Chapter VI: Part 6

FLORAL POME.

(_Sign on Ashland Ave.: "Vlk the Florist."_)

For flowers fragrant, sweet as milk,
Be sure to call on Florist Vlk.

Roses, lilies, for the folks
Can be purchased down at Vlk's.

Of bouquets there is no lack
At the flower shop of Vlk.

Orchids, pansies, daisies, phlox,
All are sold at Florist Vlk's.

A wondrous place, a shop de luxe
Is this here store of William Vlk's.

F. E. C. Jr.

* * *

The Boston aggregation, by the way (a witty New Yorker, a musician, informed us), is sometimes referred to as the Swiss Family Higginson and the Bocheton Symphony orchestra.

* * *

Touching on musical criticism, a Chicago writer who visited St. Louis to report a music festival had a few drinks before the opening concert. His telegraphed review began: "Music is frozen architecture."

* * *

Aside from his super-mathematics, Dr. Einstein is understandable. He prefers Bach to Wagner, Shakespeare to Goethe, and he would rather walk in the valleys than climb the mountains.

* * *

THE SECOND POST.

[Example of pep and tact.]

Dear Sir: We absolutely cannot understand why you do not buy stock in the ---- proposition or why we have not heard from you in reference to our letter. A man in your position should be able to invest some of his earnings into a proposition that should turn out a big success. It seems to us that the more rotten a proposition is the better the people will buy.

Now if you can explain this as to why the people bite on the many and poor schemes that are out to the public as there has been in the last six months, the information would be more than gladly received by us.

Let's get away from all this bunk stuff and think for ourselves and put your money in a real live proposition such as the ----.

After you invest your money in our business, do not fail to submit our proposition to some of your friends, so as to put this proposition over the top just as soon as possible.

May this letter act on you and try to improve your thought on investing your money with us, for we stand as true and honest as we can in order to make money for our clients.

Trusting that you will mail your check or money order to us at your very earliest convenience while the security is still selling at par, $10 per share, or a letter from you stating your reason for not doing so, we are, respectfully yours, etc.

* * *

In dedicating her autobiography to her husband, Mrs. Asquith quotes Epictetus: "Have you not received powers, to the limit of which you will bear all that befalls? Have you not received magnanimity? Have you not received courage? Have you not received endurance?" Mr. Christopher Morley thinks the gentleman needs them, but we are not so sure. It is said that when Margot mentioned to him the large sum she was to receive for the book, Mr. Asquith remarked, "I hope, my dear, that it isn't worth it."

* * *

As many know, Mr. Humphry Ward is a person of importance in his line. An American couple in London invited him to dine with them at their hotel, and concluded the invitation with the line, "If there is a Mrs. Ward, we should like to have her come, too."

* * *

In the Review of Reviews, Mr. Herbert Wade entitles his interview with Prof. Michelson, "Measuring the Suns of the Solar System." Wonder how he explained it to the Prof?

* * *

"She left a note saying she would do the next worst thing to suicide.... She went to Cleveland but decided to return."

Try South Bend.

* * *

"He decided that life was not worth living after that, so he came to South Bend."--South Bend Tribune.

Stet!

* * *

WHY THE DOG LEFT TOWN.

[From the Newton, Ia., News, Dec. 2.]

Warning--A resident of North Newton went home from work Saturday night and as he went in the front door a man went out the back door. This party had better leave town, for I know who he is and am after him.

W. H. Miller.

[From the same paper, Dec. 5.]

I have since discovered that it was a neighbor's dog that bounded out of the back door as I came in the front door the other night. My wife had gone to a neighbor's and left the back door ajar, hence a big dog had no trouble getting in.

W. H. Miller.

* * *

"'I don't see why we go to England for nincompoops when we have men like Prof. Grummann here at home,' remarked Fred L. Haller."--Omaha Bee.

We trust Mr. Haller called up the Professor and explained what he meant.

* * *

_THE PASSIONATE PURE FOOD EXPERT TO HIS LOVE._

_Come live with me, my own pure love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
In passion unadulterated
And bliss that isn't benzoated._

_Love's purest formula we'll spell:
Our joys will never fail to jell.
The honeyed kisses we imprint
Will show of glucose not a hint._

_Your Wiley will your food prepare,
And cook a meal to curl your hair;
And every morning you shall have a
Rare cup of genuine Mocha-Java._

_And you shall have a buckwheat cake
Better than mother used to make,
And sirup from the maple wood--
Not a vile sorghum "just as good."_

_The eggs, the bacon, and the jam
Shall he as pure as Mary's lamb;
And nothing sans a pure-food label
Shall grace your matutinal table._

_Oh, hearken to your Harvey's suit,
And 'ware the phony substitute.
If pure delights your mind may move,
Come live with me and be my Love._

* * *

Prof. Brown of Carlton College complains that college faculties are concerned with the mental slacker and the laggard, that they have geared their machinery to the sluggard's pace. True enough, but not only true of educational institutions. In a democracy everything is geared to the pace of the weak.

"As for authors," sighs Shan Bullock, "their case is fairly hopeless. But I recognize that in the new democracy even average intellect has no place at present. The new democracy is on trial. Until it has proven definitely whether it sides with cinemas or ideals, there is not even a living for men who once held an honored place in the scheme of things. That is a dark saying, but I think it is true."

* * *

We thought the doubtful honor was possessed by the United States, but M. Cambon declares that there is no other country where people take so little interest in foreign politics as they do in France.

* * *

A nervy Frenchman, M. Bourgeois, has translated "The Playboy of the Western World." You can imagine with what success. "God help me, where'll I hide myself away and my long neck naked to the world?" becomes "Dieu m'aide, ou vais-je me cacher et mon long cou tout nu?"

