Newspaper Page Text
JOHN ll. SEALSi - Editor and Proprietor.
IV. B. SEALS, - - Business Manager.
HRS. MARY E. BRYAN (•) Associate Editor.
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, JANUARY 12, 1878.
As announced beforehand, no pa
per was issued last week.
A New Year’s Greeting.
After a few days rest we again take on
the harness, and now send happy greet
ings to all our friends and patrons. We
sincerely trust that a happy and prosper
ous new year has dawned upon each and
every one of them, and that our whole
land may abundantly rejoice in the rich
est blessings of a kind and bountiful
Providence.
Our Sunny South has lived in spite
of a few envious predictions to the con
trary, through some of the hardest years
our people have ever known, and we
now think every good man and woman
in the land should see to it that its pat
ronage this year shall exceed that of any
preceding year.
Will not each patron send us a small
club of subscribers as a new year’s gift ?
The Boys and Girls of the South.
Send for a specimen copy of this bright
little paper. It has been enlarged, and
now comes out in a new dress. Don’t
fail to send for a specimen. The price is
only $1.00, and it comes out twice a
month.
Sunny South and “ Boys and Girls
of the South ” both for $3.50.
The Battles Around Atlanta.
This interesting series of sketches will
be resumed in our next issue.
Sketches of Southern Literature
will be continued next week.
The Thin-Skinned.
The rinoceros-skinned individual through
whose epidermis no arrow of contempt, no dart
of satire can penetrate, whom no slight can wor
ry and no hint can reach, is a sufficiently ag
gravating type of humanity, and one can hardly
see him without itching to take him by the
shirt-collar and shake him out of his shell of
self-conceit. But though aggravating to others,
he is happy in himself. The atmosphere of
self-sufficiency he carries about him is rose-col
ored.
Not so his brother of the opposite extreme—
he of the thin skin, th6 sensitive temperament
that is forever sniffing a slight—he is the most
unhappy and self-tormenting of mortals. These
mimosas of society who shrink and shrivel at
the suspicion of an unkindly breath, not only
needlessly afflict themselves, but they make
their friends suffer on their account. Of one of
these it has been well said that, “We are never
safe with him, never certain that we have not
unwittingly and in the purest good faith annoy
ed or insulted him beyond forgiveness. He
seems to be continually asking us to tread upon
his toes; taking it for granted, and generally
gratuitously, that we give him no credit for
good intentions, misconstrue his motives, deny
liis good looks, ignore his talents and claims to
respect, and throw cold water upon his efforts
to please.”
It is a step-motherly trick in dame Nature
that she^often counterbalances.her gift of genius
by fastening this unfortunate temperament upon
the gifted. It was the bane of poor Poe, of
Kirk White, Keats, Chatterton and many who
have lived and suffered since.
Male Flirts in Gotham.
When a young girl is to make her debut in
New York society, it is the married men and not
their wives or the young beaus that her manag
ing mamma desires to conciliate. The young
married men of the first water are the ones whose
verdict determines whether the debutante shall be
a rushlight or a star—a wall flower or the “fash
ion.” Accordingly, mamma gives a dinner and
invites all these social Warwicks who can make
ormarabelle; and the young lady pays her
court to them. A recent writer upon fashion,
able American Society says: The unmarried
men take their queues from the older hands, who
in spite of having wives are the most indefati
gable ball-goers, the recognized leaders of the
German, and the established authorities on mat
ters of fashionable etiquette. Where society
has no regular hierarchy, as it has in England,
its leaders are self-constituted or tacitly acknowl
edged.
The men, as a rule, marry so young that they
have not had time to become biases; and the con
sequence is, that they flirt as actively with un
married girls, and flutter about as flippantly as
if they were still single.
