Bagpipe Music Kills a Horse

1896

The important question of whether or not the bagpipes are musical instruments has been settled in the negative by a Milwaukee jury.

William Mattham brought suit against the Wisconsin Theatre Company for damages sustained by his horse taking fright at a procession headed by a Scottish piper in full Highland costume, who was waking the echoes with "The Campbells Are Coming." The sight caused the horse to rear and plunge and finally drop dead.

The foreman of the jury happened to be a German with decided opinions on the question of music. The prosecution sought to show that the bagpipe was not a musical instrument. In this the foreman agreed. He held that it had no place in a Wagnerian symphony, and was nothing but a "doodle-sack." In consequence of these views the jury returned the following unique verdict:

"State of Wisconsin, Milwaukee County. William Mattham vs. Wisconsin Theatre Company, ss. — We, the jury in the above entitled action, find:

"1. That the doodle-sack is not a musical instrument.

"2. That the said horse, being of a nervous temperament, was scared to death by an unearthly noise made by a friend with the aforesaid doodle-sack.

"3. That the plaintiff shall recover from the defendants for said horse the sum of $125." — Chicago Times-Herald.


Wouldn't Wind His Clock

A jeweler of Tuscola, Michigan, says that during the past year one clock has been brought to him seven times for repairs, and each time all that was wrong with it was that it needed winding. Each time he explained the cause to the owner, but after a few weeks, or sometimes months, the clock, being neglected, would stop, the owner would shake it, blow in it, and then take it to the jeweler, who would astonish him by winding it and handing it back. — New York Sun.

Musicians of the Street — Picturesque New York Figures

1887

MUSICIANS OF THE STREET.

The Picturesque Figures Who Make Melody on the Sidewalk.

[Special Correspondence.]

NEW YORK, Nov. 15. — Street musicians in New York are not limited to the hand organ. Every portable instrument under the sun stops at times and tunes up under your windows. Yesterday two men, one with a bagpipe, the other with a pibroch, went through my street making music weird, wild and pathetically sweet. Here and there a nickel was thrown to them from the upper stories, and here and there fell a tear. The concert was musical. They had not the hackneyed, manners of hardened street musicians. Solicitation was new to them. But they woke the echoes with old Scottish airs that moved hearts and moistened eyes.

If one might judge of them and their history, one might say that they were Scotchmen, stranded in New York without money and took this simple plan of earning a little. Sometimes a man stops on a corner after nightfall and sings a song, not in the cracked and dreadful voice of the blind professional street singer, but in sweet and melodious notes. One by one the passing people halt to hear him, and a few remember to pay for the pleasure he has given. He is perhaps of higher station, and temporarily in distress, Possibly he does it for a lark, for the pleasure of giving pleasure to those whose pleasures are few.

Sometimes a very old man, dignified and patriarchal, plays upon a large clarionet, making such music as the souls of musicians love. It is evident that in this humble guise a master breathes upon the instrument. That he has descended from some height of talent, and perhaps fame, is evident. His garments, too, have come down. When he trembles during the pauses in his music his hearers feel their throats thicken and somehow their hands find their way to their pockets. The throng about him increases all the time. His selections are not the much harped upon airs from the popular operas; they are the classic airs of the past. And when he was applauded the pale, old face flushed up with pleasure, and he acknowledged the compliment with the grace of an artist.

Histories, forsooth, have the street musicians. They have lived romances and supped on tragedies. Poverty walks on one side of them and art on the other. The way has been long and up hill all the way, with here and there a light, a halt and a bit of joy. They suggest blind Homer. They do more. They keep our hearts tender. — G. G.

The Orchestra Watches the Temperature

1915

Orchestra Tuning Explained.

Doubtless many theater goers have wondered why it is a practice of orchestra musicians to make their appearance so far ahead of the time of beginning the performance and sit in their seats with nothing to do. Then, at a seeming given signal, all hands begin to "tune up," torturing the ears of the early arrivals with a series of squeaks and scrapes. The mystery was explained by an orchestra leader the other day. "The instruments have to be in accord with the temperature of the house," said he. "There may be several degrees difference between the temperature of the music room below stage and the house itself. If we tuned our violins downstairs they would all be flat when we take our places in the orchestra. For that reason we come upstairs earlier and let our instruments get the house atmosphere before the actual tuning begins." — New York Press.


A Small Horror.

The weasel is one small horror. Astonishingly strong, apparently fearless and as persevering as an ant, when once he has settled to the track of a rabbit that particular bunny is indeed in grave peril. The rabbit seems to know it too, and the knowledge to half paralyze him, for he seldom attempts the one saving chance — a straightaway, long sustained run at top speed. And the end of the patient, if-we-do-but-wait-the-hour sort of pursuit! 'Tis indeed bloody murder. The fiend within angel garb finally toils within deadly distance. There is a snakelike stroke, most likely aimed at the big vein near the butt of the rabbit's ear. Once there, the brute sticks leechlike to the blood sucking, while the trembling, wailing rabbit totters aimlessly about till its drained body falls limply to pay its tax to mother earth.—Edwin Sandys in Outing Magazine.

Modern Surgery For The Battlefield – Saving Many Lives

1916

Saving The Soldier – Wonderful Accomplishments of Modern Surgery

German System So Perfect That Desperately Wounded Men Are Restored to Service in Comparatively Short Time

With their characteristic thoroughness the Germans have set themselves to the task of saving every wounded soldier sent back from the front who is not beyond their aid. They are accomplishing wonderful results and thousands of disabled soldiers are soon restored to health and sent back to the firing line, who might have perished miserably were it not for the scientific management of German hospital work.

There is no neglect of the wounded. From the time a man is hurt on the battlefield until he is installed in a hospital, perhaps far away from the scene of his injury, all that could possibly be done for him before he reaches the hospital has been accomplished by skilled hands and when he reaches his destination competent surgeons, who specialize in the kind of wound he has received, begin the final work of healing.

Instead of being the most common operation Ii war surgery, amputation is not practiced now, except as the last resort. Antiseptic treatment has so minimized the danger of infection that the most desperately wounded soldiers are saved and dismissed from the hospitals with, their full complement of limbs.

Not only are German surgeons doing splendid work, but American, French, English and Austrian surgeons are everyday performing remarkable operations. Recently an operation was performed by Prof. Albert Tietze on a soldier who had a serious wound in his head. After a large fragment of shell had been removed the X-rays showed that a small piece of shell remained. Professor Tietze said this particle could not safely be left in the skull because it might become dislodged in future years and cause instant death.

It was suggested that a magnet be used to draw out the splinter. There was no instrument of the sort available, but engineers of the telegraphic division soon made an electro-magnet. A motor, formerly used for running a threshing machine, and a dynamo were requisitioned. The physician took an iron wand, highly polished, and connected it with a coil. The wand was inserted in the soldier's skull and the fragment of shell was easily withdrawn as it clung to the end of the iron.