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THE SUNNY SOUTH 1 ATLANTA. GEORGIA* OCTOBER 7 1893
THE PAUPER.
For The Sunny South.
The scene «u bright, the daooe divine,
With music light and ladies fair:
AH seemed harmony and love,
With only kindred spirits there:
When lo 1 a pauper was announced,
Who bade him come to mar our peace/
Yet there he stands a welcome guest
To one lcne 9 throbbing heart, at least
A “Pauper”, yet bis clothes are good,
His hands are white, his brow serene,
He’s rich in friend*, he’s rich in kin.
Yet ‘ Pauper” still; what can he mean?
The word implies, some homeless wretch,
Deprived oi all the joys of earth.
Not one who towers above his kind,
And rules the world of love and mirth.
With well built frame and lordly mein,
This “Pauper” walks life’s pleasant way
Adored by all, bis path made bright,
While gently led by cupid’s sway l
Yet, “Pauper” still he loudly cries!
Nor lackiBR gifts from heaven above,
Nor home, nor friends, nor kindred dear—
But hungering for the crumbs of love.
No longer shall this pauper roam
A. stranger to the mystic kiss—
With hope implanted in nis breast.
His life shall be one endless bliss.
Sweet Charity her portals ope,
And Mercy fold in fono embrace;
Thy love enshriDed in other’s heart,
Shall find a lasting dwelling place.
This world seems brighter than of yore,
Though clouds of absence intervene;
Assurances of love received
Makes all my life a pleasant dream;
Thv look, thy voice, tny loving eyes,
•Those dear brown orbs I’ll ne’er forget!
Oh 1 what a dreary world ’twould be,
If you and I had never met.
Knoxville, Ga.
—George C. Crooks.
What Marcia Scads.
What is Marcia reading? She is
reading a fairy story. But she thinks
of other things, too. Here is what she
reads, and what her reading calls to
mind:
“The Princess who lived in the Em
erald Grotto heard the wizard’s knock,
and went to the door. (Dear me! that
reminds me that I left the pantry door
open when I went to get that ginger
bread. Suppose the kitten should get
at the milk again! Oh well! I don’t
believe she will.) “She opened the
door with the key of gold and glass,
and there stood the wizard holding the
three bags in his hand.” (I promised
to finish that bag for the children’s
fair to-morrow, but I can do it this
evening, I think.) “The wizard bowed
and said, ‘Princess, can you guess what
is in these three bags? If you can the
King of Diamonds will take you for
his wife. It not, your head must be
out off with the sabre of silver.’”
(Silver? Ob, dear! mamma asked
me to rub the silver for her
this morning, and I meant to
do it right after breakfast. I’ll do it be
fore dinner, surely.) “The Princess re
plied : ‘Well, I can guess what is in
the three bags. Wizard. The first is
of samite, and is filled with dust of
pearls and sand of sapphires. The
second is of hempen cloth, and con
tains’” (Cloth? Oh, dear! I didn’t
take that piece of cloth to Miss Snip
per, and she cannot finish my new
dress without it. I suppose I ought
to go up there now. Well, I will—in
just a minute)— “ ‘contains snake
skins and sardonyx. The third bag,
Wizard, contains nothing at this mo
ment, but it shall be filled at once.’ So
jawing, she drew the sabre of silver
and cut off the wizard’s ugly head and
popped it into the bag. No sooner
had she done this than a loud crash
was heard. A bell rang, and”—
“Ding a ling-ling, ling!” goes the
dinner bell.
“Come to dinner, dear children!”
says mamma’s voice on the stairs.
“No, Bobby; no ice cream today, for
some one left the pantry door open,
and the kitten knocked over the
oream can and spilled every drop.
Where is our Marcia? Ob, I remem
ber; she has to go to the dressmaker’s,
and that will make her late. We will
not wait. Come, little ones!”
The sweet voice passed on. How do
you think Marcia feels at this mo
ment? But I don’t suppose any of
you can possibly imagine.—Selected.
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BAB AND THE COLONEL
The Man Who Was Cleverly Dressed
as a Woman*
(Copyright, 1893. From our regular
Correspondent.)
Nbw York, Oct. 3,1893.
