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ATLANTA. GA, SUNDAY. JAN. 12. 1878. LOCAL MENTION Db. J. A. Adbian, a prominent physioian of Logansport, Indiana, and one of the Tilden and Hendrick electors, is in the city, taking a course of hygienio treatment at Dr. Stainback Wilson’s Institution. The Dally Tribune. We are truly gratified at the evidences of sac- cess which we see and hear of our new and lively daily, recently started in this city under the man agement of Maj. C. H. Williams, an experienced and successful journalist. It has been enlarged, a tasty new head has been put upon it and it is full of news, life and good humor. Atlanta should have two good dailies by all means, and her peo- pie should sustain the Tribune. Cel. Henry Jones is the able political editor, W. T. Christopher, a first-class newspaper man, has charge of the news and commercial department, and M. M. Brannon, a genuine humorist and sparkling writer, does up all local matters in capital style. Success to the Tribune. Bex in Atlanta. Cold, and rainy, and dreary was “ Rex day ” in this city. There was no street display, but at night, there was a fancy dress ball, which was brilliantly attended. The finest feature of the oc casion was the performance of Prof. Schultz’s grand march for full orchestra—a splendid com position—full of fire and brilliancy, composed es pecially for the Rex ball. Louise Pomeroy in Atlanta. Miss Louise Pomeroy gave Atlanta two nights this week, appearing as Rosalind, in “ As You Like It,” and as Viola, in “ Twelfth Night.” She is said toexoelin boy characters, and certainly she displayed a high degree of grace, sprightliness, verve and variety in personating Rosalind, the most fascinating and charming of Shakspeare’s creations. She is a golden-haired blonde, with a clear, flex ible voice, and a mobile face. She was very well supported. Miss Anna Story is a very promising young actress, and in “ Twflftlth Night,” Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague Cheek, and Malvolio, were rendered in excellent and mirth-provoking style. The managers—Messrs. Ford & Edwards—have reason to be proud of the fine company they have gotten together for a Southern tour. If their star is not of the very first magnitude, the constella tion of talent, taken altogether, is as brilliant as one could wish. Musical Festival at Andrew College. The Cuthbert Appeal gives a glowing account of an entertainment lately given by the young ladies of Andrew College, consisting of music, recitations, and dramatic morceanx. The vocal duet executed by the two accomplished daugh ter of the [President—Miss Hamilton and MisB Ida—is said to have been a splendid perfor mance. Miss Herring’s recitation of a poem by Whittier is also praised, and the “exquisite personation ” of the widow by Miss Pearl Bryan (daughter of Mrs. Mary £. Bryan ) is dwelt upon with enthusiastic eulogy. Knowing the fine taste and judgment of Dr. Hamilton, we have no difficulty in believing that the enter tainment under his direction was exceptionally good. His Wife's Skull. How a Murder Came to Light. There is a story told in the English green rooms, to the effect that a certain carpenter, a long, long time ago, murdered his wife by driv ing a nail into her skull, He fled, and the better to conceal his identity, became an actor. He rose to eminence, and the whirligig of time and the wheel of chance brought him to the very village in which years before he had killed his wife, whose murder, however,— so the story runs—had not been suspected, as her long, thick, black hair concealed the cruel wound from which no blood had flowed.” The part was “Hamlet.” Whatever memories the place evoked, he had sufficient mastery over his feelings to keep them hidden. . The play progresed. The theater stood on what had form erly been a burying ground, and the property man had not far to go for skulls, but dug a lit tle and brought up a dozen or more, and at night tossed them immediately into the trap for the grave-digger to shovel on the stage. He handed a skull to Hamlet, saying; “Here’s a skull now bath lain you in the earth for three and twenty years.” Hamlet—“ whose was it?” Grave-digger—“This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull the King’s jester.” Hamlet took the skull, saying: “ This ” He turned pale and staggered, for the skull had left on it one long lock of black hair. Hand ed to him upside down, the lock fell back re vealing a nail in the skull! The actor recogniz ed it as that of the woman he had murdered just thirty-three years before. At this mute evidence of his guilt coming from the grave to confront him, the actor lost presence of mind and