Street Illumination

1917

"Illuminating engineers are now turning all their energies toward a system for the proper distribution of street lighting," writes Walter R. Howell in Good Health. "They have unanimously agreed that the best light is that from a globe that is dense enough not to reveal the form of the actual light within, but to give the effect of light streaming forth from the globe."

The reason for this is that street lamps are necessarily against a dark background, and the amount of glare upon the eyes depends to a great degree upon the background against which the light is seen. An electric light, unshaded, against a dark velvet wall covering, for instance, will be found much more trying to the eyes than would the same light with a white wall paper behind it.


The Name of Arizona

Arizona, probably Arizonac in its original form, was the native and probably Pima name of the place — of a hill, valley, stream or some other local feature — just south of the modern boundary, in the mountains still so called, on the headwaters of the stream flowing past Saric, where the famous Planchas de Plata mine was discovered in the middle of the eighteenth century, the name being first known to the Spaniards in that connection and being applied to the mining camp or real de minas. The aboriginal meaning of the term is not known. The name should probably be written and pronounced Arisona. as our English sound of z does not occur in Spanish. — H. H. Bancroft, "History of the Pacific States."

The Anti-Noise Corporation

1906

Mrs. Isaac I. Rice, Who Smothered Hudson Tugboats, Will Head It

The Society For the Suppression of Unnecessary Noise will be the name of a corporation of which Mrs. Isaac I. Rice of Eighty-ninth street and Riverside drive, New York, will be the head.

It was Mrs. Rice who led the successful crusade last summer against the excessive whistling of river craft on the Hudson, says the New York World. Mrs. Rice said recently that on the advisory board of the new organization there will be the names of physicians, college professors, publicists and literary persons.

The S. S. U. N. will fight auto horn tooting and trolley car gong ringing near hospitals, noisy milk wagons (if they must operate at daylight let them have pneumatic tires on wheels and pneumatic buffers on noisy lids), noisy street hawkers and too noisy children.


Now the Glove Monogram

Constantly seeking new adornments, miladi has hit on a gold monogram for her left glove, says a correspondent of the New York Press. And a bewitching innovation it is. Monograms on pocketbooks and châtelaine bags are old and probably suggested the latest fad. The monogram is used only for street gloves. It is fastened on the glove below the wrist, and when the hand is closed the letters show up vividly and give emphasis to the grace and beauty of the hand. Among the shoppers in the fashionable stores along Fifth avenue many women can be seen wearing gloves with their initials in gold. The monogram is made with a clasp pin and can be quickly transferred from one glove to another.

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.