djgsa*
LIKE IT USED TO BE
A HRISTMAS like It
Wr "S&W U That's the thing
I would gladden me.
* mas cheer.
Oh, the laughing girls and boys!
Oh, the feasting and the Joys!
Wouldn't it be good to see
Christmas like it used to be?
Christmas like it used to be—
Snow a-benddtig bush and tree. 1
Bells a-jingling down the lane;
Cousins John and Jim and Jane,
Sue and Kate and all the rest
Dressed-up In their Sunday best.
Coming to that world of glee-
Christmas like it used to be.
Christmas like it used to be—
Been a long, long time since we
Wished (when Santa Claus should come),
You a doll and I a drum.
You a book and I a sled
Strong and swift and painted red;
Oh that day of jubilee!
Christmas like it used to be.
Christmas like it used to be.
It is still as glad and free.
And as fair and full of truth,
i To the clearer eyes of youth.
Could we gladly glimpse it through
Eyes our children's children do
In their Joy-time we would see
Christmas like it used to be.
—Nixon Waterman, in Elliott's Maga
zine.
j MM |\ VKRYBODY knew
J|R|i|W / Moon was "plumb
set" against Tom
/. White. They also
knew that Tom was determined to
marry Clarissy Moon. The views of
Clarissy herself were locked in the
breast of that maiden and no one, not
even her grandmother, could draw
them forth. She listened to the old
]ady's diatribes against Tom. just as
ehe listened to Tom's ardent wooing
and said nothing.
Mrs. Moon, her unmarried daughter
and Clarissy lived in a tiny cabin at
the foot of the Little Backbone, a very
pleasant place in summer, though
that season was brief enough in a
region which is described by its
denizens as having "nine months win
ter and three months cool weather"
each j-ear. In winter the cabin was
not a pleasant place of abode. Xot
only did the snow drift high about it,
but the playful winds entered through
the crevices which Mrs. Moon was al
ways intending to have tilled up and
never did. It was lonely in winter,
too; not even the most persistent
suitor could find his way to it fre
quently when Mie trail was obliter
ated by snow d.-ifts and when night
came early and suddenly, too, in the
chado of the mountains.
Clarissy was thinking of these
things, as she stood at the cabin door
one afternoon in the middle of De
cember. It was rather a cool place
for meditations, but her Aunt I'hoebe
was on what her mother was wont
to call a "high," and any place was
preferable to her immediate vicinity
at such a time. Aunt Phoebe's tem
per, never very sweet, had ill with
stood the strain of prolonged spinster
hood, and she vented her maidenly
disappointment on the nearest ob
jects, her mother and Clarissy, who
were quite innocent in the matter.
"Seems if I cain't please her, no
how," Clarissy was sajing to herself,
"I cain't bear that air bothersome
Tom White, but he's bettern' what
she is, anyhow. Sposn' I wast' give
him er sign t' come 'n' talk t' me er
whileJ" As she hesitated she heard
Aunt Phoebe's shrill tones still raised
to danger pitch in the cabin. Draw
ing off the red handkerchief which
was knotted coquettislily about her
dark hair, she ran down the path and
drawing down a branch of the young
oak which stood alone, she deftly tied
the streamer to it. The handkerchief
was Tom's gift and he had begged
her to use it as a signal whenever she
desired his company. It was the first
time she had made use of it, and as
she tied it she was assuring herself
that she "didn't care er mite fer that
great, awkward fellow," but, in spite
of that fact, her cheeks rivaled the
handkerchief in color. Yielding to
a sudden impulse she scurricl into
the cabin regardless of Aunt Plioebe's
tongue.
"I'll peek out'n the windo-av an'
watch fer him," she thought, "an' I'll
let him cool his heels a bit waittn', be
fore I go out. Anyhow, I ain't prom
ised nothing by tying that handher
cher up there."
Clarissy had the sharp earn of the
mountaineer and soon she heard steps
corning along the trail and finally into
the clearing, but she never moved,
save to see that her grandmother was
dozing iti the chimney corner and
Aunt Phcebe absorbed with her quilt
pieces. The latter had passed from
the active to the passive stage of her
ebullitions and was now sulking.
