Newspaper Page Text
14
An exchange tell? of an Amerlrtm
tnan of artistic tastes, who has traveled
abroad a good deal, while looking about
for something to collect that was neither
spoons, tea cups nor posters, hit upon the
idea of gathering little jugs and mugs.
Her friends soon learned of her new fad.
and aided her in adding to her collection.
Wherever she went she would pick up a
tiny jug, or perhaps two or three, until
now she has over 200. None of them is
over three Inches long, and they are in
all colors, and represent many places and
potteries—tiny amphorae from Southern
Italy, Etruscan Jars from Tuscany, minia
ture ollas from Spain and Mexico, squat
pitchers from Holland, wee quaint schoon
ers from Germany, mugs from England,
and little brown Jugs from everywhere.
All these are strung upon a Micronesian
cord, and the odd ornament is festooned
on her wail against a background that
shows up the varied colors to advantage
and makes the bits of earthenware and
china distinctively decorative.
In discussing what we owe to society,
Harpers Bazar says: For example, in
declining an invitation that we would not
under any circumstances accept, are we
privileged to say that we deeply regret
that a previous engagement prevents the
pleasure, etc.? When we have been great-
Iy bored and have so expressed ourselves
to various persons In the company, should
we say to the host and hostess, ©yen If
it be the custom, that we are indebted
to them for a very delightful evening. Is
It quite the thing, if we have asked our
companion who that very plain woman
may be, and are presented to her a few
moments later by Mr. Jones as ms wife,
to declare that we had been wondering
who that very pretty woman was. Hoes
our conscience feel easy when We remem
ber that after being compelled to listen
to a sonata, very ill performed, which
we pronounced excruciating, we have de
liberately walked up to the porformer and
praised him in superlatives? Is our equa
naminity not a whit disturbed when we
pay to our friend, “Don’t introduce me
to that cad!” and the next minute, while
shaking his hand, repeat the formula,
•‘Charmed to meet you?” These are num
berless other hypocrisies and falsehoods
are almost the current coin of social
speech. Consequently, they are not con
sidered what they really are, and he w ho
objects to them is regarded as oyerscrupu
lous, severely Puritanic. ‘What would
you have us say?” someone may ask.
r ‘Tell the brutal truth and be unpardona
bly rude?" If it be urged that rudesness is
preferable to lack of veracity, it may be
claimed that such fictions really deceive
nobody; that society does not expect any
one to be truthful, and tnat no harm ii
done. If so, the admission is sufficiently
damaging to society to give color to what
cynics say of It. It is indeed a miserable
Pham, a mere dance of death, a mass or
corruption under a polished surface.' So
ciety is nothing of the kind here, what
ever it may have become at some of the
courts of the old world. Here we need
not say what we do not believe, nor need
we contradict what we have Just spoken in
order to be polite. Politeness consists in
suppressing ill-natured comments, in the
first place; not in asserting the contrary
afterward. It is possible to be reasonab y
sincere, even in society, if we will strictly
carry out our unwritten compact to be
agree able—at least to try. And In the fur
therance of this object amiability will be
a great help.
Nearly all the false hair used in this
country, says the Hartford Times, comes
from Paris, or, at least. Is made up there.
The supply is drawn from all over the
world, but Germany and France furnish
the most. Paris wig-makers are the most
skillful in the world, and the best speci
mens find their way to the Parisian mar
ket to be made up into scalp coverings for
those who need them and can afford to pay
the prices asked. There are many Paris
houses which deal in wigs and the like
that keep men constantly traveling
over Europe buvlng hair from anyone that
cares to sell. The blonde locks of the
German girls are most sought after, and
sometimes big prices arc paid to Induce
them to part with their crowning glory.
The poor peasant women of the conti
nent are generally very ready to sell, and
some of them make a practice of selling ,
to the agents of Paris firms whenever
their hair is long enough to make it
•worth buying. Each clipping Is securely |
■wrapped and shipped with others in a
large bale to the workshops at Paris.
Unbleached white hair brings the high
est price if of a length of fifteen inches
or more. It Is hard to get and has sold
for as much as $35 to S4O an ounce. Black
or brown hair Is more common, the former
bringing $5 to $lO an ounce, and the latlei
$3 to SB. Red hair is tarely wanted except j
for stage purposes, although thore is on ■
record an offer of SI,OOO for a shock of red i
hair, scalp and all. A wealthy western
man whose moustache was of a brick
hue and who had lost hair and scalp
In an accident, was the author of the of
fer. An Impecunious Englishman, with an
auburn top took the offer, but withdraw
when the surgeons were almost ready to
operate. It is not told whether any other
applicant ever appeared.
“Why do vou go so little with Maud
D.?” asked a mother of her daughter, a
girl popular In society, says the New York
Tribune. “I find her charming."
“You will laugh if 1 tell you, mammy,"
said this up-to-date young woman, "but
it Is simply because she is so unbecoming
to me; I simply cannot afford it. I like
her Immensely; but an unbecoming inti
mate friend Is really a great affliction.
