Newspaper Page Text
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THE SUNNY SOUTH, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, DECEMBER 10, 1892
—PUBLISHED BY—
THE SDNNY SOUTH PUB. CO.
CLARK HOWELL, -
C. C. NICHOLS, - -
JAS. R. HOLLIDAY,
President.
Business Manager
Sec. & Treas.
EDITOR.
Business Office Room’s 11 & 12
Constitution Building.
TEEMS:
One Fear $2.00
Six Months 1.00
$3$^*Address all letters and make all bills pay
able to THE SUNNY SOUTH,
Atlanta, 6a.
FALL OF A PROMONTORY.
Jay Gould, a Gibraltar-like head
land among" men, has sloughed off and
fallen, with a world-awakening roar
into the Deep of Eternity. The echoes
of his fall are heard around the globe,
and all men in all lands whose inter
ests are embarked upon the oceans of
finance gaze anxiously seaward upon
every coast. But it is not probable
that overwhelming tidal waves will
come, for the giant hand which
plutched the business world and forced
it into an orbit of which the Gould
brain was the centre, was doubtless
potent enough to erect break-waters
sufficiently strong to serve him after
death.
***
In strength and breadth of brain
power, in force of will, in insight into
practical affairs, and capacity for con
trolling and directing vast movements
of men and capital, he must be ranked
among the very greatest men that
have lived upon this planet. Upon
this stage he is one of the immortals
In his hunger for power, and in his
success in grasping and wielding it,
he was a veritable Napoleon in the
field which his unparalleled powers
illustrated.
millions? Must altruism always find
the soil for its growth only in the
hearts of the poor and the unin-
fluential?
*
* *
Gen. Forrest said “war means fight
ing, and fighting means killing,” and
General Grant believed the same.
Both men acted in accordance with
their opinion on the question, and
both were notably successful. Gould
business career was planned along the
same lines. Unbaulked by pity
sentiment or religion, he devoted
his life to the pursuit of wealth
and power and climbed to heights
unattainable by any politician or
combination of politicians. And
nothing in his life indicates that
he ever suffered from conscence-
twinges, or doubted that his life was
planned and executed along true
lines.
EDITORS AND AUTHORS.
Some Sensible Talk as
lations.
to Their Re-
But his religion? Did he have any?
He held a pew, and paid a preacher,
but were these anything more than
incidents in his business career? Did
he, like Napoleon, use religious or
ganizations merely as stepping stones
to lift him toward his selfish purposes?
If in order to be religious one must
believe in the goodness and ultimate
justice of God, and must be unselfish
and practice charity this side the
grave, what evidence is there in this
great man’s life that he gave such sen
timents even a passing thought? Na
poleon seized the treasury of the
French people, and squandered its
millions on himself, and his family,
and his ambitious projects. He ruth
lessly robbed his country of her
wealth, and the lives of her sons. He
did all this by the power of a merci
less sword. Gould absorbed an inor
dinate pile of American wealth by
methods no more scrupulous, and both
of these overtowering bosses in hu
man affairs, if principles of right are
divine, as asserted, scorned high heav
en from the cradle to the grave.
A GREAT EDITOR’S
Timely and Pleasing Opinion.
Bookkeeper to a blacksmith at four
teen, and pursuing his studies, he
thus displayed even in childhood
maturity of mind and a directness of
purpose which characterize only indi
viduals of unusual endowments. Mas
tering the mysteries of civil engineer
ing at seventeen, surveying and map
ping a city and county, and writing a
local history before he was twenty,
and coming out of these enterprises
with live thousand dollars profit, show
him to have had from the beginning a
genius for doing and getting. He
was one of those rare men who owe
everything to the gifts of chance or
providence, and but little to industry.
It is true, of course, that he was a
worker, but he is entitled to little if
any credit, for his industry. For his
brain was of the finest conceivable
make, and like a watch wound up for
a lifetime, its motion was, so to speak,
perpetual. As long as its machinery
was in good order, this marvellous be
ing knew not the meaning of fatigue.
