Chapter VIII: Exhibitions, Entertainments, and Special Occasions (2)

And, my, what a tree! It touched the ceiling, and
its boughs hung down with its heavy burdens. Only
a Christmas tree can bear such products--and such
trees as that one don’t grow everywhere and don’t
bring such cheer. There were dolls and games,
houses and boats, dogs and cats, stoves and balls,
and bags and bags of candy. The tree was decorated
with chains and strings of pop corn and Santas
which had been made by the children themselves.

The presents were given out first, and then came
the candy and oranges. The bags of candy were torn
open, almost greedily, and there was a general
sticky munching.

“Aren’t you afraid you will make yourself sick
eating so much candy?” Richard Lynch was asked.

“No, I ain’t,” he replied. “I never gits sick.”

Richard has been in a form a long time now, and so,
of course, he’s not sick. Alfred Morrisetti was
in the next bed, and between crammings of sweet
stuffs, they compared their much-valued presents.

“Didja see my ball?” asked Richard, as he held up a
rubber ball which he will hardly be able to get the
full benefit of for a long, long time yet.

“Yes, but it ain’t half as nice as my bug,” Alfred
replied, holding up a wriggley creature which
shivered and shook as it was waved about. “I’m
goinna call it Hinny ’cause its all on hinges.”

There was little Mary Hayes, another spinal case,
who received a set of dishes and a broom and a dust
pan and insisted she was going to play “keeping
house.” Each present was better than the other, and
there were many for each patient.

Flitting from bed to bed, winding up toys and
adjusting pillows was Miss Laura B. Anderson,
the nurse in charge of the ward. Along with Miss
Anderson was Miss Margaret Smith, the children’s
teacher, who taught them the songs they sang, and
makes herself much beloved by the young charges
entrusted to her care.

Many convalescent adult patients were present,
having been helped in from other wards. They were
all remembered, too, as well as the children, when
the candy and fruits were passed out by Dr. H. D.
Clough, who played the part of Santa Claus. Several
trustees, a number of the house staff and visiting
doctors, with their wives, were also present.

Music was furnished by Miss Virginia Boyd
Anderson’s Orchestra. Piano solos were rendered by
Dr. N. B. Cole and instrumental duets by Drs. Cole
and W. O. Rice. A vocal quartet was also made up of
Drs. Cole, Rice, H. G. Calder and B. H. Buxton. In
every part of the programme the children joined and
clapped until one would have thought their little
hands would be sore.

Early this morning the nurses visited various
parts of the hospital singing carols. The choir
from Grace Church will sing at the hospital this
afternoon and St. Stephen’s choir will be there
Sunday afternoon. To-day the children will have
another presentation, when they will be visited by
their parents and friends.

* * * * *

CHRISTMAS PANTOMIME

_New York Times_

Just as the strolling players of old England put up
their booths in the public square, so the players
of Stuart Walker’s Portmanteau Theatre arranged a
stage for a pantomime last night in Madison Square.
The play, it had been announced, would begin at 9
o’clock, but many of the players were unable to get
away from engagements at uptown theatres on time.
Meanwhile the crowd grew.

It was a long wait. The arc lights in the park had
been turned off. The clouds, which were hanging so
low that their soft masses could be seen flying
past the light on the top of the Metropolitan
tower, threatened to pour down a shower at any
minute. All of the lights on the giant Christmas
tree near by had been turned off, except the star,
and the wind whistled and moaned in the tree as it
tossed the waving green branches. Only a band which
was concealed behind the stage kept any liveliness
stirring.

Finally, at 9:30, concealed lights on the stage lit
up the blue scenery and the pantomime began. The
name of the play was “The Seven Gifts, a Fantasy of
Christmas Giving.” The principal characters were
the Wanderer, the Majordomo, the Emerald Queen,
Jack-in-the-Box, the Lowly Man, his Son, the Rich
Man, the Haughty Lady, the Humble Woman, the Brave
Man, the Strolling Player, Pierrot, the Moon Lady,
and the Dear Child. Placards at the side of the
theatre announced the action of the play so that
all might understand.

The trumpeters signaled for silence. The crowd of
about 2,500, which stretched on all the paths as
far as Fifth Avenue, became still. Chimes sounded
as the Wanderer, an old man with a pack on his
back, clad in garb of brown, blue and yellow, came
from among the spectators. He saw the stage with
its closely drawn curtains. What was it all for, he
mutely questioned, and started to pull the curtains
of the theatre within a theatre to investigate,
but at that moment out stepped the prologuist and
answered his question by telling mutely, “The
theatre is for you, Wanderer, and for you and you
and you,” to the audience, “and for all who come to
share this fantasy.”

Then the inner curtain slowly rose and disclosed
the court of the Emerald Queen with her attendants.
In the course of the play seven gifts were brought
to her. The first was Jack-in-the-Box, which
part was taken by Tom Powers, who danced for the
Queen. Then the Lowly Man and his son brought in
a scraggly little Christmas tree, which, however,
being the best they had, was acceptable to the
Queen. The Haughty Lady brought flowers, but would
take no notice of the Lowly Man and his son.

The Richest Man in the World brought to the Queen
many treasures, but when a bubble blew across the
stage and the Queen wished for it, neither he nor
his attendants could capture it. Finally, when he
managed to touch it, it burst.

Then the Humble Woman came with her bird, but when
a cage was brought for it she set it free, refusing
to give it into captivity. The Haughty Lady was
very much touched and became repentant of her proud
action. The Bravest Man in the World then entered
and had an amusing fight with Jack-in-the-Box, who
simulated a tiger. Then came the strolling players
with their play.

Scenery was set up and a pretty story of Pierrot
and the Moon Lady enacted.

