Newspaper Page Text
THE SUNNY SOUTH. ATLANTA. GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 30 189S
9
' experience.
The Times I>emo< rat.
from ice a'
swift events
out on tbe **®f de mountain high.
*here* aT “Jn feints r **® relents,
>'or« >r S?,SS<I by p"-d intents,
A tfu^ lifcevesael J '
^* rtd Sf B t£vii c S“^ a8te ,
oV^ifUmelpars .sea-foam encased,
^e^ ^ eeimly traced,
^SVeea.
HOO'-S^P®. That Where one
And the*®»re »p < gt orms prevailed
n /,&* ue,c i" ai -
, r in«r! these spars proclaim
J5 JS.^ whose shl,’>9 ne’er sail again
A (ji wide Experience Hea.
Vffldian^Mias. -Eric «.ambrell.
Mortt l and I in i.ierul Literature.
jjut.not to dwell on sacred litera-
let ua ask next, what thiBk ye of
sailed
failed
1”
ture
.Shakespeare
or immoral?
What of Sir John Fal-
orhis majesty King Henry V.,
* tbe monstrous ( aliban? The ab-
,„rd gallantries of .Sir John with the
Merry Wives, tbe coarse love-making
of tbe rough soldier-king with Kath
erine of France, the insulting words
of the brutal Caliban about Miranda,
, r even Kmilia’s plain language in
‘•Othello” must be very shocking to
our prudes and refined people.
M. Tainesays, “Shakespeare’s words
are too indecent to be translated. His
characters call things by their dirty
names, and compel the thoughts to
particular images of physical love.”
Vet would you have us throw aside
our Shakespeare? Would you keep it
out of school girls hands? No? Why
not? Why because the inspired dram
atist is one of the greatest teachers of
history He makes us loathe vice by
painting it in all its hideousness. He
makes us love virtue and nobility by
showing us their intrinsic beauty and
loveliness. He does not preach to us,
but he shows us life—both sides of it
-and thereby teaches us how to choose
between the good and the evil. His
viilians are the most perfect devils
ever created, his heroes the most he
roic of the song of men. His women
are real women, his men real men. If
he were less “immoral,” he would be
the more unreal, unhistorical—a mere
literary dilettante, who woull influ
ence no mau for good or for evil. As
it is, iie reveals the great passions of
human nature, and shows how they
may be properly controlled and direc
ted,
in the estimation cf competent
judges, the greatest poem Byrou ever
wrote is “Don Juan.” M. Taine says
it is a satire on the abuses in the pres
ent state of society, and not a eulogy
of vice, if we read the poem as an
autobiography of Byron, shall we be
greatly demoralized? Byron was a
man like unto ourselves. His passions
were simply exaggerations of ours
Shelley is equally as “offensive ’ as
Byron, and his ‘\iueen Mab” and “Re
volt ot Islam” created as much scan
dal when they appeared as his fellow
poets works did. And Shelley was
one of the most unearthly spirits ever
embodied in human form: one ot tbe
1 oltiest poetical geniuses, one of the
noblest souls, and one of the most en
thusiastic philanthropists who evtr
toiled for humanity. Victor Hugo’s
wonderful novel, “Les Miserables,”
! las P ri) bably had a greater influence
for good than any other book of this
century; yet it gives a most shocking
picture of a Parisian grisette and her
inegmmate child. Scott’s “Heart of
Midlothian” and Dickens’s “David
. °PPcrt\eld” both turn on a seduction,
1l| t who was ever demoralized by
reading these stories?
A hat, then, is moral and what is
moral literature? Certainly such
ooKn a> those cited cannot rightfully
° cons U , ered “j mmoral »» Tfiey deitl
. 11 le Sreat pas.-ions of human na-
e, an.! ihe common facts of experi-
. ‘ i e * an,i their ob ject is to elevate the
: u am * ennoble the heart. This
hn X lem a high moral character. A
!U, t immoral simply because it
n u>>e- ugly sins, but when it lacks
is k m !;i!en t or a lofty purpose it
nrsv grading to the mind and de-
L.,. 11 ^! 0 the heart. The remedy
nut V t ,e .spread of literary trash is
hv > enu pciation, but its displacement
hj good literature.
k'not be afraid to put such books
vm,r a ' e . tl,scus sed in the hands of
Ads,.- ‘ lll ] re . D i for, from the days of
‘ ai ’ u l ve prohibition has always
frim*' ,lle ,ie? ' r e for the forbidden
K pf ’ -'OW them how to distinguish
^ ^viod and the evil. Iu ig-
e<K>. q\ e a one * s danger; in knowl-
ea ^e alone is safety.
