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M
TtiK MACON TELEOKAPHi pUNDAY MORNING, JUNE 16. 189.1.
CiTsABtTrtTiJLCcK'
OTos^rSfc,
1*86. bjr ]Uch«n«r, Johnson Si
Baoh«U«r.)
Moortc* Ingraham strayed into Gou-
pll’e, as he did nearly every day. In or
der to Indulge In a quarter hour of
homesMuMes for the paradise of art
frcgfi wnoli ho had been exiled by
means or a rich legacy. When one
/alia heir to the ostate of a childless
uncle worth several millions It de
prives him of the dclfolous makeshifts
and economies and excursions ot the
guild of painters. It has boen said that
champagne tastes and a beer Income
pil'd that they had not seen It, and did
not know whether it was sold or not.
If It is I shall try to get It away from
Its present owner. I must have It at
any price.”
'1 am glad that you llko the paint
ing. But the original Is not for sale.”
"Indeed, I cannot wonder that you
are In love with it yourself, and wish
to keep it. .But could you let me have
a replica?"
"Possibly.'*
"You would have no objection to
I aOT THE KODAK.
nro a oause of miseries. But an Income
which sccniM to eonutritln to champagne
all the time might prove tf'iunlly
oppressive. Ingraham was conscious
that the men who had worked beside
him In a certain famous studio In Paris,
now that he was rloh, tried very har6
to treat/hlm In the old oordlal way.
But he felt the 1 patronage of art toward
money, which Is loftier than that of
money toward art.
That morning he spied at, OoupU's a
photograph of moderate a
landscape signed by Reformer fellow
student of his. Victor Forsyth*. Their
friendship hud continued, hut pallidly
and Intermittently. Forsythe iiad mar
ried; tho wife was said to be a very nice
girl, but not at all of tho smart net. In-
graham had sent a rnther expensive
wedding gift and had meant to pay a
visit. Then he heard that tho Forsythes
were out of town for the Summer. Evi
dently the artist hud profited by his
vacation; the photograph from his
painting showed a work of rare
quality. it was a riverside meadow,
with a clump of willows: the stream
had shadowy depths and luminous ed
dies; some sheep were pasturing In the
foreground. Nothing could o more
simple and serene than this Idyllic
landscape—yet Ingraham's first Impres
sion was of something grandiose. After
a moment this quality disappeared;
but If he turned away his gaze and then
looked afresh at the picture It always
made tho name effect upon him. He
dodder! that It was something about
the background; there were vague,
large curves, perhaps of cloud or of dls-
i-.nt hills; at nil events, they were
extraordinarily Imposing In their faint
and tenuous suggestions of Immensity.
"There !h one vulgar consolation re
served for the bondholder," said Ingra
ham humbly to himself. VHo can buy
what pleases him and at the same time
entourage art"
He at onoc decided to lunch at an
Italian restaurant frequented by the
painter clique who liked to recall tho
Impressions of a sketching tour that
they had once made In a body to Home
and to talk of the coloring of the great
Campagna. the unapcakAblo grandeur
of the ruins, the good taste of tho
tinea of tho country, which they
drank under the vine trellises of a little
... you say."
Ingraham drew out Us check book,
signed a page, tore It off and banded
It to Forsythe.
"Oh, carte blancho Is too much,"
protested tho artist.
"Too little, by Jove! I want that
landscape. I have ordered one of tho
photographs framed and sent to my
rooms; hut, of course, It must lack
the touch .and the colors of the real
thing—tho silvery green of tho wil
lows. tho olive depths and the amber
lights of the water, tho blue of tho
marsh lilies and of the heavens above
them" —
"I painted It In monochrome."
"But you hit the values marvelous
ly. What was the tint?"
"Well, a kind of reddish brown."
"Not sepia?"
"No."
"Burnt sienna?"
"Not exactly."
"Umber?”
"Well, hardly.”
"AH right, tho coloring Is your little
secret. But I have not yet spoken
of tho real wonder of your work, For
sythe. Willows and streams and
sheep feeding have been seen before
now. But there’s more to It than that.