The gtejis approached nearer and
nearer.
"Ef that old stupid ain't comin' in
yere, after all," Clarissy thought.
"Well, granny'll send him off with a
flea ill his ear if he does, that's all!"
and she assumed an air of elaborate
indifference.
"Hello, thar!" called a masculine
voice scarcely audible to Clarissy for
the beating of her heart. She made
ao move and the call w&u repeated.
"Ain't ye got no manners, t' let
company wait out there that a way,"
her aunt said, sharply, and poor Clar
issy went flying to the door.
There stood, not Tom, but Amos
Purdy, a near neighbor, as neighbors
go in a thinly settled country, and a
widower ot two months' standing who
had dropped in once or twice of late.
He entered now with a sheepish air
which to anyone less preoccupied than
Clarissy would have proved that he
was on courting bent. lie took a
chair near the door and where he
shut out Clarissy's view of the win
dow.
"Kight cold day,"he ventured, ad
dressing Aunt I'hoebe.
"Well, I guess ye can't 'xpect much
else, with Christmas only two weeks
ofT," was the ungracious reply.
"Yep, that's so," the visitor re
sponded. Then he relapsed into an
embarrassed silence, during which he,
with apparent unconsciousness, stared
Clarissy out of countenance.
"Ole Zeb White killed er bear last
Chuesday," was his next remark, still
addressed to Aunt Phoebe. "Hippest
one this year, he says. Them Whites
is awful liars, though, an' I cain't
promise ef he tells th* truth er not."
"Them Whites is a bad stock," Mrs.
Moon broke in, suddenly; "one of 'em
filled our ole cow full of shot when
I was a gal. pretendin' like he thought
she was er bear. An' all the satisfac
tion pap got was puttin' er load o'
shot into him. and pretendin' like he
thought he was er buck!" She chuck
led at the remembrance.
"That air Tom White's goin' t' see
Tiny Koontz;" remarked the guest.
"I seen 'em walkin' last Sunday.
Reckon they'll be. gittin' married
soon. Seeins s'f they'd be a lot of niar
ryin' round yere before long. Er man
ain" worth much nowadays 'nless he's
got a wife."
Clarissy had turned pale at the bit
of news. She rose now. on pretense
of getting more wood for the fire and
went outside. Aunt Phoebe had sud
denly become gracious and the sound
of her voice followed the girl as she
ran along the trail to the tree which
held her token.
"lie ain't goin't' think 1 want "im;"
she panted, he can got' his Tiny
AND CAME FACE TO FACE WITH TOM.
Koontz, ef he wants to. I don't want
'im—great awkward thing!" She
dashed away a tear, as she did so,
and saw that the handkerchief no
longer fluttered from the branch.
Nervously she searched the ground to
see if the wind had carried it into a
clump of bushes. But no handker
chief was there! Tom had evidently
come and gone, without trying to at
tract her attention.
"An' he's taken th* handkercher t"
that air Tiny Koontz!" she said. Then,
with head held high, she marched back,
meeting Amos face to face, as he came
down the path.
"Mighty purty red cheeks ye got,
Clarissy," lie remarked; "when I git er
nother wife she's got t' have red cheeks,
I tell ye. Say, d'ye like red apples?
I'll fetch ye some when I come this here
way agin; you look in that air holler
stump, an' ye'll find 'em."
"I jest plum despise red apples, an' I
plum despise you, too, Amos Purdy."
And she fled to the cabin before the
astonished guest had time to make re
piy.
To her surprise, Aunt Phoebe was in
especially good humor. Her mother
had been throwing out some very plain
hints as to the intentions of Amos re
garding herself, which chimed pleasant
ly with her own reunions on the subject.
She giggled mightily, and assured her
mother that she "wouldn't look at that
ole silly, no. not fer nothing!" But she
was mightily pleased, as anyone could
see.
