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across a distance and to a given point
is preliminary to the propelling or
projecting of the vocalized breath,
which should notv be attempted." In
this effort the investigator lias great
er tasks to perform, and may not have
sin direct evidence of success (in
practising) as in the candle experi
ment; for oice is itself, to a degree,
retarded breath, emitted so impercep
tibly as to be scarcely r.pparent. If,
when uttering a unstained tone a
piece of paper lie held before the lips
the issuing breath (now neconie tone)
scarcely stirs it. The person who is
training the toiee to extend its carry
ing power should, wherever practica
ble, exercise constantly In a large
room. She should take the entire ga
mut of consonant and vowel sounds,
analyzing the component parts of eacn
and critically examining the fine
shades of found. Etery tone should
be giten with the sham glottic stroke.
When these hate been practised
thoughtfully the man- infinitesimal
muscles of the throat will have been
arcused into activity and sufficiently
exercised. Thought should now be
concentrated upon some distant poiirt
in the room, and a mental resolution
be formed to make the voice reach it.
liefore inaiiy days the experimenter
will find this unsatisfactory, and win
want some practical proof that her
oice really is traveling.
A simple method of ascertaining
this is to open the window and stand
ing well back in the room, talce vocal
aim at some person beyond across
the street, it may be. Utter some sin
gle sound on a perfectly easy pitch,
making the attack strong, glottic and
vitalized, and aiming directly at the
point selected. Do not raise the voice
or attempt to speak with unusual
loudness. A clearly pitched, well di
rected tone thrown in this way may
be made to carry, even through the
din of city noises, a distance of 200
feet, as the writer has freqently dem
onstrated. In practising this voice projecting,
the thought should be to send out a
steady vocalized breath, avoiding ev
ery .effort that partakes of mere dy
namic loudness. The back should be
made strong and full of energy; but
no effort should be made to increase
its volume, the determined aim alone
enlarging its capacity sufficiently to
meet all demands.
FLAXEN" HAIR.
(A Fairy Story.)
Flaxen hair in days of old.
Flaxen, hair in cloth of gold.
Bode a palfrey pied
Through a forest, gloomy, grand,
With a falcon on her hand,
Lovely in "her pride.
Happy Flaxen Hair!
Came a giant through the wood.
Looked, and saw that she was good,
Swore a mighty oath;
"Here's a maiden to my taste,
And I will, with proper haste,
Eat her, nothing loth.''
Frightened Flaxen Hair!
Then a prince adventurous,
WHh a magic blunderbuss.
Did not.ccuie in view;
Ami the- giant, then and there.
Ate the lovely JFlaxen Hair,
As he said he'd do.
End of Flaxen Hair.
"They say that automolnh'sm is
spreading with marvelous rapidity in
Europe,"" remarked Mr. Trotter.
"Oh, those European are always
ready to take op with-aay form of
virtuous indignation.
Sahseribe for The Cockier, 81
, , , .. . ..--". ..-. - --- - . -.. .,-., '....-' - .
A BONiriER.
In Sevres, In one of the rooms of an
tiquities, is an tiitl, old IS: tilici. u holy
water basin, with a curious ssroU-work
woven over it in tlie blues and yellows
of the famous Rouen ware. Its quaint
ness was so self-evident that I
stopped to search in the catalogue,
hoping to find something more inter
esting than the severe lettering and
numbering with the birth and abode
cr aliodes of this particular prize. But
no, it has nothing to offer.
"Ah, Mademoiselle," gasped Ma
dame, rushing up, "I thought that I
had lost you Mon Dieu! Eli bien you're
here, so no matter. Iiet me see. Why
this is the old Benitier. Its very curi
ous ne c'est pas. Then? is a little
story connected with it that, perhaps,
you would like io hear."
"Indeed I would," I replied.
