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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
v • • THE • • •
SUNNY SOUTH
PUBLISHED BY THB
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Atlanta, Ga., Saturday, May 27,1899.
Indifferent to Citizenship.
• The fear of God made England, and
no preat nation was ever made by any
other fear."
.Tames Anthony Fronde. according to
The Saturday Evening Post, said this
more than ten years ago. Kipling said
the same thing in another way when he
wrote his "Recessional." lau ns stop long
enough to wonder if American polities
does not stand in need of some such
warning. Thfere was a time when whis
per. d rumor of bribery and other forms
of corruption in office brought about a
serious shaking of the public head. Nowa
days. the openly told story of a purchas
ed "honor” is laughed over. What if a
millionaire senator has bought his way
to the eminence of statesmanship? The
story arouses no alarm.
Evt ry American citizen has a life in
terest in the United States. The man
who holds stock in a railroad keeps his
eye upon the road’s management. He
thinks it over if he hears of extrava
gance, and, usually, he talks it over in
an emphatic and effective way. The own
er of 'banking interests seeks to know
the ins and outs of the house wherein his
holdings are employed. Even private ac
count of the misconduct of one of its
officials will bring the bank investor
promply forward. Publicly known misuse
of trust puts an end to a banking ca
reer.
Pamphleteers and sensational orators
have agitated narrow circles by calamity
cries, yet no one of them has touched
upon the most threatening of all our pub
lic offices—the apathy of citizenship, in
difference to the trend of his nation’s af
faire is the citizen’* confession of a hea
then confidence in himself. When hun
dreds and thousands of a country’s best
representatives smilingly accept stories of
public corruption—whether true or not—
there exists a national unhealthiness that
is a menace. Statesmanship is a word
with which we may soon dispense. Gener
ally speaking, narrowed interests are set
ting the statesman aside.
“Businesslike methods" are desirable in
the conduct of the country's affairs, no
doubt, but that system which laughs
away dishonor and jokes upon corruption
is a bad one. in sober moments the Amer
ican is apt to recognize infinite Nature,
lit' is yet likely to admit his own insuffi
ciency at the needful moment: but the
tendency is away from that humility that
succeeds, whether the goal is spiritual
or material. The tendency is toward vain
pomp and a show of power which "guard
ing. calls not thee to guard."
There is ever present in the mind of
man the germ of spirituality, it is a part
of the savage. It is in the hearts of
kings. Civilizations in high development
have reduced its potency to the destruct
ive minimum. They may do so again. The
great American nation must not become
too material in its growing arrogance.
Beethoven’s Last Play.
Beethoven’s last days, as all the world
knows, were days of disappointment and
deprivation. His resources were small,
his genius unappreciated, his hearing en
tirely gone, and—small wonder!—his tem
per was a very irritable one. He dragged
out bis life in a workhouse near Baden,
often needing the ordinary comforts of
life.
An incident connected with these last
days, an incident of the utmost pathos, is
told in Temple Bar by Alice Quarry. We
reprint it:
“He had been deaf for twenty-five
years, nearly half of iiis life, when, in
L27, a letter reached him at Baden from
his nephew, the being dearest to him on
earth. The young man wrote from
Vienna, where lie had got into a scrape
from which he looked to his uncle to ex
tricate him. Beethoven sot out at once,
but his funds were so low that he was
obliged to make the greater part of the
Journey on foot. He had gone most of
the way, and was only a few leagues from
the capital, when his strength failed. He
was forced to beg hospitality at a poor
and mean-looking house one evening. The
inhabitants received the exahusted. ill-
tempered looking, dark. gruff-voiced
stranger with the utmost cordiality,
shared their meager supper with him. and
then gave him a comfortable seat near
the fire. The meal was hardly cleared
away before the head of the family open
ed an old piano, while the sons each
brought forth some instrument, the wo
men meantime beginning to mend the
linen. There was a general tuning up,
and then the music began. As it pro
ceeded the players, the women, all alike,
were more and more deeply moved. Tears
stoic down the old man's cheek. His
wife watched him with moist eyes and a
pathetic, far-away smile on her lips. She
dropped her needlework and her manag
ing daughter forgot to find fault. She
was listening too. The sweet sounds left
only one person in the room unmoved.