Gould, in his prime, knew no more of
the sense of weariness of min J than
does an electric motor.
To the Editor in Chief of that un
rivalled Woman’s Magazine, the Ladies
Home Journal, we acknowledge our
indebtedness for the flattering commu
nication which follows:
The Ladies’ Home Journal,
Philadelphia, Nov. 30th, 1892.
Editor The Sunny South—My Dear
Sir: Although a stranger to you, I wish
you would let me congratulate you
upon the Thanksgiving number of
The Sunny South. It does you credit,
I think, and if you continue to publish
the paper on that scale it will do more
for the development of literature in
the South than anything I can think
of. The matter in this especial num
ber is very good. I tbink your pre
sentation of it is even better, and if it
is'any satisfaction to you to know it, I
have read the number almost from
cover to cover.
With best wishes for even a larger
success than you have already at
tained, and hoping that you will
pardon this note, believe me
Very sincerely yours,
Edward W. Bok.
the
lesson of this
But what was
Midas-like life?
From the earliest times strong indi
viduals have dominated mankind, and
monopolized more than a just share of
this world’s material good things. The
Pharoahs, David, Solomon, Alexander,
Croesus, Ciesar, Napoleon, Gould, all
serve as illustrations of the fact that
the living golden rule, though floating
hazily about the world for thousands
of years, has never yet penetrated the
heart-cores of the men who have dic
tated the destinies of peoples. Can
the quality oi tenderness and charity
towards all creatures exist in the same
mind and heart which have the power
of beginning poor and accumulating
Will the author of “The Boatswain’s
Yarn,” a poem, please send his address?
MRS. MARY BRYAN’S
Promised instalment of her new se
rial story did not reach us in time for
this issue, but will doubtless be on
time next week. Meantime, read the
excellent short serial, “DONOVAN,”
which opens un on first page.
That very valuable print, the Quar
terly Register of Current History for
the fourth year closing, published, by
Current History Publishing Company
Detroit, Michigan, is received, and
may it not fail to come regularly.
***
Arthur’s Home Magazine was a
familiar enough name thirty years
ago, but it long since faded away.
But it seems after all that its long
silence was only that of sleep. For
the Arthur Publishing Company now
send us Arthur's New Home Maga
zine, a print which promises to restore
he anti-belluiB glory of its namesake.
A young and ambitious author, after
receiving a few rebuffs in the shape
of declined manuscript, is very likely
to fall in with a set of croakers who
say. “O, it’s of no use! You can’t
get in there. They have a regular
clique of writers on that magazine.
There’s no chance for anyone outside
of the coterie.” Perhaps someone, a
trifle more unreasonable than the oth
ers, will add: “These editors care
nothing for merit any way, all they
want is great names. Those writers
who have got the name just combine
with the editors in a regular cabal to
keep the unknown writers out of it
entirely.”
Many an editor, if he had the time,
would gladly say to these young au
thors, “Come now, let us reason to
gether;” but there is no time for this,
and the young authors who are bright
and sensible in other respects, listen
to the senseless cavil of the croakers
until it begins to sound like truth.
So persistently is this erroneous lit
erary gospel propagated—and to the
detriment both of authors and editors
that it is worth while to get at the
root of the matter, if possible.
Suppose we assume, in the first
place, that editors are selfish, unfeel
ing autocrats, who care not a rap to
help any struggling author up the
hill. This isn’t the fact, but for argu
ment’s sake we will say it is. Now
who does this self-seeking, hard-heart
ed creature want to help along? He
wants to help himself, doesn’t he? An
editor has to live, like other people.
Being naturally without regard for
the rest of the world, he wants to live
better than other people.
How is he going to do this? His
love for young authors won’t keep him
alive, for we have just declared that he
hasn’t any. And if he hates young
authors and wants to keep them down
and crush them, why then his malice
won’t support him in comfort. Grant
ing that every time he declines a
bushel of manuscript from unknown
writers it is meat and drink to him in
a figurative way, yet he must have
dinner just the same, and a place to
sleep in. It doesn’t pay liis rent to
trample on somebody’s ambition.