My brother is conserateur here at
Sevres, and is travelling about the
greater part of the time, in search of
curios for the museum. In' some
i osi nd-a bout-way he heard of this Ben
itier, already several centuries old,
which belonged io a poor priest living
in the little town of . Tenez, I
have forgotten the name, but no mat
ter, ne c'est pas mon enfant? It
seems that this pauvrc pere lived in a
tiny tumbled down, cottage, protected
in summer by thick vines. In the
winter he prayed le bon Dieu to let
not the dhinc wreath fall iin him,
in the shape of winter-cold, but that
if it be pleasing in the Lord's sight he
would warm his humble nearth stone
by the light of his countenance the
sun. His church, too, could boast of
little, except of the piety and love of
the good pere, who offered mass thrice
daily for the poor stupid folk who wor
shipped here."
My Brother asked Pere Le B if
he would sell his holy water basin for
the Serc collection.
"I do ijot think that I care to sell
it," said the Pere. "It lias been long
in my family and I am fond of it,
though I know not the reason. You
think it strange Monsieur?" He fin
gered his beads a moment, his faded
blue eyes were moist and Madame
wept a moment, crossed herself, mur
muring something about 'La Vie.'
"And," I suggested.
"Monsieur, Monsieur," the father
continued, said Madame, "this Benitier
of mine has little value. In- reality
none, I think. I cannot sen it. No,
never, but .Monsieur, you will grant
me the great pleasure ne e'est pas of
presenting it to Sevres? I've had few
honors in this world, Monsieur. One
great one, however, for has not the
Lord accepted jne all these years as
his priest? But this petite honneur, as
it seems to you, you will allow me,
"Monseur?"
"Did 3'our brother take it, Ma
dame?" "Yes," he did, but he told the
board of directors of Sevres about Pere
Le B . They repaired the old
church, for you see the water leaked
Tenez, the sky was its Benitier. xaexe
were only a few benches and for
warmth in winter only an old rust
stained stove, that vied with the in
cense, in the most indecorous fashion
when there was a question as to
which could produce the more smoke."
"It's all mended now, with a hand
some new roof, plenty of chairs and
prie dieus. A splendid organ too. The
Pe re's house was also made comforta
ble and he is so happy . He thanks
Le Bon Dieu continually and once a
year says a special mass for my
brother and the directors of Sevres
that they may be among the faithful
and full of the wisdom, of the Lord.
.lust then from several directions
pealed forth that most irritating of
commands when one is not ready to
leave "On ferine, on ferme, on ferme,"
closed, closet, closed.
v "We must hurry Mademoiselle. It
is the o'clock. I forgot to Jell you,
but we're to take tea a l'anglais, with
my brother and his wife, C'est char
mant ca ne c'est pas?"
"Yes indeed." I replied. "Jk tell
me ihall we have Sevres cups to drink
out of?"
"Oui. Oui, Oui. Some old, some
new. 1 shall drink two cups of tea.
Ugh! how I detest tea! But I shall
smile coin me tout. My sister-in-law
hates it tco, but drinks it just as if
sha thought it delicious. It amuses
her to look at me and say: Ah,
Genevieve, you will never learn to
drink the English beverage. I pity
vou, for it is so a la mode. Todar will
be my triumph, my petit heretic, for
Clara can't drink two cups of tea. One
she tun master, but two! She will
be piqued and that will be charmimj,
Mon. Dieu, Delicicux!"
"But, Voila, here we are." ,
Mashun gave the bell a vigorous
jerk and as we heard it jangling afar
off we were both slightly nervous.
Madame intense at .the approaching
ten episode and I at the thought of the
Sevres display.
HELEN" C. HAKWOOD.
SEARCH FOR THE IDEAL.
For days the sun's fiedce rays had
left their fiiery touch on the city's
pavements and buildings. Only thise
called forth by business quitted the
shelter of their dwellings before the
sun had set, and the grateful breath
of the enclosing rivers was wafted ov
er the heated streets.
In the early eveniug a group of peo
ple were sitting on the low steps of
a stone house, in the English base
ment style, which allows a small re
ception room on the ground floor,
with the drawing room and dining
room overhead. In this little room
which opened on the hallway, near
the large front door, sat a young girl.
Weary of the monotony and the heat,
she bad sought to forget the present
in a -tale of ideal honor and truth. Af
ter while she pushed her chair away
from the brilliant gaslight, and her
dreamy eyes sought the shadows of
the rooms. From the steps came occa
sional whiffs of a cigar, and; the care
less talk of the boarders who belong
ed upstairs. A maid passed through
the hall carrying pictures of water.