The Moon Lady first appeared as an old hag to whom
Pierrot offered food. But she wanted kisses, for
only by the kiss of one who had never kissed a fair
lady could she regain her maidenly form. Pierrot
was evidently the one to do the job, for as soon as
he kissed her she became the beautiful Moon Lady
once again and Pierrot fell madly in love with her.
He chased her, but she eluded him, wafting her veil
tantalizingly in his face. At last, when the sun
rose, she was forced to leave him altogether, and
Pierrot was quite broken up about it.

The seventh gift was from the Dear Child, who
presented her own doll, somewhat the worst for
wear, to the Queen. But this gift came from the
heart and was worth all the others. The Queen told
her that she might take what she would of the many
presents that had been brought. Looking at all the
gifts her eye finally lighted on the bright star at
the top of the great tree in the square. She said
she wanted that, and as the Queen and courtiers
followed her gesture the huge tree burst into
light. The Queen dismissed the others and departed
herself.

Turning, the child saw that the room was empty, and
there was her gift on the throne. She took the doll
to look at each present, but the doll, too, refused
them all. Then the child placed the doll on the
Queen’s throne, to play at being Queen, while the
lights on the stage grew dimmer and dimmer, as the
fantasy ended.

Many left because the narrow paths of the park were
crowded, but had there been one wide-open space,
ten times the number could have seen the play.

* * * * *

LAST DAY FOR STRAW HATS

_Milwaukee Evening Wisconsin_

Died, on August 31, 1909, at 60 minutes past 11,
S. Traw Hatt, aged 92 days and some minutes, at
his late place of abode at 41144 Cranium place.
Deceased was a prominent figure in the downtown
district, being usually accompanied by a band. His
démise was not unexpected but was nevertheless a
shock to many who were accustomed to take chances
with the lake breezes until far into autumn. Hatt
and Dame Fashion were closely allied during the
summer silly season, but his departure from this
existence apparently is not mourned by the fickle
despot, who herself had foretold that September
1 would see the last of Hatt. Hatt, despite his
unmistakable masculinity, was frequently mistaken
for the mysterious Miss Dolly Dimples of The
Evening Wisconsin, and it was a common sight to
see him madly pursued by a score of irate but
prominent citizens in the vicinity of Grand avenue
bridge on a windy day. It probably was because of
Hatt’s close proximity to many classic brows that
he was so popular in various Greek boot-black
establishments, where the swarthy sons of Hellas
spent ten minutes at a time in putting him through
oxalic baths with the hope of insuring longevity
and pristine luster. Hatt’s only near relatives
are Miss Peach B. Asket and Mrs. Sue P. Bowle.
Appropriate requiem services will be held at the
board of trade today. Interment will be in the
family attic or a handy ash barrel. Inscribed on
the tomb will be the legend:

“We loved our Straws but oh you Felts.”

* * * * *

BANQUET

_New York World_

In response to the toast, “The Land o’ Cakes,”
Andrew Carnegie, speaking last night at the St.
Andrew’s Society banquet, practically rolled all
the cakes there are into one big doughnut, bit off
the entire rim for Scotland, and left England,
Ireland, America, Asia and Africa to divide the
hole among themselves.

Entirely surrounded by Scotch flags, Scotch music,
Scotch whiskey and gentlemen in kilts, Mr. Carnegie
looked the most pleased man in the world as he got
up to speak. He had just led the singing of the
“Star Spangled Banner,” and “God Save the King,”
and remarked in his first paragraph that he hadn’t
much voice left for his speech.

But, with Scotland for a text, he managed to talk
brawly for about twenty minutes, and by the time
he was back in his seat Scotland had claimed
everything in sight.

“Scotland is a land of small population, but her
sons, though few, are deep,” said the Ironmaster.
Everybody laughed at that, but Mr. Carnegie held up
a deprecating hand and said that he wasn’t trying
to be funny, that he was seizing the occasion to
make known just a little of what Scotchmen had done
for the world.

Whereupon he harked back to the fifth century, at
which time he declared mankind began to look to the
land o’ cakes for pattern and example.

Running then somewhat rapidly down the centuries,
he maintained that for all those years Scotland had
been supreme in three branches above all others:
religion, politics and education.

Nobody on earth, for instance, ever had more
religious liberty than Scotchmen have always had.
The humblest cotter over there was as free to
worship His Maker in his own way as was His Majesty
the King. Mr. Carnegie had observed that much in
Scotland in his boyhood and had been forcibly
struck with it every time he had been back since.

In America, to sum up on the count of religious
liberty, there is as much liberty as in Scotland,
but no more, and, anyway, America borrowed the idea
from the free kirk.

When he came down to political greatness, Mr.
Carnegie gave his hearers a shock. The United
States owed its Constitution to a Scotchman, Judge
Wilson, and Mr. Carnegie proved it by quoting a
letter which he said George Washington had written
Wilson, saying “we owe the American Constitution to
you.”

Quickly slipping in Alexander Hamilton, making
him as Scotch as possible and crediting him with
everything that hadn’t been already cornered by
Judge Wilson, Mr. Carnegie then got along to the
matter of education, and showed that Scotland, as
copied by America, led the world.

Witness John Witherspoon, of the early days of
Princeton, America’s model educator ever since. On
account of him and for all the aforesaid reasons,
said Mr. Carnegie, a Scotchman always feels
at home in the United States; Scotland is his
mother, America is his wife, and there is nothing
inconsistent in his loving both.