In some cases they keep this up till their own
daughters come out; overwhelming the girls of
their choice with bouquets, bonbonnieries, and
trifling presents, taking them solitary drives,
giving them dinners, boxes at the opera, and
distinguishing them by such marks of delicate
attention as are always grateful to the female
mind. Occasionally these are pushed to such a
point that they give rise to unpleasant gossip,
but I have never known any real harm to come
of them. 'The girls are thoroughly well able to
take care of themselves; and upon the occasions,
which sometimes happen, of a man becoming so
desperately in love'as to forget his conjugal du
ties and propose an elopement, he invariably
meets a positive and decided refusal.”
Salvini’s Othello.
A strong and vivid piece of word-painting is
John McLandburgh’s description of Salvini’s
Othello in the last Capital. He says the great
Italian’s conception of the character is purely
animal:
“His huge frame, great muscular develop
ment and vast accumulation of adipose tissue,
all yield him an admirable natural outfit with
which to play the animal. He is not tall enough
for a giant, nor small enough for the natural
man. Huge is the word, and elephant is the
animal which best describes our impressions of
this actor in Othello. He is a kind of mon
strous man-elephant
To these qualifications of person Salvini
seems to have added, by close analysis and
patient elaboration, all the usual attributes and
accompanying circumstances of savagery and
barbarism. All through the play his body is
either in complete repose or under thewrithings
of suppressed rage—either torpid or rampant.
There were times in the latter acts, when Des-
demona and Iago were present, when the au
dience could distinctly hear a wolf bark in the
direction of the stage. And again, just before
the lamb was seized, they heard the treble cry
of the leopard, Often, when Salvini sat in that
arm-chair near the footlights, he appeared to be
a huge rhinoceros in his lair that Iago was try
ing to goad into activity, and which rushed at
length upon his tormentor with the crushing
force of an avalanche. The play of rage over
his features was terrible to behold, but it was
often merely the workings of instinct. The
lines of character in his distorted and greasy
face then took the form of welts and knots,
which gave it a truncated and volcanic appear
ance. He has too much intelligence for a brute,
but not enough for a man, and in this respect
is like the elephant, which frequently appears
to get one leg over the barrier which separates
the human from the animal kingdom^ Salvini
has created a great tropical man-monster, and it
is not difficult to imagine that his hideous
buffalo-like head may, after all, grow from below
his shoulders. In all the exciting passages
which occur late in the tragedy his movement
over the stage is the charge of an enraged beast.
But Salvini does not always rely upon his
genius to gain applause. There was a place
near the close of an act, after Iago had scourged
him to madness, and the muscles of his neck
and chest had commenced to twitch convul
sively, that he sprang upon his assailant, swept
him from his feet, throwing him lengthwise on
the stage, and then, amid the clamor of shrill
trumpeting, he lifted his elephantine leg to
crush him. Then the people sprang to their
feet and cheered him.
Booth’s Othello loved one woman out of all
the world, who so twined herself about bis affec
tions that even after he thought her false he
could not quench his love. He had a hard fight
with his soul. It was a desperate, frenzied
struggle to beat down a light that always sprang
again. But Salvini looked upon Desdemona as
the newest one of a hundred or a thousand
wives. Between his love-making and the audi
ence there should have been drawn an impene
trable veil, for his desire was beastly. At the
final moment Booth’s Othello stabbed himself
to the heart, and died like a man. Salvini ripp
ed open his throat and floundered like a brute.
From first to last Salvini is faithful to this ani
mal conception of the character. Salvini’s ren
dition is powerful and awe-inspiring. It is full
of great, salient points, which take hold of our
imaginations like the rents in the ruins of Kar-
nak and Luxor. It would be well for young
artists and those older ones with uncertain con
ception and deficient magnetism to keep away
from the dange.rously impressive Italian, lest
coming too near his huge idea it should suedden-
ly become unmanageable and step on them. *
Stand up to Each Other Girls.