Layarre, wife of the vener
is old i!!i' ana historian, is a oharni-
r e » RPl1 • who, iu her own city is
hu* r■■ aS l h. e ideal helpmeet. Her
it jV„ r 111 18 , ln his ninetieth year, aud
ing 10 see him lean-
taLs i i J on ^ er slen( ler arm, as she
Walk o, U ° l i t every morning for a ;
Xew ,rou gh the French quarter of j
¥ adame Gayarre is
in umnn^ US l"? eXtremel y « raceful |
18 an omnivorous
la7e r ur d ac H u amted with all the
hngiages 68 tbree different !
“UNIQUE CANDOR” AGAIN.
This Time From “Earnest Willie.”
Editor Sunny South :
URELY every writer
among your readers
who has ever been
blessed with an original
thought, expressed in
language of strength
and beauty, will thank
you for giving, in your
last issue, that piece of
“Unique Candor,” from
the gifted poet, Mr.
Robert T. Bentley.
Not long ago, I had a
conversation with sev
eral friends on the same
subject, and hence his words struck
me with more than ordinary force. I
do believe, with him, that really an
author can, with becoming modesty,
call the attention of the public to his
or her own productions, as much so as
a tradesman to his wares or an artisan
to his workmanship.
An inventor or a machinist adver
tises the creation of his brain and the
ingenuity of his hands, as a highly
useful machine—the very acme of per
fection; and nobody ever dreams of
calling him an egotist. But let the
poet or philosopher sing and reason,
toiling with his brain and pen by
night and day, that his harp may give
forth harmonious sounds and the men
tal mill grind forth master thoughts
of strength, fashioned in fascinating
symmetry and clad in faultless attire
—just let him exhibit and commend
his own work, and he is called a “puf
fed-up egotist,” “a lord of conceit”—
“stuck on himself,” and is thought
lessly and unkindly charged with air
ing bis kinship to Shakespeare, New
ton, Milton or Burns.
This is all wrong I It is illogical!
It is senseless! Surely the world has
not thought of it as the truth of the
situation deserves and demands; and
1 hope the brave and uniquecandor of
Robert T. Bentley, of New Decatur,
Ala., will strike a new note of joy in
tbe hearts of all writers, set the peo
ple to thinking, and revolutionize the
long-continued trend and prevalence
of ideas on this subject—thus creat
ing a more popular sympathy in favor
of those thinkers and singers whose
pillows should be made softer, and
whose landscapes fairer, by the minds
they direct and the hearts that they
charm.
For tbe comfort—no, he does not
need comfort—but rather for the sake
of beiug in the companionship of such
a thinker and singer as Mr. Bently, I
give this little incident:
Some months ago while absorbed in
thought preparing an address on a
favorite theme, a thought came to me
tnat thrilled me throogh and through.
It opened a field that fairly sparkled
witn what seemed kindred gems; my
mind and soul soared and basked in
an upper realm of thought and feel
ing, and I wrote two or three pages
than which I have never written any
thing better. For Mr. Bentley’s sake
I am almost tempted to give it here,
but I believe l won’t. *
Anyway, this other thought flitted
through my mind, and I couldn’t help
it:
“Suppose you had heard somebody
else express that very same thought in
that very same language, you would
think it grand, wouldn’t you?”
Calm Reason answered :
“Yes, that is a grand thought.”
But modestly the faithful child of
training said :
“Hush-sh! Be ashamed of your
self, to be having such thoughts about
your uwd thoughts and productions.
Don’t you know it is egotistical?”
And Reason was compelled to tack
down her unwilling head, muttering
softly, but with an air of pleasant de
termination :
“I don’t care! Iam still not con
vinced, if custom does say so. If a
thought is grand, it is no barm to
think it and say so. That thought is
truth, and truth is always grand.”
