"The sound grew in volume, grew less silken and more
threatening, while the light faded into mute, misty music like
the puring of cats. A swelling roar assaulted their ears ;* name
less creeping things seemed to fill the tone. Yet it was in one
tonality, there was no harmony or melody. The man’s quick
ear detected many new, rich timbres, as if made by strange
instruments. He also recognized interior rhythms, the result
of color rather than articulate movement, Then came silence,
a silence that shouted cruelly across the gulfs of blackness, a
silence so profound as to be appalling, . , . And now a
corrosive shaft of tone rived the building as though its walls
had been of gauze, and went hissing toward Paris, in shape a
menacing sword. . . . Paris was draped in flaming clouds
—the blood-red smoke of mad torches. Tongues of fire
twined about the towers of Notre Dame; where the Opera
once stood yawned a blackened hole. The air was shocked by
fulminate blasts,”
And the woman, her mouth filled with exultant laughter,
screamed, “Thou hast conquered, O Pavel Illowski!” '
This mad tonal riot must have been suggested to Huneker by
“Also Sprach Zarathustra,” but such morbid lawless tonality is
quite beyond our conception, and in this phase of “Melomaniacs”
we can do little else than gasp and marvel at the wonderful imagi
native powers displayed. “Melomaniacs,” as a whole, must needs
be taken, or rather read, in homooepathic doses by those tempera
mentally susceptible to such bold, daring and elemental descrip
tion, and yet the book shows too deep an insight into modern
tendencies in modes of expression to be without considerable
literary value.
BARON MUNCHAUSEN GOES INTO
Many a time you'have heard the question:
trains run into State College?
Probably they would be advantageous, and perhaps not, but a
step which may ultimately lead to that will shortly be taken by a
company composed of mechanical and civil engineers, formed to
give better and fastei service between the college and Bellefonte.
E. IC. M., ’O4.
ENGINEERING.
When will Sunday