The deaf guest looked on at this scene
with yearning melancholy. When the
concert was over he stretched out his
hands for a sheet of the music they had
used. ‘I could not hear, friends,’ he ex
claimed in hoarse tones of apology, ‘but I
■would like to know who wrote this piece
which has so moved you all.’ The piano-
player put before him the ‘Allegretto’ in
Beethoven’s symphony in A. Tears now
stole down the visitor’s cheeks. ‘Ah,’ lie
exclaimed, ’1 wrote it; I ant Beethoven!
Home and let us finish the piece.’ He
went himself to the piano, and the even
ing passed in a true delirium of pleasure
and pride for the dwellers in that humble
musical home. When the concerted music
was over he improvised lovely songs and
sacred hymns fur the delighted family,
who remained up far into the night list
ening to his playing.
“it was tlie last time he ever touched
an instrument. When he took possession
of the humble room and couch allotted to
him he could not sleep or rest. His pulses
beat with fever. He could not breathe.
He stole out of doors in search of re
freshment. and returned to bed in tin*
early morning chilled to the heart. He
was too ill to continue his journey. His
friends in Vienna were communicated
with and a physician was summoned, but
his end was at hand. Hummel stood dis
consolate beside his dying bed. Beethoven
was or seemed to be conscious. Just be
fore the end, however, he raised himself
and caught the watcher’s hand closely in
both bis own. ’After all, Hummel. I must
have had some talent,’ he murmured, and
then he died."
A Defence of Pretty Women-
The London Saturday Review enters the
arena in defense of pretty women. After
all it asks. Is the world so very absurd
in its love of pretty women? is women so
very ridiculous in her chase after beauty?
A pretty woman is doing it woman’s work
in the world, -but not making speeches,
nor making puddings, but making life
sunnier and more beautiful. Man has
forsworn the pursuit of beauty altogeth
er. Does he seek it for himself, he is
guessed to be frivolous, he is guessed to
be poetic, there are whispers that his
morals are no better than they should be.
In society resolute to be ugly there is no
post for an Adonis, but that of a model
or guardsman. But woman does for man
kind what man has ceased to do. Her
aim from childhood is to be beautiful.
Even as a school girl she notes the pro
gress of her charms, the deepening color
of her hair, the growing symmetry of
her arm, the ripening contour of her
che k. We watch, with silent interest,
tlie mysterious reveries of the maiden;
she is dreaming of a coming beauty, and
panting for the glories of eighteen. In
sensibly she becomes an artist, her room
is a studio, her glass an academy. Tlie
joy of her toilet is the joy of Raphael
over his canvas, of Michael Angelo over
his marble. She is creating beauty in
the silence and loneliness of her cham
ber; she grows like any art creation, the
result of patience, of hopes, of a thous
and delicate touchings and retouchings.
Woman is never perfect, never com
plete. A restless night undoes the beau
ty of the day; sunshine blurs the evanes
cent coloring of her cheek; frost nips the
tender outlines of her face into sudden
harshness. Care ploughs its lines across
her brow; motherhood destroys the elas
tic lightness of her form; the bloom of
iter cheek, the quick (lash of her eye fade
and vanish as the years go by. But wo
man is still true to her ideal. She won't
know when she is beaten, and she man
ages to steal fresh victories even in her
defeat. She invents new conceptions of
womanly grace; she rallies at forty, and
fronts us with the beauty of womanhood;
she makes a last stand at sixty, with the
beauty of age. She falls like Caesar,
wrapping her mantle around her—“buried
in woolen! ’’twould a saint provoke!"
Death listens pilit fully to the longings of
a lifetime, and the wrinkled face smiles
with something of the prettiness of eigh
teen.
His Wife Sues Him for Wages.