There are some girls that make you look
stumpy, and bthers that make ybxi look
fat. A fair, fresh girl will make a dark
sallow one look yellower than ever, while
the latter often makes the former resem
ble a broad-faced milk-maid. Look at
Ethel M. and Carrie 8. They have been
devoted to each other since they were
babies, but the one grew like a bean pole,
the ether stayed a roly-poly little thing,
and now tlvey look positively ridiculous
together when they are walking on Ihe
avenue. Carrie alone would be rather
pretty, although she Is short and plump,
but with Ethel she seems a positive dwarf.
"That Is the worst of tall people, by the
way; they make every one else appear to
be undersized. Of course, you cannot ex
actly choose a friend as you would a
gown, because she sets you off to the
btst advantage; but, all the same, it
much nicer to have someone who harmon
izes with your general appearance."
An English woman, says a writer in the
Cincinnati Enquirer, who is not a v< ry
new woman, tells me she knows a p. i
fect woman from a man's standpoint.
"Being a woman." she said, "I know ei
aell> what sort of a wife 1 would like If
1 were a man. It would be one who would
never say, ‘I told you so,' or ‘Vou’re not
getting any young, r. my dear,' or 'Vou
d-d-don t love me as much ua you used.’
Jt would be one who would never stay
home- and sit up up for joc when I went
to tpe club, but would take her own pi>-aa
ur* Jh a reasonable way. one who
wouldn't want ht toother, her aunt*, hut
sisters and her cousins to stay with her,
nor have a family party on Christmas
day. nor expect me to go to church when
I wanted to play golf. nor frown if I lit
a cigar in the drawing, room, nor sniff
when I bring home Zola's last novel, or
my chum Smith to take pot luck. I would
have a wife who never got fat nor old,
nor bad tempered, nor jealous when I
talk to pretty Mrs Blarneyton; one who
never said silly things; one who always
looked bright, smart, capable and bett-r
looking than other men's wives; one who
dressed on nothing a year, who never
had a flirtation, and who never called in
the doctor. This is all I should want."
And the women all said In concert; "Is
that all?"
One of the absurd exaggerations of
modern society, says the New York Tri
bune, is the Immense importance that is
attached to a debutante's entree into so
ciety by herself and her family. At the
age of eighteen a girl is taken from her
studies just at the point when her intel
ligence is sufficiently ripened to enable
her to really appreciate and understand
what she has heretofore learned with
more or less parrot-llke facility and but
little real comprehension. With a few
more years of application she might be
come a really intelligent and well-educa
ted woman. But she must, perforce,
“come out," and her mind Is tilled for
months beforehand with her gowns, her
"tea" and her dances to come—all well
enough in their way, but not worth the
all-aborbing attention which, to the ex
clusion of nearly everything else, mother
and daughter bestow upon this, to them,
momentous occasion. Whether she win
be a success—!, e., have a sufficiency of
partners at her halls and parties and be
admired by society—ls the one engross
ing thought.
It is very amusing to older worldlings
to watch the unsophisticated egotism of
an unfledged debutante, who fancies that
thp eyes of her world are upon her, and
that all the details of her first appear
ance are as Interesting to others as they
are to herself. It is an importance that
It as short lived as It Is funny.
"Bo you remember all the fuss that was
made over Martha X. last year before she
came out?' remarked one matron to an
other. "What preparations were made,
what a grand hall was given, and how
her mother talked of nothing else for
months? All her gowns were sent from
Paris, and she was not even allowed to
walk on Fifth avenue for months before
hand. so that she might come upon socie
ty perfectly fresh. She really was very
pretty, and her family expected her to
be an immense success; but. in spite of
everything, she fell quite flat, and the
other night at the B.'s ball she went home
because she had no partner for the co
tillon.”
A move in the right/direction has been
inaugurated this winter by several sen
sible mothers, who have postponed the
introduction of their daughters to society
until nineteen, keeping them at their
classes or taking them to Europe In the
interim. If they had extended the period
until twenty it would have been still bet
ter, for an immature girl has not half the
charm of the completed woman, who sel
dom attains her mental and physical de
velopment until even later.
An Angelic Husband—
There are husbands who- are pretty,
There are husbands who are witty.
There are husbands who in public are as
smiling as the morn;
There are husbands who are healthy.
There are husbands who are wealthy.
But the real angelic husband—well, he's
never yet been born.
Some for strength of love are noted,
Who are really so devoted
That whene'er their wives are absent they
are lonesome and forlorn;
And now and then you'll find one
Who’s a fairly good and kind one,
Yet the real angelic husband—Oh, he's
never yet been born.
Sc the woman who Is mated
To a man who is rated
As "pretty fair" should cherish him for
ever and a day;
For the real angelic creature.
Perfect, quite, in every feature—
He has never been discovered, and he
won’t be, so they say.
T. B. Aldrich, in The Forum.—
They met on the corner of Twenty-third
street and Broadway. He was a" man,
says the New York Times, who had
lived all his life in New York in a quiet,
respectable street. His clothes showed
that he possessed a comfortable income,
and his manner revealed a certain degrea
of culture. She was a bright looking wo
man, whose conversation, dress and con
duct were indicative of some knowledge
of plans and events. Alter the first greet
ings they fell into reminiscences—which
is natural when years elapse in on£ s ac
quaintanceship.