You hsv»» painted In thern some great
dim curves. They are more than hu
man; they are titanic, ns If you had
seen for one Inspired moment the
great cartli-mother herself behind
her creation—something, un Swlnburn
s«y*: 'Tho solemn slope of mighty
limbs asleep.' I am bound to admit,
however, that now you seo It and now
you don't." notod the rich man,
ashamed to be caught In a rapturous
citation of poetry." Anyhow, Forsythe,
that picture Is like a glimpse Into the
morning of tho world, the primeval
myths.’:
Whereupon the artist laughed cnyly.
filled out the check with very moder
ate figures and handed It back to In
graham.
"You shall have the replica, my dear
fellow; but I don’t take the money
beforehand. Thank you for all the
nice things you have been saying.
But, upon my wo;d. I’m not responsi
ble for the titanic curves. They were
accidental—no, not that, either—lncl-
tiop .of Mount Desert. At the end of
our vacation we stayed a few days in
the city of Fort bind, aod while there
we made a little excursion in a horse-
oar to a pretty village with an ol$ Eng
lish name. The conductor was friend
ly. and advised un to walk along a road
until we should come to a mtlldam;
there we should find a little steamer
ready to take ua three miles upstream
to tho fog-boom.
"The place was charming. It bad an
air of exquisite remoteness. Of course,
a highroad, houses, a milldam, a
steamer and various smart canoes near
a boathouse seemed to testify to the
neighborhood) of human beings. But
the stream and its shores, lovely bits
of level meadow with shady copses of
willow and alder, the complete stilly
ness, except for tho impertinent puff-
Ing of the little launch, were like a
virgin country. My wif*? and / wished
to enjoy It to perfection, so we disem
barked at the log-boom and told the
captain of tho steamer that we would
wait over a trip. Ho answered that
if we came again to the boom within
ap hour and forty minutes that would
connect with his boat and with the car
back to tt* gt)r. Bo my wife and I
strayed over the meadows and wished
that we ha/1 brought the. sketching
outfit, and lh*-n sat down on the grass
and made all sorts of plans for our
future,"
"And the majesty of the' distant
mountains slowly Impressed itself upon
you ns they loomed In the hack-
ground ?"
"Not at all. I do not think that there
were any bills In sight. We were so
engrossed that we did not notlco the
uprising of a bank of threatening
clouds’’—
"Ah, I seo! It waa their outlines”—-
"Outlines nothing!" It was their wet
ness, their profuse, inopportune, wrung-
out^fnonvall-the-«ponges-of-the-sky wet
ness! In a moment we were soaked,
our Ahoes squelched, the color of the
blue cornflowers In my wife’s bat
dripped down upon her neck. We were
a sight to see. I fancy that the cap
tain of the launch thought of our plight
and made 'oil haste to rescue us—but
tho time seemed long to us. However,
we tried to take It as a Joke. But the
jocularity ceased the next day. when
my wffe developed a case . of acute
bronchitis. A physician was called,
who pronounced H a trifle, if treated
promptly. He prescribed a mixture tor
the cough, and tofd me to paint her
back, between the shoulders, with
Iodine.
"Bo, with a phfal of tincture of iodine
and a small oameVs-halr brush, I set
to work. My anxiety for her was re
lieved, tho Impression of the beautiful
solitary landscape that we had seen
was fixed upon my mental retina—and,
first that I knew, I was painting that
scene In ipdlne monochrome on the
shoulders of tny patient! I declare to
you, Ingraham, I had completely tor*
. that I was not polntlr;
A DAY WITH JOHN L, SULLIVAN
The Ex'Ohampion 8aya Some Mighty
Interesting Things.
VAIN REGRETS AND FUTURE PLANS.
He Will Never Train Again) but Wants
a Quiet Little Hotel, Where He
Cun Get Fat and Have a
Good Time.
gotten t
r on can-
MR SAW FORSYTHB QUIT* ALONG AT THE TABUS.
©Merit. As Ingraham entered the
restaurant he saw Forsythe quite alone
at a table. He crossed the room and
greeted him.
"If you are not expecting any one.
Forsythe, will you lunch with met
This Is rather like eora Clella’s, Isn’t
itr
"A fair Imitation. But we ml** the
fellow with the guitar and worthy old
delta, who would sometimes bring a
dleh with her own bands to order to
say to us 'good appetite, my children!" "
’ Ah' the dear old eora della!"