Besides Mr. Carnegie, the speakers of the evening
were Hamilton Mabie, Gen. Leonard Wood, E. Theodore
Martin, Irving Bacheller, Julius M. Mayer, Dr.
Alexander McGregor and Harry Lauder. Lauder
responded to the toast “Honest Men an’ Bonnie
Lassies”; Gen. Wood, to the “Army and Navy.”

A bagpipe band played alternately with a string
orchestra, and a lot of the Scotsmen present came
in kilts and bare legs. It was noticeable, though,
that most of the latter wore long fur overcoats and
went home in closed automobiles.

In addition to Lauder, Messrs. John Reid, E.
Theodore Mayer and George A. Fleming, all well
known Scottish singers, enlivened the evening with
ballads. A few of those present were:

Robert Foulis, Frank W. McLaughlin, Rev. David G.
Wylie, Alexander McGregor, of Boston; Lieut.-Col.
Allan C. Bakewell, Dr. Neil MacPhatter, Rev.
Anthony H. Evans, D. D., Evert Jansen Wendell,
Gen. John T. Lockman, Edgar L. Marston, Rev.
George Alexander, Robert C. Ogen, Courtenay Walter
Bennett, British Consul-General at New York;
J. Edward Simmons, president of the Chamber of
Commerce, and Rear-Admiral Caspar F. Goodrich, U.
S. N.

* * * * *

SCHOOL ENTERTAINMENT

_New York Times_

The crippled children of Public School 2, Primary,
almost believed that they were the butterflies
and bees and flowers that they impersonated in
the playlet of “Cinderella in Flowerland” in
the auditorium of Public School 62, at Hester
and Essex Streets, yesterday afternoon, for the
entertainment of the primary children of other
schools in the neighborhood. And a happy woman was
Mrs. Elizabeth Waldo Schuarz, Principal of Public
School 2, Primary, who has taken the crippled
children’s annex under her special supervision. As
the children sang and haltingly danced on their
unstable little legs she smiled and almost wept by
turns.

Other grown-ups in the audience, too, had recourse
to handkerchiefs as children dressed as butterflies
fluttered in, some with creaking braces on their
legs, singing:

Lightly, lightly winging, on the breezes swinging,
Airy little fairies, full of grace and glee,
Dancing with the sunbeams, weaving dainty day dreams,
Could mortals be as light and free? Airy fairies we!

It was the old story of Cinderella, but the
characters were flowers, Sunshine, Bonnie Bee, the
good old Godmother, and Mother Nature. Cinderella
was a daisy bud, and because her petals had not yet
unfolded she had no fine dress to wear to the ball
of Prince Sunshine. Cinderella was Marie Schatter,
who is well on the road to recovery from a bad
case of curvature of the spine. The stepsisters,
Hollyhock and Tiger Lily, were proud indeed,
although they did limp a little.

Mother Nature, the good fairy godmother, however,
summoned Bonnie Bee, who, in his efforts to call
the sunshine to open Cinderella’s petals, quite
forgot that he had a tubercular knee. When the
sunshine did come and Cinderella’s petals opened
up, she smiled as only a little girl who has
suffered much can smile.

At the ball the part of the Prince was taken by
Celia Weller, who has not lost hope that her back
may some day be straight. Among the flowers was a
little girl, all in white, who carried a bunch of
blossoms almost as big as her stunted self.

The play from the ball on followed the time-honored
version. In the final scene, where the Prince finds
his true love by the try-on of the tiny slipper,
all the thirty children in the play came upon the
stage.

In spite of their physical handicaps, the children
put great spirit into the play, much to the credit
of the educational system that lifts little
sufferers into Fairyland.

* * * * *

CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL ENTERTAINMENT

_New York Mail_

A sweet-faced woman stood beside the crib of little
Jack MacIntyre in the surgical ward of St. Mary’s
Free Hospital for Children this afternoon, and
watched him hold court with the little queens of
Fairyland, whom De Wolf Hopper had imported from
the Majestic theatre. Above the crib was a copper
plate bearing the inscription, “In Loving Memory
of Katherine Harris Wilkes,” and it was between
this plate and the happy group paying homage to
little Jack that the woman divided her attention.
Sometimes it seemed as if tears were responsible
for the glistening in her eyes, but this impression
died away when her gaze rested on the little man in
the crib.

He was a happy little fellow, and his smile was
contagious. Even the staid little members of the
“Pied Piper” chorus, exalted to the pinnacle of
dignity by being permitted to take part in a
“benefit performance,” melted before it. They had
approached his crib shyly, but the effusiveness of
his greeting was irresistible.

“I was goin’ home to-day,” he gurgled, “but I’m
goin’ to stay now for the show. I like shows, I
do, and I like”--this with an arch smile--“I like
girls, too.”

“You little dear,” said Miss Marguerite Clarke, who
plays the part of Elvira in the Hopper show. Jack
accepted this tribute complacently, for when one is
four years old and the pet of an entire hospital
staff, homage becomes almost commonplace.

“Which of these little girls do you like best?”
queried the smiling nurse, who was chaperoning
Jack’s guests. Now Jack’s last name is MacIntyre,
and he proved right then and there that he was a
bona fide “Mac,” blarney and all.

“I like,” he said, and his eyes roved smilingly
over the entire party, “I like ’em all.”

This diplomatic answer won so much commendation
from the little girl guests that it is probable
that Jack would still be holding court if the
performance planned to gladden both him and his
little comrades had not been scheduled to start at
1 o’clock sharp. Chirps of impatience from other
parts of the ward warned the party that their visit
must be cut short; so the little fairy queens
left Jack and prepared for their entrance on the
miniature stage which had been erected in the
middle of the big room. Only the sweet-faced woman
who had stood silently beside the crib remained,
and Jack turned his beaming face upon her.

“Are you happy, dear?” she said.