Both lamented the frivolity and unsta
bleness of the present day. "Why, even
the theaters give you nothing but silly
plays, light nonsensical things that dis
gust one.” "Oh. the plays are not so bad,”
said the man. “That’s just the way." she
retorted, “men find amusement in the
trashy play, the vaudevilles and light
operas. If it were not so we would have
a revival of Shakespearean drama.” "I
don't know that men are at fault.” re
joined her companion. "I like Shukee
j>eare my self. Why, I’d pay $2 to see his
'School for Scandal' well played. There
was a glint of laughter in the woman's
eye, she snapped her lips together for a
moment, and then asked, "Did you see
the duke before he went away?"
The literary woman, says the New York
World, was attending an afternoon tea
given by a club of women devoted to
heroine-worship. She had listened with
exemplary patience while various Indi
viduals told her of the strength and com
fort they had derived from her works
Finally a little woman with an aniably
vacuous expression and a habit of over
turning chairs, treading on toes and other
wise disporting herself tactlessly, came
up.
"Oh, my dear Mrs. Ruyter!" she ex
claimed. “I am so glad to meet you! You
have really done me the greatest service
Why, when my poor husband was threat:
ened wlith brain fever from overwork
and Insomnia the only thing that would
quiet him and put him to sleep at night
was reading aloud your sweet little sto
ries!”
j And then she looked offended because
i the club president trod heavily on her
| toes.
"The Z.’s are really wretchedly poor."
said one of their quondam intimates
I "They have lost nearly everything. 1 do
not believe that they have over five or
| six thousand a year left."
This naive reinurk, say* the New York
Tribune, heard ut a woman s luncheon
, the other day, und the discussion which
j followed, in which the oft-debated ques
tion of what constitute* a competence
was holly argued, will serve to illustrate
the icquireno-nts of the present time as
j contrasted with much more modest
Ideas of even a couple of de< adc-s ago.
The amount of money aiaiulutely need
ed for met* existence in soefey was va
riously pla. ed by the favorites of for
mas who took part ut tbs discussion, but
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 1.1, 1895.
110.000 a year was the lowest sum named
as a competency. Most of those who were
present evidently considered that petty
amount as a bare subsistence.
"And yet when I was a girl.” said the
mother of the hostess, an aristocratic old
lady of pure Knickerbocker descent, "a
young man felt that he could marry and
support a wife modestly’ but creditably
In society on S2,OU) a year! Times have
changed, and not for the better, in my
estimation."
Another conversation which took place
at a dinner a few days later may also be
cited as a straw to show the currents of
the world's maelstrom, currents that are
drifting us—whither? "The easiest way
to make a fortune," said a tin de siecle
young man, whose brains so far had not
solved the problem of how to pay his
tailor, "Is to get up a syndicate, buy up
certain influences and run up a particular
stock on bogus promises.”
"But that would be dishonest," said the
debutante, fresh from the school room
ethics of morality.
"Oh, nobody Is honest nowadays," an
swered the youth, flippantly. “It really
doesn't make a bit of difference to people
what your principles are. If you are
amusing and have money you can do
anything!” , . .
Here is another recently overheard
scrap of conversation:
“They say that Harry A. lost every cent
In that tremendous tumble in a few
months ago.”
"But I thought that was managed by
his great friend, W.”
"Oh, it is the fashion now to swindle
your friends; It helps general confidence
in vour enterprise.”
What can be the moral development of
young people brought up In such an at
mosphere and subjected to such influ
ences? “If you are poor,” said a young
college graduate lately, “it pays you to
be high-principled—you get on much fast
er. But if you are rich you can do as
you choose —nobody really minds much.”
Is there absolutely no remedy for this
plague of riches except the Inevitable
reaction which must come sooner or lat
er? Whether we are pessimists or optim
ists. whether we believe that the world
Is growing better or worse, every one
must concede that history repeats Itself,
and that an age of great luxury and great
wealth is an age of great danger, not
only to the Intellectual life and morals of
a community, but to the actual existence
of the society which Is its exponent.
At a recent church wedding, says the
New York Times, one of the guests had
written several popular handbooks on
matters of etiquette. A young girl was
shown into the pew with her, for whom
the older woman refused to move up in
the seat, or to make any room, while she
glared through her lorgnette at the new
comer in a fashion excessively disconcert
ing. When the victim returned home she
found the pages in a certain work which
treated of manners In church. The very
offense committed by the writer was there
reprobated with unspalring hand. The
girl drew pencil marks around these pas
sages, and wrote upon the opposite mar
gin: "At the so-and-so wedding, such
and-such a church." And she sent the
book to its author.
Did you ever hear tne story of the best
retort that Murat Halsted ever received?
No one, says the Cincinnati Tribune, ever
enjoyed telling the story more than-he did
and it is good enough to print anywhere.
The old law firm of Goldsmith, Colston,
Hoadly & Johnson waj* one of Mf. Hal
stead's pet subjects for sarcasm, politi
cally and otherwise. He caught up a
phrase which was attributed to the junior
partner of the firm. Mr. Johnson, and
after calling him a "shining ornament of
the Cincinnati bar” for some time, the
brilliant Mr. Halstead went further and
publicly dubbed Mr. Johnson “the brass
ornament of the Cincinnati bar." This
phrase was so attractive to Mr. Halstead
that he never hesitated to use it In every
possible way. Halstead’s day of reckon
ing came, however.