It is reported that an extremely inter
esting case has lately been decided by the
Indiana supreme court, establishing a n* w
principle regarding the rights of a wife.
A man in that state-who kept a shoe store
employed his wife as a saleswoman and
paid her weekly wages, which sin- saved
and invested.
When his business declined he borrowed
her money, and also failed to pay her
wages. Then he became bankrupt. His
wife presented her claim as one of the
creditors, for the borrowed money and a
year’s unpaid wages. In the old times the
claim would have been thrown out at
once. The theory of the common law gave
the wife no right as against her husband.
Her property was his. She could not testi
fy fur or against him in court in any case,
civil or criminal. There could be no valid
contract between the two for the payment
of money.
The situation has been greatly improved
by statute and by the common sense de
cisions of modern jurists. One of the last
of the ancient disabilities of the wife is
removed by the Indiana decision. The
court holds that an agreement to pay-
wages for services of a domestic charac
ter would not stand. It would be against
public policy that a man should—by prom
ising to pay his wife for washing the
dishes and for sowing on his buttons—
withhold money from his ordinary credit
ors.
But the wife was under no obligation
to become a saleswoman for her husband.
He paid—or rather did not pay—to her
what he would have had to pay to anoth-
tr: and therefore his creditors were not
injured by his employing her. Consequent
ly her claim was a good one and was al
lowed.
BILL ARP'S LETTER.
Cupid has again been busy with the hearts of the American girl abroad. The latest marriage engagement to pro
vide a subject of conversation for people in European high life, is that of Miss Julia Dent Grant, granddaughter of
General Ulysses S Grant, to Prince Cantaouzene. of Russia. The prince is one of tie.- cleanest lived aristocrats in Eu-
n,pe. The family is now Russian, but was originally Greek. The prince’s ancestor was commander-in-chief of the
Greek army in the Fourteenth century, and after the death of the Emperor Andronicus was chosen ruler of the em
pire. Cantaouzene is a favorite with the czar of Russia. The engagement is purely a love match.
Is Lying a Disease ?
Now comes a learned M. D. and tells
us what we have strongly believed for a
long time, and are entirely willing to ac-
cept as truth, viz., that lying is a disease.
We have, in fact, contended this for
many years, but, not being a learned M.
D., nobody was willing to accept our the
ory of the case. Now that it has been so
diagnosed by one of the elect, we hope
there will be no further doubt on the sub
ject.
We have contended, for instance, that
tlie man who leaves horn* in the morning
with deliberate intent to hunt up a friend
to whom he can tell a lie and thereby
get a ten-spot is a diseased individual.
We have insisted that the man who comes
home in the wee sma’ hours and explains
to his wife that he had to attend an im
portant meeting of tlie board of directors
is an afflicted mortal. AVe have asserted
over and often that the hand of disease
lias been heavily laid upon the conscience
of the criminal court witness, and that
he is not responsible for what he swears.
We have stoutly maintained, that the pat
ent medicine man is an olij. ct for pity's
thought that tlie politician is a fit sub
ject for medical treatment. \N e bave
many times proposed to administer con-
schnce drops unto the weather prophet,
it has long been our intention to recom
mend a course of physic to the horse
race tipster. AVe have felt no doubt as
to the advisability of manufacturing a
few million car loads of veracity pills for
the special use and benefit of Lie legal
profession.
Indeed, we have long been certain that
the whole world needed doctoring up
along this line, until it should reai li that
exalted plane where it could claim com
panionship with the editoiial fraternity.
AVe say we have felt these things. We
have. But we have never been in posi
tion to substantiate them before. Now
we can be bolder, and recommend a plan
of action on the part of the government
for the public relief. It is this:
Our lawmakers at Washington should
make a liberal appropriation for the
founding of a national hospital for liars.
Then congress should adjourn and take
a course of treatment. Next in order
should come tlie embalmed beef brigade.
Following this they might usher in the
Tennessee legislature. After which the
hospital might be turned over to the sole
and separate use of the Cuban anil Fili
pino patriots. When their cure shall lie
effected, then the doors of the institu
tion might be thrown open to the general
public.