* * *

The President of the Chicago Chapter of the Wild Flower Preservation Society wrote to the Department of Agriculture for a certain Bulletin on Forestry and another one on Mushrooms for the book table at their Exhibition in the Art Institute. In due time arrived 250 copies of "How to make unfermented grape juice" and 250 copies of "Hog Cholera." Anybody want them?

* * *

OH, DON'T YOU REMEMBER SWEET MARY, BEN BOLT?

"What has become of Mary MacLane?" asks a reader. We don't know, at this moment, but we remember--what is more important--a jingle by the late lamented Roz Field:

"She dwelt beside the untrodden ways,
Among the hills of Butte,
A maid whom no one cared to love,
And no one dared to shoot."

* * *

The Montmartre crowd had a ticket in the Paris municipal election. The design on the carte d'electeur was a windmill, with the legend below, "Bien vivre et ne rien faire." This would do nicely for our city hall push.

* * *

Is there another person in this wicked world quite so virtuous as a chief of police on the day that he takes office?

* * *

INDIFFERENCE.

Said B. L. T. to F. P. A.,
"How shall I end the Line to-day?"
"It's immaterial to me,"
Said F. P. A. to B. L. T.

M. L. H.

Let it, then, go double.

Mr. Dubbe's Program Study Class.

(ACCOMPANYING THE SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA CONCERTS.)

Reported by Miss Poeta Pants.

I.--THE NEAPOLITAN SIXTH.

Mr. Criticus Flub-Dubbe's program study class began the season yesterday afternoon with every member present and keenly attentive. After a preparatory sketch of old Italian music, Mr. Dubbe told us about the Neapolitan Sixth, which, he said had exercised so strong an influence on music that, if Naples had never done anything else, this alone would have insured to the city fame in history.

"The Neapolitan Sixth," said Mr. Dubbe, "is so called because the composers of the Neapolitan school of opera were the first to introduce it freely. D. and A. Scarlatti were at the head of the school and were well-known musicians. Bach, who was not so well known, also used this sixth."

"Which used it first?" asked Mrs. Givu A. Payne.

"Bach, of course," replied Mr. Dubbe. "Bach used everything first."

"Dear old Bach!" exclaimed Miss Georgiana Gush.

"The Neapolitan Sixth," continued Mr. Dubbe, "is usually found in the first inversion; hence the name, the sixth indicating the first inversion of the chord."

"How clever!" said Mrs. Gottem-Allbeat.

"It is an altered chord, the altered tone being the super-tonic. The real character of the chord is submediant of the subdominant key; that is, it is a major chord, and the use of such a major chord in the solemn minor tonalities is indicative of the superficiality of the Italian school--a desire for a change from the strict polyphonic music of the times. Even the stern Bach was influenced."

"The Italians are so frivolous," said Mrs. Boru-Stiffe.

"A reign of frivolity ensued," went on Mr. Dubbe. "Not only was Italian music influenced by this sixth, but Italian art, architecture, sculpture, even material products. Take, for example, Neapolitan ice-cream. Observe the influence of the sixth. The cream is made in three color tones--the vanilla being the subdominant, as the chord is of subdominant character; the strawberry being the submediant, and the restful green the lowered supertonic or altered tone."

"What is the pineapple ice?" asked Miss Gay Votte.

"The pineapple ice is the twelfth overtone," replied Mr. Dubbe.

"There doesn't seem to be anything that Mr. Dubbe doesn't know," whispered Mrs. Fuller-Prunes to me with a smile.

I should say there wasn't!

After the lecture we had a lovely hand-made luncheon. Miss Ellenborough presided at the doughnuts and Mrs. G. Clef poured. It was such a helpful hour.

II.

"You remember," said Mr. Dubbe, "that Herr Weidig, in his lecture on the wood winds, gave a double bassoon illustration from Brahms' 'Chorale of St. Anthony,' which you are to hear to-day. But Herr Weidig neglected to mention the most interesting point in the illustration--that the abysmal-toned double bassoon calls attention to the devil-possessed swine, St. Anthony being the patron saint of swine-herds. I want you to listen carefully to this swine motive. It is really extraordinary." Mr. Dubbe wrote the motive on the blackboard and then played it on his double bassoon, which, he said, is one of the very few in this country.

"The bassoon," said Mr. Dubbe, "was Beethoven's favorite instrument. I go further than Beethoven in preferring the double bassoon. Among my unpublished manuscripts are several compositions for this instrument, and my concerto for two double bassoons is now in the hands of a Berlin publisher.

"But to recur to the Brahms chorale. You should know that it makes the second best variations in existence. The best are in the Heroic Symphony. The third best are Dvorak's in C major."

"C. Major--that's the man who wrote 'Dorothy Vernon,'" giggled Miss Vera Cilly.

"I am not discussing ragtime variations," said Mr. Dubbe, severely.

"Not knocking anybody," whispered Miss Gay Votte.

"Another interesting point in connection with this week's program," resumed Mr. Dubbe, "is the river motive in Smetana's symphonic poem, 'The Moldau.' Three flutes represent (loosely speaking; for, as I have often told you, music cannot represent anything) the rippling of the Moldau, a tributary of the Danube. If the composer had had a larger river in mind he would have used nine flutes. If this composition of Smetana's seems rather unmusical, allowance must be made for him, as the poor man was deaf and couldn't hear how bad his own music was."

"Wasn't Beethoven deaf?" asked Miss Sara Band.

"Only his physical ears were affected," replied Mr. Dubbe. "Smetana's soul ears were also deaf."

At the close of the lecture Miss Ellenborough gave us a surprise in the way of raised doughnuts made in the form of a G clef. Mrs. Gottem-Allbeat poured.

III.

