happy.

Far up into the night there is a wildness, a temper to the air which
suggests tossing tree boughs and the swift rustle of grass. The New
Yorker, whose business will not allow him to go out to nature, perhaps,
appreciates these little opportunities to go up to nature, although
doubtless he thinks he goes to see the show.

One season two new roof gardens have opened. The one at the top of Grand
Central Palace is large enough for a regimental drill room. The band is
imprisoned still higher in a turreted affair, and a person who prefers
gentle and unobtrusive amusement can gain deep pleasure and satisfaction
from watching the leader of this band gesticulating upon the heavens.
His figure is silhouetted beautifully against the sky, and every gesture
in which he wrings noise from his band is interestingly accentuated.

The other new roof garden was Oscar Hammerstein's Olympia, which blazes
on Broadway.

Oscar originally made a great reputation for getting out injunctions.
All court judges in New York worked overtime when Oscar was in this
business. He enjoined everybody in sight. He had a special machine
made--"Drop a nickel in the judge and get an injunction." Then he sent a
man to Washington for twenty-two thousand dollars' worth of nickels. In
Harlem, where he then lived, it rained orders of the court every day at
twelve o'clock. The street-cleaning commission was obliged to enlist a
special force to deal with Oscar's injunctions. Citizens meeting on the
street never said: "Good morning, how do you feel to-day?" They always
said: "Good morning, have you been enjoined yet to-day?" When a man
perhaps wished to enter a little game of draw, the universal form was
changed when he sent a note to his wife: "Dear Louise, I have received
an order of the court restraining me from coming home to dinner
to-night. Yours, George."

But Oscar changed. He smashed his machine, girded himself, and resolved
to provide the public with amusement. And now we see this great mind
applying itself to a roof garden with the same unflagging industry and
boundless energy which had previously expressed itself in injunctions.
The Olympia, his new roof garden, is a feat. It has an exuberance which
reminds one of the Union Depot train-shed of some western city. The
steel arches of the roof make a wide and splendid sweep, and over in the
corner there are real swans swimming in real water. The whole structure
glares like a conflagration with th