the lehr.  The entire plant—­mixing, feeding, actually making the bottles, delivery to the lehr, and packing—­is synchronized exactly.  Men unload the cars of sand—­men pack the bottles.  The intermediate period is entirely mechanical.  The plant itself is as well lighted and ventilated as a department store, and except in the immediate vicinity of the furnace there is no heat felt above the daily temperature.  The machines average well over a bottle a second, and by an exceedingly clever arrangement of electrical recording appliances an accurate record of the output of each machine, as well as the temperatures of the furnaces and lehrs, is kept in the offices of the company.  The entire equipment is of the most modern, from the boilers and motors in the power-plant and producer-gas-plant to the packing platforms.  In addition, the plant boasts a complete machine shop where all the molds are made and the machines repaired.

It is a far cry from human lung-power to the super-efficient machinery of the new plants; but it is the logical progress of human events, applying to every product of man’s hands, from battleships to—­bottles.

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SPECIAL FEATURE ARTICLES

(New York World)

One illustration, a half-tone reproduction of a photograph of the exterior of the theater.

THE NEIGHBORHOOD PLAYHOUSE

A GIFT TO THE EAST SIDE—­HOW THE SETTLEMENT WORK OF MISSES IRENE AND ALICE LEWISOHN HAS CULMINATED AT LAST IN A REAL THEATRE—­ITS ATTRACTIONS AND EDUCATIONAL VALUE

The piece is the Biblical “Jephthah’s Daughter,” adapted from the Book of Judges.  The hero, “a mighty man of valor,” has conquered the enemies of his people.  There is great rejoicing over his victory, for the tribe of Israel has been at its weakest.  But now comes payment of the price of conquest.  The leader of the victorious host promised to yield to God as a burnt sacrifice “whatsoever cometh forth from the doors of my house to meet me when I return from battle.”  And his daughter came forth.

In the last act, the girl herself, young and beautiful, advances toward the altar on which fagots have been piled high.  In her hand is the lighted torch which is to kindle her own death fire.

The chorus chants old Hebraic melodies.  Even the audience joins in the singing.  The play takes on the aspect of an ancient religious ceremonial.  Old men and women are in tears, moved by the sad history of their race, forgetful of the horror of human sacrifice in the intensity of their religious fervor.

Such is the artistry of the piece; such the perfection of its production.

Yet this is no professional performance, but the work of amateurs.  It is the opening night of the new community theatre of New York’s densely populated East Side.