“Sure,” he chuckled; “there’s goin’ to be a show.
Ain’t you never seen a show?”

The woman turned from him a second and looked up at
the inscription on the plate above his crib. Then
she looked down at his smiling face again and said:

“It’s been a long time since I have seen one,
dear, but I’m going to watch the show here to-day
with you. May I?”

“Sure,” he said. And then he stretched his tiny arm
through the bars of the crib and laid his moist
little hand in hers--“You and me, together.”

* * * * *

LAWN FETE

_Kansas City Times_

A quaint old fashioned garden, gay with rose
trees and wistaria-twined archways, a garden
which blossomed in a day, was the setting for
the delightfully costumed fete given yesterday
afternoon for the benefit of the little sufferers
of Mercy Hospital. Girls in primitive Yorkshire
peasant garden smocks assisted in the welcoming of
those who came to see the pageant and to give their
mite for charity. Little ones of every age who
followed the “pied piper” were reproductions of the
children of Kate Greenaway. Flowered chintzes gave
aid to the blossoms in the garden in adding to the
color effect.

It was a fete for the delight of all the grownups,
but it really belonged to the little Miss Muffets
and their brothers and sisters. This little bit
of a Mother Goose child was there in the person
of Mary Belden, who looked so bewitching in her
flowered ankle-long frock demurely laced in front
with velvet ribbon, her fascinating mob cap and
strapped white slippers that even then she might
have been in a terrible fright of the wicked spider
had it not been for the wonderful mitts she wore.
They were quaint and black, and Miss Muffet’s pride
in them apparently gave chase to her timidity.

Riding a pony with all his might was little J. W.
McGarvey. A pale blue long-tailed coat had he, and
a stunning high hat sat proudly and securely on his
head.

Betty Banks wore a long yellow postilion coat over
her pretty white frock and also a big black riding
hat.

Far from contrary and altogether fascinating were
the “pretty maids all in a row,” and even the
original contrary Mary might have been forgiven for
her contrariness had she appeared in the frock
this Mary (Miss Virginia Aikins) wore. Her costume
was a checkered one in many hues, banded about the
bottom with velvet ribands. Her big, big hat in
Leghorn and her extensive lace collar gave her a
very important air.

The pretty maids were decked in flowered frocks
of gayest chintzes, bobbing poke bonnets and Maud
Muller hats. Ribbon streamers mingled with their
curls and gave to the costumes a graceful touch.

The two little Pussy Cats were attractive little
kittens in posied skirts and black coats.

Almost too heavy for little Jacky Horner was the
big Christmas pie. But the broadly checked long
trousers and the checked “runabout” composed a very
stunning suit.

Too pretty to tumble in were the costumes of Jack
and Jill, Virginia and Penelope Smith. Jack’s suit
of sprigged chintz and Jill’s plaid swirling skirts
were topped by a high hat and a bright bonnet with
plaid bands. With his faithful crook, a gay yellow
suit and a cocked hat Little Bo Peep took his way
after his sheep very energetically.

“The Merchantmen” were costumed in velvet doublets
and hose. These were in bright blue and rose and
green and purple. Their velvet Beef-eater hats were
true to the type and very becoming to the wearers.

Outside the garden the grounds were turned into
Arcady where booths were created into miniature
kingdoms, the prettiest of the young matrons
and girls presiding. Miss Felice Lyne and her
assistants, Mrs. William Perry, Miss Virginia
George, Miss Dorothy George, Miss Helen Furguson,
Miss Katherine Harvey and Mrs. C. N. Seidlitz, jr.,
were at the refreshment booth. Miss Lyne sold the
cigarettes there.

Miss Josephine Bird, Miss Elizabeth Marsh and Miss
Ada Lee Porter served at another booth near.

All these young women wore the picturesque
garden smock and some type of hat which properly
accompanied it.

Pretty peddlers everywhere were dressed in airy
summer frocks with skirts of great expanse,
ruffle trimmed and suggestive in every way of
the picturesque Victorian era. They were selling
sweets and flowers and balloons. To the lot of Mrs.
Kenneth Dickey fell the task of disposing of the
balloons. Mrs. Dickey wore a white net gown trimmed
in velvet bands and a large hat with transparent
brim. A silk sport coat added a bit of color.
Among the other venders who plied their trade for
charity’s sake were:

Miss Annette McGee,
Miss Virginia Beeler,
Miss Elizabeth Dodge,
Miss Catherine Firey,
Miss Madeline Dickey,
Miss Gwendolyn Green,
Miss Flora Markey,
Miss Dorothy Johnston,
Miss Florence Haight,
Mrs. List Peppard,
Miss Helen Foran,
Miss Ada Lee Porter,
Miss Josephine Bird,
Miss Elizabeth Marsh,
Miss Elizabeth Cook,
Miss Helen Mace.

* * * * *

JUBILEE SERVICE IN CATHEDRAL

_New York Evening Post_

It is seldom that New York goes to church in honor
of a foreign potentate, and a royal monarch at
that. Yet some thousands filled St. Patrick’s
Cathedral to-day to listen to a solemn high mass,
celebrated with all the stately pomp of the Roman
Catholic ritual, in honor of the diamond jubilee of
his “Apostolic Majesty Francis Joseph I, Emperor
of Austria and King of Hungary, of Bohemia, of
Dalmatia, of Croatia, of Slavonia, of Galicia, of
Jerusalem, Archduke of Austria, Count-Prince of
Hapsburg, Seigneur of the Wendish March, Grand
Voyvode of Servia,” and any number of additional
titles.

