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ANOTHER VIEW OF THE GREEN ROOM AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
' < ;• '•-— Lar.g ■r "c the walls are, beginning at the left: Martin Van Buren. Andrew Jackson, James Bachan&n, Franklin Pierce, John Quincy Adams t and Rutherford B. Hayes. (Copyright, 1904. b7 Detroit Pbotocxuptic Company.) 4» •V AT THK WHITE HOUSE. A., MS an. T».om« JOrson. the frame Just appeal, •••:.'. V....10.V::. M:.nn* Ws.vhir.tfiuu. Ju»;n A.3am S and TJ,oma S Jefferson, the frame just appearlnr *• of in.. |,|,uu«riaih. T'.:i 1- tlMlitilr OMBWWJ NEW-YORK TRIBLLNE ILLUSTRATED SUPPLEMENT. would leave him without caste when he did re turn. "The Chinese Minister recently punctured all these fairy tales by giving out a statement in which he declared that the queue was really nottiing but an ornament, that it had no sig nificance, political, social or religious, and that there was a growing movement in China in favor of short hair-. !!'■ intimated that they had learned this among other things from the Japanese, who became better warriors when they sacrificed their long hair. The pigtail or queue was wurn in the Kritish navy until 18li5." A couple of Italian? sauntered into the Chi nese restaurant just then for a dish of cheap but filling chop suey. They were probably pushi art HMD 'luring th»- day and prosperous enough to "sport" giddy UaxUT-st. checked suits and the most brilliant scarfs. "Speaking of hair," said the woman, "did you ever see anything u> beat that?" The hair of this pair of pushcart dandies was jet black. They wore it long and parted precisely in the middle. On each side of the centre part there was an eight-Inch curl, doubt less made on a curling iron. Their locks were oiled and brushed until they shone like jet and then perfumed. "It Is their one vanity," said the bald headed man, with a half suppressed sigh. "They never think of manicuring their nails, they might shy at a bathtub, and few of them know how a toothbrush should be used, but your street corner chestnut pedler and the younger street sweepers spend at least half an hour a day on the hair." The wig- whi(h the Chinese reformer wore reminded the woman of the party of wigs she had seen in the Jewish quarter. There the orthodox Hebrew women cover their fine hair with a plain brown wig as soon as they are married. The practice is dying away to some extent, for the young women rebel at discount ing their beauty just because they have secured husbands. The husbands, too, are growing Into the American state of mind which thinks that women should look their best at all times. Handsome young women of a religious turn of mind can still be found, however, who wear the disfiguring wig. Among the old men of the Russian Jewish population they had noticed that long flowing beards are proverbial, and that nearly every one of them wears long side curls. These curls are carefully kept and usually hang in front of the ears like overgrown corkscrews. Some al low the side curls to grow so long that they can be brushed in with their beaxds. They are a sign of orthodoxy, and it will be a long time before they disappear. Fr«.m the time of Samson long hair has been the sign of the fighting man among various races. The Indians of the Western plains gave up their flowing scalp locks only when they gave up battling with one another and with the whites. They now wear their hair as closely cut as the average New-Yorker. The long haired trapper and Indian fighter of the days when civilization was slowly forging westward probably wore his hair long as a matter of convenience. He was entirely too hard headed and practical to believe that tha length of his hair had anything to do with his ability as a fighter. The cowboy seems to have taken the fashion from the frontiersman, though he had not the excise of not being able to run across a barber at intervals. Now the frontiersman has disappeared with the frontier, and while the cowboy still exists he has given up his flowing locks. The plains man of to-day wears his hair like any other man, getting it cut when the opportunity of fers. One can still find in New-York, however, ex amples of the oldtime Western cowboj fashion of hair dressing. Most of them are patent medicine m©n, who wrar their hair k.ng to at tract attention. There are one or two, however, who are really ex-cow punchers and who never have changed the form of dressing their hair, and never wilL There is at least one full blooded Indian in New-York who wears a scalp lock. He is an artist's model and much in demand. He lives with several other Indians, all of whom wear their hair long, but he is the only one who shaves his head except in a single tuft. WRITING A PLAY. Ancient Method* Seem Much in Vogue To-day. In the days before tho Garden of Eden knew Adam and Eve, Mari^ >ld Mooley, th*> cow, was the greatest living actress. Knowing this, a well meaning stork, who was then the wisest of all birds, undertook to write a play in which Miss Mooley could exhibit h--r histrionic talent. He conferred with Mr. Fox, of the firm of "R. Fox, Sons, Co. & Relatives, Theatrical Managers." who managed Miss Mo. >!•■>-. "Good," said Mr. Fox. "You have the right Idea— go ahead." Much pleased, the playwright set to work, and in a few months brought back the following simple drama: "Hi, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon; the little dog laughed to see the sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon." "Well," said the manager, after hearing. "It's not bad, the atmosphere is all right, and the jumping scene is great." "What do you think of the character of the little dog?" said the dramatist. "Don't you think his laughter will add a good touch of comedy to the piece?" "H'm, yes," said the manager. "But that's not what our audiences want; they pay their money to see Miss Mooley, and you must make more of her part. You needn't change the plot; just give h. r all the good bits." "How can I?" said the dramatist. "That's your business, and not mine," said Mr. Fox. "But it's easy enough — for Instance, why make so much of the cat's part? Why not say. The cow and the fiddle'?"' "Oh! I see what you mean," said the drama tist. "I'll try." He took his play away with him, and in a few weeks brought back the fol lowing version: "Hey, diddle diddle, the cow and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon; the little cow laughed to see the sport, and the cow ran away with the spoon." "That's better," said the manager, "but there are still two or three places that need work." "Don't you think the audience will get a little tired of the cow before the last scene?** said the dramatist. "My boy," said the manager, "you're not writing for a stock company. Miss Mooiey is a star, and the people want to see her all the time. Now, you feature the moon too much; we don't care anything about the moon." "Eut the cow must have something to jump over, or the scene doesn't mean anything," said the dramatist- The manager leaned back in hla easy chair and lit a fresh cigar. That's all rtght from a literary standpoint," said he, "but what they want isn't literature. It's action. As long as they see Miss Mooley Jump, they don't care what she jumps over. Besides, moons are played out; the public are tired of 'em. Now, you must let her Jump and leave the rest to the stcge manager." "Anything else?" gasped the playwright. "Sure," said the manager. "You waste to« much time before Miss Mooley comes on. Now, you must work her into the 'Hey, diddle diddle* part. Oh — and you say. The little cow laughed to see the sport.' Now, the audience doesn't care anything about sport; all it goes to the theatre to see is Miss Mooley." "But we must have a laugh," objected tha dramatist. "Sure," said the manager, "only It must be at Miss Mooley." "All right," said the dramatist. Two months afterward he submitted the fol lowing: "Hey, cowdle cowdle, the cow and the cowdle. The cow jumped, the little cow laughed, and the cow ran away with the spoon." "That's much more like it," said the man ager. "Read it to Miss Mooley to-morrow." The dramatist was happy. "Oh, one thing more," said the manager. "Be fore you read it to Miss Mooley, change that spoon scene. The audience don't come to the theatre to see spoons. What they want to see :_ *» But here the dramatist fainted and was car ried home— (William C. de Mill*. In Life. 7