There was an ominous flash in Dr. Dubbe's eye when he arose to address the class. "We have this week," he began, "a program barbarous enough to suit the lovers of ultra-modern music. There is Saint-Saens' overture, 'Les Barbares,' to begin with. This is as barbaric as a Frenchman can get, and is interesting chiefly as a study of how not to use the trumpets. But for sheer barbarity commend me to Hausegger's 'Barbarossa.' Here we find the apotheosis of modern exaggeration. Hausegger strove to make up for inimportant themes by a profuse use of instruments. Only one theme, which occurs in the third movement, is of any account, and that is an imitation of an old German chorale. In this most monotonously muted of tone-poems the composer forgot to mute one instrument--his pen."

"My! but Dr. Dubbe is knocking to-day," whispered Miss Sara Band.

"The thing is in C major and opens with a C major chord," continued Dr. Dubbe. "That is the end of the C major; it never returns to that key. This is modern music. Take the third movement. It opens with a screeching barbershop chord. A little later ensues a prize fight between two themes, which continues until one of them is knocked out. In this edifying composition, also, snare drum sticks are used on the kettle drums. More modern music. Bah!"

I have never seen Dr. Dubbe so irritated.

"Let us turn to something more cheerful," resumed Dr. Dubbe; and seating himself at the piano he played the Schubert C minor impromptu. "On the second page," he said, "where the key becomes A flat major, occurs a harmony which looks and sounds like a foreign chord. Treated harmonically it is a second dominant formation, and should read C flat, D natural, A flat, diminished seventh of the key of the dominant. Schubert does not, however, use it harmonically, otherwise the B natural would read C flat. These notes are enharmonic because, though different, they sound the same."

"How clear!" exclaimed Miss Gay Votte.

"But Schubert, instead of progressing harmonically, goes directly back into the tonic of A flat major."

"How careless of him!" said Mrs. Givu A. Payne.

"Schubert uses it in its natural position. If the enharmonic C flat were used the chord would then be in its third inversion. Each diminished seventh harmony may resolve in sixteen different ways."

"Mercy!" murmured Mrs. Fuller-Prunes. "How much there is to know."

Dr. Dubbe passed his hand across his brow as if wearied. "I shall never cease to regret," he said, "that Schubert did not write C flat. It would have been so much clearer."

After the lecture Miss Ellenborough gave us another surprise--doughnuts made in the shape of flats. Dr. Dubbe ate five, saying that D flat major was his favorite key.

I rode down in the elevator with him and he repeated his remark that Schubert had unnecessarily bemuddled the chord.

"I am sure you made it very plain," I said. "We all understand it now."

"Do you, indeed?" he replied. "That's more than I do."

Of course he was jesting. He understands everything.

IV.

Dr. Dubbe was in his element yesterday. The trinity of B's--Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms--or, as Dr. Dubbe put it, the "trinity of logicians," was much to his taste: a truly Gothic program.

"But what a contrast is the second half," said Dr. Dubbe. "In the first we have the Kings of absolute music. In his youth Beethoven strayed from the path (for even he must sow his musical wild oats), but in his maturer years he produced no music that was not absolute. But in the second half we have Berlioz and program music."

"I thought program music was music suitable for programs," said Mrs. Givu A. Payne.

"Berlioz," continued Dr. Dubbe, "instituted the 'musical reform' in Germany--the new German school of Liszt and Wagner. Berlioz's music is all on the surface, while Brahms' music sounds the depths. He uses the contra-bassoon in about all of his orchestral compositions (you will hear it to-day), and most of his piano works take the last A on the piano. If his bass seems at times muddy it is because he goes so deep that he stirs up the bottom."

"How clear!" exclaimed Miss Gay Votte.

"Take measure sixty-five in Berlioz's 'Dance of the Sylphs,'" said Dr. Dubbe. "The spirits hover over Faust, who has fallen asleep. The 'cellos are sawing away drowsily on their pedal point D (probably in sympathy with Faust), and what sounds like Herr Thomas tuning the orchestra is the lone A of the fifth. The absent third represents the sleep of Faust. This is a trick common to the new school. Wagner uses it in 'Siegfried,' in the close of the Tarnhelm motive, to illustrate the vanishing properties of the cap. In measure fifty-seven of the Ballet you will find a chord of the augmented five-six, a harmony built on the first inversion of the diminished seventh of the key of the dominant, with lowered bass tone, and which in this instance resolves into the dominant triad. Others claim that this harmony is a dominant ninth with root omitted and lowered fifth."

"It has always seemed so to me," said Mrs. Fuller-Prunes. But I don't believe she knows a thing about it.

"I think it's all awfully cute," said Miss Georgiana Gush.

"The harmony," resumed Dr. Dubbe, frowning, "really sounds like a dominant seventh, and may be changed enharmonically into a dominant seventh and resolve into the Neapolitan sixth. This is all clear to you, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes," we all replied.

Dr. Dubbe then analyzed and played for us Brahms' First Symphony, after which Miss Ellenborough served doughnuts made in the shape of a Gothic B. We all had to eat them--one for Bach, one for Beethoven, and one for Brahms.

V.

Dr. Dubbe did not appear enthusiastic over this week's program. I guess because there was no Bach or Brahms on it. But we enjoyed his lecture just the same.

"Raff was the Raphael of music," said Dr. Dubbe. "He was handicapped by a superabundance of ideas, but, unlike Raphael, he did not constantly repeat himself. This week we will have a look at his Fifth Symphony, entitled 'Lenore.'"

"Oh!" exclaimed Miss Georgiana Gush, "that's the one the hero of 'The First Violin' was always whistling."