This is said in all seriousness. There is
nothing about it intended to be construed
as a joke. We are living in a progressive
age, and there is no reason why we
should not take advantage of the golden
opportunities which science offers us.
We will go further than tlie « rudite M.
D. AVe asseverate that lying is not only
a. disease, but that it is a contagious dis
ease. Up at Nashville, for example, there
is just now said to be raging a perfect
epidemic of it, and our health authorities
would do well to enforce the quarantine.
Atlanta is comparatively free from it,
and should be kept so.
White House Functions.
Harper’s Bazar t-lls us that there are
nine functions, including the state din
ners, given each winter by the chief ex
ecutive. They begin with the New Year's
public reception, and finish about the
middle of February with one similar in
character, to which the whole world, if
it like, lias free and easy access. Recep
tions and dinners follow each other in hot
haste during the intervening'six weeks.
First, the cabinet dir- er during the week
of January 1; next, the exclusive and
dignified diplomatic and judiciary recep
tions. a week apart, each with its com
plimentary dinner, the diplomatic feast
1 including many guests; while at the other
I dinner only the weighty men of law on
the supreme bench and their wives par
ticipate. During the last week in Janu
ary and the first week in February the
army and navy and congressional recep
tions take place. Entree to these two
functions is possible only through the
“open sesame” of beautifully engraved
cards. The struggle for these hits of pa
per with magic words by those who hover
on the brink of White House social rec
ognition is constantly amusing—nay, even
at times pathetic, when women person
ally set forth almost whimsical pleas for
admission, with a grieved persistence, in
the offices of the mansion itself. If re
quests for invitations must be made, they
should be preferred direct to the secre
tary to the president; but, nothing hin
dered by the demands of etiquette, every
official in the AVhite House circle is im
portun'd for cards. The diplomatic and
the army and navy receptions are looked
upon as the most recherche gatherings
of the season, and. in keeping with the
rich plumage of the guests, the house is
lit' rally embowered with the rarest of ex
quisite blossoms and exotics which the
government gardens can furnish.
The floral decorations for the nine so
cial events, including the three dinners
giv n this year—and every year, for that
matter—at the White House, would draw
on the purse of a private individual, if the
flowers were furnished by professional
florists, to the amount of twenty thous
and dollars.
The Length of Human Life.
According to At. I. Holl Schooling, of
Brussels, says Cosmos, there is an old
rule for finding the length of a man’s life
the present age lies between 1? and S6
years. This is the rule: Subtract the pres
ent age from Mi and divide the remainder
by 2; tlie result will give the number of
years you have yet to live. Tills old rule
was discovered by the mathematician De
Moivre. who emigrated to England from
France in 1865, and became a member of
the Royal Society. The curves given by
M. Schooling are interesting to examine.
A first diagram shows the chance that
every man has of living one year longer
than liis present age. At birth, this
chance is 5 to 1; at five years, 119 to 1; at
ten. M2 to 1; at fifteen, 347; at twenty, 207;
at twenty-five. 156; at thirty. 120; at thir
ty-five, 97: at forty, 78, etc. M. Schooling
affirms from his calculations that of 1.000
individuals of 60 years 599 will live to be
70. 120 to SO years and 17 to be 90; while of
1.000 nonagenarians, 4 will reach their
hundredth year. We may add that for
men of 65. the average expectation of life
is 10 1-3 years.
I reckon there are eonugh philosophers
to solve the race problem and save the
country without further assistance from
me, and so l will swear off for th'- pres
ent. I don’t care much whether the negro
goes to Africa or Arizona or stays here.
If he stays here he has got to stop his
devilment or take the consequences, anti
I’m willing to trust the people on that
line. But of all the absurd remedies that
have been proposed none are more so than
a change of venue and a trial in five
days in some distant county. County lines
do not bound the fierce indignation of a
people horrified and enraged over such
fiendish work as that of Sam Holt and
AVill Lucas. And besides, just think of the
machinery that has to be set In motion
to summons and convey 30 or 40 witnesses
to a distant county, and even then per
haps no trial or a mock trial that disre
gards the forms of law and the rights of
the criminal. No, that is no remedy.