She left one on a little table in the
corner, and returned to another floor.
The echo of her feet and the clinking
of the broken ices in the pitchers,
slowly died away.
The girl was dreaming and not of
the book. Truth and honor and ideal
love were in. the world today, she
thought, and to be found there in
purity. Only the faint shadow of the
ideal was imprisoned in books; its es
sence, so real anl so true, who could
grasp it and picture it upon a printed
page?
A little girl about ten years of age
broke in upon her revery: "O Lucy,
I am tired sitting on the steps; don't
you wish we could take a walk?"
'Yes, Ruth, but there is no one to
go with us."
"Mr. Jenkins would, if I fold him
you wished it," and the child cunning
ly watched the effect of her words.
Lucy's face was non-committal.
"You need not tell Mr. Jenkins any
thing of the kind from me."
"May I tell him how tired' I am and
that I want to go?" insisted the child.
"Don't bother me, Ruth," and Lucy
turned back to her book.
The child caught a note of weaken
ing in the voice, and danced out of the
door.
Lucy listened guiltily. Her little
friend's coaxing shatter copld be dim
ly heard without the words.
A gentleman' soon appeared1 in the
doorway. "Rurhie and I am going for
a walk," he said, carelessly. "Are
you willing to accompany us?"
The child had followed him by this
time, and was holding on to his bond.
"O, come, Lucy," she cried.
The girl rose for her hat with the
undefined feeling that each of the
three knew how much, she wished to
go. Her parents were sitting with the
group on the steps.
She had know 'Mr. Jenkings for
som time. He was in the employ of
her father who liked him as a fried
for himself, but not for his daughter,
and this "Mr. Jenkins knew.
Iucy was viewing the world through
the rcse-tinted lenses of youth, ana
heeded little the judgments oi others.
Like Sir Galahad of old, she wouud
seek the fountains of goodness, armed
only with the weapons of truth, and
she would inevitably find it, if the
stern edge of her sword were not
dulled by the glittering, alluring lac
querer of falseness.
As thej- pased out upon the street,
Mr. Jenkins still held Ruth's hand,
who walked in the middle, and chatted
gayly. The twilight slowly vanished
and the twinkling lights of the many
stores on a busy thoroughfare soon
flashed on their sight. In crossing a
street Ruth was dexterously transfer
red to the other side, and Lucy silent
ly laid her hand on his arm.
The man's voice was soft and per
suasive as he discoursed of many
things; the child watched the sights
on the streets, and Lucy listened and
answered. The enveloping atmosphere
of truth with which she came forth,
still surrounded her, and she felt not
the presence of insincerity and deceit.
They slowly retraced their steps
down the crowded, glittering avenue,
each moment growing brighter and
gayer, as the masses of people present
in a great city, even when all the
world is said to be absent, came-forth
to enjoy the evening. Back upon their
quiet street, they turned, past the sil
ent house with barred windows,whose
owners ere afar; past the other houses
where someone was compelled to re
main: through the heated term.
Mr. Jenkins lingered and hesitated
a moment, when within a block of
home. "Be liked his companion1 but
was afread of his employer.
"Don't you think you would better
drop my arm, and we might take Ruth
between us again?" he suggested.
The girl replied, quietly, "I never do
anything that I would be unwilling
to do publicly," and tightened the
grasp of her little hand.
No further word was spoken.
They reached the short walk lead
ing to the steps, and the expectant
group awaiting their return.
Asi they slowly mounted the last
step within plain view of all, 'Lucy re
linquished her firm and contemptuous
hold, and passed into the house. .A
scoundrel may be foreign; a coward
never.
She picked up her book at the place
she had left it. If spoken words can
destroy the ideal surely written ones
wrest its semblance from those pages.
Mr. Jenkins sank into his vacant
chair, and lighted another cigar. "Af
ter all, this is the pleasantest place I
have seen," he said.
Steps wandered through the 'hall, as
one by one, the tired people passed to
their rooms, but Lucv read on into the
night. ANNIE L. MILLER.
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