"As you all know," said Dr. Dubbe, "this symphony is based on Buerger's well-known ballad of 'Lenore,' but as only the last movement is concerned with the actual ballad I will confine my remarks mainly to that. I wish, however, to call your attention to a curious harmony in the first movement. Upon the return of the first theme the trombones break in upon a dominant B major harmony with what is apparently a dominant C major harmony, D, F, and B. But the chords are actually enharmonic of D, E sharp, and B. This is a dominant harmony in F sharp. Listen for these trombone chords, and pay special attention to the E sharp--a tone that is extremely characteristic of Raff."

"I think I have read somewhere," said Mrs. Givu A. Payne, "that Raff was exceedingly fond of E sharp."

"He was," said Dr. Dubbe. "He often said he didn't see how he could get along without it. But to resume:

"The fourth movement opens with Lenore's lamentation over her absent lover and her quarrel with her mother--the oboe being the girl and the bassoon her parent. Lenore foolishly curses her fate (tympani and triangle), and from that moment is lost. There is a knock at the door and her dead lover appears with a horse and suggests something in the nature of an elopement. Not knowing he is dead, Lenore acquiesces, and away they go (trumpets, flutes and clarinets).

"'T is a wild and fearful night. Rack scuds across the moon's wan face (violas and second violins). Hanged men rattle in their chains upon the wayside gibbets (triangle and piccolo). But on, on, on go the lovers, one dead and the other nearly so.

"At last they reach the grave in the church-yard, and death claims the lost Lenore ('cellos and bass viols _pizzicato_). For a conclusion there is a coda founded on the line in the ballad, 'Gott sei der Seele gnaedig.' It is very sad."

Dr. Dubbe seemed much affected by the sad tale, and many of us had to wipe tears away. But Miss Ellenborough came to our rescue with some lovely doughnuts made in the shape of a true lovers' knot. These, with the tea, quite restored us.

VI.

There really wasn't any study class this week--that is, Dr. Dubbe did not appear. While the class waited for him and wondered if he were ill a messenger brought me the following note:

"My Dear Poeta: Kindly inform the class that there will be no
lecture this week. I cannot stand for such a trivial program as Herr
Thomas has prepared.
C. F.-D."

"He might have told us sooner," said Miss Georgiana Gush.

"Why, yes; he knew last week what the next program would be," said Mrs. Faran-Dole.

"The eccentricity of genius, my dear," remarked Mrs. Gottem-Allbeat. "Genius is not tied down by rules of conduct of any sort."

"Well," said Mrs. Givu A. Payne, "I don't blame him for not wanting to analyze this week's program. There isn't a bit of Bach or Brahms on it."

"Ladies," said Miss Ellenborough, coming forward with a gentleman who had just arrived, "let me introduce Mr. Booth Tarkington, of Indiana. Mr. Tarkington came up to attend the lecture, but as Dr. Dubbe will not be here Mr. Tarkington has kindly consented to give a doughnut recital, so to speak."

"Oh, how lovely!" we all exclaimed.

"Mr. Tarkington," added Miss Ellenborough, "is well known as the author of the Beaucaire doughnut, the pride of Indiana doughnutdom."

Saying which Miss Ellenborough removed the screen that conceals her work table and Mr. Tarkington, in an incredibly short time, produced a batch of Beaucaires. They were really excellent, and we didn't leave a single one. Mr. Everham Chumpleigh Keats poured.

After tea we all adjourned to the concert, which we enjoyed immensely, in spite of the absence of Bach and Brahms. Not knocking Dr. Dubbe.

A LINE-O'-TYPE OR TWO

_Inveniat, quod quisque velit; non omnibus unum est, Quod placet; hic spinas colligit, ille rosas._

--_Petronius._

_THE PASSING OF SUMMER._

_Summer is gone with its roses,
Summer is gone with its wine;
Likewise a lot of dam choses
Not so ideal and benign._

_King Sol is visiting Virgo,
On his Zodiacal way.
'Morrow's the twenty-third! Ergo,
Summer will vanish to-day._

* * *

Summer in town is a synonym for dullness. The theaters offer nothing of importance; only trivialities are to be found on "the trestles." Musical directors appeal only to the ears--chiefly the long ears mentioned by Mozart. Bookstores offer "best sellers," "the latest fiction," and "books worth reading" on the same counter; and the magazines become even less consequential. Art in all its manifestations matches our garments for thinness and lightness.

During the canicular period intellectual activity is at a stand, and we should be grateful for the accident which tilted earth's axis at its present angle; for when the leaves begin to fly before the "breath of Autumn's being" we plunge into the new season with a cleared mentality and a great appetite for things both new and old.

* * *

A man asks the Legal Friend of the People, "Will you kindly publish whether or not it is illegal for second cousins to marry in the state of Illinois?" and the Friend replies, "No." Aw, go on and publish it. There's no harm in telling him.

* * *

WHYNOTT?

[From the Boston Globe.]

From this date, Sept. 25, 1920, I will not be responsible for any bill contracted by my wife, Mrs. Bernardine Whynott.

G. Whynott.

* * *

In all the world the two most fragile things are a lover's vows and the gut in a tennis racket. Neither is guaranteed to last an hour.

* * *

It would help along the economic readjustment, suggests Dean Johnson, of New York University's school of commerce, if we all set fire to our Liberty Bonds. We can't go along with the Dean so far, but we have a hundred shares of copper stock that we will contribute to a community bonfire.

* * *

The height of patriotism, confides P. H. T., is represented by Mr. Aleshire, president of the Chicago Board of Underwriters, who, billed to deliver a patriotic address in an Evanston theater, paid his way into the theater to hear himself talk.

* * *

IT MUST BE ABOUT TIME.

Sir: The Federal Reserve bank at New Orleans has received a letter from a patriot who wants to know where and when he shall pay the interest on his Liberty bond.