his senses. In his insane utterance he revealed his terri ble secret, and was only Baved from pnnishment by his fellow actors hushing him up and hurry ing him away. He never recovered his reason and died in a mad-house, raving of the nail in the skull. Mark Twain’s Jumping Frog and His Man Smiley. Mark Twain and his Jumping Frog. AMONG MY BOOKS. Terrible Besult of a Joke. A special dispatch to the Lcndon Free Press, from Ottawa, Ont., says: The man, Sumer- ville, belonging in Thorne, Pontiac county, who became insane through a practical joke being played on him, passed through this city last evening in charge of a friend, on his way to the asylum at Long Point, near Montreal. A short time since, a party of shanty men were on their way up the river, Sumerville being one of the number, when they all got on a drunk, more or less. The day following, Sum erville was told he had shot a certain magis trate, while intoxicated, and that he would like ly be arrested. In order to avoid this, he was aidvised to clear to the woods, and during the night he did so. It was fourteen days before he was found again, and then it was discover ed that he was a raving maniac, having be come bo through fear of exposure and want oi food. Young Jenkins was bound to be accurate, and he thus described the woman’s costume: “She wore a suit of something or other, cut bias, and trimmed endwise.” Smiley, who was in the habit of betting on everything that came along, kept a pet frog in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down town sometimes and lay for a bet. On day a fel ler—a stranger in the camp, he was—come across him with his box, and says: “ What might it be that you’ve got in the box ?’’ And Smiley says, sorter indifferent like: “ It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may be, but it ain’t—it’s only just a frog.” And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says : “ H’m—so ’tis. Well, what’s he good for?” “Well,” Smiley says, easy and careless, “ he’s good enough for one thing, 1 should judge; he can oufjumparv frog in Calaveras county.” The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate : “Well, I don’t see no p’ints about that frog that’s any better’n any other frog.” “ Maybe you don’t,” Smiley says. “Maybe you understand frogs, and maybe you don’t under stand ’em; maybe you’ve had experience, and maybe you ain’t only a amature, as it were. Any- weys, jl’ve got my opinion, and I’ll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.” And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like: “ Well, I’m only a stranger here, and I ain’t got no frog; but if I had a frog, I’d bet you.” And then Smiley says: “That’s all right—that’s all right; if you'll hold my frog a minute, I’ll go and get you a frog.” And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley’s, and set down to wait. So he set there a good while thinking and think ing to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot—filled him pretty near up to his chin—and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says: “Now, if you’re ready, set him alongside of Dan’l, with his forepaw just even with Dan’l, and I’ll give the word.” Then he says, “ One—two— three—jump!” And him the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan’l give a heave, and histed up his shoulders—so—like a Frenchman, but it wasn’t no use—he couldn’t budge; he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn’t no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn’t have no idea what the matter was, of course. The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter ierked his thumb over his shoulders—this way— at Dan’l, and says again, very deliberate:{ “ Well, I don’t see no p’ints about th that’s any better’n any other frog - ” Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking at Dan’l a long time, and at last he says : “ 1 1 do wonder what in the nation that frog throw’d off for—I wonder if there ain’t some thing the matter with him—he ’pears to look mighty baggy, somehow.” And he ketched Dan’l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up and says: “Why, blame my cats if he don’t weigh five pound!” and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful ot shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man—he set the frog down and took after that fellow, but he never ketched him. Concerning the recent spat with Gen. Gordon, a Boston exchange rings the changes on the “crack of the slave whip” and declares that “in our folly, like the Hebrews of old in demanding a king, the Northern States have now saddled upon themselves again as rulers the Southern chivalry, and the burden, like that of the “Old Man of the Sea,” must be borne, and we must again submit to the crack of the slave-driver’s whip, until by i evolu tion or dissolution they are shaken off.” Says the Mercury, If Blaine is well enough, he will take up Ben Butler’s role in the Senate and scarify the title and record of Hayes. It will be a terrible day of reckoning. We all believe here that the Radicals can prove what they claim.