In her anger against Tom, Clarissy
forgot all about Amos and his red ap
ples, and, indeed, she attached no im
portance to the offer, anyhow. She,
too, was very gay that evening, for she
felt that her grandmother's sharp eyes
were on her, and she would have died
rather than display her futile rage
against her faithless lover. She as
sured herself over and over again that
she never cared a straw for Tom, but
the fact that she had sent for him and
that he had answered her signal only to
carry off the present he had given her
to lake it to another rankled in her
breast.
Heavy snow fell the next day and a
cold kept her close in the cabin for a
week. Amos was the only visitor dur
ing thiit time, and when he came he
brought a substantial offering of ven
ison and a brace of rabbits, gifts by
no means to be despised, and which Mrs.
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1900.
Moon received most graciously. Aunt
Phoebe's eyes shone, but she kept them
on the ground in maidenly modesty
and was very reserved and coy in her
manner. It. never occurred to either
her mother or herself that Clarissy was
the object of Amos' evident intentions.
"I plum got t' have somebody t' keep
house fer me soon." the guest re
marked. "I ain't much of a cook myself,
an' there's lots o' good meat spoilin' at
th' cabin now fer want o' a woman t'
look after it.l was er good husban't'
my woman while she was livin'," he
concluded.
"So ye was. Amos," Mrs. Moon agreed,
eagerly; "I always said so." She was
overjoyed at the idea of giving up her
daughter; she thought delightedly of
the quiet life she could lead with only
Clarissy. "An", now that air Tom
White's out'n tli' way, I'll git t' keep
her a long time," she reasoned, com
placently, as she listened to the vis
itor's account of what he intended to
do for his wife w hen he married again.
"An' talkin' erbout marryin'; 1 guess
Tom White an' Tiny Koontz'll be gittin'
married a Christmas. I seen her with
a red hankercher he give her th' las'
time I was over there," he went on.
'lt seemed to Clarissy that she would
die as she sat there. It was bad enough
to tell herself that Tom had given her
handkerchief to Tiny, but to hear it
as a certainty was worse yet. She made
no sign, but when the talk had once
more veered around to the apparently
inexhaustible subject of Amos' second
wife she slipped softly out of the cabin
and wandered about in the snow like
some wild thing with a mortal hurt.
As she was returning an hour later she
found Amos patiently awaiting her at
the hollow tree.
"I put a lot o' nuts in there and some
yellow apples," he announced. "Ef ye
don't like red apples ye mus' like yel
low ones. Say, Clarissy. sposn' you'n
me git married a Chrismus, like what
Tom White an' Tilly Koontz is goin'
t' do!"
Clarissy never could remember rigTit
ly what she said, but Amos construed
her answer into consent, and, promis
ing to come with the preacher at seven
o'clock on Christmas evening, he went
his way.
It was dark when Clarissy came into
the cabin, and her grandmother and
aunt were in such a state of excitement,
that they failed to notice her pale
cheeks and wild eyes. For they had de
cided that Amos certainly meant to
marry l'hoebe and that preparations
had better be commenced at once.
"Because widowers don't v.ant t' wait
er minute," Mrs. Moon said, sagely;
"they makes up their minds quick, an'
they expects other folks t' do th' same.
I wouldn't be a mite surprised to sec
'ii/i come in with th' preacher a Christ
mas, like what ole Sam Smith did when
he got married th' fourth time. Sairy
she wasn' 'xpeetin' 'em, but she thought
she better take 'im when she could git
'im."
Nothing was said to Clarissy, who
was regarded as a child by her elders,
and she, in her intense preoccupation,
failed to notice that the preparations
for Christmas were on a much more
elaborate scale than usual. She was in
a sort of a daze, sometimes determined
to marry Amos in order to convince
Tom that she cared nothing for him;
at others, determined to die before she
did such a tiling.