Rocky.

* * *

"In fact, I've finished--would you say a sonnet?"--concludes H. G. H., to whom we recommend the remark of James Stephens: "Nobody is interested in the making of sonnets, not even poets."

* * *

Referring to the persons who are given to the making of sonnets, Norman Douglas wrote: "I have a sneaking fondness for some of the worst of these bards.... And it is by no means a despicable class of folks who perpetrate such stuff; the third rate sonneteer, a priori, is a gentleman, and this is more than can be said of some of our crude fiction writers who have never yielded themselves to the chastening discipline of verse composition, nor warmed their hearts, for a single instant, at the altar of some generous ideal."

* * *

The trouble with minor poets is well set forth by Conrad Aiken in The Dial, who refers to the conclusions of M. Nicolas Kostyleff after a tentative study of the mechanism of poetic inspiration: "An important part in poetic creation, he maintains, is an automatic verbal discharge, along chains of association, set in motion by a chance occurrence."

* * *

POETRY.

(_Lord Dunsany._)

What is it to hate poetry? It is to have no little dreams and fancies, no holy memories of golden days, to be unmoved by serene midsummer evenings or dawn over wild lands, singing or sunshine, little tales told by the fire a long while since, glow-worms and briar rose; for of all these things and more is poetry made. It is to be cut off forever from the fellowship of great men that are gone; to see men and women without their halos and the world without its glory; to miss the meaning lurking behind the common things, like elves hiding in flowers; it is to beat one's hands all day against the gates of Fairyland and to find that they are shut and the country empty and its kings gone hence.

* * *

Why is it that in nearly all decisions of the Supreme court the most interesting opinions are delivered by the dissenting justices?

* * *

"New Jack-a-Bean dining room furniture, used two months; will sell cheap."--El Paso Herald.

That is the kind that Louis Canns has his apartment furnished with.

* * *

A CHANGE FROM LATIN ROOTS.

[From the Reedsburg, Wis., Free Press.]

Miss Edna White resumed her school duties after a week's vacation for potato digging.

* * *

OUR FAVORITE AUTUMN POEM.

(_By a New Jersey poetess._)

Autumn is more beautiful, I think,
Than Spring or Winter are.
For then trees change at the river's brink--
How beautiful they are.

I love to see the different colors so bright--
That grow around brooks & grottoes.
Leaves that are pressed are a pleasant sight
To make photograph frames & mottoes.

* * *

Dr. Johnson or somebody said that a surgical operation was necessary to get a joke into a Scotchman's head; but the Glasgow Herald, reporting the existence of a London detective named Leonard Jolly Death, conjectures that it was probably an ancestor of his who was drowned in the butt of Malmsey wine.

* * *

One is usually mistaken in such matters, but we visualize Mr. Imer Pett, general manager of the Bingham Mines, in Salt Lake City, as quite otherwise.

* * *

THE SECOND POST.

[Received by a wholesale grocery house, from an Italian customer.]

Gentlemen: My wife wants me to suggest that you observe one of our Italian customs by remembering her with a bit of Christmas cheer. As she is the only wife I got I trust you will help me keep her.

Joe.

* * *

DENTAL FLOSS.

Sir: D. Seiver is a dentist on Kedzie avenue. If I were a complete contrib, I might head this, "Now, this isn't going to hurt a bit," but, as I am not, I merely proceed to nominate C. O. Soots, of North Salem, Ind., as chief chimney sweep to the Academy, and propose the Rev. Ed. V. Belles of the First Presbyterian Church of Northville, Mich., to ring in the new for the members. As a substitute for Mr. D. Seiver, you might induce the nominating committee to accept Dr. J. Byron Ache, a dentist of Uniontown, Pa.

Ballysloughguttery.

* * *

The melancholy days have come
For him who's naturally glum:
But for the man whose liver's right
These Autumn days are pure delight.

* * *

"Complains He Was Called Sexagenarian--Candidate Says Many Voters Thought It Had to Do With Sex."--Boston Herald.

Flattered, but unappreciative.

* * *

Lady Godiva writes from Loz Onglaze: "Have been having wonderful weather. Quite warm yesterday, the first of December. Riding around with just my fur cape on."

* * *

Some people hold potatoes for higher prices, while others, like Scribner's Sons, hold sets of Henry James' novels at $130, an increase of $82 over the original price.

* * *

JUST ABOUT.

Sir: How long do you suppose the Snow Ball Laundry will last in Quinter, Kansas? The proprietor is G. W. Burns.

P. V. W.

* * *

In an almanack, which is printed once a year, or in a dictionary or encyclopedia, which is republished after ten or twenty years, you would expect to find fewer errors than in a daily newspaper; but apparently time has little to do with it. Consulting the Britannica's article on Anatole France, we were inexpressibly shocked to find therein the atrocities, "L'Ile des Penguins" and "Maurice Barres."

* * *

We were looking through the France sketch to see whether there was mention of a story he wrote before he became well known, entitled "Marguerite." A Paris publisher found it recently in a magazine and asked M. France to write a preface to it, that it might be issued as a book. Quoth France: "It would be an excess of literary vanity on my part to resurrect the story. But my vanity would, perhaps, be greater were I to try to suppress it."

* * *

Reference books, as is well known, improve like wine with age, and the efficiency of our proof room is to be accounted for, in part, by the vintage volumes that line its library shelf. There are sixty of these rare old tomes, and five of them are useful; these being, we think, first editions. There is a Who's Who of the last century that is still in good condition, and the dictionary of biography with which Lippincotts began business. Bibliophiles would, we believe, enjoy looking over the shelf.

* * *

JAW JINGLES.