Thus ended the little mental debate,
as unique as it was amusing; and
when my father came in, I told him
about it.
Of course he smiled.
Later, several friends were talking
around uiy bedside (the editor of the
Sonny South among them, I think)
and we discussed the question some
what at length. I told them that I
thought it was really not wrong for a
person to think he had had a strong
thought; for such things came to him
—came, it seemed, from without; they
are given him—they are inspirations,
hence he may commend them. And
whether they are given Dim, or he Has
patiently wrought them out himself,if
they are truth, he can still with mod
est propriety call such thoughts
“good.”
But I smilingly added that it
“wouldn’t do to say such a thing before
the world.'’
All of us present, 11hink, “conserva
tively” agreed to both propositions.
And now since Robert T. Bentley
has had the Dravery to come out and
deliberately say before the world what
a thousand writers have inwardly
thought and felt, I want to give him a
good handshake of congratulation for
his brave candor, and wish for his “In
Memonam, Mother,” that wholesome
success which its merit-equal to Ten
nyson—really deserves, and which it
would unstintingly receive, were the
autograph of England’s laureate ap
pended to it.
But while I feel and have expressed
myself thus, I do actually pity a poor
egotistical fellow who hasn’t sense
enough to sensibly commend his own
sense.
My position is simply this: Any
person who has genius enough to
write anything good, has genius
enough to know it is good after he
has written it; and without any
breach of “the proprieties,” he should
be allowed, without censure, to call
the attention of the, perhaps other
wise unappreciative world to what he
has written for that world’s edifica
tion.
The man or woman who succeeds
must have self-confidence; but ah! it
must be backed by good judgment.
A mind, with lofty, towering mast,
that thoughtfully looks out over the
turbulent waters, and then humbly
and confidently plunge into the bil
lowy sea, but wit enough of the bal
last of ‘good common sense’ to keep
the ship from toppling over—these
are indispensable elements in and fac
tors toward every phase of signal suc
cess that waits to crown the anxious,
striving mariner m the happy haven
of tis labors and his dreams.
I cannot refrain, Mr. Editor, from a
casual notice of your “Easy Chair”
reflections on “the poet” in general,
bringing you up to Mr. Bentley’s
poem.
I think it tbe best editorial in that
column since “The Voice of a Manu
script” startled and “tickled” us so
much.
I note especially these words:
“Poets are always at least human
enough to fall in love and get married;
and women are foolish enough to rush
into their arms oblivious of the hard
fact that grocers and landlords scorn
to accept drafts on the grand passion
in payment of debts.”
Ha! ha!! I will not here discuss
“the poet” and “love”. Suffice it to
say that they are almost as insepara
ble as tbe glowing sunrise and the
glad morning light.
But hear you again:
“The average business man has not
even heard that great poets are hon
ored by the learned as among the
greatest benefactors of mankind.”
Yes, and it is a striking and refresh
ing illustration of tbe one-sidedness
of their.conceptions and the laughing
“irony of fate”,tbat this same “grocer”
and “average business mau”, with in
tellect dimmed by the dust of a flour
barrel, the grease of a side of meat, or
the blinding glare of 10 per cent notes
and bonds, are right now paying their
beloved money to have their children
taught the literature that flowed from
the minds and pens of the “poor”, neg
lected poets and philosophers who
lived before—ah! and are living
still! And these same children
of this “average business man”
will grow up to pay their money to
have their own children taught in
their “English Literature,” these same
“drafts on the grand passion” which
their fathers and grandfathers ref used
to accept in the payment of debts,
from the poor, soulful-eyed man whom
they said was “no good” because “he
couldn’t do anything but write poe
try, and ‘philosophize,’ or something
like that.”
Ba, ha! I love to think about it. Un
derstand me, I believe intensely in
practical things. That is one of the
very things I am talking about—some
thing that tbe world needs, to culti
vate and embellish every prosaic
mind, and answer the pensive sigh or
give back the ringing song in her
sighing and singing hearts.
I believe in injecting true poetry into
the prosaic things of life. It will
help to make poetry less “dreamy” and
fanciful, while it wilt render the “bus
iness-like” and “practical”, less pro-
siac and dull—thus giving blessing
and pleasure all around.
Then “Amen” to the true singer and
thinker!