Kate Field—(we are sure it can be nobody but
Kate, who behind the ambush of an incognita
pops away so pleasantly at New York society in
the last Blackwood.) Kate Field then gives the
girls some good advice in the matter of standing
up to each other against the opposite sex, She
is right, and it is this co-operative, clannish feel
ing among women that we need at the South,
where our women both in business and social
circles are too coldly selfish for their own good
if they but knew it-—and seek rather to
pull each other down than to join hands and
produce the strength that comes from union.
But Kate Field doesen’t discuss the question so
seriously seriousness is not her forte, though
she catches many gleams of truth in her pretty
plays upon the surface. She is giving a sugges
tion to girls in society, and says:
“ I am convinced that there is no greater mis
take for a girl than to be misled, by the admira
tion of the opposite sex, into losing her popular
ity with her own. Young men are intimidated
and kept in their proper place by a strong
phalanx of girls, if these hold together properly.
It requires a youth of uncommon nerve boldly
to face half-a-dozen girls all tittering together
in a corner, who, he knows, will pick him to
pieces the moment he leaves them. We New
York girls used to keep our little heels on the
necks of our beauxs, and trample over them
ruthlessly. In London, the case is exactly re
versed, and the poor girls are crushed by the
aw-too-awfully-aw kind of youth, to a degree
which makes my blood boil.It is because Lon
don girls don’t understand how to combine and
organize, so to speak against the men.”
•
Christmas Daises and Dandelions.
What does a New York Cockney, born and
bred among brick walls, know concerning the
ways of nature out in the far free woods and
fields?
One of these shows his ignorance in an at
tempted description of sylvan aspects—as he
imagined them—on last Christmas.
“It is Christmas tide,” he writes, “but the
air is balmy, and the daisy and dandelion lift
their heads above the verdure of the unwithered
fields.”
If there was a daisy or dandelion even in tropi
cal Florida, it is more than we imagine—and if
our Gothamite could go out into those “un
withered fields,” the only verdant thing he would
find would be himself. *
Drawing Straws for a.Life.
John Aiken of Shanneeton 111. was recently
sentenced to be hung. His lawyer Albright
soon afterwards discoved that the jurymen had
determined the prisoners fate by drawing straws.
They had stood nine for and three against ac
quitting him, when they decided to leave the
matter to the straw-drawing lottery. They did
so; the hanging straw won and the verdict
“guilty” was the consequence. Three of the
jurors afterwards “ blabbed ” and the sharp
lawyer immediately went to Judge Allen, secur
ed Aiken a new trial and got the three jurors
fined a cool fifty each, while one of them had to
pay $100 for forgetting his solemn duty as a
juryman. This is the first time we ever heard of
drawing straws getting a man into a difficulty,
though drawing “something” through straws
gets many an one into trouble. ,
Christmas in Washington
Donn Piatt’s account of Christmas in the
nation's capital—the present gathering place of
fair women and brave (!) men—is certainly
a gloomy one. He must have forgotten to put the
egg in his nogg, and viewed things through a
jaundiced medium, occasioned by a splitting
headache and a generally demoralized condition
of the system. “ This Christmas,” he declares*
“ was one of the dullest, bluest frauds ever per
petrated upon a Christian community.
“Times are so hard, money so tight and the
weather was so bad, that the average Washing
tonian waxed angry, swore, got drunk and awoke
next day with a headache.
“In addition to our other miseries the police
force gave a carte blanche to the public nuisances,
composed of hoodlums possessed of the devil,
toot-horns and pistols, who made night hideous
and day diabolical.
“ It was a starvation Christmas, and we are
glad it is over. The entire year was a starvation
year, a fraud on the face of time, and we are glad
it is assuming the blanched deathliness of a
corpse. We bid it good-bye without sighing.”
Numerous things, not nice, happened that day
in the Capital. A young milliner girl, going
home with her packages, was knocked down,
robbed and brutally .kicked by a negro who got
away; anothe^oi the nation’s wards killed a
fellow negro duAifg the holidays; a dreadful
instance of juvenile sensuality and brutishness
took place, and the perpetrators got off with a
paltry fine.