They mingled reminiscence* until It
appeared to Ingraham that It would not
be an Impertinence on hie part to be
gin to talk about the painting that he
wished to buy.
"Forsythe," he said. "I have Jwet
sees at OoupU’s the photograph of a
most remarkable picture of your*. It
Is wonderful, beyond prntae. You have
struck a new manner, and your flrst
manner was the <Wpatr of the rest of
us. But this landscape Is great Let
me My plainly, and grf ov#r th» ortjA*.
ness of the situation, that 1 want to
buy the original. They »atd at Oou-
dental. They were, In fact, caused
by the particular canvas, so to speak.”
"Nonsense, that cannot be so. How*
ever, to content you. I will admit that
you pointed better than you knew.”
"Yes; that picture urns tho result of
the habit of handling a brush. Neither
more nor lees."
"Forsythe, you used not to have
these little affectations. I>on’t try to
make me believe that a man can paint
like that without a real Inspiration.
You divined, you saw that prodigious
curve, os of a colossal beautiful
shoulder. It may have been originally
a mountain or a cloud; but you. lucre
softened and made It mysterious—a
thing to worship!'
"Come, now, I will tell you all about
It, because it will really not do for you
to keep on raving about a stroke ot
non-extetont genius. Well, this was the
way of tt. Mrs. Forsyth* and I went
away for our wedding trip as far m
the State of Maine. We vleUi.d the
groat lakes—which they modes’ly call
*w»nda therw—wo plunged Into the pine
wildernesses end turned up «unor.g the
too compendious scenery and clvthso-
pnpwmmm ng on
vaa Instead of a human surface, like
\shicken-akln, delicate, white,’ as Aus
tin Dcbeon sings of the Pompadour's
•fan. My wife, wondering at the length
of the application, at last inquired, ’But
have you not almost finished, Victor?'
And I, still oblivious, replied, ‘A few
more touches, and It will be ready to
frame.’ She gave a funny little hoarse
shout of laughter—my wife had a sense
or humor. Then I, too, saw • the Joke.
She ran to the dressing table. and, by
moans of a band-mirror, surveyed her
shoulders. •Why, this Is a lovely land
scape!’ eho said. Tt is too good to lose.
Find my kodak, Victor, it Is somewhere
In one of the trunks, and photograph
your masterpiece' before it begins to
fade out.’ Bho was delighted; the Iodine
and the fun togetft’e? soon citfed her
cold, so that in a few Ways we came'
home to Now York. • >**•*
"Of course I had the photograph en
larged, and It succeeded so well that
I placed a few copies In OoupU’s, hop
ing that some of my ftlends would like
them. The original painting has long
slnco disappeared; I shall muke your
replica from the photograph: / And I
shall try to recall the silvery greens
and tho sombre olive-browns which you
rightly attributed to the landscape."
"But all this does not acoount for
those grandiose, superhuman curves,
tho visible presence of the earth-god
dess."
"Ah, I rubbed down the outlines all
that I could. But It 1s not easy to ob
literate in a photograph/ Those curves
—I told you they, wore owing to the
shape of tho canvas. My wlttfta shoul
ders, of course, came out large in pro
portion to tho landscape painted on
them. Sho Is not titanic, nor even, per-
hrtim, n goddess. But she Is an extra
nice little woman, all'the-same.’’
Dina's Admirers.
The recovery of the President of Mex
ico from h1s recent Illness, which ap
pears to be complete, was not allowed
to pass un-
marked by bis ,/j
admirers in *-•'
Now York. Tho
Mexican resi
dents are not
many In num
ber here, but
the New York
ers Interested In
tho , republic's
a ff a i'r e arc
quite numerous,
and they caused
a ecrlcs of con-
grutulutory res
olutions (•» !*«• engrn.ssi-a and stint to
Diaz. Now Yorkers of prominence
who have nut tho Mexican President
In terms of the highest pnilt;.* of
his regard for our fellow citizens.