Thoughts will live when gold has
perished. And the true poet and phil
osopher will be remembered and loved
when the man of stocks and bonds is
no more, and the banker and his vaults
are forgotten.
Why is this so! Why is Babylon
fallen, Tyre vanished, and Palmyra
but a name?
Because, in the beautiful words of
brilliant Walter McElreatb: “The
song of the poet is louder than the
shout of tbe warrior: the dictum of
the philosopher is more powerful than
the mandate of the conqueror; papy
rus and parchment more lasting than
hills of merchandise, aud the laurel of
the singer more enduring than the
kingly crown.”
O ye of truly poetic soul, although
the dull and unthinking around you
hear you not, sing out the music in
your hearts!
Put Truth in your song, and it will
make melody and blessing in human
bosoms long after your harp has been
broken by the hand of a Deach—a
stroke that will send a new and sweet
er sound ringing and reverberating
throughout a wider sphere, and com
ing back at last to sing over your
grave, hymning through your broken
harpstrings, sweet, gentle molian
strains that can never die!
Put God and His truth in your
thought, and it may be that that
thought will prove a broad basic
stone from which will grow a grand
and towering pyramid of philosophy
and troth, whose shining summit will
pierce the ages as they over it roll.
And although the centuries shall
come and pile themselves upon it,
this golden pinnacle will continue to
shoot up through and above them all,
growing brighter, more beautiful and
more glorious still, as it climbs nearer
and nearer that God of Truth fr^m
whom the first thought sprang.
Will D. Upshaw.
Burial Alive.
The phenomenon of libernation
yields some sort of countenance to the
idea that the animal organism is capa
ble, under certain circumstances—
namely, conservation of body heat,
perfect inaction and preservation from
all external stimuli—of living for
weeks, if not months, without food or
drink; and records of prolonged fast
ing, with or without sleep, are forth
coming with the regularity of the an
nouncements of gigantic gooseberries,
sea-serpents, and eight-legged calves.
The alleged proceedings of Indian fa
kirs and Persian dervishes are cited
in support of the possibility of human
libernation in underground 'cells.
The proceedings of these gentry must,
however, be very liberally discounted.
They certainly achieve some very ex
traordinary feats of endurance and
self-abnegation.
Their efforts to set at defiance the
laws and inclinations of the body, and
by contemplation, fasting, and neglect
of the ordinary usages and require
ments of life, to mortify the flesh and
become absorbed into the divine soul,
which is, according to the tenets of
pedantism, the spring and essence of
existence, surpass physiological pos
sibility and necessarily engender im
posture, which may be conscious or
unconscious or both.
This element of imposture, involun
tary or designed, enters into ail th*ir
proceedings, and is seldom either dili
gently looked for or detected.
The love of the marvelous is strong
ly developed among Orientals, and
fakir stories must be taken with a lib
eral grain of salt.
Tales of prolonged living-burial are
common enough in India, but in no
case has the proceeding been subject
ed to scientific observation or system
atic watching; and in some instances
the grave in which the devotee has
proposed to libernate has been un
covered after the lapse of a few days
and its occupant found dead.
When, therefore, we are told that
Seymour, the thought reader, proposes
at Chicago to be buried alive, and “re
main under ground long enough for a
crop of barley to he grown on his
grave,” we incline to share the gener
al impression that, if he carries out
his plan, “he will probably remain
under ground for good.”—British Med
ical Journal, London.
FELL DOWN A WELL.
Strange Experience of a White Horse
In a Black Hole.
A white horse sitting in a upright
position at the bottom of a 20 foot
well, which was only four feet square,
was the novel sight presented at tbe
corner of Eleventh street and First
avenue south yesterday. One of
Goodnow & Lawther’s delivery wag
ons was backing up on the lawn of
Mrs. Hall, at the above corner, to
dump a load of wood. One of the
horses backed over the top of an un
used well, the existence of which was
not known by the family, and, with a
crash, the animal sank out of sight,
and there was notning to show where
he was except a black, yawniBg hole,
the edges of which were banked with
bright green sod. The pit was 20 feet
deep and so dark that the animal
could be barely seen. After two
hours’ labor the horse was hoisted out
from its underground retreat none
the worse for its sudden fall and dis
appearance.