To offset this, however, the authorities illus
trated the majesty of the law by arresting and
dragging to the lock-up, through gaping crowds
a young girl of respectable parents, who had
been beguiled into a restaurant by a companion,
where she was stupefied with liquor, “without, ’»
says the newspaper account, “ recognizing the
danger she was in.” Was there no humane
person in all that “gaping crowd ” to interfere
and save the girl from a public humiliation that
will probably render her reckless and seal her
ruin ?
After all, it seems the Don was right in being
disgusted with Christmas in Washington. *
Poor Birds.
We were just g^ugratulating ourselves that
the cruelty-suggesting fashion of wearing birds’
birds’ heads and wings upon hats and bonnets
was falling into disuse, when here our eye
catches a paragraph announcing a Parisian nov
elty—all the rage—a cloth made of the down of
birds, water proof, five times lighter and three
times warmer than wool. Of course, the very
novelty and expensiveness of the new fabric will
make Miss Flora McFlimsy eager to possess a
cloak of birds’-down cloth, and there will be a
renewal of slaughter of the innocents—a fresh
sacrifice of gay, sY.eet, tuneful life to the insatia
ble hydra headed monster, called Fashion- *
Excellent Sport.
They had last week, what the crackmen of tb e
turf and field call, “ capital sport ” at Herring
Run Trotting Course, near Baltimore. A deer
was brought there to be run down and lacerated
by dogs for the amusement of the young bloods,
the boys, negro* crowd generally. When
let loose, the po<fr creature, instead of dashing
off, “followed the keepers around like a kid.”
Then the eager, blood-thirsting dogs—fifteen in
number—were let loose upon the hapless vic
tim. We read, that the deer, “after a short run,
bounded over the inclosing fence and dashed
in among the crowd of spectators. By waving
of hats and loud shouting the deer was fright
ened once more to the track, but, after a brief
chase, butted his head against a stone wall and
lay calmly down and died.”
We are ready to exclaim bitterly against such
cruelty, but we remember that a sight even
more harrowing may be seen by looking
out of our window—a street-car on Whitehall,
drawn through the heavy slush and mud by a
single worn, panting and badly crippled mule.
A Young Lady’s Baby Show.
A nice charitable young lady of Brooklyn,
announced a “baby show” at her home on Mon
day before Christmas. Her friends came in
large numbers, and the show was unveiled—
no specimens of Caucasian infantility nor (what
the Herald pronounces—the infinitely more at
tractive) Bhow of Afri can picaninnies, but an as
sembly of silent, smiling, serene beauties—fifty
doll babies, prettily dressed, which our Brook
lyn girl “had prepared as Christmas gifts for
the little girls at the Church Charity founda
tion.” The proceeds of the “Baby Show”
(twenty cents admission) sufficed to arm each
doll with a huge cornucopia of sweet meats,” as
an additional gift to make glad the hearts of the
children of poverty. That Brooklyn girl de
served a happy Christmas, and no doubt she
enjoyed the result of her expenditure better
than if she had bought her a pearl necklace, or
a lace set to excite the envy of her less fortu
nate friends. Instead, her money went to make
fifty of Christ’s little ones happy upon His
birthday. *
An Atrocious Suggestion.
The Editor of the Chicago Tribnne, formerly
one of the loudest of the howlers over the cruel
ties of Slavery, recently wrote an article on the
“tramp-nuisance,” that inexhaustible source of
Editorial growls and weeps at the North.
These tramps, who are laborers thrown out of
employment by the greed of Capitalists, nave
become desperate and somewhat dangerous
through starvation, and the good Tribune hu
manitarian proposes the following remedy. “In
view of the number c r tramps that crowd our
highways and annoy jople by asking for some
thing to eat, it is suggested that persons so an
noyed, procure a supply of strychnine and mix
it with the food they dispense. This will effect
ually dispose of the vagabonds.”
