Newspaper Page Text
SUNDAY GAZETTE.
ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, JAN. 11.
Entered, in the Atlanta, Ga„ Pustuffiee kx .S'cond-
Class matter.
-
Y' ; '
Atlanta, Jan. 10.
• 1 see j at . t ,bere
v/| p is some doubt ex.
UK gSj pressed as to what
fl Bsl w '" b e t ’ le outcome
1 sli I'm the pending rail-
CA| K combinations.
«$• gffl It will be to make
_ p-Bli Atlanta the Gate
between the
S-~ JrtWestand the ocean.
» * *
People wonder why it is that Atlanta grows
so rapidly. I reply that she is unfolding to
destiny. Prom the time she dropped her
swaddling clothes she has grown contrary to
all prophecy and precedent. She will con
tinue to do so. There are “100,000 inhabi
tants” for this city in the next ten years:
Journalism is to be congratulated on the
acquisition of Gen. Evans, who this week
takes editorial charge of the Georgia Advo
cate, that is published in this city. General
Evans says: “1 undertake to edit the Advo
cate. in the fear of God, and with the sincere
desire to advance the Redeemer's kingdom.”-
There arc no better men than Gen. Clement
Evans, and journalism will be a gainer by his
work.
I notice that Harry- Edwards, of the Macon
Telegraph, had an “interview” with the “man
on the monument” in Augusta, meaningthere
by the figure of the Confederate soldier on
the monument in Augusta. In this interview
the marble soldier was made to say- that he
felt like “a whipped cur,” while he saw his old
comrades paying honor to Grant during his
late visit. And now comes a new writer who
prints another “interview” with the marble
soldier, in which the statute is made to say
that he ft.lt proud because instead of being
forgotten, as it was said he would be after
Appomatox, he was on a high pedestal, the
cynosure of all eyes, the idol of every heart,
with Grant walking along beneath him. The
statute is right ! His elevation has not made
him dizzy.
We have seldom presented a jucier piece
of writing than the description of Sarah Bern
hardt’s kissing, which is in another column.
It is from the pen of Olive Logan, who was
evidently entertained at the exhibition, and
whose burning words will revive memories in
many a prosaic life.
# #
In contrast to this piece of intense writing,
will be found the dryly- humorous extracts
from Mark Twain’s new book, entitled "A
Tramp Abroad.” America has never pro
duced a humorist that compared with Mr.
Clemens, and his last work is described as
being his most felicitous, Nothing, in my
opinion, can ever surpass the incomparable
“Tom Sawyer."
By the way. speaking of successful writers,
I see that Mr. Bonner, of the Ledger, is re
publishing “ The Gunmaker of Moscow,’’ the i
story by Sylvanus Cobb, that long years ago .
gave the Ledger its first heavy circulation. The
first instalments of this story- is published as
an advertisement in every leading paper of ,
the North and West, at a cost as is estima
ted, of SIOO,OOO. Mr. Bonner is shrewd, and
only gives his strongest stories this sort of
advertising. The generation that first read i
this wonderful story has virtually passed
away, and its republication will add thous- '
ands of readers to the Ledger.
. ’ . * . * I
I do not think the imagination of Mr. Edi
sOii ever engaged in pleasanter speculation I
than in the interview with a reporter, on the !
unclimbed heights to which he yet aspires (
Edison is a revelation !
EjISON prophesies
AND T' LLS ALL ABOUT THE FUTURE
OF ELECTRICITY.
Sewing Machines, Lathes, Pumps, Mills, Re
volving Hairbrushes, Railroad Trains, all
to be Run by the Mysterious Occult
Force—Disease to be Cured, Human
Bodies to be Made Transparent,
Food to be Cooked, Speeches
to be Reported, and Many
Other Impossible
Things to be Done
by his Inventions
“I have come to interview you regarding
the future of electricity,” said a reporter for
the Star to Prof. Thomas A. Edison at Menlo
Park, N. J., last week.
“Well, that is pretty good.” exclaimed the
Professor with a smile. “You and I might
talk a whole day and night on the subject,
and then only begin to get into the merits of
the matter. The future of electricity, indeed!
My friend, there is absolutely no limit to the
possibilities that are in store for this subtle
agent- We stand on the border of unfath
omed mysteries, of which we have obtained
only slight glimpses.”
“I mean the immediate future,” rejoined
the reporter. “Tell me something about your
own personal plans for utilizing electricity
lor the benefit of man.”
“Now there’s the electric light. 1 am going
to make it supersede gas, and ”
“The public knows all about the light,” in
terrupted the scribe. “Tell me something
else- Do you think it possibled to utilize
electricity tor other practical purposes?’’
“I am going to run sewing machines with
the subtle fluid. In fact, lam doing it now.
Please step this way and I will show you how
it works.’
Prof. Edison led the way to a reom over his
office, where there was a sewing machine, to
which was attached an apparatus for using
electricity as a motive power. An electric
light was blazing in the room. Detaching
the end of a wire from the burner he attached
it to the sewing machine motor; and sure
enough the machine began to revolve with
lightning-like rapidity.
“That is something of the future of elec
tricity,” said the Professor with an air ot tri
umph. “We can run wires to all parts of a
city and furnish power to drive machinery at
a cost much less than steam. Electricity can
be used to run lathes, pump water and grind
coffee—in fact, for anything where only a
small amount of power is required. Even
hash mills in bearding houses can be worked
with ligh'ning, ami revolving hair-brushes in
barbers’ &hops will form no exception to the
rule.”
“Do you expect Jo move railroad train?
with your new motive power?”
“Not just yet. You see that would take-a
much electricity as would run a thunderstorm
and we Lave no means at hand for manufac
taring it on so large a scale. But the tinit
may come when not only railroad trains bu
steamboats will be propelled with harnessec
lightning.”
“How about electricity as a cure for dis
eases
“Well, that is another branch of the future
for electricity. Ido not pretend to have gone
very far into the medicinal properties of the
electric fluid; but 1 have just sold to a com
pany of capitalists a patent for alleviating
pain. I don t know as it will amount to
much, and 1 do hope that they won't adver
tise it in such away as to humbug the public.
J have a horror of’ quack medicines, and 1
must respectfully decline to be a party to a
fraud. I stipulated expressly with the com
pany of capitalists that they advertise that
my method of applying electricity will only
subdue pain for the time being, but will not
effect a cure. If they fail to do as they have
agreed I shall bring them up with a short
turn.
While the reporter was talking with Mr.
lid sjn about the electric remedy for pain, a
well-known Newark physician, representing
a prominent drug firm, approached Mr. Edi
sdti and said: “1 am empowered to offer you
a large sum of money for your patent pain
reliever. Will you sell it'!
“You are too late,’’ was the reply. Ihe
patent has already been disposed of, and I
cannot alter the bargain.’’
“Have you any new plans for tidegraph
ing?"
•J cannot say that, I have anything entire
ly new in this line, but I have a workman in
my laboratory who is perfecting a system of
autographic tel-graphing that, in my humble
opinion, is destined to work wonders. ’
Taking the reporter to an intelligent look
ing man who was busy in a quiet corner by
himself, Mr. Edison said: “This gentleman
is Mr. P. Kenny. He has been hard at work
for several month- perfecting bis automatic
telegraph, and 1 can say that I honestly
think that success has at last rewarded his
labors. Mr. Kenny certainly deserves great
credit for his intelligence and perseverence
His invention will do away with the old and
clumsy system of telegraphing with signals
and alphabets. His method produces a fae
simile of a message in the handwriting of
the sender, and he can use a wire 1,000 miles
long, and the message will'be correctly re
produced.”