But I’ve sworn off. Let the wise men
settle it, though 1 confess I was surpris
ed when I read that Governor Candler
had just discovered that education was
the only remedy that would stop the com
mission of these heinous crimes. Accord
ing to statistics of New York and Mas
sachusetts, taken from their state prisons
and published to the world, education fos
ters and increases crime—not a little, but
immensely. The governor's theory has
been long since exploded. And right here
in Georgia the uneducated negro before
the war and for a few years after was
moral and law abiding and now there are
4,000 in the state and county chaingangs.
75 per cent of whom can read and write.
But I forbear. 1 had rather ruminate
about pleasanter things, though I must
protest against this utterly untenable ba
sis of all the negro-es being good negroes
excepting 5 per cent. Mr. Inman started
it, and I see that Bishop Gaines takes
comfort from it in his beautiful and im
pressive sermon of last Sunday. It is a
delusion and a snare. Nearly 5 pier cent
of thfir voting poupiation are now in the
chaingangs, and it is safe to say that if
every one who steals was arrested and
punished it would add 10 per cent more
to the black army of convicts. Petty lar
cenies are common in every household
where they are employed but they are
not brought to court. These little pilfer-
ings are crimes but the crimes are con
doned—overlooked—for they have some
good qualities and their 'service is needed.
It is a race trait and develops with edu
cation especially among the younger ne
groes. The records of the courts prove
that the percentage of small larceny and
burglary grows faster than their popula
tion increases. City negroes and town ne
groes are more addicted to it than coun
try negroes for they have more education
and more opportunities. The fear of the
law as it is now does not deter them. The
fear of the iash would. But we can wor
ry along with their little piiferings on the
principle that a cook we once had de
clared to me when I reproved her for
stealing: “You don’t miss what I takes."
It is the greater crimes that now give
our people deep concern and these will be
quickly and terribly avenged. Our people
especially the country people, are in des
perate earnest, and neither law nor law
yers nor the horns of the altar will pro
tect a brute in human form, whether he
be white or colored.
"But what makes my thoughts and my
pen glide along on this subject? My wife
is calling me now to come there and bring
the stepladder. -She wants the vines on
the trellis tied up, and I am the boy. That
ladder is old and rickety and I am sub
ject to vertigo sometimes. I’m afraid of
that ladder, 'but never in my life did I
admit to her that [ was afraid of any
thing, and so I will mount that ladder
with all the alacrity I can. The time was
when I had black boys and white ones,
too, to wait on me, but now 1 have to tote
my own skillet and nurse the grandchil
dren, too. There are two little ones here
half the time and they love me dearly,
and I have to stop writing whenever they
say so. They want me in the garden to
get flowers or pick strawberries or make
sand houses or mud pies or get some wa
ter or something - to eat, and I have to
follow them around or carry the little one
while my wife is making some more little
dresses for them. Their mother has no
servant and lets them come up here by
themselves to be petted while she is sew
ing or cooking or playing on the piano. My
wife and I do more work nowadays than
we ever did in our lives, but it is sweet
work and we like it. How the children
and grandchildren will get along when our
time is out and we are off duty I cannot
see. but one thing I know, "the Lord will
provide,” for “He tempers the wind to the
shorn lamb."
But about these negroes. Hardly a
day passes but what 1 hear somebody
say: "1 wish to tlie Lord that they were
all out of the country." I don’t know
about that. The iron makers and miners
and lumber men and railroad men and the
big farmers would object, for their labor
is both useful and profitable. I wish we
could scatter and apportion them all over
the country from the Atlantic to the Pa
cific. There are at least 500 in this little
town that we would like to spare, but we
would like to pick them. There are no
doubt 10,000 in Atlanta—mostly' young
bucks and wenches, who have been edu
cated and are now vagabonds—parasites
who live off the laibor of good working
negroes just as the vagabonds do here.