Such are the tender mercies of a philanthro
pist
The Bear Pen, in New York.
Where is Mr. Bergb, and where is the “higher
culture” that New York has lately delighted it
self with gladiatorial wrestling matches, be
tween two brutes—the one human, the other a
bear. We are told that immense crowds of peo
ple attended these refined entertainments, hoping
like “Budgie” to see plenty of “blood” and
mangled limbs. If we did this down South, we
should hear of “Southern barbarism” the half-
eivilized Southern masses etc. *
ocahoutas ns an Acronat.
The gospel of New Things is being preached
so effectually in these progressive days, that
every one of our old beliefs, that were thought
grounded immovably on the rock of truth,
bids fair to disappear like the baseless fabric
of a vision. Shakspeare is found to be but a
commonplace fellow after all,—a mere skillful
rehasher of old stories,—Bacon is proved an idi
otic plagiarist, and Homer a mere clever rhy
mer; William Tell is a myth, and George Wash
ington a well-meaning, bat an obtuse and fogy-
ish old gentleman.
Lately, another historical idol hab been broken
to pieces on the merciless wheel of progress,
and declared to be worse than clay—Pocahnn-
tas, the beautiful Indian princess—the saviour
of Gapt. Smith, whose story historical tradition
has embalmed, and romance and chivalry have
delighted to adorn—Pocalinntas, from whom
the very foremost of the F. F. V’s, are proud to
trace their lineage—Pocahuntas is shown up in
an old, recently unearthed “History of Travaile”
written by one Stranchley (secretary of the
colony in Virginia, in 1610) in the following un-
poetical light.
“The young women go not shadowed in their
own company, until they be nigh eleven or
twelve returns of the leaf old, nor are they
much ashemed thereof; and Focliahuntas, a well
featured but wanton young girl, Powatan’s
daughter, sometimes resorting to our fort, of the
age of ten or twelve years, got the boys forth
with her into the market piace and made them
wheel, falling on their hands, turning their
heels upwards, whom she would follow, and
wheel so herself, naked as she was, all the fort
over. The great King Powatan called this young
daughter of his, whom he loved so well, Pocha-
huntas, which signifies a little wanton.”
A Christmas Eve Tragedy in St. Louis.
While the Christmas guns and bonfires of the
great Missouri metropolis were ushering in the
holidays, a sudden and startling announcement
broke upon the festive mood of the city. Mrs.
Annie Bowman the young and beautiful, wife of
Hon. J. B. Bowman, mayor of East Louis, had
committed suicide—shot herself through the
heart “Only an hour previous to the fearful act
she was in the midst of a gay and fashionable
company, where her rare beauty and wit made
her the belle and centre of attraction. Return
ing home, she went to her room. Her husband
heard a crash and a heavy fall, and hurrying to
ner boudoir, found his wife gasping out her life,
with a pistol in her hand and the bullet in her
heart.
There is much mystery connected with the
suicide. Mrs. Bowman was the divorced wife
of Alfred Becker, and married the mayor shortly
after the decree dissolving her marriage bonds
with her former husband.
Young, beautiful and possessed of great
wealth, her sudden severance from all by her
own hand creates the idea that remorseful mem
ory of the dead past impelled her to essay the
dread future for a change from an unhappy
present.
“Robebts,” of the Capital, has her say about
the Chandler confession—a sharp one as might
be expected, for she usually speaks her mind.
She says:
“When rognes fall out wise men hear the
truth. Denials will be the order of the day
now, since the honest Chandler has turned
State’s evidence and peached on his ‘pals.’
Who was it said that the Democratic party was
corrupt and dishonest, and that the moral Re
publicans were the only ones to save the coun
try ? Whv don’t the Republicans pay their men
when they do dirty work for them, or shut them
up, so they can’t tell tales out of school ? Of
course every one knew the electoral count was
a fraud, and that the Presidency was gained by
a steal; but we did not know just how it was
done until Chandler plays the sneak and tells
all about it, which settles him in my mind as
worse than the rest.” *
A Knight of the Golden Horse-Shoe.