The reporter wrote on a slip of ordinary
writing paper the following:
Menlo Park, Dec. 31,1879.
To Thomas A. Edison:
Wish you a happy New Year, and may 18ft)
open np new and successful Helds for your elec
trice experiments.
Star Reporter .
The slip of paper was put into the machine
and there was a choking noise. Mr. Kenny
walked across the room to asecond machine,
connected by a wire with the first, and drew
therefrom another slip of paper, upon which
was an exact reproduction of the reporter’s
message, only that while the reporter wrote
with a black lead pencil the reproduction was
apparently in blue ink. Mr. Kenny explained
that the process was partly- of a chemical na
ture, and that what appeared to be blue ink
was in reality a chemical deposit.
When do you intend to bring Mr. Kenny’s
work before the public ?” asked the reporter
of Mr. Edison.
“Just as soon as he gets it perfected,” was
the reply.
“Is this the old automatic system that was
brought out several years ago, and which at
tracted so much attention at the time? '
“Oh, no; it is a great improvement, over that
method. It is, in fact, an entirely new inven
tion. By it business men can send messages
in their own handwriting, thus avoiding the
liability to mistakes where the Morse system
is used. At present, brokers are often im
posed upon by means of bogus orders to buy
or sell stock. With Mr. Kenny’s invention
the handwriting of the sender of the message
is copied so exactly- that it is easily indenti
fied It will make an entire revolution in
telegraphy and there is a mint of money in it
for some enterprising capitalist.”
Prof. Edison is also perfecting an instru
ment to magnify- sounds. He has already got
it to a point where it will work with consider
able success, and it may- be seen and exam
ined at his office in Menlo Park, but he wil’
not place it upon the market until he has
overcome some imperfections in the instru
ment. A modification of this system of mag
nifying sounds has occupied the attention of
the Professor for several months: but so much
of his time has been taken up with the elec
tric light experiments that he has not I-ad
the opportunity to complete the sound instru
ment. The modification is designed for the
use of physicians in examining patients sick
with lung and heart, diseases. By it the beat
ing of the heart or rattling in the lungs can
be distinctly heard, and the physician en
abled to form more correct opinions in regard
to the case. The reporter ascertained, in
conversation with one of the laboratory men.
that experiments have been made at Menlo
Park with a view to so illuminating the hn-
man body with electric light that it will be
made in a great measure transparent- If this
invention proves a success, it. is expected that
it will prove a great aid to the physician in
his practice.
“How will it make a person look?” asked
the reporter.
“Very much like a white jelly-fish,” was the
reply. “But you need not expect to see this
new application of the electric light brought
before the public yet awhile; and perhaps
never at all. It exists now only in the shape of
an unelaborated idea, and maybe abandoned
altogether.”
Some time ago an electric pen brought out
by Prof. Edison attracted much attention;
but for certain reasons it did not come into
very general use. It was an arrangement
whereby a needle worked by electricity in the
point of a pen traced the matter written on a
sheet of paper, which could afterwards be
used as a stencil with which to print a num
ber of copies. As soon as the Professor gets
time from his other work, it is his intention
to so perfect the electric pen that all the ob
jections to its use will be obviated and it will
become of more practical utility than hereto
fore.”
The reporter inquired of Prof. Edison
whether, in his opinion, it would ever be prac
tical to use electricity for heating purposes.
The Professor said that be could not see his
way clear for making electricity take the place
of fire for warming houses and cooking foo 1;
but he did not know what the future might
have in store in this direction.
At this point in the conversation the Pro
fessor’s attention was called to some experi
ments being made with the electric light, and
he begged to be excused, at the same time
turning the reporter over to Prof. Bachelor,
his principal assistant in the Menlo Park lab-
oratories Said Professor Bachelor: “i could
tell you something about the future of elec
tricity that Edison has not mentioned; but it
would not do to let the cat. out of the bag be
fore he is ready to let her jump. He has
many secrets that he is studiously keeping
from the public. Now, there’s the phono
graph, which has hitherto been regarded mere
as an amusing toy of no real practical utility,
except for exhibition purposes; but I can tell
you that one of these days. the phonogragh
will be so improved that it will record lec
tures, public speeches and court proceedings.
It will do away with the present system of
short-hand reporting now in use b" the news
paper scribes. And this is not all One of
these days the phonograph will be brought to
such a state that John B. Gough, or any of
the leading spirits on the platform, can de
liver his lecture to the phonograph, have it
recorded on the strips of tinfoil, and the
strips can be sent to any part of the country
and pyt into a phonograph, which will repeat
the words to an audience without the pres
ence of the lecturer. r l bus, instead of lyce
um committees being obliged to pay S2OO to
get Rev. Henry Ward Beecher to come and
speak to them, they can purchase one of the
tinfoil slips for perhaps a quarter of a dollar,
which would answer the purpose.’
“But it would b’e necessary to have some
person standup before the audience and make
the gestures while the phonograph was talk
ing in order to give full effect to the dis
course,” suggested the reporter.
“Perhaps so,” said the Professor, laughing
outright at the grotesqueness ot the idea.
Another feature in the future of electricity
is the application of Edison’s light for signals
iat sea and for lighthouse purposes. When
every sea-going vessel carries an electric light
at the masthead there will be fewer collisions
and other accidents than at. present. It may
be possible to so illuminate the water that
submarine rocks and reefs can be seen and
avoided Dor lighthouses electricity is es
pecially adapted, and Prof. Edison and his
friends hope soon to see the time when his
lamps will flash from the top of every beacon
house on all the sea coasts of the world. It
is less than two years ago that Prof. Edison
Legau his experiments to utilize electricity for
illuminating purposes, and he hopes within the
next two years to a complish results far be
yond what has already been accomplished in
this direction. As many of his discoveries
in the past have been the result of accident
as much as of scientific research, he trusts
much to chance in the future. It is no wonder
that the Professor has groat, reliance upon
what chance may throw in his way.
It is related that about six months ago he
was sitting in his laboratory carelessly toying
with a small piece of compressed lampblack
mixed with tar, which had been prepared for
his telephones. Without thinking what he
was doing he rolled and twisted the substance
between his fingers until it was about the
thickness of an ordinary darning needle and
two inches in length. Suddenly it occurred
to him that the lampblack, which was car
bonized substance,, could be utilized lor his
electric light. This led to rhe u-e of carbon
ized slips of card-board for the e'e tric birn
. ers, and thus solved one of the most difticult
problems that had engrossed the Professor’s
mind for months. In regard to the cost o!
. the electric light Prof. Edison said that three
• lights were burning one-fifth of a mile from
the generating machine. It cost him seventy
five cents an hour to run an electric machine
capable of producing 500 lights."
“Will Edison ever become immensely
wealthy tr im the money realized from his in
ventions?’ was the question asked from one
of his most intimate friends by the reporter.
“ He may and he may not,’’ was the reply.
