The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-11-14
STUDENTS At WORK.
How They Spend Their Time in The
New England Conservatory.

ths SuoW-Boston Women Who Are
Agitating the Question of Gaving a
Sensible Rainy Day Walking Dress.
Other Matters Of General Interest.
New England Conservatory, Boston,
Mass, Nov. 1o.-It was indeed a cold day
when the Massachusetts, democrats got
left" The lingering Indian summer lies
buried under a sudden and heavy snow
fall; the gray sky seems to rest on the
housetops and the famous Boston slush"
covers street and pavement with its soup
like consistency-it is like walking in
gurnbo hle Small wonder that Boston
women who ride not in coupes agitate
the yearly question Of a sensible rainy
day walking dress. We held up our
skirts and waded forth last night to hear
Mr.. George CIapp in the last lecture of
his course on Shakespeare at the Lowell
Institute. The play selected was Henry
VIII The hall is a great square auditori-
um in one of the Technology buildings.
The seats were on a good slope, arranged
in semi circles, and either the acoustics
are unusually fortunate or Mr.. Clapp has
an extraordinary voice, for although he
spoke in almost a conversational tone
quality, every syllable was audible. A
most remarkable frieze adorns the walls;
outline figures in distemper a curious
combination of Greek and American art,
the band broken at irregular intervals
with oval and square windows-or, rather,
transoms- not to be reached except with
forty-foot ladders. The rostrum was high
and cold and bare, with blackboards and
a tall, narrow pulpit-like box covered
with dingy red cloth. on one side a chilly
gray sheet hung on rings, evidently used
at times as a curtain, for some not-appar-
ent reason. Altogether most unpre-
possessing apartment; certainly nothing
in it to distract ones attention from a
speaker on any subject, no matter how
dry. Mr.. Clapp, however, is anything but
dry. He speaks without notes, easily
and iuently; at times wildly; the hour
passes like a moment.
Admission to the Lowell institute is free,
but one must stand in line" or bride
somebody else TO do so, to obtain tickets.
The institute has an endowment of s250,000
for purposes of public education by lee
lures but Kate Field in her clever Wash
ington, underscores the fact that mo
woman is ever permitted to speak on that
platform" And during the last sixty
years l believe Ellen Terry is the only
woman who has l wonder what feminine
Boston thinks of thatl We are a. little
more UP to date in the conservatory and so
had the pleasure of listening to Kate San
born last Tuesday in Sleeper hall at the
meeting of the N. E. c. Benefcient So
ciety. Miss Sanborn has written several
books the best known of which is Adopt
ing an Abandoned Farm" in which she
gives a most amusing experience. She
lives on the farm now and then, it would
seem, and after some humorous illusions
to it, cordially invited the audience Of
"Beneficients" and students to pay her a
visit in June. She then read paper with
the title, Are Women Witty?" and proved
conclusiVely that they were in general and
Miss Sanborn in particular. For such a
rudy blonde she wore a rather trying
costume of brilliant yellow and black, and
must say from observation that although
literary women are not as slovenly and
ink-speckled as they used to be Gin theory
at leasD they do not yet understand the art
of good dressing. Being generally artistic
they are apt to be overload of color and
wear rainbow hues regardless of conse-
Quences and compilations.
one of the art students made very
clever sketch of the lecturer, which Miss
Sanborn- declared a better likeness than
any ever printed of her in newspapers
sic dppenueu 10 II ler autograph as
Kate SanbOrn, farmer and hen-woman -
much to the sketcher's delight On Hal
Iowe'en the home students assembled in
sleeper hail to listen to a recital of ap-
propriate ghost stories by Mr.. Hezekiah
Butterworth. After a preliminary over
ture' by string band of home students-a
violin and sundry blue-ribboner guitars
and mandolins-out went the lights! ONLY
one burned dimly under a CHASTITY green
shade on the stage, making visible the
dark proportions of the Story-teller. I'm
fortunately, Mr.. Butterworth forgot that
the audience before him was a represen-
tative one-not of New England, but of
the United States-he did not tell US any
ghost stories-perhaps he thinks them
queStionable.-but he RECALLED us with an
cient Boston folklore of witchcraft and the
devil. He apologized for mentioning the
latter, but it seems that he is an histori-
cal parsonage, so the punctlious poet fin
ally eased his conscience by speaking OF
him as The Black Man" Why he
should be black in New England and red
in Germany and the western states is a
mystery. Climatic influence, very likely
In spite of the fact that we We're TOLD
TO expect something perfectly true" and
perfectly dreadful each gruesome tale
evoked peals of laughter. An old black
mauma could go Mr.. Butterworth bet
ter several times and make each par.
ucular hair stand up on end like cats
fur under an electrical current on the
evening of Nov. l Mr.. Carl Stasny Of
the conservatory staff (musical OF
course,) gave brilliant recital in Sleeper
hall. The programme, prefaced with any
litieal remarks by DR.. Goetschius, was {
characteristic, progressive exposition o.
compositions of various periods, as tn,
list will show: Alexander Adam, Sara
bande, (Andante sostenuto con variazi
on), Op ., dedicated TO Mr.. Stasny
Scarlatti Tausig, Pastorale and Capriccio
Mozart, Menuet; Beethoven Polonaise
Oh. SO; Chopin, Nocturne, Op. q, No. /
lgnaz Brull, Scherzo, Op. 20; james
Kwast Three Concert Studies, Op. 20
Nos. 1, and Girst time in American
Schubert-Liszt, Du bist die Rub IN,
sweet repose); List. Au lac de Walen
stadt CBacarolle); schubert-Tausi, Mill
tary March.
From Adam down the Lis(z)t
you see. And SO splendllly played
DR.. Goetschius informed us tina
Alex. Adam was a classmate of his an,
Mr.. Stasny IN Stuttgart, anu certainl
The pianist played the Sarabande a
though he had written IL himself. Per
haps the most beautiful of the number
was the Schubert-Liszt, Du Dist die Run