DOXOLOGY.
Praise Hearst, from whom all blessings flow!
Praise Hearst, who runs things here below.
Praise them who make him manifest—
Praise Andy L. and all the rest.
Praise Hearst because the world is round,
Because the seas with salt abound,
Because the water’s always wet,
And constellations rise and set.
Praise Hearst because the grass is green,
And pleasant flow’rs in spring are seen;
Praise him for morning, night and noon.
Praise him for stars and sun and moon.
Praise Hearst, our nation’s aim and end,
Humanity’s unselfish friend;
And who remains, for all our debt,
A modest sweet white violet.
[p 65]
]We like Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony, Kubla Khan, and many other unfinished things, but we have always let unfinished novels alone—unless you consider unfinished the yarn that “Q” finished for Stevenson. And so we are unable to appreciate the periodical eruptions of excitement over “The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” Were we to read it, we dessay we should be as nutty as the Dickens fans.
Mr. Basso, second violin in the Minneapolis Orchestra, would seem to have missed his vocation by a few seats.
MY DEAR, YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN FRED!
[From the Milwaukee Sentinel.]
In this one, the orchestra became a troupe of gayly appareled ballerinas, whirling in splendid abandon, with Mr. Stock as première.
One lamps by the advertisements that the Fokines are to dance Beethoven’s “Moonshine” sonata. The hootch-kootch, as it were.