“ The fact is that he, like most inventors, is
not so much of a business man as could be
desired. For instance, I will tell you of a
circumstance that happened lately-. Edison
wanted a fence built and he called in a ear
pent- rto do the work. The carpenter know
ing Edison’s weakness, hoodwinked him into
i paying $1 per foot for the fence, the employer
! to furnish all the materials. A few days-
- afterward, Edison was boasting to another
1 carpenter of the excellent bargain he had
i made for the construction of his fence. ‘ How
much did you pay ?’ was the question asked.
i ‘One dollar per foot, and it was dirt cheap,’
I was the exultant reply. The questioner
roared with laughter, and well he might, for
- the regular ruling rate for that kind of work
was only fifteen cents per foot. Edison had
- overpaid bis man eighty-five cents per foot.
:i I 'I bis is a fair illustration of the way the Wiz
f I ard of Menlo Park does business, and such
e j men seldom retain wealth even if they once
| get it in their possession.”
■ jthe Sunday
T.IT
DEVOTED TO NEWS. GOSSIP AND LETTERS.
Vol. 11. ATLANTA., GEORGIA, SUNDAY MORNING. JANUARY 11, 1880. No. 11
r A „ I
/
/ - r/* there is
—nothing that I fear
\A j-'SU '\ l\\//
1 Ahead of me,
asleep or awake, I
—.<lll' • see the black wall
to which I am impelled, and over which
peers a grinning death’s head, beckoning me
on. I would give my right arm if for just
one day- I could stand firm in my tracks, and
defy him to move me one inch. But there is
no halt. Millions conld not buy a pulse—
beat of rest —“Hep-hep-hep!” On we march
towards our doom, and the death’s-head like
a ghastly punch, wags to one side, and grins!
And what lies beyond the wall ? The athe
ist once said- “I had rather meet your hell
than annihilation 1”
■ *
A doctor in whom I have the highest con
fidence told me that he had never seen a hu
man being that died in fear—“of all the ad
justments of God” he said “there are none
so delicate as those, that change life into
death.” “To the closest observer,” said he,
"the process of dying, robbed of its inci
dents, is no more than the running down of
a clock!”
And yet there are few joys so blinding,
few ecstacies so absorbing that they can shut
out for a single day- the sight of the nearing
wall and its death’s-head !
There is nothing more strange in mental
phenomena than the conviction of unrealty
that seizes at times the imaginative nature.
The poet has shown us what it is:
“ That we should light with shadows and should
fall;
Anti like a flash the weird affection eiiroe:
King, camp and college turned to hollow- shows;
1 seemed to move in old memorial tilts
And doing battle with forgotten ghosts,
To dream myself the shadow of a dream.”
And why should this inexorable round of
rising and eating and laboring and sleeping
be real ? Is it these things that feed the true
life that is felt within—throbbing, aspiring,
agonizing for food —and nothing but chaff
and honey and gall proffered ? What is it
grows from the soil but things of time —and
we are things of eternity. So much is wasted
here in mere existence that from that alone
we know there is a different, a wider sphere.
The younger Dumas has uttered many witty
savings but seldom one so pregnant with
truth as this: “Man’s conviction of eternity
comes to him from his despair of not being
eternal.”
This despair is ever present with the poet,
and its most marvelous expression is Poe's :
stand amid the roar
Os a surf-tormented shore;
And I hold within mj’ hand
Grains of the golden sand
How few ! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God ! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp ?
O God .’ can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all t hat we see or seem
But a dream within a dream ?”
Could anything be more touching than the
letter that Dickens wrote to his artist giving
directions as to the picture of the death of
little Nell? Thu Lounger gives it as the!
master wrote it:
George : The child lying dead in the
sleeping-room, which is behind the open
screen. It is winter time, so there are no
flowers; but upon her breast and pillow and I
about her bed, there may be strips of holly
and berries, and such free green things. Win
dow overgrown with ivy. The little boy who
had that talk with her about angels may be
by the bedside, if you like it so; but I think i
it. will be quieter and more peaceful if she is
quite alone. 1 want to express the most beau
tiful repose and tranquility, and to have some
thing of a happy look, if death can.
The child has been buried inside the church,
and the old man, who cannot be made to un
derstand that she is dead, repairs to the grave
and sits there all day long, waiting for her ar
rival to begin another journey. His staff'and
knapsack, her little bonnet and basket, etc.,
lie beside him. “She’ll come to-morrow,” he
says, when it gets dark, and goes sorrowfully
home. 1 think an hour-glass running out
would help the notion; perhaps her little
things upon his knee or in his hand.
i lam breaking my heart over this story and
cannot bear to finish it.
In these days of sensation and thrill it is
refreshing to see something that is sparkling
and pure For instance Ihe delightful stories
that Mi. Harris, under the kindly guise of
“Uncle Remus,” is printing in the Constitu
tion. While the most of our writers are
stirring pools of blood, Mr. Harris strolling
through steady ways, with delicious gentle
ness, whips up the waters of these limpid
streams, that thread dimly remembered for-
I ests To one who wades through crime,
I stained bv charges, his Sunday instalment of
I negro folk lore, is a drink of spring water
I after a debauch
A-
I And, en passant, lam glad to note that he
i has rescued my friend, the rabbit, from the
| unjust position to which he has been so long
, ! consigned. We have been taught to regard
[’ the rabbit as the simplest and most innocu
'. ous of beasts. With his sloping face, his
1 { quivering ears ,his long legs, he has been re-
garded as the type of timidity and helpless- '
ness. Utterly without weapons of aggies- -
sion or defense, his white tail perked up as
appropriately as a flag of truce. His wildest
raid, we have thought, was an incursion after
cabbage leaves, and his most ferocious ex
ploit a wrestle with his shadow in the moon
light. But Uncle Remus presents him in a ;
new light. He shows him up a very devil j
among beasts, with the audacity of a wag, ;
and the resource of a diploma*-. We have |
seen him assaulting a tar-baby, stabbing it -
even with his brief and downy tail—then chaf- I
I feting with the fox to-day, and to-night i
[ mounted like a bold buccaneer on Reynard’s i
- back and jobbing his flanks with spurs as In- i
: forces him through the swiftly changing
, shadows of the forest the beguiling then buz-
r zard with sass, and then forcing the cow to I
< stand and deliver her milk. Truly the deri- j
* | sive “Molly Cotton-tail” must be dropped, and
" I the rabbit must have a name that befits his
i, I valorous and slap-bang character.
e
| A few midnights ago, the wind being damp
with hope of rain, and sobbing in the bare
oak trees and the slumbrous firs, as 1 walked
up a hill suddenly there was a quick yet soft
light* or rather sense of light, above. Could it be
a January thunder-shower—with a north wind
and all winter behind it? Then there came
another, and just then, surmounting the as
cent, the wide valley spread before the sight,
vague with shifting mists; the sky star-stud
ded, but with shifting clouds; and from down
the valley the noise of the rushing railway
train came subdued to the ear. At the mo
ment up sped to the very zenith an inverted
cone of light, and then another— it was the
light from the engine-blast through the smoke
stack which had counterfeited the lightning
of summer. There were yet no clouds above —
only dark masses and light rags of clouds
skurryiog below —but the railway light showed
that the air was charged with moisture; and
in these bright cones the drops shone like
spray in the sunlight From far down the
train’s course, even beyond the last visible
point, these marvelous shootings lit the rainy
air; and in less than three minutes the sky
was covered with clouds and the rain fell like
a July shower. It was a marvelous exhibi
tion of the secret work of nature.
SARA BERNHARDT
Gives the New Spanish Queen a Lesson in the I
Art of Kissing.
Olive Logan’s Paris Letter.
