tty episode happened, which
showed the human side of the singer's character, and gave a glimpse into
her every day life. Mme. Tetrazzini was a little late for her
appointment, as she had been out on a shopping expedition, an occupation
which she greatly enjoys. Awaiting her return was a group of
photographers, who had arranged their apparatus, mirrors and flash-light
screen, even to the piano stool on which the singer was to be placed.
She took in the situation at a glance, as she entered, and obediently
gave herself into the hands of the picture makers.

"Ah, you wish to make me beautiful," she exclaimed, with her pretty
accent; "I am not beautiful, but you may try to make me look so." With
patience she assumed the required poses, put her head on this side or
that, drew her furs closer about her or allowed them to fall away from
the white throat, with its single string of pearls. The onlooker
suggested she be snapped with a little black "Pom," who had found his
way into the room and was now an interested spectator, on his vantage
ground, a big sofa. So little "Joy" was gathered up and held in
affectionate, motherly arms, close against his mistress' face. It was
all very human and natural, and gave another side to the singer's
character from the side she shows to the public.

At last the ordeal was over, and Madame was free to leave her post and
sit in one of the arm chairs, where she could be a little more
comfortable. The secretary was also near, to be appealed to when she
could not make herself intelligible in English. "My English is very
bad," she protested; "I have not the time now to learn it properly; that
is why I speak it so very bad. In the summer, or next year, I will
really learn it. Now, what is it I can tell you? I am ready."

FOR THE DEBUTANTE

To ask such a natural born singer how she studies and works, is like
asking the fish swimming about in the ocean, to tell you where is the
sea! She could not tell you how she does it. Singing is as the breath of
life to Tetrazzini--as natural as the air she breathes. Realizing this,
I began at the other end.

"What message have you, Madame, for the young singer, who desires to
make a career?"

"Ah, yes, the debutante. Tell her she must practice much--very much--"
and Madame spread out her hands to indicate it was a large subject; "she
must practice several hours every day. I had to practice very much when
I began my study--when I was sixteen; but now I do