Fortunately for her, Aunt Phoebe
wanted a quantity of ground pine and
red berries with which to adorn the
cabin, and as Clarissy knew the shel
tered spots where they were likely to
be found she was sent out in quest of
them. In her anxiety to be alone she
made the quest a prolonged one. Amos
wisely absented himself from the cabin,
a fact which puzzled Mrs. Moon and her
daughter not a little. Clarissy gav#
this fact noT a thought; she was quite
in ignorance of the fact that Amos was
supposed to be the victim of her aunt's
bow and spear, and was only thankful
to have him out of the way while she
wrestled with her problem.
All too soon, it was Christmas eve,
and Clarissy went forth for a last
load of pine, with which the cabin
was already gay. Late in the after
noon. she sat down a moment with
her load, still pondering upon the
subject which never left her mind.
She was in no hurry to return home,
for her aunt had gone to the store
at the cross roads to make a few pur
chases and she knew that her grand
mother would be dozing and uncon
scious of the flight of time.
As she sat there, Clarissy let the
big tears roll unchecked down her
cheeks. It seemed to her now that
Tom had left her for another, he had
become llie one object for which «he
cared.
"Well, I'll take Amos;" she said,
proudly, "an' then nobody 'll knoar
Torn left me fer Tiny Koontz!"
she spoke, she rose from the stump
on which she was sitting- and came
face to face with Tom —Tom pale and
haggard, and with a gun over his
shoulder, which added to the wild
ness of his appearance. Clarissy
trembled so that she could scarcely
stand, but she put on a brave smile.
"That you, Tom," she said', "I —I
inus' wish ye well, you 'n Tiny. When
ye goin' t' git married —to-morrow?"
Tom put down his gun. "Me 'n
who?" he demanded, fiercely.
Clarissy's anger grew at the eva
sion. "You 'n' Tiny Koontz," she re
sponded. "Amos Purdy, he tole me
how you 'n* her was goin' t' get
married to-morrow night."
"Amos I'urdy tole ye that?"
"Yes, he did; and ye needn't to
deny it—l don't care!" All the girl's
tierce pride was in arms. "I —I only
put th' red handkerchief on th' tree
that day because—"
"Because ye wanted t* make er fool
er me!" Tom cried, hotly. "Ye had
took it down again 'fore I could git
there, an' ye give it t' Amos Purdy;
he showed it t' me. An' he tole me
you 'n'. him was goin' t' get married
a Christmas, an' ye didn' want no
more sight o' me! I on'y wish I'd
had my gun that day, an' —"
"Oh. Tom! Tom!" Clarissy and the
ground pine were all tangled up in
his arms, and Clarissy was crying for
pure joy.
"But I tell ye one thing. Clarissy,"
Tom said, later, "that ole coon did
see me with Tiny Koontz that day.
I was giving her a message from
Walt Thomas over at th' sawmill.
Him 'n' her's goin' to git married
soon's he gits back."
When Clarissy at last started for
home Tom went with her to tell her
grandmother that he meant to marry
her granddaughter on the following
day, with her consent or without it.
"For I ain' goin' t' take no more
chances!" Tom affirmed.
Luckily, Aunt Phoebe had not re
turned \\hen they reached the cabin,
and tlie story was poured out to
Mrs. Moon alone. Her dislike for
Tom iTi"lted away before the idea of
Clarissy's marrying Amos, on whom
Phoebe had set her heart, and leav
ing her to bear the brunt of that
damsel's rage.
"Tell ye what you do," she said,
finally. "You 'n' Tom git ready 't
git married to-morrow night an' jest
leave Amos t' me when he comes!"
Tom stood out for a persona! inter
view with Amos first, but he was
overruled, .lust what Mrs. Moon said
to that worthy (luring the few min
utes' private talk they had no one
ever knew. She said it so convinc
ingly. however, Ihat there was a
double wedding in the cabin that
Christmas night, and Aunt Phoebe
never iTncw that she was second
choice. —Eliza Armstrong, in Banker
of Gold.
0111 MI fl P.
Fate delights In still contrasting
All that comes to mortals here;
Some may feast. The rest are fasting.
For each smile there is A tear.
There are shine and holly berry.
There is hunger's tattered cloak.