You see, of course, that an editor
must make his living and pay his bills
without any regard to his feelings—
no matter whether they are good, bad
or indifferent. He depends upon liis
earnings—his salary. Who pays him
this? The publisher—the man who
prints the magazine, mails it and gets
the advertising. Who pays the pub
lisher? The readers. If they don’t
like the magazine they stop buying it,
and when they stop paying the pub
lisher he has to stop paying the editor,
and the editor can’t pay his rent. He
isn’t an editor any more. He knows
this. He knows on which side his
bread is buttered. An editor is well
aware that if he fails to please his
readers and to get more and more
readers all the time he is quarreling
with his bread and butter.
An editor’s only clique is formed
with his readers. He has a triple-
tight alliance with the subscription
list. We don’t say that he loves his
readers; we are not supposing that he
has any kind feelings toward anybody.
Feelings are left out of the question
entirely, except his feelings toward
himself. He must make his own work
a success—his magazine must be made
popular, and to do this he enters into
a coalition with his readers, and forms
a league to get more readers and please
them better. That is the clan and the
faction which keeps possession of the
editorial rooms; that is the junto
which rules with iron hand the policy
of every successful magazine and pa
per.
“What do my readers want?” is the
editor’s question : “Something new I”
is the answer. He hears that answer
when he wakes in the morning, he re
peats it all day, and at night it con
tinues to echo through his thoughts :
“Something new!” An editor must
“hold fast to that which is good.” He
must keep those writers who have
proved their ability to please. He
must secure those popular authors
who seem to be pleasing everybody.
That is business. An editor—like
any other tradesman—puts on his
sign: “We strive to please.” But
after he lias done his utmost to please
with all the famous authors he can
command, there is one thing lacking
—and he feels it: “Something new!”
When the editor of one great maga
zine meets the other, the first question
he asks will be, “Anything new. See
any promise anywhere?” And the
other is proud if he can reply, “I’ve
got hold of a manuscript from some
body in a little Western township,
never heard the name before. Can’t
make out whether its man or woman,
but it’s a rattling good story!” At
this, the first editor feels a little pang
of envy that he is not the lucky dis
coverer. That sounds like a fancy
sketch. It is from life. An editor is
more pleased with a fresh contribu
tor than a child with a new toy.
“Is there no advantage, then, fora
famous author?” Yes, there is, and
there ought to be. He has his advan
tage, and you have yours—if you are a
young and unknown writer. First,
be is an old friend of the public. Sec
ond, his “goods” are likely to be first-
class. Third, he puts them in proper
shape for handling. Your advanta
ges are : First, you are new. Second,
you are new; and third you are brand
new.
Now, if you will give the time and
pains to make your work perfect,
which he had to give to his when he
started, and if you will put your work
into convenient shape for handling,
you will have five points against his
three. You will have the popularity
he used to have when he began years
ago. The tables will be turned; per
haps he will growl in his beard about
these “young upstarts.” And some
years lienee—when you are first begin
ning to feel as if you bad earned a
place in public favor—a crop of
younger writers will aver that you
are conspiring to crush them, and you
will almost wish you could. But you
will realize then how utterly impossi
ble it is for any literary combination
to keep a bright young author down.
A whale might as well try to sit on a
cork in mid-ocean.
The whole reading public is in a
tremendous conspiracy to bring the
young author to the top, if he is made
of floating material, and editors are
simply forced to join this confedera
tion to save their own necks—feelings
or no feelings. This isn’t saying that
they are infallible in estimating the
public taste. The best of them some
times make a miss of it, but they them
selves are the ones who suffer most
for their mistakes.
An editor may decline your manu-
uscript which, afterwards makes a
great hit; and your genius may break
out all over like the measles, but don’t
you suppose that editor is sorrier than
you are that he failed to diagnose the
case? And don’t you suppose he has
that possibility continually in mind?
Indeed lie has. An editor has a heap
more humility than you^ give him
credit for.