Archbishop Farley sat in his high seat at the left
of the chancel, surrounded by monsignori in violet,
while the glimmer of many-hued cassocks, the
rustling of stoles, and the shimmer of the purple
gowns of the acolytes filled the broad altar with a
constant play of shifting colors.

Through windows, high up, the cold early-winter
sunshine poured, warmed by the gracious tones of
the panes, and mingled with the yellow light of the
candles on the high altar. At intervals along the
nave and in the side aisles bunches of electric
lights twinkled dimly.

The church filled rapidly, and by the time the
first premonitory rumbles of the organ started
the echoes flying back and forth among the lofty
arches, the front part, clear across the transept,
was full, and scarce a pew throughout the entire
body of the edifice that did not have its quota of
the devout.

Not all were Austrians or Hungarians, or any one
of the myriad nationalities ruled over by the aged
Emperor-King; not all were Catholics, either. Many
were there simply to do honor to a man who had
ruled the most scattered country in the world for
sixty years, the span of an ordinary man’s life.

In the front pews sat the diplomats and guests of
honor, with here and there among them the glitter
of a uniform or a decoration. An Austrian in the
full uniform of his country’s service, his glazed,
yellow-plumed shako on his arm and sword clanking
at his heels, strode up the centre aisle to a pew.
His stiff pompadour and little moustache reminded
one of the slim lieutenants who haunt the cafés of
Vienna and Buda-Pest. While one felt instinctively
that he would have been out of place on Fifth
Avenue, somehow his strange uniform fitted in with
the atmosphere of the church.

The organ started and the procession of altar boys,
acolytes, priests, and deacons appeared. Candles
glimmered, rose and fell, to the organ’s swelling
prelude. With the clergy ranged in orderly rows
before the altar, the chant of the Te Deum was
taken up by the archbishop. Then the celebrant of
the mass, the Rev. John Hauptmann, and his deacons,
the Rev. Urban Nageleisen, and the Rev. Rudolph
Nickel, clad in shimmering gold vestments, advanced
and commenced the preliminary ceremonies of the
mass.

It was all very beautiful and imposing, and the
vast congregation sat spellbound through the scene,
while the clergy, the celebrants, and the masters
of the ceremonies, the Rev. J. V. Lewis and the
Rev. A. Blaznick, conducted the rites.

Later, there were sermons by the Rev. Ambrose
Schumack and Father Mateus. Father Schumack spoke
in English with a marked German accent, taking for
his text “Fear God, honor the King.” He told of
the work of Francis Joseph, of his long and stormy
reign.

“On this glorious day,” he said, “it would hardly
be fitting to go into the sadnesses of his life.
We may pass over the wars, bloody and terrible,
into which he was dragged; we may pass over the
tragedies in his family history. He is an old man,
who has ruled his country for sixty years, and
who has kept her, until to-day, whole and strong.
He has kept her so, largely, I think, because
of the aid which he has been afforded by Divine
Providence. ‘Fear God; honor the King.’ That is a
motto which can hurt none of us.”

One could not avoid a quiver of historic interest
at the words. Perhaps never, since the days when
Clinton’s grenadiers garrisoned New York, has a
clergyman preached from such a text.

Father Mateus, who followed Father Schumack, spoke
in the Magyar tongue. Many there were in the
audience who leaned forward attentively in their
seats, drinking in the unwonted words. To them it
was like a breath fresh from the fatherland. But
the majority of the audience could only appreciate
the priest’s fine delivery, which sent his resonant
words clanging distinctly into every farthest
corner of the building.

At last, Father Mateus climbed down from the
pulpit, and the service was continued. And
then, when it was nearly time to go, the whole
congregation rose and joined with the choir and the
priests in singing the mighty “Volkshymne,” which
runs:

Gott erhalte, Gott beschütze
Unsern Kaiser, unser Land!
Maechtig durch des Glaubens Stuetze,
Führ’ er uns mit weiser Hand!

Lass uns seiner Vaeter Krone
Schirmen wider jeden Feind;
Innig bleibt mit Habsburg’s Throne
Oesterreichs Geschick vereint.

Besides Mayor McClellan and his secretary, others
who attended were Patrick McGowan, president of the
Board of Aldermen; Lawrence Grosser, president of
the Borough of Queens; Louis H. Haffen, president
of the Borough of the Bronx; Bird S. Coler,
president of the Borough of Brooklyn; Thomas F.
Murphy, assistant postmaster; Robert Watchorn,
immigration commissioner; Samuel S. Koenig,
secretary of State-elect; Rear-Admiral Goodrich;
Gustave Lindenthal, Judge Hough of the United
States District Court, and the justices of the
Supreme Court, Charles H. Truax, Henry Bischoff,
jr., Leonard A. Giegerich, John W. Goff, Mitchell
E. Erlanger, Lorenz Zeller, and W. H. Olmstead. The
city magistrates were represented by Henry Steinert
and Peter T. Barlow.

Practically all the diplomatic representatives
of the various governments maintaining consular
offices in this city were present, including the
Austrian consul-general, Baron Otto Hoenning
O’Carroll; the Austrian consul, Georg von
Grivicic; Karl Buenz, the German consul-general;
Leg. Rat Karl Gneist, German consul; the Count
Hannibal Massiglia, Italian consul-general;
Courtenay W. Bishop, English consul; Étienne
Lanel, French consul; Baron A. Schlippenbach,
Russian consul-general; Kokichi Midzune, Japanese
consul-general; John R. Planten, consul-general of
the Netherlands; Julius Clan, consul-general of
Denmark; Jose Joaquim Gomes dos Santos, Brazilian
consul-general; Jose V. Fernandez, consul-general
of Argentina; Ricardo Sanchez-Croz, consul-general
of Chili; Wallace White, consul-general of
Paraguay; Juon J. Ulloa, consul-general of Costa
Rica, and Ramon Bengoeches, consul-general of
Guatemala.