There was a time when Americans
were treated rather cavalierly in Mex
ico, but when our State Department
addressed ft remonstrance to the re-
publlo on the subject, the matter was
courteously acknowledged, and for a
long time this form of annoyance has
not been visited upon our fellow crea
tures. \V. fiewnrd Webb's Mexican
party received numerous attentions,
and ether New Yorkers have been sim
ilarly honored. Dias has quite a col
lection of old china, n fad which he
gratifies by occasional purchases In
New York through agents, a fact
which causes some of his critics to
dub him the pursuer of greatness and
china.
DIAZ’S PURSUIT:
Rockefeller Relatives. <
The announcement of the probable
marriage of a daughter of the million
aire house ot Rock,
efeller has attract
ed the attention of
all the poor rela
tives of the family,
and there are a
great % many of
them* Theta rela
tives are not
among the least
of the family
tribulations. ‘ The
Rockefellers have
been very good to
their less fortunate
.^■kinsmen and
ROCKEFELLER HEL-
ATtvas. West they have
relatives well placed In the world
through their Influence. But there is
tlon of tho country In which
pseudo relatives are quite numerous,
and they assert the kinship, notwith
standing that the Rockefellers them
selves do not admit 1L
*"
"Fly," he hoarsely whispered. "Fly.”
The luaMrn anted at him In amaxe.
He continued pointing.
Following the direction Indicated by his
outstretciml digit, eho saw tho unhappy
Insect kicking Us last kick In the cup of
coffee.
After that he ceased to exclaim.—In
dianapolis Journal. ,
A Ylxorona Oration.
"I don't suppose that other na'lons cel
ebrate Memorial Day," eurmieed Mrs.
Snaggs.
"Wasn't U a of deck oration day
when Lord Nelson told his brave sailors
that Bnxland expected every man to do
hi* duty?" asked Mrs. finsggs.—Pittsburg
Chronicle Telegram.
(Copyright, 1866.)
OSTON. June 15.—
The world In pret
ty well satisfied
that John L. Sulli
van will never
again cut much of
a figure In the fis
tic arena, but nev
ertheless the world
seems to be Inter
ested In him and
his sayings and
doings. This is not
in the sur-
prlalng, for, with all his faults and
shortcomings. John L. Is an Interest
ing fellow, and. In his day, was un
doubtedly the best fighting man the
world had ever seen. Recent devel
opments, which seem to render a con
test between Corbett and Fitzsimmons
probable, throw an almost pathetic
light upon tho Boston giant, whose
friends and himself believed him in
vincible until his meeting with Cor
bett at New Orleans on Sept. 7, 1892-
Till that day Sullivan was capable of
making as much money with hla fists
every year as Dr. Depew can by per
forming the functions of railroad presi
dent and tchief spokesman! for the
Vanderbilt family. When at bis best
the fighter could earn twice as much ua
the President of tho United States, but
■Inoe his first and only defeat Sulli
van's earning capacity has -dwindled
sadly. At no "time Indeed has he been
unable to make enough to pay the way
of half a dozen ordinary men, but In
the days when every blov/ of his ter
rible death mauls meant dollars he
learned to spend money in the most
preposterously lavish fashion, and some
two or three months ago the one time
champion awoke td the disgusting fact,
one morning, that ho waa practically
penniless. His days of the unlimited
harvesting of "all kinds of money" are
paseed, as he well knows, and it there
fore became an Immediate question
with him as to what he should do next.
His sister owns several houses In Bos
ton, which yield a pretty fair. Income,
to a sharo of which ho la properly wel
come, since they were bought with a
small fraction of his earnings as. a
boxer, and he has a little farm some
distance out .of town. For a brief
space he dreamed of retiring to this
to live on and have a pretty goCu time,
too. I shall probably stay in Boston,
because I know more people here; be
sides my sister, who wants m« to be
near her, lives here. I like New York
pretty well, and I might do well here,
but I think I’d do beat here.
"Now, about this whisky drinking
business," growled the ex-chaxnpton,
bringing bis massive fist down upon the
table with a mighty blow, "It don't go,
see? Not with me, any more. I’ve
found out that It don’t pay, and, say,
that’s enough for rne. It’s my own
business how much whisky I drink, and
nobody else’s, and that’s all right, but
I’ve had enough. I quit the last time
about three or four weeks ago and I
haven't touched a drop since. Some
(folks car. guzzle whisky for a hundred
years and seem to be all right, but
when I drink whisky It unfits me for
brain work; makes my head thick, see?
