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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^ )