There is Christmas when you're merry—
And there's Christmas when you're broke.
When the music, softly playing.
Seems less tenderly to fall
Than thi- laughter that comes straying
Through the nursery and the hall.
Who shall think that some poor fellow
On the pavement stands afar.
Watching every gleam so mellow
Through your window blind ajarT
When all care is shut behind us
And when love dispels each sigh.
Let some gentle thought remind us
Of the lonely passer-by.
Life to some, though pleasant, very.
Isn't all a gladsome joke.
There is Christmas when you're merry—
And there's Christmas when you're broke,
—Washington Star.
HOLIDAY HICI'AUTEE.
"Here, this isn't the Christmas spirit
—dunning me for money on Christmas
day."
"Well, if you had the Christmas sjrijit
you would pay me."—Chicago Daily
Uecord.
A llenutiftil Mother.
I .heard a very sweet story the other
day of some children who had earned
their Christmas money by acting as
caddies of golf players in their neigh
borhood, says a writer in the Christina
Intelligencer. The father found a
memorandum they had made of ex
penditures they intended, and it ra.n
as follows;
"Mother, one dollar.
"Father, 75 cents.
"Sister Susan, 50 cents, etc."
"How is this, Laddie?" said the fa
ther. "Why do you mean to spend a dol
lar for your mother and only 75 cents
for me?"
"Oh!" was sufficient answer,
"mother's mother."
Hl* QiilninD.
Papa—What is the matter with the
steam engine, Johnny?
Johnny—l don't know; but it won't
go. l'apa, I think Santa Claus got
stuck on that steam engine.—Puck. I
SOME SECRETS OF SCENTS.
My«terle» About the Composition ot
I'trfum'ii That Were the!'■-
voi'ltea <it lto> alty.
Her majesty the queen is very fond
of loyally keeping up the old custom of
her predecessors. On her table dishes
that were the favorite ones of kings
and queens long departed are still to be
found, and even the much-liked per
fume she uses, Kss Bouquet, possesses
a right, royal past, says the London
Mail.
The history of a fashionable scent is
as interest ing us a love story, and truly
the romance that attaches to her
majesty's favorite one is a thrilling
and tender one. Long years ago, upon
an occasion when KingOeorge IV. gave
a state ball, he was attracted by tht
exquisite aroma of a certain perfume
used by Princess Esterhazy. Ilis
majesty inquired the name of the
scent and was iold that it was Kss
Bouquet. Immediately he sent a
large order to the inventor and maker
of the perfume, Mr. Bayley, a faT
famed purveyor, who was the maker of
scents and powders for royalty and so
ciety since the days of Queen Anne,
and from that time onward ltntil his
death Kss Bouquet became the mon
arch's favorite perfume. Still from
their treasure house in St. Martin's
Lane the same firm send out the same
scent. It has a peculiarly delicate and
refined aroma, and for that reason the
queen finds ii always acceptable and
pleasant.
(iood scents are not cheap luxuries,
but poor ones are very bad investments.
There is something exceedingly vulgar
about 1 a common perfume, whereas a
dainty aroma gives its owner, if she be
a. woman— for men still use very lit
tle—a cachet or smartness which is
undeniable.
A perfume that has a triumphant
vogue among the Bussians in high life
is called Esprit I'nis. The czarina her
self uses it.and sends to London for it.
I he Russians are very good r.nrl lucra
tive customers to the makers of per
fumery, for it flows like water as a
spray in their apartments, and in the
little ornamental fountains that deco
rate their drawing rooms and state
apartments, among the utmost, luxury
that prevails in rare flowers and
plants, especially in St. Petersburg dur
ing the long winter season.
The recipe of a favorite and popular
scent just as the Kss Bouquet just men
tioned is as precious as- a big fortune
to its owner. Only the head." of the
firm know to this day what they knew
in the days of Queen Anne—narnelv,
the precise treatment that is needed to
compose it—and from generation to
generation the secret has been handed
down. A neat little business is" done bv
fraudulent person* who profeft to seil
recipes of famous perfumes which,
when carried out, will cost per bottle
about half as much as the ordinary
-cent; but those who are foolish
enough 1o be taken in always find that,
even though the ingredients may have
b: en correctly purloined, the process
of distillation is incompletely stated,
and so the result is not what it ought
to be.
