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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!”