The officers of the Austrian Society of New York,
Emil Fischel, Dr. Edward Pisko, Dr. Karl Weiss, and
Leopold Selzer, together with many of the members,
were likewise present.

* * * * *

UNIVERSITY COMMENCEMENT

_New York Evening Post_

NEW HAVEN, Conn., June 17.--Seven hundred and
seventy-eight degrees were conferred upon students
of the class of 1914 at the 213th commencement
exercises of Yale University here to-day. The
ceremonies were held in Woolsey Hall, in the
presence of a great and distinguished academic
gathering. Twenty-one honorary degrees were
conferred, among them that of doctor of laws on
Romulo S. Naon, Ambassador from the Argentine to
the United States, and now one of the envoys in the
mediation proceedings at Niagara Falls.

The same honor was awarded to Surgeon-Gen. William
Crawford Gorgas, who yesterday received the degree
of doctor of science from Princeton. In view of the
centennial celebration of the Yale Medical School,
it was natural that the number of medical men to
receive honorary degrees should be much greater
than usual.

The gathering of the candidates for degrees was
preceded by the customary procession, formed in
Vanderbilt Court, through the central green and
thence through College Street to Woolsey Hall,
while the Trinity Church chimes on the Green
and the band which headed the procession played
“Onward, Christian Soldiers.” The formal exercises
included music conducted by Prof. Horatio Parker,
dean of the Music School. Three of the numbers
were composed by Jean Sibelius, who was among
the recipients of honorary degrees. Prayer was
offered by the Rev. Dr. Charles E. Jefferson, of
New York City, a member of the Yale Corporation.
Prof. Wilbur L. Cross, of the Scientific School,
presented the candidates for honorary degrees.

For work done in the various departments of the
University the 778 degrees were conferred as
follows: In Yale College, 287 bachelors of arts,
313 bachelors of philosophy; in the School of
Divinity, 27 bachelors of divinity; in the School
of Law, 29 bachelors of laws, 6 masters of laws,
2 doctors of laws, 2 bachelors of civil laws; in
the School of Forestry, 24 masters of forestry; in
the Graduate School, 32 doctors of philosophy and
30 masters of arts; in the Sheffield Scientific
School, 1 degree of electrical engineer, 2 of civil
engineer, 8 of mechanical engineer, 4 of engineer
of mines; in the School of Fine Arts, 1 bachelor
of fine arts and 2 bachelors of music. The prizes
in all departments were announced yesterday, and
the chief honors were published in the _Evening
Post_.

Of the men receiving honorary degrees, the
following were awarded the degree of Master of Arts:

Edwin Howland Blashfield, mural decorator, winner
of many prizes, and editor of Vasari’s “Lives of
the Painters.”

Edward Robinson Baldwin, M.D., right-hand man
of Dr. Trudeau at Saranac Lake, and an American
authority on tuberculosis.

William Herbert Corbin, ’89, honored because
of his important work as Connecticut Tax
Commissioner.

Capt. Charles Franklin Craig, M.D., ’94, an
officer of the United States Medical Corps, who
has distinguished himself chiefly by work on
malarial and tropical diseases.

John Howland, ’94, professor of pediatrics at
Johns Hopkins University.

James Hartness, president of the American Society
of Mechanical Engineers, inventor of useful
mechanical parts, instruments, etc.

Henry Hun, Ph.B., ’74, well-known neurologist and
formerly president of the Association of American
Physicians.

Elliott Proctor Joslin, ’90, a physician of note
in Boston, who is connected with the Harvard
Medical School.

Fred Towsley Murphy, ’97, professor of surgery in
Washington University, St. Louis.

Oliver C. Smith, president of the Connecticut
Medical Society, and a leading surgeon of
Hartford.

William Francis Verdi, M.D., ’94, a leading
operative surgeon of Connecticut.

Miss Mary Emma Woolley, president of Mount
Holyoke College.

Jean Sibelius, the leading Finnish composer, was
honored with the degree of doctor of music. The
degree of doctor of science was conferred upon
Edgar Fahs Smith, provost of the University of
Pennsylvania and a well-known American chemist, and
upon Richard Pearson Strong, Ph.B., ’93, professor
in the Harvard Medical School, an authority on
tropical diseases.

Sidney Gulick, professor of theology at Doshisha,
author of “The Social Evolution of the Japanese,”
and influential adviser of the Japanese and
American Governments on matters of race adjustment
on the shores of the Pacific, received the honorary
degree of doctor of divinity.

The following received the degree of doctor of laws:

William Crawford Gorgas, surgeon-general of
the United States, chief sanitary engineer of
the Panama Canal, and a member of the Isthmian
Commission.

George Wharton Pepper, an eminent lawyer and a
citizen vitally interested in the work of Christian
unity and missions.

Rómulo S. Naón, Ambassador of Argentina to the
United States, formerly Minister of Education, and
a jurist of note.

John Kimberly Beach, 77, formerly of the firm
which for many years has been the counsel of the
University, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court
of Connecticut, and professor of mercantile law and
admiralty jurisprudence in the Yale Law School.

Peter Ainslee, leader in the Church of the
Disciples, worker in the cause of Christian unity,
and the author of the standard history of his
communion.