HAVE one friend who
is a never-ending joy
to me. He possesses
many virtues, the chief
of which is his good
manners. He has the
great advantage of hav
ing been born sixty-
five years ago, before
the world was in such
a hurry, and when gen
tility was conspioious
by its courtesy, and
brains did not excuse brutality. Once
in a while the Colonel—he earned his
right to the title fighting in the Con
federate army—gives me an outing,
and then drops in the next day at 5
o’clock to discuss it over a cup of tea
We are so used to the Colonel’s ways
that the little maid always brings in a
specially large egg-shell tea-cup for
him, and a teaspoon that bears my
grandmother’s initials. He sips his
tea and thinks out his conversation
He is the nearest to Henry Esmond of
anybody I ever met. I believe his
creed is to do his duty to his God and
honor the ladies. And I don’t think
there could be a better one.
AN ADMIRABLE DISGUISE.
The other night he took me to see
“1492.” Together we joyed over the
handsome women, the pretty scenery,
and the Colonel came in with his bari
tone voice when all the men in the
house joined Teresa Vaughn in sing
ing “Annie Rooney”; he laoghed at
the worn-out tramp, but most of all
was he interested in the handsome boy
who so magnificently made up as Isa
bella, “the daisy Queen of Spain.” As
we sat in the front row, we had a very
good view of him, or her. The next
day, over the tea, the Colonel said:
“1 could not at first believe that it
was a young man who was playing
the part of a woman, and my reason
for no$ believing it was that not i
chord or a muscle showed in the per
feet neck, that the arm was rounded,
and that the hand looked as it it were
made for kissing and not for giving
blows. After I left you, my dear,
stopped at the club and talked to some
gentlemen (all the Colonel’s friends
are gentlemen), and 1 was told that
this Mr. Harwood was a great big,
athletic, handsome boy; a graduate of
Harvard, which, after our Southern
universities, is a very good place to be
graduated from, and of extremely
good people. Then I got to thinking
about the men who in various times
had impersonated women, and it came
back to me that Will Shakespeare’s
Juliet was first played by a beautiful
boy, and that all his sonnets were
written to this same boy; and then, to
jump forward several oenturies, I re
membered when, during the war, I
slipped through the lines to Baltimore
and had a very jolly week there, going
to the theatres—yes, my dear, of
course I went to see my sweetheart,
and chanced being arrested. During
that time I saw a man who played the
part of a woman, and who was as mar
velous then as Richard Harlowe is
now. This man was named Setchell—
Dan Setchell—and I have brought his
photographs for you to look at.”
HOW SMPKESS EUGENIE DRESSED.
The Colonel arose and handed me
two little cartes de visites. One re?
presented a stout, jolly looking young
fellow, enough like Harlowe to be
some kin to him, and the other, a large
fine looking woman, sitting in an
opera box and dressed exactly as the
Empress Eugenie did at that time.
There was the elaborate hairdressing,
the low bodice, the velvet bands
around the wrists fastened with dia
mond stars, and the plaid silk skirt,
under which I could almost imagine the
hoop-skirt. After I had looked, the
Colonel cotinued, “Dan Setchell made
his first appearance on the stage as
Bernard in 'Hamlet,' at the Howard
Atheneum, Boston. He played later
on in a burlesque of ‘Leah’ at Niblo’s
Garden, and during that time it was
impossible to convince men that he
was a man. Then he came to Balti
more at the Holliday Street Theatre,
and as the town was full of Union of
ficers, the city wild went about him, be
was clever enough to go out so little
that nobody except the people who
personally knew him was quite cer
tain whether he was a man or a wo
man. Poor fellow; he had a very un
happy end. He started for New Zea
land, and the ship was never heard of.
Since that time, I, as an old theatre
goer, have seen men dressed up as
women, but nobody has so completely
mystified people as this young Har
lowe since the days of poor Dau Set-
cbeli. 1 do not know,” mused the Col
onel, “whether in view of the many
undesirable things that happen, (par
don my referring to things that ladies
are not supposed to know about), it
would not be better to have men play
women’s parts on the stage today, in
stead of subjecting frail woman to the
temptations about them.”