At an evening gathering Mr. Halstead,
who was very susceptible to the charms
of the fair sex, saw a handsome woman
In the crowd supefbly dressed, and with
diamonds on her bosom and in her hair
that would at once attract attention. He
begged to be presented, and was—to Mrs.
Johnson. It did not present itself to Mr.
Halsted’s mind,perhaps a little less sternly
at the time than usual, who the lady
might be. He was curious about her.
“Johnson, Johnson?” he repeated. "I
have never had the pleasure of meeting
you before, Mrs. Johnson. Do you live
in Ohio?”
"Oh, yes,” replied the lady, brimming
over with smiles; "I live in Cincinnati."
“Indeed!” said Mr. Halstead, quite as
tonished. "May I inquire of what family
of Johnsons you are?”
The smiles were more than merry this
time.
"Mr. Halstead,” she replied, "for fif
teen years I have been trying to polish
up the brass ornament of the Cincinnati
bar.”
Men, says the New York Press, dislike
to acknowledge that there is anything
which they do not know. Mind, 1 do not
say they never do own up. They do, but
it is under protest. This little failing
leads to comical results sometimes. Two
young gentlemen of leisure who spent
their summer in the Tennessee mountains
can vouch for this. They were in the
habit of taking long tramps and stop
ping for their meals at some cabin when
ever they felt hungry. One day their
impromptu hostess said, as she poured
out the coffee. “Sweetnin'?" “Yes,” was
the reply from both. "What’ll ve hev,
long or short?” That was a poser. Final
ly one answered, " 'Long.' if you please ”
just to solve the difficulty. The woman
complacently dipped her forefinger Into
a bowl of molasses, swirled it around
until it had gathered enough of the liquid
sweetness to satisfy her, and then she
complacently scraped it into the young
man's cup. His companion profited by
this object lesson and said he'd take ‘short
sweetnin'.” He did not feel any belter
than his comrade, though, when she calm
ly bit off a piece from her hunk of maple
sugar that lay beside her plate and drop
ped it into his cup. The beet part of this
lesson in ventures was that It was a plain
case of the pot cannot call the kettle
black.
Said the girl among the pillows in a
fiiend's room the other day. according
io the New York Times, “I had an ex*
per.ence last week that is worth telling
A man I know eaine to the house by
appointment to take me out. He was a
little- ahead of the hour set. and I wasn *
quite ready. When I was and ran down
to the parlor, I found him--sound asleep
In his chair. The parlor was rather dimlv
lighted, warm and perfectly quiet and
I suppose the poor fellow had hurried
to keep his appointment after a hard
day's work. 1 feH awfully *orry for
him."
"The pity that is akin," began the gin
at the dressing table—
" The pity that U akin to nothing "
the realization of what It means for many
promptly interrupted the other, "except
the realization of what It mean* for many
young New York men u> go into socialV
This particular one 1 happen
to know ha* u tf* ry, ruspuueL
ble place In an importing house,
and his hours are long. I felt positively
guilty to think of keeping him up so late
to take me out for ihe evening, and bring
me way home up among the Eighties.
It would be midnight, at least, before
he could see his own room, yet he must
be at work early the next day.
"But," and the speaker laughed, "for a
moment I Uidr. t know how to waken
him. Then I slipped back part way up
tne stairs and let my opera glass bang
against the balus’tr and then I exclaim
ed at my stupidity and altogether made
such a clatter than when 1 reached the
parlor a second time he was standing
ready to greet me. I think the nap did
him good. too. for he was specially bright
and entertaining all the evening."
Our queen Is very fond of children, says
the London Telegraph. One day she sent
a messenger to make inquiries about
three aelghboring children, and desired
that they might come and visit her at
the castle. It so happened that their
parents were not at home at the time.
How should they address the queen?
However, after a little talk, they decided
they could not do better than address
the queen as kings of old were addressed
in Bibie history When they were taken
into the queen's presence, to her maj
esty's great amusement, they immediate
ly fell down before her and very sol
emnly exclaimed: "Oh, queen, live for
ever.” Thev spent a delightful afternoon,
and all too soon the time arrived for
them to go home. Imagine the queen's
surprise and amusement when, on leav
ing, they again fell down whether and
said this time “O queen. Hve forever.
And. please, may we come again another
day?”
A Girl—
She can talk on evolution:
She can proffer a solution
For each problem that besets the modern
brain. i
She can punish Old Beethoven.
Or she dallies with De Koven
Till the neighbors tile petition and com
plain.
She can paint a crimson cowboy.
Or a purple-madder plowboy
That you do not comprehend, hut must
admire.
And in exercise athletic
It Is really pathetic
To behold the young men round her droop
and tire.
She is up in mathematics.
Engineering, hvdrostatlcs.
In debate with her for quarter you will
hog.
She has every’ trait that's charming.
With an intellect alarming:
Y'et she cannot, oh, she cannot, fry an
egg! —Washington Star.
LOTTA IN RETIREMENT.
STORY OF HER LONG STAGE CA
REER AND ITS REWARDS.