* that frog him h>s delightful essays to eharro ns after the day’s weary toil, to a smile over his queer and quaint conceits—his delicate pathos—his ready puns. I feel as if I should like to have known him and to have dined with him at the little Inn at Arlington, but these are only idle dreams, for his merry quips and cranks are o’er, but his vol umes are bis heritage to us, and in gratitude to him, we should read and love them. Longfellow and his Evangeline! I have not power to express my gratitude for being able to read and love that pure and perfect poem. Had Longfellow never written but this one poem it would have gained him a place in every heart that loves the beautiful. We follow with tearful eyes, the long and weary search of Evangeline for her lost Gabriel, so often near him yet unseen, baffled at every step, still with unwavering faith and love, she clung to the sweet consolation that she would once more behold him ; she found him, at last and with hand in hand, her search was o’er, and the golden gates were gained. Oh, rare picture of woman’s love and constancy ! Another heart-poem is “Enoch Arden.” It will live when Tennyson’s more ambitious efforts have lost their charm. SALAD FROM SMITH. Concluded from 2st page, quite sure of this that they revealed to him the presence of a usurper in his and Mima’s home. He knew this false person could be no other tban his own foster-brother, who had attempted to murder him and believed him dead, and it was with a fierce purpose at his heart that he accompanied Mima and the others at once to her home. But when Charles Abwell faced that cowardly impostor, and saw him cringing at his feet in most abject terror, pleading ior his miserable life, he could not find it in his heart to visit the craven with the punishment he so richly de served, so be spurned him from him, warning the treacherous man to forever avoid his path. A month after there was a happy wedding. Caird and his lovely wife made the home of Mima’s father their home also, and it was ever after a home of sunshine and gladness, indeed. The faithful sailor had a warm corner in his home, for he was not forgotten or neglected by those he had helped to make so happy. His life was one of ease and comfort thereafter, and he deserved it. THE MAD STONE AGAIN. Roundabout Remarks Concerning This, That and the Other. AN IKON HEADED MAN. Bv Aethol. “ Were a wholesome book, as rare as an honest friend. To choose the book be mine, let the friend another take. For a jjood book ia the beat of friends, the same to-day, and forever.” Tuppes. So sings the much abused, but widely read poet, whose lines head this essay. I am one among the few who.i>.re bold enough to acknowl edge that they loyiWl admire the genial author for his truthful heart inspiring “Proverbial Philosophy.” At the bare mention of books what a brilliant kaleidoscope reveals itself to the mind’s eye; what a glorious picture of ideal friends rises up before one; what heroism, what noble thoughts are preserved in the store-house of memory ! As I sit quietly musing, surrounded by my be loved books— “ Lines and letters fade away Yet they leave me, not alone,” for around me are clustered, friends who have never proven false, who always speak to me in the same loving words—whom no cold blast of misfortune, winter can wither, nor years fade into oblivion. Call upon them when you will, they never chill you with frozen looks; those dream friends never grow cold or ugly, for do we not see little Nell, tiny Tim, little Paul Dam- bay with their gentle patient faces, looking sweetly into ours in the fast darkening of the twilight till we almost seem to hear their musical voices ? How Dickens must have loved children, to be able to portray their natures so accurately; their little griefs and trials, their quaint humor and their odd ways ! Trooping around our chairs in the gloomy win ter hours, come our well beloAd book-friends, the pattering rain seeming their footsteps as they •rather about us—companions who never •ail to drive dull care away with their charming love adventures, their miraculous escapes by flood and field, their heart aches, and, best of all, the perfect joy at the finis. I cannot realize what it is to be separated from my books. They have been around me from my earliest youth, when I was a child, perused the magical pages of the Arabian Nights, or lingered over the fascinating adventures of Rob inson Crusoe. This book-worm existence has grown with my growth, and strengthened with my strength, and as I grew older I stepped up to the higher place of Dickens, Thackery, Carlyle and numberless others equally beloved. 