Tons of roses and other deliciously
scented flowers are specially grown
and expressed every year for tlie per
fume market. Chemistry is so won
derfully developed a science now that
scents closely imitative of those pro
duced by the flowers themselves are
produced by coal tar, but old-fashioned
methods are best, and perfumes ex
pressed from real flowers cannot be
equaled by "made-up" scents for beau
ty and refinement. Bulgaria is u great
country for the distillation of attar of
roses, which is used in so many ways
by perfumers and soapmakers. It. is
a precious product that costs about
five pounds per ounce.
But it is not only from flowers that
scents are obtained. Civet, for exam
ple, comes from tljie civet cat. and
pomes to this country in rhinoceros
horns from Africa; musk from the
musk deer; castor from the heaver,
and ambergris, which fetches £2 IDs
per ounce, from the sperm whale. One
of the chief uses of these scents, which
in themselves are detestable, is to "fix"
other perfumes—in other words, to
prevent them from losing their power.
Fruit is also a scent producer. Try if
there is not the most, enchanting
aroma in the skin of a tangerine orange |
next time when you eat one, and to
see the oil squeeze the peel against
the flame of a candle.
The way in which the true aroma of
a perfume can be thoroughly enjoyed
is not by putting some on a handker
chief and smelling it that way through
cambric, but by employing a spray,
which seems to divide the perfume into
its exponent parts. The person who
wishes to enjoy the aroma to the full
should stand some two feet or so from
the operator. Dabbed on the temples,
behind the ears, beneath th« nostrils,
and on the wrists scent is. most potent
and refreshing waters like eati de
cologne and lavender can be used in
such a way upon sick people with a
▼ery pleasing and vitalising effect.
Old-fashioned scent* sruch as the
above, as well as lily of the valley, wall
flower and violet, continue to have a
steady sale. There is a new Japanese
odor called Fusiyatna which ic building
up its claims to fame, while anyone
who pines for the Scotch moors in vain
can almost fancy he is there in person
as well as> in thought by sniffing a bot
tle of perfume appropriately called
"Braemar."
Many ladies use scent lii the form
of sachets to perfume their clothes.
The newest sachet is of enormous size.
Made to fit the bottom of a drawer, ly
ing quite flat, it is composed of layers
of scented flannel. Wealthy women
often have their wardrobes lined with
sachets.
Yocnl ffololMtm.
When a soloist sings, all ihe other
soloists in town who are present also
cheer, so as to get it back when they
•ing.—Washington (la.) Democrat.
FOREIGN GOSSIP.
When the elevator was first invented
at Schoenbrunn. in 1760. and placed in
the summer residence of the Austrian
emperor, it was called the "flying
chair."
The biff cities of Russia are as fol
lows: The population of St. Peters
burg 1 is 1.1 :i2.(>77; Moscow, with its
two suburbs. 958.G14; Odessa, 405,041.8
great increase since 1892, and Warsaw.
0245,072.
The castle at Rrindisi, liuilt by th«
Hohenstaufcn Emperor Fried rich If.
is now used as a prison. The grounds
are full of vipers, and every, suirimei
six to ten of the criminals are killed
by them.
Glasgow is not so free from taxes'as
most Americans believe, for the re
ceipts from the numerous i nil list rial
plants belonging to the not al
lowed by law to be used for llie im
proving and cheapening of the article
on which the profit was made.
In Australia a novel idea has been in
troduced for weeding out t he"man who
doesn't dance." Each lady has a slip
of paper perforated in squares, one
square for each dance on the pro
gramme: she gives one of these
coupons to her partner at the end of
each dance and any inan who cannot
produce a fair percentage of coupons
is refused admission to the supper
room.