Rosy Views of an Actress' Life—What
It Involves—Experiences Daring;
the Gold Fever In California—She
Thinks the Merit of Actors May Be
Judged by the Money They Make.
Her Fortune.
From the New York Sun.
"Wo went out there in 1851. Lots of peo
ple who expected to find fortunes were
disappointed. My father was one of them.
So after a year we were living In a log
cabin on the outskirts of Bear Creek."
There is still a youthful, almost childish
quality in tho voice that is reciting these
personal reminiscences of the days of the
gold fever in California. The face of the
speaker is lit with the same expression of
infantile wonder that won popularity a
third of a century ago. The same curls,
as brown and crisp, are brushed back from
her face. Her big blue eyes are as bright
and deep as they were then, and her slight
figure Is as lithe and girlish. Sitting In her
drawing room in an uptown hotel she
looks no older tflan 25 years. Maybe the
searching daylight might reveal changes
that are not to be noticed in the shades of
the draped curtains.
"I danced and sang first," she adds with
a laugh at the thought, "in a hall that ad
joined a gambling saloon. But that was
customary In California In those days. If
It hadn’t been for that gambling hall 1
might never have been an actress at all.
But the owner of It was angry because &
company of actors came to town and hir
ed the other hall. So he got up an ama
teur entertainment for the same night to
get ahead of them; and we did."
It is when she begins to tell the story
of that successful career, probably more
successful .during Its long course than
that of any other American actress, that
one realizes the speaker is really Lotta,
who was for so many years one of the
chief figures of the American stage. She
is living now In, retirement, and will never
return to the stage. 11l health three years
ago compelled her to stop acting.
She was one of the fortunate women
who left the stage before it left her, and
she Was as popular in the west and south
when she ceased to act as she was a
, quarter of a century before. During all
, her career she never played any part but
1 that of a very young girl. In her own
words, she was "a woman low comedian,”
singing, dancing, picking the banjo with
an exportness that was remarkable, and
doing anything and everything that
amused the audiences in the plays in
which she acted. These were especially
written for her and are not mueh seen
on the stage to-day. But her popularity
In them was enormous. Her annual vis
its to the cities particularly in the west
and south, were marked by a cordiali'y
of welcome which has been rarely dupli
cated by any actress. New York saw less
of her, but In Philadelphia and Boston
she was as popular as she was in the
smaller cities.
"1 have one thing to be proud of in my
career," she said to a Sun reporter, "and
that is the fact that I was always espec
ially the favorite of women and children.
I tried studiously to avoid anything that
savored In the least of indelicacy. It
wasn't hard, for nothing of the kind ever
occurred to me. I never thought of such
things, and I believe that an atmosphere
of this kind communlca.'es itself to
others. So I was always proud that It
was the women and children who were
always my friends."
When a person has withstood the effects
of time so well, amd when ihe is, more
over, a woman, it does not seem fair tb
speak of the number of years that meas
ure her age. In such a case years are
no test at all. But there is no harm in
I-otta's casg In telling Just how old she
is said to be. People who are reminiscent
and those who are fond of the reminis
cences of others, recall the fact that she
was born in New York at 750 Broadway
in November, 1847. That makes her—well
just about as old as any other woman is
at thirty in appearance, and In manner
and spirit not much more matured than
a girl of half that age.
"Sometimes when people ask me how in
the world It is that I keep so young In
looks and feeling,” she said to the re
porter, "I always remind them that for
nearly thirty years of my life I gave up
three hours a day to romping, to enjoying
myself, and trying to make other people
have just as good a time. Ellen Terry said
to me the other day:
"My dear Lotta. when L see you it
makes me more sorry than ever that I am
compelled to spend so much of my time
tearing around In tragedy. Weeping and
tearing my hair certainly makes me look
old and if I had my own way I should nev
er act anything but comedy, which has
served to keep you young for so many
years.' She was right, for I always have
attributed my youthful feelings in a great
measure to my experlenoe.
"Not that 1 never made hard work of
acting, for I become more convinced every
day that It is only hard work that can
ever make a reputation for a mun or wo
man on the stage. The other day I saw
for the first time an actress of whom I
had heard a great deal. Everybody told
me thit she was great, actors In partic
ular have praised her talent to me. 1 *l
- asked why doesn't she make money?
Why doesn't she succeed?’ Because the
amount of money an actor makes is the
real test of whether or not he la greui. It
shows that the people come to see him,
and, If the people come to see him, that
proves he has qualities which can touch
their heart and hold them as his admirers.
I don’t mean to say that actor who
■|M-uks a foreign language Is not great be
cause he doesn't make money, fur that Is
an exeeptlonal case, ilul 1 have always
held that lh*- real standing by which an
aetor ought to be judged was the number
of oeopla Who are aOAJOjis to Hut Ida and
Xot the Same.
Teai-ner—Well. John; what is the principal product of the Island of Cuba im
ported to the United States?
Boy—l don’t know, ma’am.
Teacher—What! Don’t you know where the sugar comes from?
Boy—Yes, ma'am; we borrow It from the woman next door.
willing to pay for It. So when everybody
told me that this actress was really great
I always asked why It was that she hadn't
been a success, hadn't made money, and
hadn't drawn the people to see her.