So I've made up my mind to let it alone
for a year, and If I can do that, why I
can go clear through, that’s all. Why,
you can have a lot more fun if you
don’t drink whisky. You ain’t fit for
anything when you’re drunk. If I
hadn’t been foolish about booze I’d bo
a very wealthy man, but my money’s
gono now and I'm Just about as good as
dead broke at this minute.
"There’s one thing about me, though/'
the "Champ" said complacently, "my
appetite Is always good. Breakfast Is
my big meal, and all day after that
It makes mo hungry any time Just to
sc-e anybody else eat.
IIE WILL NEVER TRAIN AGAIN.
"It's because I like good things to eat
so well," continued the Big Fellow, bit
ing off about half of his cigar, which
had gore out while he was giving Ills
views on whisky, "that I get fat so
quick after I stop training, and that I
hate so much to train. I weigh 233
pounds now, but I ought to weigh less
than 200 pounds to fight- When I was
at my best I weighed only 100. Why,
I'd rather fight forty times than to
train for one single go. At tho worst,
when you get a ticking, you suffer a
little pain, but when you're training
you go through all the tortures of hell.
I wouldn’t do It again for all there Is
In the fighting business ten times over.
Besides, I don’t know that I could get
myself In condition again. I naturally
run to fat. I always get heavy in hot
weather. I’ll weigh moro than 280 be
fore the end of next August After I
whipped Paddy Ryan I ran right up to
"Why, It would take me a good eight
months to put myself in shape. How
would I do It? Well, the only way I
can diink of would be to go to Hot
Springs, Arkansas, and Ue around there
and boll myself out 4n the hot mud for
about two months.
"After I had gone through that, I'd
have to go to Colorado, or some other
high ground, where the air Is first class,
and get a horse and gun and ride and
climb the mountains and hunt and fish
for two or three months. That would
make me tough and give me heart and
power to ‘stay.’ Hut I wouldn’t b?
ready to fight yet. r I’d have to give up
eight or ten weeks to hard walking,
JOHN L. SULLIVAN, AS IIB IS TO-DAT.
tie the rest of his life; but ho soon
thought better bf It. and now says of
the statement that he meant to turn
farmer that he made It one day for the
benefit of a reporting friend, "who was
short of a story, see?" when the ex-
champlon could not think of anything
else. ,
A few days later Sullivan burned his
right hand painfully 1n an unsuccess
ful attempt to save the life of a woman
whoso clothes had caught fire. It was
a bravo deed and In its performance he
displayed unusual strength, for, In or
der to get something with which to
smother tho flames, ho had to rip a car
pet from tho floor. Directly niter that
ho went Into retirement, from which
ho has now emerged, clothed In his
right mind, his Injured hand quite
healed and with his plans for the fu
ture rapidly’ maturing- Yesterday, he
expounded these plans and his views
upon a diversity of subjects for the
delectation of tho readers of this news
paper.
JOHN L/S FRIEND HOGARTY.
When I pulled the boll at the modest
cottage at No. 87 Brooke avenue, where
John L. lives with his married sister,
the servant who answered my ring
said that I would be apt'to find him
"at Mr. Hogarty’s. of course,” adding
that sho supposed every ono knew
about Hognrty’s, on Dover street
William Hogarty, barber and sport,
Is proud to be considered John L/s
best friend, and William Hogarty’s
barber shop is, therefore, the chief re
sort of John L’s worshipers. It was
there that I found the champion—call
him not "ex”—at Hogarty’s, enjoying
the luxury of a shave at Mr. Hogarty’s
own hands. . ' „
Concerning tho prefix of "ex to the
Big Fellow's title, it Is explained at
Hogarty’s that, according to the de
cision of the Clipper, unquestioned au
thority In sporting matters, .John L. it
still In fact champion fist fighter, Stnoe
he has never been defeated in a bare
knuckle fight Mr. Corbett may be
champion glove ’fighter, and he la
welcome to that title, but until the bare
knuckle championship Is taken from
him as be got It, Mr. Sullivan's friends
consider him tho only -fighting cham
pion worth talking of.