If a Hottentot taught a Hottentot tot
To talk ere the tot could totter,
Ought the Hottentot tot be taught to say "ought,"
Or "naught," or what ought to be taught her?

If to hoot and to toot a Hottentot tot
Be taught by a Hottentot tutor,
Ought the Hottentot tutor get hot if the tot
Hoot and toot at the Hottentot tutor?

G. B.

* * *

"NATURE NEVER DID DECEIVE..."

No sooner had blundering man accomplished the ruin of Halifax than Mother Nature sent a blizzard with a foot or two of snow. A kindly dame--as kindly as the old lady of Endor. She has her gentle, her amorous moods, in which we adore her, and write ballads to her beauty; but we know, if we are wise, that her beauty is "all in your eye," to speak in the way of science, not of slang, and that she is savage as a jungle cat. Like some women and much medicine, she should be well shaken before taken, and always one must keep an eye upon Nature, or one may feel her claws in one's back. So we have reflected on a summer's day in woods; but the forest seemed not less beautiful, nor was our meditation melancholy. To be saddened by the inescapable is a great mistake.

* * *

NO. 68, COUNTING FROM LEFT TO RIGHT.

[From the Goshen, Ind., Democrat.]

Albert E. Compton, 68, a former well known Elkhart taxi driver, went to California last summer and told his friends he was going into the movies. A communication from him yesterday informed them of his appearance in a mob scene.

* * *

"Mrs. Fred L. Olson is on the programme to sing vocal selections."--Portland Telegram.

That's the trouble. They will sing them.

* * *

Our young friend who is about to become a colyumist might lead off with the jape about the switchman who asked for red oil for his lantern. Then there is that side-stitching sign, "Pants pressed, 10 cents a leg, seats free."

* * *

COMMERCIAL CANDOR.

Sir: A tailor in Denver advertises: "If your clothes don't fit we make them."

W. V. R.

* * *

Heard, by R. M., in a department store: Shoe-polish demonstrator: "And if you haven't already ruined your shoes with other cleaners this will do the work."

* * *

FAREWELL!

(_By Poeta._)

Comet, Comet, shining bright
In the spaces of the night,
Every hour swinging higher
From the Sun of thy desire;
Astral vagrant, stellar rover,
Dipping under, dipping over
Path of Venus, Earth, and Mars
Till there's naught beyond but stars;
Cutting, in thy lane elliptic,
Thro' the plane of the ecliptic,
Far beyond pale Neptune's track--
Good-by, Comet! Hurry back!

* * *

AN UNCOMMONLY HAPPY THOUGHT.

(_A. J. Balfour, Letter to Mary Gladstone, 1891._)

"It is unfortunate, considering that enthusiasm moves the world, that so few enthusiasts can be trusted to speak the truth."

* * *

THE SECOND POST.

[The editor of the Winneconne, Wis., Local to his flock.]

Dear Subscriber: You probably know that the Local editor and his wife have been away from Winneconne most of the time during the last ten months. Every month we expected to get back again. The suspense was somewhat hard. During the meantime Mrs. Flanagan, each week, would worry and talk about the paper as much as ever. The doctor desired to have it off her mind. During the meantime she did not want the plant closed for even a short time. Now it has been decided to take a holiday vacation, during which time Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan will release themselves from all business cares and build up in health. No doubt, you will realize the delicate situation of the affair, and bear with us in the matter until the Local again resumes its regular publication dates, for surely both of us are very much attached to the paper, the town, and its people, and the surrounding country.

M. C. Flanagan.

* * *

THE DAY OF "DON'TS."

Thanksgiving was a holiday I welcomed when a boy,
But now it is a solemn feast without a jot of joy.
It used to be a pleasure to attack the toothsome turkey,
But now when I approach the bird I'm anything but perky.

A multitude of dismal "Don'ts" impair my appetite;
A fear of what may happen me accompanies each bite.
There hovers round this holiday a heavy cloud of dread
That never lifts till I am safe, with water-bag, in bed.

I used to drink a glass of wine, but that is bad, I'm told,
So now I ship in water--just as much as I can hold.
To fail to fletcherize my food were fatal, without question;
I never touch the stuffing, as it taxes the digestion.

When the lugubrious feast is done I hasten from my chair
To open all the windows wide, and let in lots of air;
And then I sit around an hour and chew a wad of gum
Until the fullness disappears from my distended tum.

That pleasant, dozy feeling I compel myself to shake,
For should I venture on a nap I'd never, never wake;
And if I sneeze I take alarm and hasten out of doors,
To start a circulation in my poison-clotted pores.

The fact that I am still alive is due, I'm glad to say,
To heeding all the dinner "Don'ts" that went with yesterday.
It was, from soup to raisins, by and large, and all in all,
The solemnest Thanksgiving meal that ever I recall.

* * *

A BALANCED TUITION.

Sir: The fourth grade teacher in Roland, Ia., is Viola Grindem. Fortunately for the kids the high school principal is Cora Clement.

T. B.

* * *

"We wish the cooeperative factories, a success," says an esteemed contemporary on our left. So do we, with this prediction, that if success is achieved it will be by the same methods that are employed in the iniquitous capitalistic system.

* * *

Although the name topic bores us to distinction, as a young lady of our acquaintance puts it, we should feel we were posing if we neglected to find room for the following:

Sir: Deedonk, can you provide a chaise longue in the Romance language department of the Academy for George E. Ahwee of Colon, Panama?

Rusty.

* * *

We knew what was meant, and yet it gave us a slight start to read in a Minnesota paper, "Pickle your own feet while they are cheap and clean."

* * *

OPINION CONCURRED IN.

Sir: My heart with pleasure filled when I saw that Riquarius quoted it as I always want to do, "with rapture fills." While I realized it is the height of presumption to think I could improve on Wordsworth, don't you agree with me that rapture is more expressive than pleasure?