1 pity from my heart the unfortunate being who has not acquired the advantage of being able to read. What mines of valuable information are locked up from these. What a narrow state of existence theirs must be. Johnson has wisely said: “I sincerely pity the man who cannot read on a rainy Sunday, in a country Inn.” Yes! it must be a Robinson-Crusoe-like loneliness to be shut out from all the glorious thoughts, ideas, inspirations of earth’s gifted ones. Not to be able to claim the company of my book, friends, would be worse for me than to have the golden door of fashionable society barred to me forever. When I speak of reading, 1 do not mean the casual skimming through the pages of some trashy novel, but the perusing and re-perusing of some favorite volume, until the book becomes a part of yourself, you unoonsciously imitate or strive to emulate the noble actions of some favorite char acter. Have we not grown to love the elevated nature of Adam £ede, or chivalrous Daniel De- ronda—or that man among men in his child-like simplicity, John Halifax, gentlemen ? We grow to love the creator* of these grand characters. Surely they must be all that is good and true, or they could not have conceived beings cast in such superior motfids. Ah, books! Monuments of mind, loving mementoes of dead and buried genius, pen pictures of life and its struggles in all ages, they ere better than monuments of atone or brass for their authors. The gifted need no costly piles of marble. They leave behind them more enduring monuments. Our libraries are Westminster Abbeys. Books are eloquent of the lives and straggles of their authors. 1 never read Keats without feeling as if every poem was written with his heart’s blood, stung and tanted to his death by heart less critics and stupid reviewers. Wherever I turned the pages ef dear Charles Lamb, can I not picture him at his desk, writing for his daily bread—in old Temple Bar, and leaving behind Two or three years ago when Mercer Univer sity was being built, the scaffolding around the high steeple gave way and precipitated several workmen to the ground. All were more or less damaged except one, and he escaped without a scratch, although his head struck the ground first. Subsequent acheivements in this special line, have won for this colored individual, the cognomen of the Iron Headed Man. His name is Ben White, and he is a well built man. His bead, which must be a third or fourth cousin to Collins’ ram, is not extraordinarily de veloped, and presents no remarkable phrenol ogical bumps. It has stood more genuine inter ruptions, contusions and collisions than any orphan twin you can mention. A year ago Ben took on board too much egg-nog, and while leaning out of the third story window of the Tel egraph punting office, observing the Fantastics go by, he leaned forward a trifle too much, and before you could say "Jack Robinson,” fell out, strack the cellar door, went through and when they fonnd him he was as sound as a dollar. When Ben was growing up, he was recog nized among the boys of his town and ilk, as the champion butter. He could out-butt any ten boys, and would tackle any man, who want ed a week’s headache. The boys regarded him as a sort of Gen. Grant among them, and when ever they wanted something to do tall bragging on, they invariably made Ben the hero of a thousand butting scarpes, and in everyone of them Ben always outbutted. One day he discovered the roof of a two story house on fire. It was one of those nice, sweet days, when everything outdoors wears an over coat of ice, and the sidewalk loves so well to slip and hurt the back of your head. Ben clambered to the roof, and just as he was about to empty a bucket of water upon the fire, his foot slipped, and he shot off the housetop in a hurry not so remarkable for its brevity as for its suddenness. He arrived below just in time to fall, head down of course, plump into the smoke stack of a fire engine, putting out the fire and smashing the interior arrangements of the machine to a considerable extent. They dng him out of the fire-box, but he was Bute. His next adventure was still more remark- j able. In addition to his other duties, Ben had the care of the horses and mules of the man who employed him. There was one vicious old mule in the lot named Jess, and from the first there