What a spectacle we saw last night on the
stage of the Francais! “Hernani” is the
chef d’oeuvre of the modern repertoire of the
Francais, and last night, believe me, Sarah
Bernhardt and her valiant coadjutors were on
their mettle. During the first four acts La
Bernhardt has little opportunity io be more
than a living piece of statuary. What poses!
What abandon ! Every attitude grace, not a
poise of a finger that might not satisfy the
eye of Canova: yet no set grouping, all ease.
Thus for the four suppressed acts Sarah
moves, a thing of beauty and repose, the lat
ter broken only by the fire of that classic ut
terance :
“You are my lion, superb and generous ! I
love you !”
But when the fifth act comes you must pre
pare to have your nerves shaken. Great heav
ens! is it possible that such love as this can
be only stase-feigning ! What must this actor
Mounet-Sullv be made of, if when the curtain
falls he can blandly say, “Go< d evening,” and
turn his back on this maddening creature who
has been mauling him, with panting breast,
and liquid eyes, and half-exhausted voice, for
nearly an hour? Jt must certainly be said
for Sarah Bernhardt that she has discovered
new departures in the art of kissing.
I don’t believe the man lives whose back
hair has been so extensively, thoroughly and
exhaustively kissed as Mounct-Sully’s has by
Sarah Bernhardt. From the very moment
Donna Sol finds that (be plans of the con
spirators are likely to succeed, and she is not
going to have her Hernani as much as she
thought she was, Bernhardt begins her study
of kisses, which certainly includes all the va
riations- andante, allegro con amove, il peir"
seroso, crescendo, and never minuendo, until
they are both dead, and, presumably, can
never get kissed any more. As a kisser, Sa
ra is tQO numerous’ tq mention. She does
not stand oq the order of her kissing, but
kisses at once. Conventional kissing spots
are agreeable, but not indispensable, if not
handy. For instance, when Hernani is using
his lips to abuse his enemies with, and there
fore is obliged to borrow them for a lit-d n
while from Sara, she employs the time put
ting kisses all over him like the buttons on
the jacket of the page in “Cousin Joe.”
She stands on her tip-toes—for Mounet-
Sully is over six feet tall- to kiss the rear
central lock on the apex of his cranium; leav
ing her hands clasped up there, she goes on
excursions with her scarlet lips in the inter
stices of his neck-frill. When hampered by
the conventionalities of unphilo-ophic wear
ing apparel against whose absurb trammels
Carlyle’s sage protf sted so valiantly, she finds
no more man to kiss, she simply falls to kis
sing his wardrobe. She puts her loving head
upon his arm. and kisses all the velvet and
satin thereabouts. She winds herst-if around
his waist and kis-es every puff'on the front of
his doublet. And when at last he—kiss
assaulted with the persistency of a besieger
bat'ering a fortress—sheds on her his noble
smile, and lifting his kissing slenderling right
off her leet. clasps her with his long, strong
arms to his broad breast, and goes into the
kissing business himself, there is positively a
sigh of relief and satisfaction among the au
dience. She has got her kiss at last Poor
girl; we hope she enjoys it! We can see the
lithe, snake-like frame shiver under it, and
hear the golden voice, broken into syllables by
kissing, murmur ecs atical) “Uh, my llur
nani!” He has got her i u Lar off the floor,
as a mother holds a* babe, one arm around
her shoulders, the other gerdu in the folds of
her trailing train of pink silk crepe; he is sim
ply nursing her. A group in statuary? Aye,
so help me, Michael Angelo! Now by the
Swaa of Eeda, by the Cupid love of Psyche,
by every kissing deity in the pagan mythology,
ifitisonlya stage kiss Mounet-Sully gives
her- a kiss of dissembling, like the drinking
of the poison and the stabbing of the poin
ards--a make-believe kiss, taken to avoid
the swallowing of cirmine on the. scarlet lips,
if it be then I am willing to confess that |
Mounet Sully is more accomplished as an ar- i
list than impetuous as a man.
And while the future Queen of Spain was I
leaning on the scarlet cushion in front of her,
in the Imperial box, to witness this fascina
ting spectacle, a lesson to her in the divine
art of kissing, poor Eugenie was rusting at
the residence of the Duke du Mouchy in the
Avenue de Courcelles, after a fatiguing voy
age from England.
DRUNKEN ROBINS IN LOUISIANA,
I Rod and Gun.
1 live in North Louisiana During the
early part of the season the robins feed upon
Chin.x berries, of which they are very fond—
I absolutely gorging themselves with them-
I When I was a boy 1 remember to have caught
a few almost every day, lying on the ground,
apparently stupefied or drunk, and it was
quite common for the little negroes to watch
for and catch them. The general assertion I
of every one was that the robins weredrunkr |
and I thought it was so, until one winter, afte- j
I was grown, the robins came in great num
bers, and while shooting enough to make a '
pie I discovered one on the ground, seemingly I
drunk, though he could fly, but not very far
1 caught li’tn, and upon examination found
his crop very much distended with China I
berries. He kept his mouth wide open, but |
made little noise, though he evidently tried to |
The berries could be seen in the throat 1 i
pressed two or three of them up and pulled
them out. and in a few moments he was Hut
tering and whistling, and when liberated flew
away as rapidly as if nothing had ever been
the matter with him. These berries fall off
late, in the winter, the moisture of the ground
I puffs them up so that they become as round
’ and full as cherries, and one walking on them
| causes a continued popping, not very loud,
I but distinct. The robins swallow the berries
j in such quantities as to fill the crop so full
| that either from the p -culiar formation of the
, berry, or their swelling with the moisture and
warmth, they press against the windpipe and
j produce partial strangulation and intoxica
! tion.
I Mr. D. B. Plumb, formerly- of this city,
j now has one of the handsonest and best con-
I ducted drug stores in Atlanta, at 26 White
- hall street. He is assisted by Mr. C. E.
j Goodwin, a well-known druggist of Eufaula,
i Ala , who has no superior as a rapid and re
liable prescriptionist. In fact, Mr. Plumb is
i giving the “Gate City’’ a real Augusta drug
store —everything neat and tasty, with prompt
| and courteous attention to customers. —Au-
* gusta Evening News.
THE QUEEN OFTHE LYCEUM
i ' ’
PICTURED WITH PEN AND INK BY THE
QUEEN OF MANAGERS.
I Anna Dickinson’s Likeness, as a Lecturer, to
Beecher, and, as a Girl, to Bret Harte’s
Wonderful Creation of M’iiss.
In the fifth interview of the San Francisco
Sunday Chronicle with James Redpath, that
gentleman turned his attention the great
I lady orators “Are there many of them?”
I asked the reporter.
| Mr. Redpath—Well, if you reckon lecturers,
i preachers, lawyers, the advocates of woman's
£?<hts and “inspirational mediums”—all
i classes of women who talk in public to au
diences —1 suppose there are at least one hun
| dred American ladies to-day who are really
1 able speakers. Perhaps there are more, for
I tiie spiritualists have quite a number who
I have an astonishing gift of utterance. But
I must count them out, not because I don’t
think they should be counted out as not hav
inggenuine talent, but because I am not fa
miliar with their reputation and ability. I
count out also the able women-talkers
whom you hear at Methodist love-feasts and
class-meetings. There you will often hear
unknown women, without pretensions to ora-
I tory, rival all but our ablest public men. But
I don't reckon merely good talkers as orators.
Rep.- Well, how many female orators are
there, in your opinion?