A commencement week made historical by the
endowment and promise of further endowment in its
centennial year of the Yale Medical School, was
brought to a close by the exercises to-day. In
every way, this week marking the completion of the
213th year of the conferring of Yale degrees is
generally regarded as a notable one. On the class
reunion side, the usual bizarre effects have been
gained by the adoption of class costumes. Various
classes appeared as polo players, Colonials,
British soldiers, and Chinese mandarins, and some
two hundred members of the academic triennial class
were decked out as playing-cards. Many classes
report record attendances, those back for regular
reunions including numerous distinguished sons of
the University. One gathers the impression that
this year’s commencement has brought back greater
numbers than any previous occasion, barring, of
course, the bicentennial celebration, in the fall
of 1901.

Two innovations were tried out this year on the
social side of commencement week. The so-called
“1492 Dinner,” inaugurated some years ago to
provide a Tuesday evening dinner for all returning
graduates not included in regular reunion classes,
was taken over by the class secretaries’ bureau
and rejuvenated under the more formal title of
the “United Graduates’ Reunion Dinner.” Held in
Woolsey Hall, where the Newberry organ was used to
accompany the singing of old Latin hymns, and where
the surroundings were conducive to a more informal
and intimate gathering than in the University
Dining Hall, the dinner was a success under the
new auspices. Charles W. Littlefield, ’03, of New
York, presided, and two of the speakers were John
H. Finley, Commissioner of Education of New York,
and Dudley Field Malone. At the end of the Tuesday
evening reunion celebration, a general alumni
gathering on the College campus brought men of all
classes together. This meeting was an improvement
on last year’s gathering, spectacular fireworks,
general singing, and athletic contests being the
features of the programme.

The final event of the Yale commencement of 1914
was the president’s reception in Memorial Hall this
afternoon.

* * * * *

NOTE--_The following two stories show how the same
incident was reported in a Chicago morning paper
and in a New York evening paper of the same day._

COMMENCEMENT INCIDENT

(1)

_Chicago Tribune_

Champaign, Ill., June 17.--[Special.]--Discipline
at the University of Illinois is not what it used
to be in the days when they decided to make an
example of Porter Gray, the boy who wouldn’t go to
chapel.

Chapel cutting in those times was considered a
pretty serious offense; yet here was the Gray boy
back on the campus today with the full knowledge
and consent of the faculty.

And more than that, the faculty--regardless of the
fact that it wasn’t much more than twenty-nine
years ago that he was suspended--patted him on the
back, defied the rules of dignity by joining the
student body in an oskey wow, wow, and wound up by
making him a bachelor of science.

Those of the town folk who saw Porter the day he
packed up his other shirt and collar and marched
defiantly into exile remarked on his changed
appearance on his return. The hair that fringes the
new bald spot on top of his head is gray, he has
become exaggeratedly round shouldered, and he can’t
see without the aid of thick lensed glasses. But
that, says Champaign, is what fast city life will
do to any youngster.

Porter had not been back at school long before he
met another bad boy--a chap named Harrison Coates
Earl, who got into trouble with the university
authorities and left as hastily as his classmate,
Gray. Harrison has changed a lot, too. He has
put on flesh, and he says that even without the
recommendation of his alma mater he got a good
position in Chicago as a municipal judge.

The new school educators in charge at the
university treated Harrison Earl as they did the
Gray boy--only it was a bachelor of literature they
made him.

The two disciplined classmates had been wandering
around the campus unrecognized amid a swarm of
hurrying, nervous seniors. They met at the bursar’s
office.

“Here’s $5--my diploma fee. I’m Gray, ’85,” jerked
Porter through the wicket, when a hand thumped
against his back.

“Gray, ’85, eh; little Port Gray? Why, you’re
suspended for cutting chapel. You’d better get off
the campus before they catch you.”

Gray, ’85, whirled around. He recognized the heavy
handed speaker.

“Harrison Earl,” he cried. “Do you mean to say
they’re taking you back, too?”

“Not Harrison, but Judge Earl, if you please,” said
the other severely. “Your guess is right. They’ve
called me back to get my degree. In a few hours
I’ll be a bachelor of literature. I don’t know,
though, that it’s going to help me any in the law,
but I’ll be glad to get it just the same. How about
you?”

Gray shook his head.

“I’ll be a bachelor of science when they
get through with me at the exercises,” he
answered. “The degree might have done me some
good--twenty-nine years ago--but I don’t think
it’ll be of any great assistance to me now. It
might make me eligible to the University club.
But they probably wouldn’t want me there. I’m a
professional masseur.”

Back in the early ’80’s seniors at the state
university didn’t go in for caps and gowns at
commencement, but it never did take Porter Gray
long to pick anything up. After looking over the
new fangled outfits on display along the campus, he
went into a shop and rented one for himself.

In cap and gown he paraded into the university
auditorium with the rest of the candidates for
degrees. In the section to which he was ushered
he found a dozen familiar faces, all seamed with
wrinkles like his own, and most of them adorned
with spectacles. The owners of the faces remembered
him, too, as he was whispering greetings.

“Will Brown--you still alive? Bob Dunlevy--why,
Bob, you need a shave. Joe Holt, did you come all
the way from California for this?”

To those of his old schoolmates who hadn’t read
of the university’s intention of calling it quits
and conferring on him the degree held back for
twenty-nine years, Gray explained the reason for
his return.

Gray told how, after losing his battle for
reinstatement in the courts, he had decided to
cut himself off forever from the university; how
the alma mater had forgotten his existence, and
then, with the unearthing of some old records, had
“discovered” him and offered him a degree.

“If they had not said the first word I never would
have taken it,” Gray protested. “If I had it to do
all over again I would not change my course. I was
an agnostic, and I am one still. They couldn’t drag
me to chapel if I thought I could put the time to
better use with my books.”

(2)

_New York Evening Post_

CHAMPAIGN, Ill., June 17.--Suspended twenty-nine
years ago because he was an agnostic and would not
attend chapel, Porter Gray, of the class of ’85,
received his degree of bachelor of science from the
University of Illinois to-day.