"Well, when I saw her, I understood it.
She had plenty of talent. In most of her
scenes she was charming, and In some of
them she was splendid. She had a beau
tiful voice and a beautiful face. She had
everything that ought to have made her
successful, but, do you know, my dear,
why she wasn't and why she never will
he?”—Lotta was growing interested in her
subject now, and if the young actress had
seen her, she would have been flattered at •
her earnestness—"lt is because site
doesn’t work. For every single minute
that she was on the stage to hold the in
terest of her spectators, she was lovely
and charming, but she was indifferent
when it did not seem to be wortn her
while to be absorbed In her work. 1 felt
that If I could get up and say to her,
‘Now, my dear girl, don't you realize that
by acting with so much Indifference in
what you consider an unimportant scone
you have entirely chilled the interest of
these people, who have come here for the
purpose of seeing you, and want you to
interest them for the whole time? Don’t
you know’ that every time you look cas
ually over Into the audience at a friend,
or speak one line as though you had no in
terest in It, you are alienating this au
dience, which Is trying hard to have vou
respond to Its Interest?' I felt that if I
could only tell her those things, and how
fatal a mistake she was making, it would
have done her worlds of good. But I
couldn’t, and she Is satisfied with the
moderate success she is making, and
probably she will go on to the end of her
days having people tell her she is great,
yet never having great numbers go to
see her and never making any money.
"If she could only have realized how I
worked to make my place In people’s
hearts and how I struggled to keep it, she
would have realized that popularity never
comes to a woman or to a man on the
stage unless he does his share In winning
It. Often when I have felt instinctively
that the sympathy of an audience was
drifting away from me, 1 have put in a
funny little laugh or a cough or a kick or
some little trick that would make them
appreciate that I was appreciative of their
presence hi trying to do what I could to
ward Interesting them. That’s what ev
ery actor has to do who maintains his
popularity with the public. I don't mean
to say that I have acted well ail the time.
No doubt on some nights I acted very
badly, but it was not because I wanted
to or because I didn’t care how I did it.
When I was on the stage I always had
one Idea hi my mind— that was to do my
conscientious share toward Interesting my
audiences. It takes constant watching and
It takes constant work, but it's the only
thing that wins in the end.
"It’s the only thing, too, that lasts, and
the public that comes to see you Is the
real test of whether or not you are great.
That's why I say that unless an actor
makes money he is not great. I know a
young actor who for the past ten years
has been told by everybody that he is a
fenius, and he does act well sometimes,
ut he will never be great Just for the
same reason as the actress I spoke of.
Such failures may come from various rea
sons. A man may be Irregular In life, he
may drink, and a woman may be indif
ferent or spoiled, but in either case you
will find that the results are the same.
The public is a very Jealous master to
serve. If you wanted to profit by It, you
must give yourself to it entirely."
Lotta has had a career of such unusual
prosperity on the stage that her opinions
as to the opportunities it offers women
who must work may Justly be cdhsidered
roseate. Maybe If she had danced, sung,
and acted and lost the money she made,
her opinion of the stage would not be so
favorable. But she approves of it, and
what she says must be read with the cir
cumstances of her career In mind.
"I think a woman who has talent or
beauty will find the stage always a pleas
anter life than she will find if she becomes
a clerk or a typewriter, or enters any of
the other occupations in which so many
women are employed now. The life of a
theater will prove far more attractive to
the average woman even with the hard
ships that come with it some time* than
the dreary and confining work of busi
ness life. She has to take into considera
tion the fact that for a long period of
years she will be unemployed, but this
fact is taken into account In the wages
that are paid her. There is no danger in
the stage to the woman who can take
care of herself. When people ask me
what I think of the affect of the atmos
phere of the stage, I always tell them
that it has precisely the effect of every
other atmosphere I have seen in my life.
It isn’t the atmospheres in this world
that are different, It is the people that are
In them. The one difference is that wo
men of the stage are not so leniently judg
ed; but, on the other hand they have
freater freedom. I remember once that
went to see a woman of very good po
sition who had lost all her friends be
cause she drank occasionally. I had
the greatest sympathy for her, and I
felt that if there was anything I could
do for her to make her realize that every
body was not against her I would do it.
When I came from calling on her I met
some of her former friends and they
said: ‘Why, you never should have gone
to see her. She drinks,' but another said’
'Oh, you're an actress, and you could do
those things.' I was very glad I was able
to do them. And I never have thought
that there was any position that prevent
ed one woman from doing her duty to
another. But sometimes I have thought
that after all I have made mistakes. Per
haps if I hadn't called on that woman
who drank she would have realized that
nobody felt eorry enough for her to come
and see her. Then she might have stopp
ed.”
Lotta has got her theories on acting
down to Just as scientific a basis as her
opinions on moral and social topics. She
is so certain about the matter of act
ing that she wants to teach it.