J. R. —Two; Anna Dickinson and Mary
Livermore, and both are professional lectur
ers—at least Miss Dickinson was until quite
recently. She was the acknowledged queen
of the lyceum. When she vacated her place
Mrs. Livermore took it, and holds it now.
Anna Dickinson is thirty-seven years old, and
As born in Philadelphia. And, by the way,
sqe is the only orator whom Pennsylvania has
e«er produced. Daniel Dougherty is the only
public man in Pennsylvania to-day who has
aiy right to be regarded as an orator, and he
is an orator; but he is of Irish parentage, and,
I Aink, of Irish birth; any rate, his lineage is
no Pennsylvanian, and his oratory is essen
tially of the school of Grattan and Shiel. Lu-
O ijjiaMott was almost an orator. She was a
clear and vigorous reasoner and a really able
talker, but she never crossed the invisible line
tlilS divides talent from geuius. Anna was
bid'll inside the circle of genius. Her father
vMs a merchant, an earnest Aboltiionist, and
apian of inflexible will. He was accounted
one of the best of the anti-slavery speakers in
Philadelphia. Her mother came from an
aristocratic Delaware family. Both were
qirtkers, and reared their children in that
fiith. Anna says that she was
A CROSS AND RESTLESS INFANT,
:i a c hild she was wilful and “independ
huirie and al school. She never
could be taught to “mind” —a common thing
with children who have mind. Punishment,
instead of bending her will, only confirmed
her in her rebellion against the powers that
be in the parlor and school-room. She was a
quick and bright scholar, but she was always
ihe “shocking example” of her teachers. Her
father died when she was ten years old, and
left his family poor. He had failed in busi
ness. Anna was educated at the Quaker free
schools and a Quaker boarding-school until
she was seventeen years old. Up to this time
she had shown all the traits that have since
made her famous—an absolute indifference to
public opinion and a defiance of it if it con
flicted with her own sense of right; a cham
pionship of the oppressed; a contempt for
authority and a genius fur talking. Mrs.
Stanton says she was a great reader, and that
the rhymes and compositions she wrote in her
young days bear evident marks of genius.
She began to write articles for Garrison’s Lib-
erator, against slavery, in her fourteenth year;
and I remember that she told me that she
wrote poems for the magazines when she was
a girl, but she would never acknowledge them.
She used to go secretly to woman’s rights
meetings, held by the “Progressive Friends. ’ ,
on Sunday, in Philadelphia. One day a bitter I
and arrogant bigot made a vulgar and brutal;
speech against women. Anna told me that
as he was talking she j/ot “madder and mad
der,” and as soon as he sat down “she jump- d
up as if she had been a jack in a box.' In
Bret Harte’s language, “she went for that
heathen Chinee.” As she spoke she kept ad
vancing to where lie sat, pointing her finger
at him and pouring her red hot invective into
him at. short range. The audience was as
tounded. They never heard such eloquence
from a Philadelphian before, and it amazed
them as coming from a girl in short clothes.
After she finished her speech the man got up
and sneaked out amid the cheers and jeers
of the audience. Anna was as much aston
ished at what she had done as any of her
hearers; but she was encouraged by her sue- j
cess to continue, and she spoke again at the •
<ame place on the next Sunday. Then her I
family heard of it, and they were utterly .
“scandalized.”
SUE GOT NO ENCOURAGEMENT AT HOME,
but friends rallied round her, and she determ-1
ined to persevere in her course. After de
scr.bing her war record. Mr. Redpath pro- I
ceeded to answer th* l reporter’s question when I
her professional record bejan.
J. R— At the close of the war. She lec- i
tured a little during the war, but she made a I
business of it after the war. She was the |
first woman in the world who did so. She :
ranked in popularity with Beecher, Gough •
aud Phillips at once. She opened that rich ;
field for women.
Rep.—What income did she make?
J. R. From SIO,OOO to $15,000 on an av-1
urage. 1 think she made over $20,000 during i
the year she was under the management of
my bureau.
Rep.—Was she as great on the platform as
j on the stump ?
i J. R. —She is like Beecher as a lecturer
i emotional, and therefore uneven. 1 have
' heard her deliver lectures that were full of
! crudities an 1 unequal in parts, not all bear
i ing out her great reputation ; but however
i faulty they might b *, there were always pas
sages full of fire and force that redeemed
, them. She has a remarkably clear head for
political discussions: her arguments are
strong, terse and lucid statements, and when
ever she can introduce* invective, sarcasm or
pathos, she is unequalled among women, and
has no nperior among men ; but where the
subject does not admit of these attributes of
eloquence she disappoints you. This is the
■ reason why so many people who have heard
I her disagree so greatly about her genius. Her
verbal style is original, or lather it is uncoin
i mon now. Her speech betrays her Quaker
I ' training: it is studded with such words as
‘ I “divers” and “manifold,” and “peradventire,”
1 ■ and similar Bible words that have gone out
I 1 of daily use, excepting among the Quakers.
* I Her voice is clear, penetrating and musical
! but her delivery reminds you at times of the
i tabernacle ; there is a certain sing-song about
, ■ it. That was her old style. After she deter
- i mined to go on the stage she studied gesticu
- ! lation and elocution; but in my judgmem
this study detracted from her power, because
~ I she evidently thought of what she was doing
.. ; whereas in her war speeches she though
s i neither of herself nor her method, but wa:
g ' wholly absorbed in her topic.
t ! Rep.—Miss Dickinson has the reputatioi
i-I of being a scold; are these strong-mindet
1 women generally unwomanly in private ?
J. R. —Well, she can scold, if invective is
scolding; so can Phillips; so could Garri
rison—so could all reformers who amounted
to anything.
STRONG-MINDED WOMEN ARE JUST LIKE WEAK
MINDED WOMEN,
and some women who are weak-minded; they
have not one brand of character. They dif
fer just as much as other women do in their
private life; no more, no less. If you knew
Miss Dickinson as a private lady and didn’t
know her name, you would never suspect that
she was the famous orator whose tongue dur
ing the war was more powerful for the Union’s
cause than any corps in the army. She never
makes parlor speeches—she talks like other
folks; she gossips about dresses and theaters
and jewelry ; she is full of fun, affection to
her friends, and as playful as a tomboy. I
am talking of her as she was a few years
ago; I have heard that sorrows and disap
pointment have saddened or soured her; I
don’t know anything about that. Miss Dick
inson is as fond of fine dresses, and has as
large, elegant and costly a wardrobe as any
lady of fashion, and her jewelry would make
many a rich lady jealous. But she earned
them, you know, without any man’s assistance.
She has been a model daughter and sister;
she has supported all her relatives who needed
aid from any cause with munificent gener
osity.
Rep.—Why hasn’t she married?
J. R. —Never asked her. Her lady friends
say, because she values her liberty too high.
On her favorite ring is inscribed Selden’s
motto. “Above all th ngs, liberty.” It is
pretty well known that she isn’t single from
necessity. She has had chances enough, both
to support a husband in comfort and to be
supported by a husband. Perhaps she is like
a lady I once beard say—in Boston, of course
—“I have not a genius for matrimony.” She
always advises girls who have that talent to
marry. It is a common enough talent.
Rep. —lt has been said that she doesn t
write her own sp- eches; that she has been
helped by Summer, Phillips, Curtis and Judge
Kelley. How is that?