JOHN L. SULLIVAN ON INTEMPER
ANCE.
When the devoted Hogarty had made
the "Chamj'V’ fa-'* smooth—he wears
no mustache at present—the Big Fellow
led me away to a quiet little room at
the end of a labyrinth of passages in
Gay's Hotel, hard by, for a talk on the
past, the prosnt and the future.
First of all he declared himself an ab
stainer henceforth. He does not Intend
to be a fanner. He does not propose
to box extensively In the years to come,
he will never again fit himself for the
ring, and he has little notion of doing
much more play acting.
"What I want,” said he. at the same
time ordering two bottles of mineral
water, "Is a nice, quiet, comfortable
hotel bualxmfc.:l.%ant some such *
place as this one, see? I think I could
make a dollar or two wUh It—enough
light dumb-bell exercise, weight pulling,
skipping tho rope, etc. But I shall
never do It again.
WHY CORBETT WHIPPED HIM.
"One great mistake fighters are apt
to make Is to reduce too fast, and an
other la to think that when they have
got themselves Into outside shape and
their extra weight Is gone they are
all right Well, say, they’re all wrong,
see? When a man fats up, he gets fat
on the inside, as well as on the outside,
and that makes him drink more and
swells him up and that and the fat in
side mine him for fighting. If he re
duces after that, some of the Inside fat
stays and he oan’t last. Why, when I
fought Corbett I worked sixty-five
pounds off In fifty-five days, and of
course I wasn’t In good condition, nor
anything like it while Corbett was
thoroughly fit. My measurements now?
Well, I wear a 21-lnch collar, ray chest
Is 40 Inches, stomach 44, hips 45, thigh
20, calf of the leg 15%, bloepa lOW
"Corbett? Oh, he’a well enough, but
he hasn't got a brain as big
as that," and John L. held up
the ball of his thumb, adding,
"but he’s been well steered by
Brady, his manager, who Is a mighty
level-headed* fellow, though I don't
speak to him. I knew Brady when he
was a newspaper butcher on tne rail
road trains. He knows hla business,
see? But, say, Corbett don't know a
little. If he does, why did he make
such a fool of himself the other day
In his talk about Fitzsimmons? Cor
bett and Fitzsimmons? Well, Corbett
ought to win the Fitzsimmons fight.
Will tt over come off? Well, that’s an
other story.
"The best young fighters to-day?
Well, in his class I should say the
"Myterious" Smith Is as good as any
now before the public. In his class
Mahei has as good a Chance as any of
the rising pugilists, I should say. He
weighs from 175 to 176, Is five feet
eleven and a halt Inches tall, and has
a good reach and youth and first-class
health In his favor.
VAIN REGRETS.
"Say,” said Sullivan, vehemently,
"some folks may think tt’s a snap to
fight a prize fight, but It alnt. You
have to spend months of torture get
ting ready for it. your friends put up
a lot of money on you, and you have to
mu the ri?k of losing their frlendFhip
as well as your reputation and your
P • w.• r ?■•» make money. If you do lose,
you ain’t In It any more. Even If you
win, you don’t get much. Why, my bit
after I whipped Paddy Ryan was only
$7,500, including everything. No, no; it
ain't the fighting that brings the
money, only In the way of reputation,
so that folks will pay to see you do
exhibition work. I suppose I have
earned about $1,000,000, all told,
though I don't know the figyre% ex
actly. and, say. I wish I had some of
It left now. Well, most of that I won
in exhibition work of 4 one sort or an
other. That Includes n\y dramatic
work and alL
"How did my money go? Well, va
rious ways," and the ex-champion
l&nched savagely, draak half a bottle
of mineral water and _
badly chewed cigar. "I spent
fitting and stocking up ray Wi _
ton street ssflooa here in Beaton.
I hadn’t been foolish, Pd have
place now. Why, I might had any
thing I wanted In this town. Boms of
the best men In Boston have backed)
me. I might have gtwie to OongraMj
all right, as everybody known, .and Ij
was pretty well stock on tt» Itax
one while. But you know. When t
o&me to think It all out and to realise)
that a Congressman gets only 5,000
bones a year, while I could make five i
times that boxing, why, I coirtdn t see
any good going to Washington. But a;
have sometimes wished 1 had. 1% ‘
would have given me position.