We have many good negroes here who are
good citizens and give no trouble, and
they' are our draymen, our carpenters,
carriage makers, blacksmiths, barbel's,
gardeners, cooks and washerwomen.
These trades are shut out to them at the
north, but the north keeps on sending
money down here to educate them and
to keep their leaders in line politically.
The truth is that all this devilment that
has of late so agitated our people comes
from politics. It is planned and designed
for party purposes and Mr. McKinley was
a party to it when he appointed negroes
to be postmasters and revenue officers in
white communities. I have had no respect
for him since he did it. They say that he
has quit it, but he has not apologized.
How much longer is he going to keep
that educated negro politician in office
at Hogansville? And yet there are thou
sands of Democrats, men and women, in
Atlanta who gave him welcome and threw
him flowers and shouted “All bail McKin
ley!" I’ve no respect for them, either. I
want to live long enough to see a man in
the presidential chair who is far above
such machine politics. They say they want
to break up the solid south and yet they
do the very things to keep it solid.
But my wife is calling me again. She
says it is about time for me to begin to
water the roses. It takes about 50 buckets
of water every evening, but the hydrant
is near by and I don’t mind it. The little
chaps try to help me with little
buckets and they get their clothes wet
and of course I am scolded for it. If they
get dirty or take cold or run at the nose
it's all my' fault. They say that I spoil
them so nobody' else can do anything with
them. I don’t care. They shall have a
good time as long as I live, for there will
'be trouble enough after I am gone.
Now, about this thing that is called
education I do not wish to be misunder
stood. Millions are wasted on it to no good
purpose. Every mother's son and daugh
ter should be taught to read and to write
and multiply. Good reading books should
be placed within their reach—books that
teach a good moral lessons, books that
exalt virtue and condemn vice—but work,
toil, industry Is a bigger thing than
j books. Modern education is confined to
the head, the intellect, and is mixed up
with training the hands to play ball and
the leg-s to run. and the boys tramp ail
over over the country to play matHi
games and the old man’s money is sp nt
for something that is not worth a cent o
the young man when he settles down to
the business of life. The average boy has
no more use for algebra or conic sec
or calculus or astronomy or Greek or
French than a wagon has for a. fifth
wheel. It is valuable time wasted. Out.-i<i .
of the professors t have never found but
one college graduate who could translate
a line of Greek or solve a problem in ge
ometry. Perhaps one in a thousand shows
a fitness for these higher branches an 1
that one should have a chance a, 1
possible, for the world needs astronomers
and mathematicians and scientists am
linguists, and will have them, even if the
acquirement has to be hammered _ '
the anvil as Elihu Burritt did AAork is
■the big thing in this practical age. >
make a living is imperative, and it is a
struggle. But to lie a great orator or po. t
or pr.acher is a gift, and like Patrick
Henry or Henry Clay or John AN “sley .
will come to fruition with or without a.
higher education. To read well and to read
wisely is the best part of an education, it
is strange that our schools do not tenth
their pupils to read—to read with empha
sis and tone and accent. Not one preacher
in ten can read a chapter or a hymn in
an impressive manner. It was his .mp
faculty of reading well that made Bishop
Beckwith a great man. it was a solemn
feast to hear him recite the litany or read
a hymn or utter a prayer. AVhy do not
th> theological seminaries teach the stu
dents to read and also something of elo
cution? It is tin imposition on a congrega
tion to have to listen to the singsong,
childish, unimpressive readings o. our
preachers.
But this is enough on this line. I fear I
am getting hypercritical. ^ ^ RP-
Authors as Talkers.
J. AVill Jackson, in the AVaverly Maga
zine, of Boston, thus enlightens us on this
interesting subject:
It is a common supposition, accepted,
usually', without much consideration, that
well known writers are generally' able
conversationalists. Remembering that
all writers of renown have something to
say worth the telling, it is perhaps par
donable if we jump to the conclusion that
they have nothing to say which is not
worth the telling; and, in a measure, we
are to be excused for our thoughtlessness
if wa think our authors, whether they
u=e the medium of pen or paper or that of
conversation, must needs be always inter
esting in making known to us the bril
liant and fascinating thoughts perpetual
ly surging through their brains.