"I don't believe In the first place, that
anybody can be taught to act who hasn't
got It in them," she said, "and the thing
that we want moat of all is the one
that can be taught; that is, origlnalttv
I sometimes think that it would be "a
Jood idea for us to have a stage built
own at the Professional Women's
League, and not do any regular teach
ing, but just let the people walk on and
off the stage and go through a few sim
ple things like that to see if they couldn't
do It with some originality. That Is what
people are anxious for now, and I think
the actors to-day get too much teaching
Instead of too little. I should like to sit
In the audience and watch th- beginners
and, after lolling them to do a- they
wanted, let them know whether it was
Sood or not. When 1 was 8 years old, and
anced in the concert hall at Bear < 'reek,
the miners threw a lot of money at me’
Ttie first night I got an old stovepipe
hut with no ton In It. I piled all the mon
v uu in ike nail then when 1 pfikul
up the money was still on the floor. Of
course, that made the audience laugh im
mensely, because they hadn't seen any
thing of the kind before, and that is what
would succeed most to-day. Everybody
wants originality.
"I don't know how I happened to pick
up the tricks I did. I was taught to dance
by an Italian who had come out to Cal
ifornia to make a fortune In the gold
mines. He didn't, so he led the orchestra
that used to play in the concert hall in
which I appeared. He taught me to sing
and to dance, but the other tricks that
used to make my audience laugh often
came to me on the spur of the moment.
In all the years tha? I acted my different
parts, I don't believe that I ever varied
them very much from one performance to
another. I acted them in the same way.
but added to them anything new that
happened to occur to me. ami I worked
hard for all those thirty years to keep
the friends I had made.
“I shall never act any more. Mr. Jef
ferson asked me to act with him In the
production of 'The Rivals' this spring.
He wanted me to play the part of Susan,
and I should like to have done It. hut
when It came to the point my courage
failed. I am well so long as I don't act,
and I'am afraid to take any risks. Be
sides, most of my time is so occupied
with my bicycle that I never could have
learned a line.”
Lotta will tell you no end of anecdotes
about a career that has extended over
some thirty years or more and Included
almost every phase of existence that Is
possible in the actor's life. When she
played first in the west theaters and life
there were crude, and the comfort of the
traveling actors was not the chief reward
of theatrical life. During the time In
which she was most popular few towns
wfffe large enough to justify an engage
ment of more than two or three nights.
Probably if the average of all Lotta’s en
gagements could be taken, it would be
found to be nearer two nights than a
week. Railroad travel during many of
these years was not as agreeable as it is
now, hotels were not as comfortable,
and the lot of the traveling actor, partic
ularly In the western states, was as hard
as it could well have been. But Its re
wards to Lotta were ample. Never, from
the time she danced in the California
music hall and collected the miners' gold,
was she anything but the star of a com
pany. When she started first to travel
it was her dancing and singing that were
made the central features of the perform
ances in which she acted. One of the
music halls in San Francisco, during the
days of the gold fever, was the “Melo
deon," and Lotta danced and sang there,
and Sophie and Jennie Worrell, and Mag
gie Moore, now In Australia, were her
associates. They were all known and
popular in their time, and the little girl
from the mining town, who had come up
to compete with them, had a hard strug
gle to make her way in the presence of
such rivals.
Lotta came straight from the "Melo
deon” to New Y’ork, and in 1864 acted here
for the first time at Niblo's saloon, which
adjoined the old Niblo's Garden. Then
she went to Chicago, for New York had
not been particularly cordial. But she soon
came back and conquered it. “The Seven
Sisters,” in which she played at MffVick
ar's theater In Chicago, first established
her reputation in the east. From that time
until she retired, three years ago, there
was nothing but success In her life, bar
ring her experiences in London, when the
husband of a rival actress organized a
gang to hiss her at the theater.
"We used to have some dreadful things
happen when I was traveling,” she says,
"and at first I worried myself to death
over the contretemps, but after a while
I got accustomed to them, and regarded
tham merely as unavoidable incidents of
our acting. I remember that one of the
worst of them happened when I was play
ing in the "Little Detective.” The heroine
had been murdered, and her corpse was
to have floated slowly past In the back
ground. This was usually done by pulling
her across the stage on a little sofa on
wheels. But it was discovered at the last
moment there wasn’t a bit of rope in tho
theater that could be used. It was a small
town, and the accessories were not as com
plete as Henry Irving’s. I was standing
on the stage as the little detective, await
ing the apearance' of the corpse. Presently
I heard a shriek from the wings.
“ 'How dare you take hold of my ankle?
I'll tell my husband!’ I heard In the tones
of the heroine who had only a few mo
ments before been murdered in the sight
of the audience and then cast into the
river. ‘I never heard of such a thing. I ’
This conversation, which had begun in
the wings, continued as the indignant
corpse whizzed across the stage with the
velocity of an express train. It terminated
suddenly when the dead body landed with
a bump against the opposite wall of the
theater.
The audience was laughing over the
marvellous behavior of the murdered lady,
and I couldn’t conceal the fact that i
thought it Just as funny. I never knew
until the curtain fell what had happened.
Then I learned that in the absence of the
rope, which should have drawn the body
slowly across the stage, one of the stage
hands had given the little wagon a shove
and started it rapidly across the stage
In order to get a firm hold he had seized
the leading lady's ankle. That was what
had aroused hep Indignation, and she
was made even more furious when she
landed up against the brick wall on the
other side of the stage. Those things
happened more often in the old times
and I got so accustomed to them after a
while that they became as laughable to
me as they were to others.”