Recent estimates are to the effect
that asphalt is being dug out of the
f'amoustar lakes of Trinidad- the most,
rotable exist ingsources of the material
In the world—at Ihe rate of 80.000 tons
per annum. There are still 4..">00.000
tons in sight, but at this rate the sup
ply could not. last long were it not that
the lake of bitumen referred to is re
ceiving a constant accretion from the
bowels of the earth.
Occasionally interesting bits of
philology come up in the police court.
Thus, not long ago. a farm laborer in
England was sued for damages because
he had "thrown up his job" after ac
cepting "arles." Any good dictionary
should tell what arles are. but not one
in the court room seemed to know about
the word or the custom. In the north
country speech "arles" are earnest,
money, the equivalent of the "queen's
shilling," which the recruit takeswhen
he enlists. It is supposed that the word
comes from the Norman French.
REEVES' COSTLY VOIC2.
A i.ninlnn CnrreMpondent Snj* Thnf
It Com! the Friimmim Tenor
9400,000.
"I send you a few notes," writes a
correspondent of the London Daily
News,"of a talk I had with Mr.
Sims Reeves some years ago. He told
me that his extreme conscientious
ness about his voice had cost liim the
handsome sum of £BO,OOO. 1 need
scarcely say that Mr. Reeves pre
ferred to disappoint an audience rath
er than sing to them with a throat
\\*hich was not in the finest condition.
I very well remember how minutely
he went into the matter at the time,
when the complaints of his non-ap
pearance were loud and frequent.
"'Some artists may sing whether
they he hoarse or not, but, depend
upon it.it does them no good and
nothing strains the voice more. Yes,
I have given up more than anyone,
in what you may call my extreme
fastidiousness or artistic conceit.'
"I asked him how he knew that he
could not sing. ,
"'Ah, that is very simple.' he an
swered. 'You get a peppery feeling,
a tickling, a dryness of the throat, an
irritation of the mucous membrane.
The saliva refuses to flow properly,
the vocal cords lose their beautiful
coating. You can imagine a piece of
highly polished steel, the most minute
speck of dust, the least breath of
air, affects it. It is so with the throat
of a tenor. Why, if you bend down
for any time the mere contraction of
flie muscles produces a feeling of
htiskiness.'
"I naturally asked him, then, how
he dared use his voice enough to
practice, for how otherwise did he
extract such pathos and feeling from
the songs he sang. Rut with Mr.
Reeves it was not a question of prac
tice so much, as that word is usually
interpreted.
" 'lt is because I have always stud
ied my words,' he said. 'I have read
them and phrased them in every pos
sible way, asking myself what they
meant, and interpreted them accord
ing to my own feelings. I walk up
and down, trying this line and trying
that, until I feel that I have struck
the right idea. Singers do not study
elocution sufficiently, if tit all. 111 a
recitative, for instance, the words are
sacrificed to the music. In my meth
od they are of equal importance. Do
1 love applause? Ah. yes, an artist
lives for it. It inspires him. Give
me an enthusiastic, a receptive audi
ei<< # t'. and my heart and my voice go
out to them. Often the great sea of
faces has affected me—words cannot
describe emotions—l have put forth
my greatest efforts. Without ap
plause an artist is timid, frigid, nerve
less. "
The Oilier Parent.
"Now, tell me," said the kind-heart
ed woman, "you're a runaway, aren't
you?" "Yes, 1 am, ma'am, ter tell
the truth," replied the young tramp.
"Mother died not long ago, and af(.er
that things didn't go right, and one
day I lit out and I run till 1 was dead
tuckered out." "Poor boy! Couldn't
go a step farther, eh?" "Oh, no. It
was 'cause I couldn't go a stepmoth
er."—Troy Times.
Siivliik Wo 111 mi.
Mr. Payne—What! Sixty-eight dol
lars for an evening dress? Why, I
thought you were going to have your
last year's black lace made over.
Mrs. Payne—l did, dear. 1 had it;
made over red satin, and that's \\ hafc
cost to.—Philadelphia Bulletin. ,
15