enough that any hair tonic
that stimulates the scalp too much is bad. The glands in the scalp
absorb the lead, cantharides, cayenne pepper, or whatever the specific
poison in the tonic may be; this is carried to the respiratory tract,
and creates the symptoms of a cold.

Singers are not apt to take much exercise. For this reason they should
be careful in their diet. They should avoid beef, lamb and mutton. The
white meat of fowl is the best meat diet for the vocalist. Milk, eggs,
toasted bread, string beans, spinach, lettuce, rice and barley are
excellent. Potatoes should be mashed, with milk and butter. Fruit is
better taken stewed and with little sugar. Ice cream clears the voice
for about twenty minutes, but the reaction is bad.

Regarding tea and coffee, inasmuch as a singer is not a cat on a back
fence, but a human being, there is no reason why he should not be
permitted to follow the social law in respect to these, provided he is
not a sufferer from indigestion. In fact, there are times when a cup of
coffee taken at the right moment will carry a singer, tired from travel
or other cause, over a crisis. There can be no harm in a cup of coffee
(Java and Mocha mixed), a cup of Phillip's Digestible cocoa, or a cup of
tea (Oolong or Tetley's Ceylon) for the singer who is in good condition.

I always have held that a singer could drink a small quantity of
alcohol--claret, for example--if he takes with it enough lithia or other
alkaline water to counteract the acid in the wine. Smoking, however, is
very injurious. A famous tenor of to-day whispered during a performance
in the Metropolitan Opera House to the prima donna in the cast, "I
smoked too many cigarettes yesterday; I feel it in my voice." Myron W.
Whitney always left off smoking for two weeks before the Worcester
Festival.

For travel the singer should be prepared for atmospheric changes as no
one else in the world. He should be especially cautious at night. A
singer who filled an engagement in Savannah started from there for the
North at night. He had been in perfect voice. As the night was warm he
left one of the windows of his berth open. At Washington he woke up with
cold. It was snowing, and snow had come in through the open window on to
his berth. His nose was "stuffed." He had no voice when he reached New
York. This was due to the sudden intensification of all the things
that belong to a cold. If he had worn a dressing-gown with a hood--not
necessarily a