was no good blood betwen Ben and Jess. It so happened that Ben went to sleep one hot summer afternoon upon a pile of hay in the horse lot. Seeing him thus engaged, old Jess, with that malicions cussedness charac teristic of the low down, unprincipled mule, concluded that it was a propitious moment in which to pay off several old scores marked up against Ben. Sneaking up to where he lay quietly (snoozing, Jess let loose his left hind leg npon Ben's head. The force of the kick sent him abont twenty feet from the hay, but never hurt a hair on his head. One day in passing by a building that was going up, with a can of coal oil on his head, one of the workmen carelessly kicked over a bucket of mortar. The backet struck the can square in the centre, smashed it flatter than a tin plate, the oil spurted out on all sides like a leaking flower-pot; broke the bucket all to smithereens, the hoops coming down with so much force as to cut his arm nearly off. With this exception, he came out unscathed. A party of gentlemen went out hunting for summer doves one day, and took Ben along with them to carry the game, etc. It was neces sary in the course of their perrigrinations to tres pass upon the land of a stingy old fellow, who never failed to shoot buckshot at all comers into his fields. The boys watched an opportunity notwithstanding, and put foot upon the forbid den soil. They stationed Ben beside a tree to await their return. As is usual with darkies, he went to sleep. The owner of the property hav ing heard the report of guns, took down his rifle and proceeded to hunt for the trespassers. As soon as he saw Ben, he drew bead and let fly, Ben never stirred. The rifle flashed again. No demonstration from Ben, Still another shot, and Ben quietly raised bis hand to his head as if bitten by a mosquito. For one level hour did that old sinner peg away at the sleeping darkie. He prided himself on his markmanship, and boasted that his ballets never varied an inch from the bead, but he was somewhat disgrun tled at the aspect affairs had assumed on this occasion. He knew his bullets struck some thing if not the target aimed at, but why they should fail to show some effect upon Ben, was a puzzle to him. Going up to him he was hor rified to observe his bullets flattened and lay ing all around Ben, who had treated them as so many mosquiito bites. Awakening the sleeper, the old fellow asked him if he had heard any gun shots ? Rubbing his eyes, he yawned lan guidly, and answered, “No, sah; but de skeet- ers seem powerful bad round heah.” Ben is now employed in the Daily Telegraph office here, and now and then harf” a chance of making his head stand between him and cer tain death. He is justly entitled to the name of The man with the iron head. Bbxdobs Smith One In Georgia. Social Circle, Georgia, December 27, 1877. Editor Sunny South: Sir—I have read to-day in your paper, the query of Montgomery—if there really is any re liability in the Mad Stone, and if so, where one can be found ? I have in my possession what is called a genu ine Mad Stone, so pronounced by those who have seen them, though 1 have not had an opportunity of testing its efficiency. Enclosed I send you an article taken from the Vidette, giving a full account of the stone in ques tion. Very respectfully, T. Pkeston Gibbs. MAD STONE. There is in the possession of Dr. T. Preston Gibbs, of this place, what is supposed to be a mad stone. It was cut, by him, a week or two ago, out of the jaw of a horse. It is nearly the size and shape of an egg, weighs 2} ounces, grayish color, and rather offensive when held close to the nose— was firmly encysted between the inner surface of the cheek and outer skin, resembles very much the urinary calculi; it is very hard, requiring several hard blows with the weight of a knife-blade to break off a corner of it, and when thrown against the floor it makes no impression on the stone, and the noise is similar to that of a rock or block of iron. Mr. Laspeyre, a chemist and miner of consider able experience, has pronounced it a genuine mad stone. He has traveled in Mexico, California, Arizona, Dakotah and New Mexico—has visited several tribes of Indians, has seeD two or three of these stones, and says this is identical in size, color and composition. He says the Indians get them from the intestines of the deer, polish them, and that they are considered an infallible remedy for hydrophobia, and, too, that it is a styptic, a few grains taken in water relieves the worst case of menorrhagia in a very short while. Several have examined it, among them Col. Colt, who has traveled in the Territories. He says that it is the same as stones found there, and is