Lotta was never married. From time to
time rumors of her engagement have float
ed about, but nobody ever put much faith
in them. Once a man who claimed to be
her husband, turned up in the west, but
he was soon lost sight of. Her life has
always been of the simplest, and she is
probably the richest actress in the world
There has never been a scandal con
nected with her name, and her character
as it has been revealed on the stage, was
found to be much the same in private
life by those who were lucky enough to
know the woman as well as the actress
She was light-hearted and merry in her
plays, doing everything in her power to
make life seem the same. Out of her plays
she has been conspicuous always for these
same characteristics. She has had shrewd
advisers, principally in her mother, whose
business ability has been as famous for
years with the people who are informed
in the particulars of stage life as her
daughter’s powers have been, and her
present fortune Is due to the wise invest
ment of the liberal earnings of her long
career. Ho I,otta, although she has ceas
ed to smile and sing for the benciit of
others, to make life gayer and happier
for them, is not compelled to be sorrow
ing or sad over her own condition.
—Johnny—lM4 they hurt you much at
the lodge Saturday night, papa?
Papa No, Johnny, why do you ask?
Johnny—''Cause I heard Mr. Johnson say
wou wars about half afaot.-’j'ruiu. *
JOHN ROURKE & SON,
\ Machinists. Blacksmiths
Vjgg Boilermakers. Brass
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T 7 vS £SL w, ~ fc,s *ES
Uzj, Ljf $9 Send for our price*.
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East Broad to Reynolds. J
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EDWARD LOVELL'S SONS
HOTELS AND RESORTS.
Jacksonville, Fla.
On high ground; central nearest hotel w
union station, three blocks from P. O Helpanl
cooks selected from White Mountain resort*
'Bus meets all trains. Kates f2 to $3 per dar
G. W. SMITH, Prop., of Chiswick Inn. N. a
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
‘‘Worn to Tatters’
1- . :!? - * * |
This is the inevitable fate of
“ COMFORT,” as each member
of the ONE MILLION and a
QUARTER families who take it
simply devours every scrap of
each copy. Have you 44 WAKED
UP” to 44 COMFORT” yet?
STEAMER ALPHA,
J. H. HAYNESWORTH, Master.
Between SAVANNAH, BLUFFTON, PORI
ROYAL AND BEAUFORT.
Leave Savannah Tuesdays, Thursday*
and Sundays at 9:30 a. m.
Leave Beaufort Wednesdays. Friday*
and Mondays at 8:30 a. m.
The steamer will only stop at Blufftoa
Fridays and Sundays.
C. H. MEDLOCI:. Agent
Telephone 461.
STEAMER GOV. SAFFORD.
For Beaufort, Port Royal, Jfaral Sts*
tion nn<l Way Landings.
Leaving Savannah 9:30 a. m. Tuesday A
Thursdays. Saturday* each week. For frown*
or passage apply at Exchange Wharf, Bail
street. Telephone 520.
PLUMBING. STEAM AND GAS FITTIN9
By Competent Workmen at Reasonable
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l. a. McCarthy.
All work done under my supervision. A riuj
supply of Globes. Chandeliers. Steam and Gal
Fittings of all the latest styles, at
46 DRAYTON STREET.
ALASKA’S ICE BEAR.
An Accurate Description of 8*
Prof. Dali of the Cool Commission.
From the New York Sun.
When the government sent out a com*
mission to investigate the coal fieldi
of Alaska last spring Prof. W. N. Dali
was made one of the party. hile thJ
scientific men were visiting the Mt. St.
Elias glaciers, Prof. Dali saw an animal
he had never seen before. It was a bear,
but such a bear as nobody in the party
had ever seen or heard of. They thought
they had discovered an entirely distinct
species. Prof. Dali made an elaborate re
port of all the circumstances, together
with all the Information he could get
from the natives about the bear. Tms is
his description: „
“The general color of the animal tefem
bles that of the silver fox The fur is not
very long, but remarkably soft and wun
a rich under-fur of a bluish-b ack shadej
numbers of the longer hairs being whi
or having the distal Parthalf white anl
the bastal part slaty. The dorsal lina
from the tip of the nose to the rump,
the back of the very short ears anl ™
outer faces of the limbs are jet
Numerous long white hairs issue from thit
ears; black and silver Is the prevaient
pelage of the sides, neck and rump,
under surface of the belly and the sinus
behind the limbs “re grayish wh e. or
even nearly pure white, I am tola.
some eases. The sides of the muzzle
the lower anterior part of t*e cnee*
are of a bright tan color-a characGH
tic I have not seen in any other Amen un
bear, and this characteristic Is said j"
be Invariable. There Is no tall
on the pelts. The claws are imt'l. .
much curved, sharp, black above
lighter below; the animal evidentl>
climb trees, which the brown bear ■
not do.” _ . „„v.i
To this the Alssks Mining Record* •*
"Prof Dali seem* to have discovered o
Ice Iwar."
-Mrs. D* Kadd—The latest fsshlon *
to have the piano built Into tfca .
Mr. De Fsdd (w earlljo-W>ll, ?•'
sensible. Lvl wall up outs.—*"'* 1
•Weekly.