If it had been anybody else but the
Cslonel, I should have langhed; but
one must be very lost to a sense of all
decency when one can laugh at sin
cerity. I poured him out another cup
of tea, the sally limn came in, and,
after he had tasted and approved of it.
I had laughed and said that “if they
don’t soon decide about the Silver bill,
we will have no sugar in more senses
than one.”
THE COLONEL ON POLITICS.
The Colonel added: “Politics do
not seem a proper subject to discuss
with ladies, hut, my dear child, as we
count you the only one among six
brothers and eighteen uncles, and as
you have been forced into listening to
us before, I should like to give you
my opinion of the politics of today.
Possibly I may be severe; no gentle
man could be anything else. I have
sometimes thought that Judas was a
politician, and that the race descen
ded from him. I long ago ceased, as you
know, to vote because as I could not re
spect a man on either ticket, and then,
too, I, who know a little about my
country, see no worth in my vote
when a man who can neither read nor
write, who cannot have great inter
ests, for he does not even possess a
home, is given the liberty to choose
who shall decide what shall be done
in this country. I love my land, and
the day that the battle was over I was
ready to say that I had been beaten,
to stand under the Star Spangled
Banner, and do my best for the ruling
powers. But, my dear, I like to think
that the ruling power is my equal if
not my superior, and very often I
wish that we had a monarchy. As it
is, we are a republic under a tyranny
—the tyranny of the ward politician.
If we had a sovereign, he or she would
be properly educated, would have
been taught how to choose the right
men for the right place, and the
ambition of every man would be to
own a home and gain a vote. In the
days of the great Louis, it was said
that the people trembled before the
king, and that the king trembled be
fore God. Nowadays our rulers trem
ble before nobody, and when religion
goes out there comes anarchy and
poverty. You think I exaggerate?
My dear, some time in future years,
when you come way down to Virginia
to put a few flowers on the earth
above me, you will know that I am
telling you the truth.”
TBE PROGRESSIVE YOUNG WOMAN.
I suggested some more hot cake to
keep the colonel from getting too
serious, and then I asked him if he
had gone to a reception, to which he
had been invited, and how he had en
joyed it. But again I had struck the
wrong keynote. “I did not enjoy my
self at all; no self-respecting man can
enjey himself when he sees women
lose^all sense of their birthright—
gentleness and quietness. A young
woman was there who appeared in
what she called reform garments,
which, as well as I could see, oonsisted
of a dress not unlike that worn by
the Turkish women, but lacking the
femininity they give it by loading it
with jewels and gold. This progressive
young woman wore full trousers and a
blouse, made of plain cloth; a linen
collar and linen cuffs, and her hair
was cut short. She did not walk
gracefully; she swaggered. She die
not talk well, because she was shrill;
she did not look like a handsome boy,
a pretty woman or a man, but that
something which nature abhors, a hy
brid.
Much against my will, I was pre
sented to her, and she immediately
began to tell me of the ease of the cos
tame, of the speech that she had made
before many thousand people, and of
her hope for the future woman. 1
asked her very quietly if she had any
children. She answered:
“Certainly not; the bearing of chil
dren is left to the lower classes en
tirely.”
Then I asked her from whence she
expected the coming woman. My
dear, I don’t think she liked me, and
yet I was polite to her. Not that I
wished to be, but because I had been
told she was a woman, and I was bound
to respect the sex of my mother.
She talked a great deal about her
lectures; about what she had written,
and about the needs of the woman ol
to-day, and, strange as it may seem,
she entirely ignored the needs of the
man. After I went away, I tried’ to
think her out, but I couldn’t, and
when I read my chapter in the jn ew
Testament that night about the wo
men who waited at the tomb for their
Saviour, this type seemed a blot on the
universe, and tor once in my life, just
for the first time, my dear, I wished
that a woman might be brutally treat
ed. They tell me there are more like
her. But I don’t like to think so.”
THI WRETCHED BOOKS OF TODAY.
We kept quiet for a little while and
drank our tea with meditation. And
then the Colonel said:
“What is the next century going to
do for books? Last week when I had
the rheumatism so badly, the kindly
young man at the book shop sent me
up what he called the latest novels.