Unfortunately for our “castles in the
air.” great writers have not been invaria
bly clever talkers. True, they have had
much to say of tin interesting character,
but we may say of many writers as Sir
Alison says of Macaulay, “He had little
sympathy with the minds or wishes of his
hearers, but poured out whatever chain
of ideas or incidents occupied his own
mind at the time, without the slightest
regard to whether it was of interest to his
auditors.” An ordinary mortal who does
that is commonly' styled a bore; if he lack
ideas altogether he is considered a fool;
but if, like Macaulay, he has ideas, and,
unlike the great author, is unrecognized
as a genius, he is called a crank. Either
way he is a bore. Charity covereth a
multitude of sins, and so, too, does
genius.
Of Thackeray, Anthony Trollope, says;
“He was a man of no great power of con
versation. He was not a man to be valu
able at a dinner table as a good talker."
Yet he could tell a good story, entertain
ing friends in a manner always pro
nounced delightful and remembered with
pleasure long years after by his auditors.
Perhaps Thackeray himself gives one
good reason why he never won renown
as a talker; and the reason is a common
place one. “He sometimes complained
that his best things occurred to him after
the occasion had passed by." AVe are all
good conversationalists but for that rea
son.
Thomas Hood was a man of reserved
nature, and though on occasions he could
talk fairly well, we have evidence that
Trollope’s description of Thackeray quite
as aptly' fits him. Dickens told a story
well, but hated argument; obviously a
great drawback to his becoming a conver
sationalist. in fact, he made himself, by
this habit, oftentimes detestable on occa
sions when conversation Is apt to flow in
any and every channel.
To comprehend in some degree the rea
son for the varying opinions prevalent as
to the conversational powers of great au
thors we may observe the diametrically-
opposed estimates of Campbell and Brou
gham with regard to Lord Macaulay.
The former, speaking of a particular oc
casion. says: “In my passage through this
world I have never met with anything so
wonderful as Macaulay's talk during the
two hours we were with him." This be
speaks Macaulay’s power to make himself
Interesting—and intensely so—when the
conversation ran in congenial channels.
When, on the other hand, the time and
opportunity required less of power and
more of versatility, we find Lord Brou
gham anathematizing him as follows:
“He is absolutely renowned in society as
the greatest bore that has ever yet’ ap
peared.”
A word or two of quotation sums up
Lord Cockburn's estimate of Macaulay in
that direction and gives us one or two
reasons why a man may be able and at
the same time not particularly brilliant.
Lord Cockburn writes thus: “His conver
sation is good, but too abundant, and is
not easy. Though the matter of his con
versation is always admirable, the style
is not pleasing."
“His style is not pleasing,” and yet a
pleasant style is one of the first requisites
in elegant conversation. With regard to
the “abundance" of his conversation, it is
on record that Sydney Smith once said to
Macaulay. “Now. Macaulay, you'll be sor
ry when I’m gone that you never heard
me speak."
After all it is hardly to he expected that
writers whose power lies along some par
ticular line of thought, should possess
that acquaintance with unnumbered
tilings, that quick wit and wonderful ver
satility so necessary to polite and grace
ful conversation. The essence of bril
liant conversation is its spontaneity while
many of our writers attain tlie excellence
of their work only by painstaking revis
ions and the most patient polishing. AVe
could hardly expect of Gray, because, af
ter forty times revising his “Elegy ’’ he
produced something marvelously worth
the telling, spontaneous beauty of lan
guage and thought in conversation. Syd-
no> Smith, it is true, was a sparkling wit
and conversationalist, hut if he had been
famous for his wit and humor in conver
sation it is doubtful whether ho would be
considered an author worthv of ranking
as a contemporary of Dickens, Thack
eray and Macaulay.
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