SULLIVAN, THE ACTOR. 1
"Acting? Well, I liked stage Mfo first!
rate, but, say, to bo a good actor,, you;
SULLIVAN IN 1881.
(From his favorite photograph, copyrighted btf
must begin young, and have the nat*
ural ability, Jiurt as it was with me;
boxing. The trouble with our American
people Is they don't want to wait, and
so they go on the stage and try big;
parts right away, and that’s why wo
have to many bum actors.
"Well, now, when I went on the
stage I didn’t try to be anybody but
John L. Sullivan. I didn’t copy no
body. I Just said my lines and went
through tho business of ray part, and
that’s all there was to it. I wasn't
any more nervous the flrst night I went
cn than I am now, see? But I did have
some bother for awhile with my hands.
I didn’t know what to do with them.
No bother when I was talking, but;
when I had to stand round and hear
the others talk my hands were in my
way, and they used -to get In my pock
ets. Well, I told a professional friend’
of mine named Scott Marblo about it.
Ho asked me hadn’t I heard about
^furniture actors.’ I never had, but
Scott Marble put me on at once.
" ’Say,’ he says, ‘it’s like this. Now
you stand still like a Stoughton bot
tle, while the others talk, don’t you?J
Well, you can fix everything all right
by leaning on tho back of a chair at'
such times, or by walking up to a Clo
ture on the wall and looking at it likar
you was the art critic of a newspaper,,
or taking a comer of the tablecloth itv
your thumb and forefinger, and feeling
of it to see how flee ft Is!
"Well, that was a great scheme. It
worked, and I didn’t have any inora
trouble. But I don’t expect to act much*
more. I don't want to do anything
that means travel. I’ve been in two or
three railroad accidents; once when I.
was going to Australia the ship Marin
posa ran on a rock Blxty miles from,
Auckland, and once when I was com-*
lng to Boston from Europe on the Cat*j
alonla we ran into a frightful storm,
and were delayed for day a No, sir*
I don't want to travel any more.
MEN JOHN L. ADMIRES.
"Yes," and the corrugated brow
smoothed out and the thick Ups relaxed:
Into a smile, "I have met a good many!
big men in my time, and got to know*
them well. There was Roscoo Conk-
ling, tor Instance. When I had my.
place at. 59th street and Seventh ave*
nue, near Central Park, about six]
months before the old man took sick,
and died from 'exposure during ,VbiO
blizzard, he used to coma In £nd seej
me quite often. He was quite a boxer,
himself, for & statesman. He wfts a,
mighty good adviser, too, I tell you,'
and he gave mo many good points.
"1 knew James G. Blaine, too, and!
liked him, but he wasn’t so easy to get
at as Conkltog; at least, not for me»
though I know some people say differ-,
ent.
1 met the Frinoe of Wales in Lon
don, as everybody knows, And liked!
him, too. He's a real decent chap, oon4
Bidering everything.”
THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE.
Speaking of his currant! theatrical
performances, John L. said ho went
into the venture because he was broke*
and that In that way he oould gut m
SULLIVAN IN HIS PRESENT BOXING TRIM.
dollar or two, which was much better
than to be kicked down stairs*
"I don't have to go on but a few
minutes each performance* and 3711
probably make ^2,000 or $3,000 out of
the scheme, and then I can decide what
to do next I have sometime* thought
of taking a few young swells to train,
as Muldoon does, hut I’m afraid X
couldn't do it One thing I'm going to*
do pretty so->n, and that Is to learn’
how to ride, a bicycle. I was never oiv
one of the pesky things, but ftt looks,
easy. All you’ve got to do is to kee^
that front wheel straight and work
your legs up and down. But I shan't
learn where no crowd can see me and
laugh at me because I look ridiculous^
and that’s ceitain.
"Well, so long. I’ve got to go and
dress to box on the stage a few min
ute® now. That's the very wosxd thin*
about boxing. Don’t mlxtd the actral
work a tittle bit, but this dressing anq
undressing is what gets me-”
PEXTEJtt MARSHAL^ )