Every one of them had a motive. The
motive of one was:to kill all belief
the motive of another was to use big
words that required a dictionary to
make them clear; the motive of anoth
er was to show man’s greatness and
nature’s littleness, and the motive of
another was to paint all women as
vile; all men as cowards; all life as
wicked and no hereafter. There was
not a single one that had for its mo
tive to interest and amuse, so I hob
bled over to my own old books, and I
spent a day with Becky Sharp, and
forgot my pain with Mr. Pickwick,
and fancied myself in love
again as I lingered over Her
rick, and realized what good plays
were with Shakspeare and Congreve
and Wycherley. And yet people who
claim to know a great deal say that it
is the time of great intellect and cul
ture. Why, my dear, to amuse is a
mission, but the writers of today don’t
seem to think that. Sometimes when
things go a little wrong, I get to
thinking, and my faith is a little
shaken (of course, my dear, being a
woman, and as every woman should
be close to God Himself, this never
happens to you); and then to straight
en me up, I want to pick out some book
that will make life seem better and
brighter, and my faith stronger; but
there is no book of today that will do
that. And even in their unbelief, the
writers of today are so vulgar. What
does it all mean? I hope and I pray
that it is a sign that we are reaching
the extreme end of it all, and that the
rebound will come; that men believ
ing only in themselves will find out
how little worth they are; will en
trust their faith to women and chil
dren, and, after that, to God Himself.”
THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER.
I asked the Colonel: “Do you be
lieve absolutely in prayer?”
And he said: “My child, what
would become of me if I did not? In
those days when one set of brave men
was fighting another, I thought con
tinually of the sweetheart |who was
waiting for the war to end, and for
me to come back and claim her as my
wife, and every time this thought
came to me, even if it were on the field
of battle, I said a silent prayer for her
and for me, and I am sure that my
prayers were answered. When peace
was declared, I went back; I found
my own true girl waiting for me, and
in a little while she became my wife
I had a year of happiness, and when
my son came into the world, my wife’;
eyes closed, and we were left alone
You remember my boy; how I named
him after the greatest general and the
finest Christian gentleman that ever
lived, Robert Lee; and you remember
how, when he was old enough to be
my companion and my friend, it seem
ed as if his mother called him, and I
was left alone. My dear, you were
with me that day; it was your hand
that closed the eyes, tired so early of
looking on this world, and you
know that though I suffered
because of the loss of my
boy, I knew that it was all right
Gradually all who belonged to me
have gone from me, and today you
alone, of my blood, are here. If I did
not believe in prayer, how could I be
happy? If I did not believe in pray
er, how could I hope to be good enough
to join those dear ones who are wait
ing for me? If I did not believe in
prayer, how could I hope to live as
gentlemen should, trying to do that
which is right and respecting the
right of my fellow man? Only fools
deny the value of prayer.” There
were tears in the Colonel’s eyes, and I
think both of us saw the same picture
—the handsome boy who went to sleep
so early in his life. Then the Colonei
arose to go, and as he said good-bye
smiles chased away the tears, and he
told me he was afraid we had gotten
to talk on sombre subjects, but that he
was coming to see me very soon, go
ing to be very merry, and that he was
planning at that very time a frolic for
us. He stooped over and kissed my
hand, made me a bow, and was gone
FROM SUBLIME TO RIDICULOUS.
Just then the card of “Mr. Algernon
Neville,” was brought in. I threw it
aside—“Say that Madame Bab begs to
be excused.” Then I frowned; Ne
ville, with his petty attempt at unbe
lief—Neville, with his silly talk about
chorus girls—Neville, whose thoughts
began with the tailor and ended with
the divorce courts—Neville, who killed
a woman’s character with a smile or a
sneer. I could not endure it after the
Colonel. It was like taking a glass of
miserable, weak, sickening, doctored
wine, after one of full, rich, fruity
Burgundy, that had gained color and
bouquet as the yeais iolled on, and
which could do nothing but make you
feel kinder and more in harmony with
gentlemen and ladies. Not as Neville
would say, with men and women.
Don’t you think I was rignt? And
won’t you ask to be excused from
meeting the Nevilles of the world, as
did your friend Bab.
bsihesI
JOTICES
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