Mark Twain’s Retreat.
Mark Twain’s Winter retreat is the
Villa Viviani, in the suburbs of Flor
ence. When he is busy over his mag
azine work he is desperately busy, but
when idle lives like a lord.
His cross is rheumatism in the right
shoulder. Clemens’ oldest daughter,
now nineteen, has every reasoa to re
pudiate her droll father, who once
trifled with his offspring to plume his
own self-esteem. It is said that, as he
sat dandling the biby on his knee,
someone asked him if he loved the
child.
“I don’t know that I exactly love
it,” the humorist drawled, “but I re
spect it for its father’s sake.”
NOT WHAT WE THINK
BUT WHAT OTHERS SAY.
We have said repeatedly that the
Sewing Machine which we sell with
Thb Sunny South is equal in every
respect to any $50.00 machine usually
sold by any agent. We have repeat
edly said that no other paper in the
United States attempted to handle as
fine a machine as this for premium
purposes.
It costs too much for the use of
most papers, as they generally want
to handle a cheaper machine on which
there is a very large profit. General
ly speaking, cheap machines, while
they may wear for five years, do not
give satisfaction for the reason that
they are not ornamental but present a
cheap appearance, as well as in mech
anism is not often found in premium
lists. The machine we sell is perfec
tion in appearance and unsurpassed
for durability. It is light running
and this fact alone should commend it
to every woman since a heavy run
ning machine will kill a woman quick
er than anything in the world.
Our machine is beautiful in appear
ance, and the longer you use it the
better you will be pleased. The
freight on it to any of the South At
lantic States will be about $2.00.
If, after you try one of our machines,
you do not like it, we will take the
machine back and refund your money.
Read what others who have bought
our machine say of it.
EQUAL TO ANT MACHINE.
Walnut Grove, N. C., May 25, 1893.
The Sunny South Publishing Co.—
Gents: The Sunny South high-arm
sewing machine I bought of you is
giving entire satisfaction, and I think
it fully equal to any machine made. I
think my machine will cause others to
buy. Yours truly,
W. B. Vaughn, Agent.
PEBTEOTLY DELIGHTED WITH IT
Gilmer, Texas, May 19, 93.
Sunny South Publishing Co.
Gents: We received our machine a
few days ago. Come in good order.
My daughter is perfectly delighted
with it. Says she has just as good
machine as she wants—regardless ot
price—and would not risk an exchange
for any other. Respectfully,
J. W. McDonald.
IT IUBPAMED HIS EXPECTA
TIONS.
Little Rock, Ark., May 22,1393.
The Sunny South Pub. Co.
Atlanta, Ga.
The sewing machine we purchased
from you sometime ago, arrived in
good condition, having been well
packed, and is certainly a beauty, in
appearance it is beyond our expecta
tions, formed from reading your ad
vertisement. The reason we did not
acknowledge the receipt ot it sooner,
was because we wished to thoroughly
test the machine first, this we have
done, and find it to be the most com
plete and satisfactory one we are ac
quainted with. It is all you claim for
it, and even more, being unusually
light running, and nearly noisless.
Respectfully,
G. A. Merrick.
No. 315 East 5th St.
▲ SAVING OF SEE.
Newberry, S. C., May 23, 1893.
The Sunny South Pub. Co.,
Atlanta, Ga.
Dear Sirs : The High Arm “Sunny
South” Sewing Machine was received
exactly on time, as you wrote—and af
ter about two weeks use of it I very
willingly say that it is very similar to
a $45.00 or $50.00 machine of the stan
dard kind, and in every particular
mst as good in my opinion, and as
good as any woman needs.
Your cnarge of $20.00 is an actual
saving of $25.00 to me, as that amount,
$45.00, is what I would have had to
pay for one equally as good.
You are certainly doing a great
benefit to the users of sewing machines
by selling such a good machine at
his low price.
I am glad to be able to add my
recommendation to that of others,
about The Sunny South Sewing Ma
chine. Yours, &c.,
Mrs. Lambert W. Jones.
P. S. Before I bought the one from
you a lady of an adjoining county
wrote me she had been using one of
yours for ten years and it was all she
could wish.
The wild strawberry is found over
almost all the Northern Hemisphere
above the thirty-eight parallel of
latitude.