Caligula, who had the oats of his favorite
horse gilded, has been nearly equaled lately, by
an eccentric American girl—a Miss Thompson,
whe has had her pet mare (which she took with
her on a tour through the United States, last
year) shod with solid gold shoes, mads by a
firm of jewelers in Edinburgh. Quite a crowd
gathered around the smithy of Prof. Beard,
veternary surgeon in Edinburgh, to see this uni
que shoeing done, the nails with which the glit
tering shoes were fixed, being also of gold.
The shoes cost $1000, and some of our exchang
es bewail the extravagance of lavishing such a
sum upon a mere auimal; but really we have
seen larger sums wasted upon animals, inferi
or to a fine, intelligent, and faithful horse.
For instance, we have seen a fifteen hundred
dollar camel’s hair shawl upon the back of a
coarse woman, who had no gentle sensibilities,
no feeling for the unfortunate, no nice sense
of honor, no thought above eating, drinking,
dressing and making a show. And we have
seen a diamond pin and massive gold chain and
charms adorning the shallow-brained heir of
some hard-working father—a creature puffed
up with conceit, until he is as light as the
smoke of his inevitable cigar,—a social excres
cence—a producer of nothing, except the weak
est of jokes and the filthiest of tobacco juice.
Lesson from a Cow.
The following little apostrophe to a cow, very
neatly satirizes, first that class of nervous, rest
less mortals, with a “maggot in their brains”
who are forever prying into the mysteries of
life, digging into its roots and straining their
sights to find where its top branches may reach,
and second, that larger class, the great dissatis
fied, who spend their lives finding fault with
the world; with the government, churches,
schools, men, women and children, everything
but their own perfect selves ;
TO a cow.
Why, cow, how canst thou be so satisfied!
So well content with all things here below,
So unobtrusive and so sleepy eyed,
So meek, so lazy, and so awful slow !
Dost thou not know that everything is mixed—
That naught is as it should be on this earth.
That grievously the world needs to be fixed;
That nothing we can gain has any worth.
That times are hard, that life is full of care.
Of sin and trouble, and untowardness.
That love is folly, friendship but a snare T
Prtt! cow, this is no time for laziness 1
The cud thou chewest is not what it seems!
Get up and moo 1 Tear round and quit thy dreams 1
Miss Mary Carroll, of Columbia, S. C.; a lady
distinguished in literary and social cirples, has
lately married, and is now Mrs. Scriven. We
wish our accomplished contributor a happy mat
rimonial voyage, and trust that the marriage
ring may not cause her to lay aside the pen,
whioh she wields so graoefully and well. *
From Our Private Letters.
A Social Interview witli Distant Friends—
What They Say.
We give below two specimen notes from young
aspirants after money and literary fame, but more
particularly the money. O Tempora! How the
world is tilling with writers ! What hath so gulled
the young people inio the idea that they can make
money by writing for the press ?
Opelika, Ala.
Sie—Enveloped herewith you will find a pro
duction healed, “ ,” which I send
for your examination, and if you deem it worth
the price, and are willing for it to appear in the
columns of your paper, I would be highly pleased
indeed. As you will ascertain, it has the signature
of “ ,” which name I have adopted as a
garb in which to appear before the public. This
will be my debut as an actor upon the literary
stage; and I expect in future, for the most part,
to obtain a livelihood upon the stream tl at has its
source in the inkstand. Being a novice, I scarcely
know what would be an exorbitant price for this
composition ; and being desirous to avoid the im
putation of extortioner, I will be liberal, and
price this to you at §2.50. If you are willing to
accede to these terms, just send the money through
the mail.
The other one says :
Dear Sir—I need money very bad; so I thought
I might be able to obtain a little by writing a
story. I know it is not worth much, but I am
only fifteen, so you can’t expect much from a
school-girl. Daisy Bell.