J. K. Oh, stuff! When a bar of pig-iron
can sparkle like a diamond, and an owl sing
like a nigtingale, Judge Kelley will be able to
write one of Anna Dickinson s speeches, but
not then. Curtis’ style is chiseled ice;
miss Dickinson’s style is moulded lava.
Sumner’s style is as ponderous, pronounced
and stately as an elephant’s stride; Miss
Dickinson’s style has th° pace of a mustang
pony, sturdy, swift and short-stepping. There
is the same resemblance between the severely
classical style of Wendell Phillips and the
idiomatically Saxon style of Miss Dickinson
that exists between Demosthenes and John
Bunyan—each great, in his way, but in en
tirely different ways. No judge of style ever
read a page from cither of these speakers
without laughing at the absurdity of this ac
cusation, if he had given any credence to it be
fore. Why, her greatest efforts have been
unpremeditated. I remember one night 1
had a large audience assembled —over 2,000
people—in Music Hall to hear John G Saxe
speak. 1 had engaged him months before.
Seven, ten minutes past, fifteen minutes past,
and no Saxe. I was in despair, for it was my
first season, and 1 hadn’t learned to take dis
appointments with coolness. Anna was in
Boston, at the home of Brackett, the great
fish painter. She hoard of ii.y distreaud
sent word that if 1 could manage to hold my
audience until 9.30 o’clock by some amuse
ment, she would deliver a lecture for me in
reply to “Brother Fulton," Mr. Kellogg’s
successor at Tremont Temple. Fulton had
delivered a lecture the night before at another
course I was managing, in which he d- bated
with my friend Gilbert Haven, now Bishop
Haven, the woman’s rights question, and had
taken extreme grounds against it. She drove
out to Boxbury, and didn’t know till I came
for her that 1 had held the audience. It was
9 30 o’clock before she finished her lecture in
Roxbury’. When 1 handed her into the car
riage,
SHE APPEARED UTTERLY EXHAUSTED.
and 1 proposed to drive her home and dis
miss the audience. “No,” she said; “just let
me lie back and think; don’t speak; i’ll be
ready.” It was nearly 10 o’clock when she
went on the platform tn Music Hall, and she
delivered one of the best lectures of her life.
The most critical auditors p onounced it one
of the most masterly speeches of her life.
Write her speeches! Bah!
Rep.—Can’t you tell something more of
Miss Dickinson’s private life?
J R— Yps I coLilil bai I won i. I can
only tell such incidents of the private lives
of the famous men and women 1 have met as
are known, not to the general public, peihaps,
but to large circles of friends; and, therefore,
in telling them I am not guilty of violating
confidences But I’ll tell you one incident.
One day I came across Bret Harte’s story of
“M’liss,” just after it was published. 1 was
delighted with “M’liss.” When 1 next saw
Miss D ckinson 1 said to her (she hadn’t read
Bret Harte yet): “Do you knowjhat this new
California genius has described your charac
ter when you were a little girl? He has taken
you from the Quakers of Philadelphia aud
‘raised’ you. as they Bay out west, among the
rough miners of the coast, and made you act
exactly as 1 think you would have acted if
you had been there in such surioundings ”
She read it, and was enchanted. About a
month after that I heard she had already
bought, 1 think, eighty-seven copies and pre
sented them to her friends —generally with
the inscription, “From M liss.”
ONE NEW YEAR'S CALLER.
i A man clad in the habiliments of the tramp
j knocked briskly on the back door of a Cin
cinnati residence yesterday, and bowing low
to the girl who made her appearance, said:
j “The compliments of the season, fair maid,
, and may each recurring New Year’’—
i “Oh, go ’long!” said the girl, interrupting
■ him.
1 “I am not the only man who has run down
! at the heel.”
“No there were seven ahead of you this
' morning.’’
i “Seeing you keep open house, 1 presume
■ they were admitted at the front door. But
i the back door is good enouph for me. lam
j not proud. You will observe 1 did not come
in a carriage; but no matter. 1 am hungry-
I 1 would like a bite to eat ”
“We haven’t anything for you ”
1 “Don’t be too sure of that until you know
: who 1 am. You probably never heard of peo-
I pie entertaining angels unawares.”
I ‘ Yes I have; but I don’t believe- it.”
“Homer was a beggar '
“He never got anything here, my good
I man.
| “Cervantes died of hunger.”
“He ought to have gone to work.’
“Diflfenbacker had nineteen trades, and ;
I starved to death with all of them. However,
j that is neither here nor there ”
“Try the boarding house over the way.”
: “Spencer died in want.”
“1 know it. lie depended on this shebang
for his victuals.”
“Tasso, Italy’s celebrated poet —”
“Oh, I suppose he was shot.”
“He was not: but he was often hard pushed
for a nickel. 1 mention these facts to pre
pare you for what is coming. lam the indi- |
j vidual who first mentioned Grant for a third •
I term.”
' | “We are all solid for John Sherman,” said !
• | the girl.
The man walked slowly to the gate, paused, I
• scratched his head, and turning once more to ■
I the female, said:
, j “Wouldn’t you give a future cabinet officer !
5 a cold p )tato?”
I 1 “Couldn’t think of it.”
- i “What if the next minister to the court of
- | St. James should ask for one?”
II “He couldn’t get it.”
* ; “Very well. 1 will not withdraw my good
. j wishes for the new year. 1 presume you are
t I acting according to instructions. A man who
s i is just entering upon the primrose paths of
I politics can afford to be magnanimous.”
i , And, kissing his hand to the hard-hearted
1 housemaid, he took his leave. —Cine nnati
1 Enquirer.
LIGHT AND SHADE.
from crave to gay—from lively to
SEVERE.
Cream Whipped from our Exchanges—The
Rich and Racy Things of the Week—
Gossips and Humor iu
Small Lots.
MY BARBER’S BREATH.
Bend low, O barber, and shave me slow ;
Better my nose as you come and go ;
Limber it up with thy clammy touch,
Open its pores with thy barberous clutch .’
Breathe soft, O barber, that, breath of thine,
And I’ll weave it a garland of golden rhyme I
I’ll sing of tiie breath that I know full well
Hasn’t its equal in point of smell.
Is it onions or garlic, O barber, please?
Or Limberger, Switzer, or ail of these
That wraps it around with its smells unblest,
Ami sceuteth it. loud as a woodpecker's nest ?
Are thy tusks decaying, O barber gay ?
Thy gums disabled and dropping away ?
A screw’s loose somewhere, sweet heaven
knows,
Qick ! Stab a clothes-pin astride my nose!
—Cincinnati Enquirer.
WHY HE didn’t SAVE HIS GOLD DUST.
Virginia City (Nev.) Chronicle.
“Why didn’t I save my gold dust when I
had it, young feller?” sneered an old pioneer
last night, who had been bragging to the
loungers in Knox’s court-room of the piles of
gold he had got rid of in early days. “Well,
p’r aps its nat’ral to ask that, seein' you don’t
even know what dust looks like. In them
days a man had to be his own banker, an’ the
on’y safe bank was a feller’s pocket. It
wouldn’t do to leave your dust nowhere if
you didn’t want it. to turn up missin’ when
you went after it. A thousand dollars in dust
weighs just about five pounds, and when you
get four or five thousand in your belt, it ain’t
no easy load to pack around. I’m blowed if
the dead weight of many a man’s belt hasn't
driven him from the diggin's down to 'Frisco
and Sacramento just to have a whoop to get
rid of it. S’pose yen try packin’ 10 or 15
pounds o’ lead around your waist for a month
or two, young feller, and then you’ll savvy
why I wasn’t so dreadful anxious to hold oil
to the dust when 1 got it.”