suscep tible of high polish. The history of it is this. The horse is five years old, was reared by Mr. Alford, a few miles below this place. He first dis covered the bump about a year ago, thought it was the result cf a blow from a rock. He sold the horse recently to Mr. Joseph Studdard, who brought him to town on the 30th of January and requested Dr. Gibbs to cut it out. He examined and found a hard knot, supposed it might be a cartilaginous substance, but was surprised to find a veritable stone. Dr. Gibbs and Mr. Laspeyre gave it a rough test, and found that it contained carb. lime and carb. magnesia. If this stone had been in any of the passages, as the urinary or alimentary canal, it could have been accounted for, but imbedded as it was, deep in the flesh, with no communication, it certainly is a re markable case.— Walton County Vidette. Mr. Fechter has achieved a marked success in his powerful and original performance, in the “Count of Monte Christo,” which is witnessed nightly with breathless interest, at the Broadway Theatre. A devoted wife will always speak plainly, though kindly to her husband. Here is a case in point: “When I die,” said a married man, “I want to go where there is no snow to shovel.” His wife said that she presumed he would. The following sentiment was drunk standing at a private fete among “de fust circle” colored of New York a tew evenings since: “Here’s to de colored far sec; dar face needs no paint—der head no ’fumery.” Rector—“Those pigs of yonrs are in fine con dition, Jarvis.” Jarvis: “Yes, sur, they be. Ah, snr, if we wos all on ns on’y as fit to die as them are, we’d do.” An Extraordinary Edition of the Bible. From the LaFayette (Ind,) Courier, Jan. 5, 1877. There has been lately published an edition of the Bible by subscription that bids fair to have a very large circulation. It contains re cent and very valuable accounts of late dis coveries throwing light on the authenticity and value of the sacred book. It also contains the celebrated commentary on the Bible and a com- mentory on each psalm by the Rev. John Brown, of Haddington; also the finest bible dictionary. Illustrated with 500 engravings. Each word pronounced. Edited hy Rev. Alfred Nevin, D.D. Also, Cruden’s concordance and dictionary, many valuable tables, indexes, an notations, practical reflections, Blackwood’s aid to the study of the Holy Bible. It also contains the pictorial history of the cities of the Bible, with full descriptions. Also embodies Butler’s fine work, “The Christian Denominations of the World,” compiled from their own publica tions and views from their own standpoint. Illustrated with pictures of the great preachers and the great exponents of the different faiths. Also pictures of their first churches built in America, and their most famous edifices of the present day, together with the belief of each sect, origin, etc. Also Rev. Chas. P. Kranth s “ Christ and His Kingdom in Shadows,” or the Christian dispensation as typified in the old testament, and especially in the Mosaic rites and ceremonies; finely illustrated. This fine biblical collection also contains twenty-fonr very fine Line Steel engravings from paintings by Raffael, Guido and Canova. Engraved at great expense expressly for this work; also two beau tiful emblematic colored plates, a photograph album, marriage certificate and family record. The whole work containing over 2,100 pages, bound very substantially in Turkey morrocco, raised panels, gilt edge, making a most valuable and superb volume. This work is published by a firm at Indianapolis (Fred L. Horton & Co.,) and we presume our bible readers will gladly avail themselves of an opportunity to possess this valuable work. A Noble Example. A lady of rank, a countess, is performing a notable work in London. About two years ago she lost her two infant children, and then de voted her fortune and life to the work of saving the lives of children. The statement that in England two hundred thousand children die annually under the age of five, and three per cent, of these from preventable causes, met her eye. She began to visit the poor, to talk with mothers; she instituted weekly meetings, at which she gave them instruction in regard to preparing nourishing food, and she herself pro vided large quantities of food for Bick children. She has extended her plan to include a day nursery, where women may leave their children while they are at work, and a children’s retreat in the country, for infantB whose lives depend on a change of air. The Empress of RnBsia last year sent the countess a donation for her work and a warm letter of sympathy. The Grand- Duchess of Baden has this year done the same.