R. E., of Stephensville, Texas:
riease send to my address a few numbers of the
Sunsy South. 1 wish to get a number of sub
scribers to it in order to get its valuable literature
introduced into our settlement. I deem it as good,
if not the best paper of the kind on the continent.
C. W. II., of Rockford :
I can conscientiously say that I derive more
pleasure from reading your paper than any liter
ary paper 1 have ever taken. It has a tone so en
tirely different from the Northern literary periodi
cals of the day. It is permeated with a genial,
good fellowship which makes every subscriber
look upon it as a personal friend.
Certainly 1 will use my influence in inducing
my friends to subscribe for it.
“Long may it wave.”
L. T., of Pulaski, Tennessee, says :
You may confidently count on me, as a sub
scriber to your excellent paper, as long as I am
able to pay for it. Enclosed you will find five dol
lars to renew Mrs. and my subscription
for another year, and as I am an old bachelor (49',
please send me a ticket in your lottery. As my
case is now growing desperate, l am constrained
to try every available means to get spliced. Please
accept my best wishes for the success of your most
worthy enterprise.
You shall have a chance in the drawing, and we
hope the prettiest girl in the bunch will fall to
your lot.
Miss A. B., of Beaver Dale, Georgia, says:
Enclosed you will find my photo., so please give
me a chance with the five hundred girls you called
for. I love your Sunny South more than any pa
per in the world. 1 have been getting it since the
first number, and feel like I could not do without
it. Many wishes for your success.
G. H. D , of Tallahassee, Florida, says:
I love your paper very much, and expect ever
to be a subscriber. I don’t feel willing to be with
out it. I shall claim a ticket for the lottery, as I
will renew my subscription when it runs out.
Please don’t stop my paper when the time is up.
If we could receive such assurances as this
from every subscriber, it would encourage us so
much in our severe labors. But so many fail, or
forget to renew, that we often feel discouraged.
Something Better,"(anew novel after the flim-
sily sensational sort of “That Husband of Mine”
gets smartly be-lashed by the critic whip of a
New York Daily, who says:
“ As a story it is absurd and trashy, and as
for a literary effort, it is below common-place.
The weakness of the old pans, the threadbare
quality of the humor, the unreality of the story
itself and the lack of backbone in the setting up
the characters are to be felt on even a oursory
reading. ”
The Wallacks.
This popular and versatile “tripologue
troupe ” gave two very entertaining perform
ances in this city the past week. Mrs. Fanny
Wallack is quite a charming lady on the stage,
and displays a most versatile genius. Her cul
tivated and flexible voice delighted the au
dience. The little ballad, “ There’s no harm in
Kissing,” she sang with fine effect. Mr. Rider’s
“ Hungry Army ” was good. We did not see
Mr. Wallack’s Shifting Costume Scene. He is a
genial and courteous gentleman.
Propositions for 1878.
All who subscribe oi renew in Decem
ber, will receive the Sunny South to
January 1, 1879.
Now is the time to begin with the new
stories.
For a club of six at $2.50, we will
send a copy free for one year.
For $5, we will send two copies one
year.
For $3.50, we will send the Sunny
South and Boys and Girls of the
South one year.
Each subscriber now on the books can
have a year added to his time for $2.50
by renewing now and sending one other
subscriber at same price.
For a club of four, at $2.50, we will
send a copy of any of the Standard poets
or any novel that may be desired.
For a club of six, we will send a hand
some photograph album.
For a club of sixteen, we will send a
Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary.
For a club of twenty, we will send
$10 in gold. (All the names must be
sent at the same time when premiums are
demanded.)
Miss Hamblin, who was cut off from any share
in her father’s $200,000, in Somerset, Maryland,
has broken his will. He died at the age of nine
ty-six, after turning his daughter out of doors at
the bidding of a woman who had gained control of
him.