Jay Aye.

"Rapture" might be preferred for another reason: the accent falls on a stronger syllable. Suppose George Meredith had used "pleasure" in his lines--

"Lasting, too,
For souls not lent in usury,
The rapture of the forward view."

Every good poet has left lines that could be bettered for another ear. Probably Wordsworth leads the list.

* * *

TRANSCENDENTAL CALM.

Sir: Remember the story about Theodore Parker and Emerson? While they were walking in Concord a Seventh Day Adventist rushed up to them and said, "Gentlemen, the world is coming to an end." Parker said, "That doesn't affect me; I live in Boston." Emerson said, "Very well. I can get along without it."

E. H. R.

* * *

So the President has been converted to universal military training--as a war measure. Better late than never, as Noah remarked to the Zebra, which had understood that passengers arrived in alphabetical order.

* * *

THIS REFERS, OF COURSE, TO FRANCE.

[From Faguet's "Cult of Incompetence."]

Democracy has the greatest inducement to elect representatives who are representative, who, in the first place, resemble it as closely as possible, who, in the second place, have no individuality of their own, who, finally, having no fortune of their own, have no sort of independence. We deplore that democracy surrenders itself to politicians, but from its own point of view, a point of view which it cannot avoid taking up, it is absolutely right. What is a politician? He is a man who, in respect of his personal opinions, is a nullity, in respect of education a mediocrity; he shares the general sentiments and passions of the crowds, his sole occupation is politics, and if that career were closed to him he would die of starvation. He is precisely the thing of which democracy has need. He will never be led away by his education to develop ideas of his own; and, having no ideas of his own, he will not allow them to enter into conflict with his prejudices. His prejudices will be, at first, by a feeble sort of conviction, afterward, by reason of his own interest, identical with those of the crowd; and lastly, his poverty and the impossibility of his getting a living outside of politics make it certain that he will never break out of the narrow circle where his political employers have confined him; his imperative mandate is the material necessity which obliges him to obey; his imperative mandate is his inability to quarrel with his bread and butter. Democracy obviously has need of politicians, has need of nothing else but politicians, and has need indeed that there shall be in politics nothing else but politicians.

* * *

AN IOWA ROMANCE.

[From the Clinton Herald.]

Lost--A large white tom cat with gray tail and two gray spots on body. Return to 1306 So. Third street and receive reward.

Lost--"Topsy" black persian cat. Any one having seen her kindly call 231 5th ave.

* * *

WE SHOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.

[From the Idaho Falls Register.]

A lady's leather handbag left in my car while parked on Park avenue two weeks ago. Owner can have same by calling at my office, proving the property and paying for this ad. If she will explain to my wife that I had nothing to do with its being there, I will pay for the ad.

C. G. Keller.

* * *

COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD.

[From the Tavares, Fla., Herald.]

The home of Mr. and Mrs. H. H. Duncan was the center of attraction Sunday afternoon. All the relatives and a few special friends were there to celebrate two happy occasions, the anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Duncan's marriage and the marriage of Miss Cora L. Peet, Mrs. Duncan's sister, to Mr. J. E. Hammond, and the soft winds of March had blown the planet of love over this beautiful home.

The composition of the decorations adhered with striking fidelity to nature. The wide veranda was completely screened in by wild smilax and fragrant honeysuckle vines, which entwisted themselves among the branches of sweet myrtle and native palms, fitly transforming it into a typical Arcadian scene beckoning to

"Come unto the garden, Maud;
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the muck of the rose is blown."

Soon the sound of music greeted the impatient ear. With a voice full of individuality of flavor and unusual quality, Mr. Carl E. Duncan, perfectly accompanied by his mother at the pianoforte, rendered "I Hear You Calling Me." Then the coming of the bridal couple was heralded by the solemn tones of Mendelssohn's wedding march. Never was a bride more beautiful; never--

[Well, hardly ever.]

* * *

AND HOW CALM THE OCEAN IS!

[Correspondence from Florida.]

I've fallen in love with the salt water bathing. It feels wonderfully refreshing here, below the equator.

* * *

POEMS YOU MAY HAVE MISSED.

Between the Barn and the Woodhouse.

Between the barn and the woodhouse,
Where oft old Jersey would stand,
I remember 'twas on this self-same spot
Where she kicked Elizabeth Ann.

I could hear the clang of the bucket,
And also poor Annie's refrain,
And when the family reached her,
She was writhing and groaning with pain.

Mother stooped dawn to caress her
As she lay there stunned on the ground,
And our big, simple minded brother
Thought he should examine the wound.

Without halt or hesitation,
He dropped to his knees in the dirt;
Although she lay stunned and bleeding,
He asked her where she was hurt.

Then Annie, in a half sitting posture,
While resting on mother's arm,
Feebly responded to brother,
"Between the woodhouse and barn."

W. T. N.

* * *

"The Chicago convention left the Democratic party as the sole custodian of the honor of the country."--Orator Cummings.

Some custodian, _nous en informerons l'univers!_

* * *

To the inspired compositor and proof reader of the York, Neb., News-Times he is General Denuncio.

* * *

"The plebicide showed an overwhelming majority in favor of King Constantine's return."--St. Paul Pioneer Press.

Very good word.

* * *

We were not alone in financing the war. An income tax payment of $14,000,000 was made in New York yesterday. The identity of the individual is not disclosed, but the painstaking Associated Press says that "he is obviously one of the richest men in the United States."

* * *

"Thinking as One Walks."--Doc Evans.

"Meaning," conjectures Fenton, "that if one is bow-legged one is likely to think in circles." Or if one limps, one is likely to come to a lame conclusion. Or if-- Roll your own.

