glistening sides, but I recall thee still; how we together in the days long since were great. Let me think. LucvrLrus—@'lang. BucaepaALus—Ignoble whip, I heed thee not, for centuries have tanned my hide until the papyrus of ancient Egypt soft is i comparison. But still thy insult’s vile ana in me moves proud memories. Ah{ would 1 could escape from self! Then could 1 tamely do my master's bidding and from degenerate men of later times assist to gather nickels. Lucvrrus—G'lang. BucepHALus—AD! find I this repeated too much. ['ll break my bonds and seek fair Macedon and Alexander if he lives like me a-stringing ages on his life-like beads. [Begins-to kick.] LucuLLus—G’lang. BucepHALUS—Alas! too far is Mace- donia. I willdie. One short, sharp run and all is o'er. [Begins to run.] LucuLLuvs—Whoa! By Cwmsar’s beard perial, what is this? (Bucephalus runs half a block and dies.] The car fallsto pleces under the unexpected spurt and buries the driver, © im- GRATIFIED GURIOSITY. How the Simian solved & secret in a one- act tragedy. Scene—A Market-street store. DRAMATIS PERSON E—CARIATIDES, & Simi- an; TOWSER, a house-dog. TowsER (munching dog-biscuit)—What a funny-looking monkey! CariaTipes—W hat is that puppy saying? Towser—Say, monk, do you want some bread ? i < CariaTipes—I am not sick. (Aside.) I do wonder what that stuff tastes like! Towser—Because I was going to say that I need this all myself. Cariatipes—I don’t want any. (Slyly reaches out paw and gets the bread away Jfrom the dog.) Towser—Here. Where is that bread? CariATIDES (bolting the biscuit)—Gone where it will not trouble you any more. Towser—1 am- a thoroughbred and a boarder in this house, and I'll haye that biscuit. 3 [Here the parrot, the bushy-tailed squirrel, the guines pig and all the canary birds, who act as audience, applaud loudly.] CarraTipEs—You can’t have it. Towsen (filling his mouth with monkey)— Gimme that bread. £ CARIATIDES (upsetting goldfish globe and two cages of canaries)—It’s gone. {Dog biscuit has its natural effect and makes the monkey bark. This is taken as a challenge Towser—He was too curious; that’s by the dog, and the monkey is killed.] l all THE FATAL ROENTGEN RAY. ¢ DRAMATIS PERSONE—PROFESSOR NEELEY, JouN LawTtoN and DEAcON FLYNN. Scene— Lecture-room, Telegraph Hill. Proressor NEELEY—Ladies and gentle- men, I will, this evening, with your kind permission, illustrate the most striking discovery in recent scientific annals, The Roentgen ray pierces all objects. Will Mr. Lawton and Deacon Flynn please step to the stage to assist in these highly -| interesting experiments? Joux Lawrox—With pleasure. Deacos Frynx—Certainly. Would be delighted, ' Proressor NEELEY—L am glad to hear that. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I have here a stone jar of alcohol. I will pierce that with the light, and also will reveal the horrid objects which it contains. fAudience is wrapped in wonder as the con- tents of the jug are clearly discerned, and in the liquid poison gerpents and nondescript other objects are seen to swim and wriggie about.] ProFEssor NEELEY—Tt is just as easy to see through a person. Mr. Lawton and Deacon Flynn will now stand side by side to be illuminated and magnified. [Audience gives chorus ot ohs and mani- {ests horror. Lawton and Deacon -Flynn are seen as articulated skeletons only—against each figure is a long black object, a bottle, snd the audience recognize that the life in each Dbottle is similar to that which they have just ‘before witnessed.} Thoughtless Metropolis BERNAL HEIGHTS GALAMITY. DRAMATIS PERSONZE—MCMURTRIE, owner of a goat; WILLIAM GOAT EsQ., & member of the agitation committee; ANGELINA, affianced to McMurtrie. One time and several motions. McMURTRIE (solus)—I shall see Angelina to-night. She will come in her youth and innocence to the soiree dansante, which is French. While the talent furnish musie, McMurtrie and Angelina will cuta great deal of ice. [Moon rises.] Oh, what a dandy sigh I'll see Angelina home in spite of McManus and the bulldog. WitLiam Goat Esq.—Oh, what a snap! I have an inkling that there will be a gath- ering at the hall, and I will be there. AxceELINA — Still my fluttering heart, the over eighty pulsations to the minute, standard time. I will dance every time, for there is nothing slow about me. S T McMurTrie—She is here! And isn’tshe a bird? Winniam Goar Esq. (shaking his horns menacingly)—Baa-a-a-a. AxceELINA—Good evening, dearest. McMurTriE—Good evening, sweetest. ‘WisLiax Goat Esq.—Baa-a-a. AxGeELINA—What a lovely goat, McMurtrie—Yes. He is a trick goat and finely trained. AxceriNa—But don’t he butt? MoMurTriE—Gentle as a dove. (Re- leases goat.) Wirriad Goar Esq.—Baa-a-a, ANGELINA—Oh-h-h. (Goat strikes her down, Jjumps on her, hooks her dress, chews her hat, McMurtrie beating the beast all the time.)