Having thus sat down on the presumptuous
Johnny-Come-Lately, the relic of the days
when gold could be had for the digging grew
garrulous.
‘ Lord, how free I was with the dust I Jedge,
d’ye remember the time when you was keepin’
bar in the Round Tent in Sacramento?. What
tricks you fellers was up t« in them days I
Boys, I’ve seen the jedge here take his knife
of an evenin’ an’ pick as much as $5 or ;
outen the cracks in the red wood counter.
When one of us called up the crowd we just
yanked out our buckskin sack and told the
bar-keeper to take out $1 worth. They all
had scales and a horn spoon, an’ they’d shovel
it out an' weigh it. Some 'ud drop,' an’ that’s
how the jedge here gouged high wages out o'
the cracks of the counter. The jedge didn’t
take no chances them times neither. He had
the bar built up with rock inside, an' when
the guns begin to go off he was on his belly
behind that there stun. Ha, ha! I’ve seen
that there old Round Tent of a mornin’
lookin’ like a washin’ hung out to dry. No
body didn’t wait to go out o’ the door when
the shootin’ was bein’ done Every feller
jest out with his knife an’ ripped a door for
himself.”
“D’ye see that bare spot on top o’ my co
eoanut! ’ inquired the venerable argonaut,
removing his hat and holding down his gray
| poll for inspection.
The boys got up and made for the door.
They knew what was coming. That was only
the first of 18 bullet and knife wounds that
every man in town had seen and heard the
minute history of. The judge came to the
rescue of the deserted and indignant pioneer
with:
“Will you come and have a drink, Billy?”
“Will a teranteler sting?” responded the
old chap with recovered cheerfulness.
Comstock’s hunt for obscenity.
New York Telegram.
Anthony Comstock give this account of
how be began his hunt for obscene literature:
Several years ago I was selling notions on
commission for a New York house. In the
house were many young men, employed as
clerks. I discovered that books and papers
of the vilest character were being read and
circulated among them, and that several al
ready showed their blighting influence. I fer
reted out the men who sold them and secured
two convictions. Afterward an article in the
Sunday Mercury, giving the names and loca
tions of other dealers, led me into fresh pros
ecutions until I found 1 had exhausted all my
slender means, and that the work in which J
was engaged, was just commenced. It was
then that 1 made the acquaintance of Maurice
K. Jesup, a prominent New-York banker, and
to him I told what I knew of the business,
what I had done, and what I could do if I had
the means. He gave me a check for SGSO,
$l5O to reimburse me for my past expenses,
and SSOO to prosecute the work. Soon after,
in 1873, the society for the suppression ot
vice was incorpora l ed, and I have ever since
acted as its salaried agent.
SMALL FAVORS THANKFULLY RECEIVED.
Detroit Free Press.
The race is not always to the swift, nor the
battle to the strong, nor is it the man with
the largest mouth who gets the most favors in
this world. The other morning a very quiet
stranger entered a real estate office on Gris
wold street and softly asked if he could use a
blotting pad a moment. One was handed him.
and he sat down to a table, looked around and
said r ‘Ah ! thanks; but have you a pen aud
iuk?’, They were furnished him. He tried
the pen on the pad, shook the ink around,
and modestly continued: “Could you spare
me a sheet of paper? ’ A sheet was handed
him He wrote a brief letter, folded it up.
and whispered: “X shall lieg an envelope of
vou.” An envelope was passed over, and
when he had directed it he looked all over
the table, under the table, up at the ceiling,
and inquired: “You couldn’t lend meaistamp,
could you?” A three center was handed out,
and when it had been licked on the stranger
rose and started out, saying: “As you have
no office boy, I suppose I shall have to take
this letter to the office myself.”
THE SIN OF THE RICH .MAN.
Indianapolis Press.
Presiding-elder Woods, not long ago, was
discoursing on the sin of the rich man in hell,
to a congregation in which were some breth
ren, mure remarkable for the extent aud pro
ductions of their farms than for the luxuries
they indulged in at table- When be came to
speak of the items of the old man's, history,
he found several things not very objectionable.
“And he fared sumptuously every day!
'Well, what of that?' said the preacher, “He
was rich and could afford it. If there is any
character to be more despised than another,
it is the rich man who raises good beef, good
pork, good poultry, and other good things,
yet feeds himself and family, and guests, on
old mutton, half dead with the rot, because he
can't sell such stuff in the market:” It pro
duced a deadness in some parts of the con
gregation.
ARKANSAS ETIQUETTE.
Little Rock Gazette.
Last night two men from Philadelphia en
gaged in a quarrel at a hotel in this city. Af
ter using alt kinds of epithets, one of the men
thrust his hand behind him as though about
to draw a pistol, and then took it away. The
quarrel terminated without damage to either
party. An old man from South Arkansas
shook back his long hair, and, advancing to
the man who had made the hip-pocket mo
tion, remarked:
“Both of you men are strangers here, I
reckon ?”
’ “Yes.”
“Not acquainted with our little rules of po
liteness ?”_
I 'How?”
“Why, you put your hand behind you just
now.”
“You didn’t pull a gun?”
“I haven’t got a gun.”
“Now, young man, let me give you a piece
of advice. While you are in this country •
don’t put your hand behind you unless you i
intend t) shoot; don't even run your hand j
into your pocket for a chaw of tobacker ; |
don't spit; don’t wink, for if you do your:
partner, if he’s an Arkansas man, will jolt
vou. You must learn these little rules of po
liteness. You may know how to conduct
yourself at church, but youv’e got a good
i many rules of etiquette to learn.”
MARK TWAIN ON ARTEMUS.
j Cincinnati Times.
1 think his lecture on the “Babes in the
' Wood” was the funniest thing I ever listened
‘ to. Artemus once said to me, gravely, almost
' sadly, “Clemens, I have done too much fool
’ ing, too much trifling; 1 am going to write
I something that will live.”
; “Well, what, for instance?”
i In the same grave way, he said:
“A lie."
i It was an admirable surprise; I was just
I getting ready to cry, he was becoming so
1 pathetic. This has never been in print- you
i should give it to your friend of the American,
' for I judge by what he writes of Artviuus th it
Ihe will appreciate it. I think its mighty
, bright —as well for its quiet sarcasm as fur its
j happy suddenness and unexpectedness.
iKSwW
Atlanta, Ga., Jan. 10th.
Our theatrical season, one of the best we
have ever seen up to this time, appears to lie
just in the dawn of its best work. This
week we are to have the great Raymond in
\\ olfert s Roost,” the famous adaptation that
took the North and East by storm last year.
It is doubtful if there has ever been so de
lightful a play in all its elements put on the
American stage. Mr. Raymond is said to be
at his best in it, and it is supported by a com
pany of high merit. Walfert’s Roost will be
one of the events of the season.
And then we shall see that inimitable
pair, Robson and Crane. Ihe mere mention
of this mirth-provoking couple, is enough to
fill the Opera House from pit to dome.
When we say that they have added to their
standard attractions a new play entitled
. “Champagne and Oysters,” that is pronounc
ed by many critics the best of their plays,
we have done all that is requested. All of
our people should patronize snch plays as
“Wolfert’s Roost,’ and those offered by” Rob
son and Crane. They are full of genuine
fun and humor —clearly, sparkling, bright.