There is no back stairway. No use
looking for it. There is, however, a
better way to “burglarize” an editor—
if a bit of newspaper vernacular be
permissible. Make your copy so neat
and legible that it will be a pleasure
to handle it; work away, doing your
best every time, though you remain
unrecognized for years. Some day,
after dinner—when you tbink the edi
tor is surfeited with young-authors-
on-toast, and cannot eat another one-
take your brightest idea and drop it
on him through the skylight. You
will hit him. Wolstax Dixey.
PRIZES FOR SHORT STORIES.
There
are hundreds of promising
story writers in the South who would
do exceptionally good work and come
to the front, if they had some definite
inducement to lead them on.
The prospect of winning a prize
over many competitors has stimulated
many writers in the past, and we be
lieve that the offering of such prizes
is a genuine encouragement to literary
writers.
After mature consideration The
Sunny South has decided to offer One
Hundred Dollars in Prizes for the
Best Short Stories, to be distributed as
follows:
For the best short story, Fifty
Dollars.
For the one entitled to the second
rank, twenty-five dollars.
For the third in merit, fifteen dol
lars.
For the next best, ten dollars
The stories should contain not less
than 1,500 nor more than 3,000 words.
Each story competing for a prize
must be marked “For Competition.”
The author’s name should not be on
the manuscript, but should be sent in a
separate sealed envelope to The SuNxy
South.
All stories under this offer must
reach us by the first of January next,
on which date they will be read by a
committee of judges, who will award
the prizes during the month.
There is such a general demand for
first-class short stories, and they make
literary reputations so rapidly that
we feel satisfied our prize offer will
delight our young writers, and some
of the older ones. The time allowed
will enable competitors at distant
points to do their work without undue
haste. They can perfect their plots
during their vacation, and put them
in shape and polish them off during tbe
pleasant days and nights of autumn.
It will be something to earn the
money, but the distinction of winning
one of these prizes will afford the au
thor far more gratification than the
money itself.
Of course, it is understood that all
the stories sent in will be the property
of The Sunny South, and the most
meritorious of our unsuccessful ones
will appear in our columns after the
publication of the prize stories.
If you have a literary friend who is
not taking The Sunny South, you
will do him a favor by calling his at
tention to this offer and its terms
But no one should be led into the mis
take of supposing that these prizes
may be competed for by persons out
side of our circle of subscribers. All
competitors must be paid-up subscri
bers when they submit their stories.
The Pacific ocean is connected with the
Gulf of Mexico, by a railway known as the
Panama Railroad, and an important trans
fer trade is carried on between the two
great waters. This road is under French
control, but the country is under the pro
tection of the United States government,
and has been greatly benefitted by Uncle
Sam’s guardianship. Americans are con
siderably interested in the traffic across
the isthmus, and their interests are being
crippled by adverse discriminations in
freights, which discriminations are favored
by the French authorities. And hereby,
according to Senator Morgan (of Alabama)
bangs a controversy that may give
government considerable trouble.
Senator says be does not apprehend
but that *t all hazards the dignity
United States mast bs maintained.
our
Tbe
war,
of the
He pressed upon my trembling lips a kiss— ]ust
one.
And I, who thought that love and youth were
done,
Felt surging back the strong, hot waves of bliss
That sorrow once had lulled to deadly rest.
I hid mv face upon his waiting breast
In silent ecstacy. Love such as this
Needs scanty speech.
The world may think it wrong
To vield at once when I had waited long—
0 Misery, so long!—for love to wake
Within his heart. But what care I for pride,
When he I love draws closer to my side
And bends one little kiss to take?
1 know that when again he comes to me,
4nd in his eyes love’s longing 1 shall see
My own will answer with a burning light—
My lips will meet his, as they did last night.
—Margaret Price.
“I have used Salvation Oil for frost
ed feet and backache and found it to
be the best remedy and pain killer on
earth. Mrs. Maggie Neider, Mt. Pleas
ant, Westmoreland Co., Pa.”