* * *

_THE PHILOSOPHY OF BALDNESS._

_One by one the hairs are graying,
One by one they blanch and fall;
Never stopping, never staying--
W. t. h. and d. i. all!_

_W. R._

* * *

A DEAD SHOT.

[From the Mt. Carmel, Ill., Republican.]

The Mount Carmel Gun club held its weekly shoot this afternoon, the chief feature being the demonstration of expert marksmanship by Mr. Killam of the Du Pont Powder Co.

* * *

IT WOULD PUT 'EM ON THE STAGE.

Why does not some pianist give us a really popular recital programme? Frezzample:

Moonlight Sonata.
The Harmonious Blacksmith.
Mendelssohn's Spring Song.

Old Favorites:

Recollections of Home.
Silvery Waves.
Monastery Bells.
Etincelles.
Waves of the Ocean.
Gottschalk's Last Hope.

Clayton's Grand March.
The Battle of Prague.
The Awakening of the Lion.

* * *

There is an encouraging growth of musical understanding and appreciation in this country. Even now you hear very many people say, "I liked the scherzo."

* * *

"He sat down in a vacant chair," relates a magazine fictionist. It is, everything considered, the safest way. Much of the discord in the world has been caused by gentlemen--and ladies as well--who sat down in chairs already occupied.

* * *

A Kenwood pastor has resigned because some members of his flock thought him too broad. The others, we venture, thought him too long.

* * *

"Prof. Hobbs Will Make Globe Trot"--Michigan Daily.

Giddap, old top!

Vacation Travels.

It is a great pleasure to be free, for a time, from the practice of expressing opinion; free to read the newspapers with no thought of commenting on the contents; free to glance at a few hectic headlines, and then bite into a book that you have meant to get to for a long time past, to read it slowly, without skipping, to read over an especially well done page and to put the book aside and meditate on the moral which it pointed, or left you to point. Unless obliged to, why should anybody write when he can read instead? One's own opinions (hastily formed and lacking even the graces of expression) are of small account; certainly they are of less account than Mr. Mill's observations on Liberty, which I have put down in order to pen a few longish paragraphs. (I would rather be reading, you understand; my pen is running for the same reason some street cars run--to hold the franchise.) And speaking of Mill, do you remember the library catalogue which contained the consecutive items, "Mill on Liberty" and "Ditto on the Floss"?

* * *

One can get through a good many books on a long railway journey. My slender stock was exhausted before I reached Colorado, and I am compelled to re-read until such time as I can lay in a fresh supply. At home it is difficult to find time to read--that is, considerable stretches of time, so that one may really digest the pages which he is leisurely taking in. Fifty years ago there were not many more books worth reading than there are to-day, but there was more time to assimilate them. A comparatively few books thoroughly assimilated gave us Lincoln's Gettysburg address. Not long ago my friend the Librarian was speaking of this short classic. "Did you ever," said he, "read Edward Everett's address at Gettysburg?" "No," said I, "and I fear I shall never get to it." "It is stowed away among his collected orations," said he. "Not half bad. Unfortunately for its fame, Mr. Lincoln happened along with a few well chosen remarks which the world has preferred to remember."

* * *

Another advantage of a long railway journey is the opportunity it affords to give one's vocal cords a (usually) well-merited rest. It is possible to travel across the continent without saying a word. A nod or a shake of the head suffices in your dealings with the porter; and you learn nothing from questioning him, as he has not been on that run before. Also, business with the train and Pullman conductors may be transacted in silence, and there is no profit in asking the latter to exchange your upper berth for a lower, as he has already been entreated by all the other occupants of uppers. When the train halts you do not have to ask, "What place is this?"--you may find out by looking at the large sign on the station. Nor is it necessary to inquire, "Are we on time?"--your watch and time-table will enlighten you. You do not have to exclaim, when a fresh locomotive is violently attached, "Well, I see we got an engine"--there is always somebody to say it for you. And you write your orders in the dining car. There is, of course, the chance of being accosted in the club car, but since this went dry the danger has been slight. And conversation can always be averted by absorption in a book, or, in a crisis, by pretending to be dumb.

* * *

Not everybody can travel three or four days without exchanging words with a fellow traveler. Mr. George Moore, for example, would be quite wretched. Conversation is the breath of his being, he says somewhere. I understand that Mr. Moore has another book on press, entitled "Avowals." Avowals! My dear!... After the "Confessions" and the "Memoirs" what in the world is there left for the man to avow?

* * *

What a delightful fictionist is Moore! And never more delightful than when he is writing fiction under the appearance of fact. No one has taken more to heart the axiom that the imaginary is the only real. As my friend the Librarian observed, the difference between George Moore and Baron Munchausen is that Moore's lies are interesting.

* * *

Travelers must carry their own reading matter under government ownership. The club car library now consists of time-tables, maps, and pamphlets setting forth the never to be forgotten attractions of the show places along the way. These are all written by the celebrated prose poet Ibid, and, with a bottle of pseudo beer or lemon pop, help to make the club car as gay a place as a mortician's parlor on a rainy afternoon.

* * *

The treeless plateau over which the train rolls, hour after hour, is the result of a great uplift. It was not sudden; it was slow but sure. This result is arid and plateautudinous, in a manner of speaking--not the best manner. It makes me think of democracy--and prohibition. To this complexion we shall come at last. To be sure, the genius of man will continue to cut channels in the monotonous plain; erosion will relieve the dreary prospect with form and color, but it bids fair to be, for the most part, a flat and dry world, from which many of us will part with a minimum of regret. There will remain the inextinguishable desire to learn what wonders science will disclose. Perhaps--who knows?--they will discover how to ventilate a sleeping car.

* * *