This week we have Mr. John T. Raymond
in his new play “Wlofert’s Roost.” He has
met with immense success all over the North
and West The troupe carry with them four
complete sets of scenery. The reputation of
Raymond is so well-known in thi* city that
we cannot say anything new in his favor.
Fanny Davenport will act here January
14th.
Agnes Herndon, who is such a favorite
with the people of Atlanta, will be here Jan
uary 15th.
Robson & Crane may be expected January
16th,
The celebrated Minstrel troupe of Duprez
& Benedict have engaged the Opera House
for January 24th.
WONDERFUL MIDGETS.
These marvellous specimens of humanity
so tiny and yet possessing perfectness of
form, brightness and intelligence, and so
handsome as to fascinate everyone who has
seen them, will reach our city iu time to com
mence exhibitions on Monday, and continue
them dailj-, at Concordia Hall from 2:30 to 5,
and 7t09, p. m., during the week. Through
out the country these pigmy podigies have
created intense excitement and wonder, and
the press everywhere speak of them as the
greatest human miracles that have existed in
the world's history.
The following authentic details concerning
them will prove interesting, ami enable our
readers to form some idea of their diminu
tiveness :
General Mite, the smallest man in the
world, was born in Greene, Chenango county.
New York, October G, 1804, and is now over
fifteen years of age. His weight is hardly
nine pounds with his clothes added, and yet,
he is healthy, bright, active, polite and hand
some. He is pronounced by the medical
profession, the clergy and the press, to be
the most extraordinary human wonder ever
created. At his birth he weighed only two
and a half pounds, and ceased growing when
less than three years of age. His parents,
who accompany him, arc large, healthy, ro
bust people, and his brothers and sisters aie
all full developed children.
Major Atom —though a little larger than
his companion—was born in Germany, and
is now over ten years of age, but weighs only
fifteen pounds At birth he weighed four
pounds and grew until he reached four years
of age, since which time he has remained
the same size. He is pretty, full of fun and
mischief, and together these little ones, by
their singing, dancing, promenading and|con
versation, make their exhibition an elegant
drawing-room entertainment. No parent
should fail to take their children to see these
charming atoms of humanity.
“WE TRAGEDIANS."
A Supercilious Way of Looking at Dramatic
Things.
The following delicious bit of humor, by Mr.
Arthur Mathison, printed in the “Stage Door, '
recently published in London, and containing
contributions from many literary and theatri
cal lights, is transmitted to the Chicago Trib
une by its London correspondent:
“Well, what if I am only a banner-bearer?
There’s bigger blokes than me that begun as
supes,’ an’ see where they be got to. Why
don’tl get there? ’Cause I ain’t never had
the chance. You just let me get a ‘speaking
part as soots me, that’s all. Oh! it ‘would
be all,' eh? Why—but there ! you’re a baby
in the purfession! you are! When you’ve
lieen Capting of the Guard, and Third Noble,
and a bandit Keerousin, and first Hancient
Bard, and fourth in the Council of Ten what
listens to Otheller, and the Mob in the Cap
ital, and a Harcber of Merry England, and a
Peer of France what doesn't speak but has f«
look as if he could say a lot —when you've
be°n all this, you may talk! 1 needn t be
offended? All right, old pal—lain t. Though
1 was 'urt when that utikity cove said as 1
was only a banner-bearer. 'Onlv!' Why, I
should like to know where they’d be without
I us —all them old spoutin’ tragedy merchants!
j They’d have no armies; consequently they
couldn’t rave at 'em, and lead 'em on to vic
■ tory and things. They wouldn’t ave no Sen
! nites : so thej-’d ’ave to cut out their potent,
grave and reverent seniors—an’ that’ud worry
1 ’em. Th y wouldn't 'ave no hexcited citi
zens: and so they couldn’t bury old Caesar,
nor praise him neither They couldn’t strew
no fields with no dead soldiers. They’d have
nobody to chivy 'em when they come to the
throne, or returned from the wars. They
couldn t ave no processions; as for balls, and
parties, and torneniongs, why. they couldn’t
give ’em. And where ’nd they often be with
out the 'distant ollering’ behind .the ‘scenes
alius’ aeomin’ nearer and louder? Why, I
remember a eavy lead one night, as he had
insulted his army fearful at rehearsal: he
stops sudden, and thumps his breastplate, and
says; “Ark that toomult!' when there warn’t
no more toomult than two flies ud make in a
milk-jug We jest cut off his toomult, and
quered bis pitch in a minnit, for the laugh
came in ot We’re just as much wanted as
thev are, make no error.
“They could do without me in the modden
drarmer ? The modden drarmer. my boy.
ain’t actin ! It’s nothing but ‘cuff-shootin’.’
You just has to stand against a mantel-shelf,
with your hands in Poole’s pfockets. and say
nothing elegantly. You don’t want nochest
notes: you don’t want no action: you don t
want no excitement; you don’t want nolun"S,
no heart and no brain; only lungs an' soda,
heart an' potash, brain an’ seizer. Every
thing s dilooted, my boy. for the modden
drarmer, and the old school, an the old kos
tumes, ’ud bust the sides, and roof, too, of
the swell l>and-boxes where they does the new
school and the new kostumes. P’raps I m
righ? Os course I’m right: and Im in earn
est, too ! Why, my boy .Jif they was to offer
I me an engagement as a guest in one of them
cuff-shootin' plays, and ask me to go on in
evening dress, I’m blest if I wouldn’t ‘throw
up the part.’ Trousers and wite ties cramp
me. I wants a suit o’ mail an' a’ alberd, a
toouic, and my legs free: a dagger in my teeth
—not a toothpick, a battle-ax in my and—
i not a eruch. 1 likes to be led to victory, 1
i does, I likes to storm castles, ami tramp on
■ the foe. 1 does. I likes to hang our banner
lon the outward walls, I docs. 1 m a borne
banner-bearer, I am, and I glories in it. No.
my boy! none of your milk and-water guests
)ii-l such for the like of me ! An’ it 1 was
the Lord Chambermaid, I’d perhibit the mod
den drarmer altogether. 1 hem s my senti
ments- If he do i t perhilrt it, actin’ nil soon
be modden’d out o existence*; an we shall
■ ave Machi th in a two-guinea tourist suit and
I Looy th? Eleventh in knickerbockers, on a
biaykel. It’s the ol 1 banner-bearing school
las got us all our big actors, an it stands to
reason my boy; for a cove cant spred hisses
■ in a frock-coat and droving-room langwidge.
They’re both on ’em too tame for what I ca’l
real actin.
CUSTOMS DIFFER.
j One could see that he had a grievance as
j he walked up and down the postoffice corri
! dor, and pretty soon he met a friend and be-
i gan :
[ “I’ll be ’anged if I know what to make of
. this blarsted country!
■ ■ “What’s the matter with our great an I gio*
• j rious America?” asked the other.
“Hin Hingland, God bless h A r! my grocer
• sends me 'alf a barrel of wine cu* a box of tea
• or ten pounds of coffee at the In n I of the
year as a present.”
I “Yes.”
> ; “While hover ere in this frozen-up country
i i my grocer drinks the wine hi ms -It, blast his
, i heyes! ami sends me a statement show’ng
t that I’m howing im a balance of thirteen dol
lars hon account. \\ hat sort of away is that
■j i tn hincourage me to run up a bill there Lin
; 1880!”