Gray was working his way through the University
back in the eighties. It was his ambition to become
a Government entomologist. He was forced to take
leave of absence for one year to earn money to
complete his course.

In spite of his narrow means and close attention
to his studies, Gray began to acquire a campus
reputation as the man who never went to chapel.
Attendance was compulsory in those days. Selim H.
Peabody, then president of the University, called
Gray on the carpet, but the student was firm.

“I am an agnostic,” he said. “I will not go to
chapel.”

“Write a statement that chapel attendance is
repugnant to your religious convictions, and that
will suffice,” said Dr. Peabody.

“I will not. I have no religious convictions; I am
an agnostic. I simply will not attend chapel,” said
Gray.

He was suspended forty days before he was to have
been graduated.

President Edmund J. James, of the University, came
upon the papers in Gray’s old and forgotten case a
short time ago when he was engaged in rounding up
the old alumni for a home coming. He wrote to Gray
in Chicago, and urged him to visit the University.

Gray, embittered by a vain fight that had taken
his last dollar years ago and had ended only in
the State Supreme Court, to compel the University
to give him his degree, replied curtly that all
he wished the University to do was to forget him.
President James wrote again that chapel rules were
obsolete now, and that they wanted to give Gray his
belated degree. Gray came here to-day, and from a
big crowd of undergraduates he will hear for the
first time the cheer of Illinois. College yells
were not much known in Gray’s day here.

* * * * *

UNIVERSITY CLASS DAY

_New York Sun_

The Columbia seniors had an honorary valedictorian
at their class day exercises yesterday afternoon
whose name was not on the programme but whose
presence on the platform called for ten minutes’
continual cheering. Fifty years after he had been
graduated, and upon the eve of his retirement
from the university, Dean John Howard Van Amringe
became an honorary member of the class of 1910, and
yesterday, when the class was celebrating its last
reunion as undergraduates, Van Amringe, ’60, made a
farewell address to the class.

When the class marched out of the gymnasium at
the conclusion, the white haired dean and the
senior president went out side by side, on the
“pilgrimage” to Hamilton Hall, where the class ivy
was planted.

The exercises were held early in the afternoon in a
room thronged with the relatives and friends of the
graduates, who marched into the gymnasium dressed
in academic cap and gown. Robert Scarborough
Erskine delivered the president’s address of
welcome. Francis N. Bangs, a son of Francis S.
Bangs, who had much to do with the abolition of
football at Columbia five years ago, was the class
historian, and he divulged class secrets. He made
the statement that a ballot of the class showed
that forty-one of the eighty-seven members have
more than a passing liking for beverages stronger
than water, while fifty-two delight in using
tobacco. Bangs did not go any further into the
intimate history of the class.

Harry Wilson of Sioux Falls, S. D., was selected
the most popular man in the class, the one who
has done most for Columbia, the most likely to
succeed, likewise the noisiest, and the biggest
politician. Howard Delane was chosen the best all
around man and the best natured; he was elected
the recipient of the alumni association prize to
the most faithful and deserving student, which is
the highest honor a senior at Columbia can gain.
John Mentil was elected the best athlete; that
distinction he gained with ease because he has been
captain of a championship basketball team and is on
the varsity baseball team. Clarence Renton won the
rather doubtful honor of being the biggest fusser
and likewise the most foolish man in the class.
Sidney Glide took first place in the race for most
conceited and grouchiest while Arthur Schuarz was
designated the laziest, biggest sport and biggest
bluffer.

The statistics of the class as a whole showed that
the average height was 5 feet 10½ inches, the
average weight 151 pounds and the average age 21
years 5 months, making the 1910 men the youngest
set that has been graduated from Columbia in some
time. Most of the members of the class were born
and live in New York, although every part of the
country is represented. Thirty-one men intend to
study law, ten will take up engineering, nine have
chosen medicine and eight will go into business.
The others were hazy as to just what they were
going to do, or were too modest to tell about their
plans. More than half the class is Republican, and
there are only ten Democrats. One man declared
himself a “Bryan Republican.”

The class decided that Prof. Hervey was the best
teacher and the hardest professor to bluff. Prof.
Charles Arthur Beard was elected the most popular
professor, and William Clinton Densmore Odell, a
brother of the ex-Governor and a professor in the
English department, was elected the most polished.
The history department was considered the best
in the university, while the French department
increased its lead in the contest for the least
desirable, getting the fifteenth successive annual
vote for that honor.

Benjamin Berinstein, one of the two blind men in
the class, was elected to Phi Beta Kappa, with
Thomas Alexander, Paul Williams Aschner, Ernst
Phillip Boas, Mortimer Brenner, Louis Grossbaum,
John Dotha Jones, Russell Thorp Kirby, Herman
Joseph Muller, William de Forest Pearson, Edward
Heyman Pfeiffer, Maurice Picard and Rollo Linsmore
de Wilton.

Berinstein stood at the head of the list. He has
studied for the last year in the law school, having
completed the first three years of his course
in the college last June. James Henry Mullin,
the other blind member of the class, received
commendation for his work.

Condict W. Cutler read the class poem, and the
class prophecy was delivered by C. Homer Ramsdell
of Newburgh, N. Y. Geddes Smith of Paterson, N. J.,
made the ivy oration, after William Langer and Dean
Van Amringe had delivered their valedictories.

William Allen White will deliver the annual Phi
Beta Kappa address in Earl Hall this afternoon, on
“A Theory of Spiritual Progress.” In the morning
the seniors and the faculty will play the annual
baseball game on South Field.