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THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN.
SATl'ItPAl', OCTOBER ?1. \Tti.
COL.CLIFFORD L.ANDERSON, OFTHE FIFTH REGIMENT;
HIS MILITARY CAREER, HIS HISTORY AND HIS FAMILY
t' t •> ’
AN INTIMA TE VIEW OF SOLDIER AND MAN; LA WYER y
BOOKLOVER, HORSEMAN; SOMETHING OF HIS HOME
have been ,moTe ln'the
g)are/of* the,limelight in 'Atln'ritd
In'reoei* I MNiljjMiaMMHjf
ford L. Anderson and his regiment has
done more.
When the riot call sounded from the
tire tower that Saturday night In Sep
tember. the Fifth Regiment responded
to a man. Officers and privates hast
ened to don their uniforms and hurry
to their armories. But the first man
to report found his colonel waiting,
cool ns a cucumber, ready to place his
regiment where It would do the most
good.
The Fifth did Its work and the men
retired to their everyday business. But
during the days that Atlanta was In
need of men who would stand by their
guns, officers and'privates alike stood
In the streets, marched here and there
when reports of rioting come to their
ears, slept on the pavement or on the
hard floors of makeshift armories, and
never a word of complaint was heard.
Atlanta has stopped talking about "tin
soldiers." The young fellow In khaki
has shown the stuff he Is made of—the
Fifth. Regiment has won Its laurels.
Colonel In Command.
During those days and nights when
the comet .of Marietta and Peachtree
streets was a military post, more At
lantans learned to know. - Colonel An
derson, the soldier,' than.* hnd known
Mr. Anderson, tbA/lawyers I They stood
au1 watched the slight figure 1 In khaki
and leather puttees, as It. moved from
post to post. They watched tho.qulft
conferences with other officers, they
heard the How words of command mid
■saw. detachment after detachment de-
. L . •;V ■ .... aaof Inhi nf
eiit' months than Col. Cfllf-
tdijrson. . commander oCthe
thigh stopped-a 'Hdt‘ almost
part-Tor-various troubled sections of
Atlanta. They saw the colonel handle
his'enmmand as easily and as-unosten
tatiously as an office manager might
In these, "pljplng'tlmcs of peace'
la glven\to few"officers of state troops
to do more than, do
nmfct '
i'a dress • uniform
and (marshal fheir chmp.inles for re
view. ; Sometimes they, fight In sham
battled often they, are ; Important ***•
ures at\ chdampments. HU^tol.. Cllf-
. „ u , mere Is something besides his
work In-the riots that Is Interesting In
Colonel. Anderson. He Is not prone to
seek publicity nnd save for the big
suits In which he has battled for plain
tiff or defendant, his name has occu
pied but little space on <£e primed
page. There Is as much In Clifford An
derson, the man, ns In Clifford Ander
son. the colonel. His early life, his
military career, his home and his hob
bles —all show something of the man
as he Is.
With Macon .Volunteors. ,
Clifford Anderson’s first military ex
perience began with the Macon Vol
unteers. In 1883, when he was 20 years
old, he Joined the company and was
soon promoted to be a non-commission-
ed officer. For three.years he remained
Quard as a private under Capt. J.
Burke. In the following fall he was
elected first lieutenant, and when Cap
tain Burke retired a year later, Lieu
tenant Anderson was -elected captain.
He held this runk for several years.
Captain Anderson resigned from his
office after a few years, but remained
In the National Guard until 1892, when
he was appointed lieutenant colonel on
the staff of Governor Northen. He
held this rank until the expiration of
the governor's term, In 1890, when his
own commission expired.
In.1902 he Was elected lieutenant-
colonel of the Fifth Regiment, and
when Colonel Park Woodward retired
In 1902 he was chosen by the officers
of the, regiment to the highest rank,
against his own protest. - His commis
sion dates from that time and he Is the
senior. officer of Infantry In Georgia.
The only colonel who outranks him
In the state Is Colonel Peter Meldrlm,
of 1 SaVahnah, commanding ' the First
Cavalry.
. Colonel Anderson did not have his
first tuste of active service In the At
lanta riots. His company was called
out from Macon when he was hardly
man . riots In, Dodge county, and for
several days the soldiers hnd exciting
experiences. .They captured the negro
ringleaders and sent them safely to
Jail. Their prisoners were afterward
tried and hanged.
Called Out For 8trvlce.
When an officer In the Gate City
Guard, the young soldier was several
times ended to active service In guard
ing Jails and putting down mobs Ini Anderson lives at the old home in Ma-
northern Georgia. Every year has con;
seen several of these calls for troops.
Rut a few days before the Atlunta
disturbances, Colonel. Anderson wus
called from the Bryan dinner at the
Piedmont, when Decutur needed troops
to guard the Jail and protect a pris
oner, Two companies were sent on
the .first car out.
Colonel Anderson has given his regl
ment plenty of field work during his
regime. The Fifth has gone Into camp
every year except 1904, when a part of
the regiment only was sent to the
Manassas maneuvers with Colbnel An
derson In command. Encampment ut
Wrtghtsvllle Beach, at Rome, St. Si
mons Island and Chlckomauga, some
at the expense of the state and some
paid for by the officers and men, have
given the Georgia boys some pleasant
summers. The Fifth has always re
ceived the highest commendation and
at Chlckamauga this summer one of
the umpires remarked that the regi
ment drilled more like regulars than
any other state troops he hod seen.
These are some of the details of
Colonel Anderson's military career.
known.
A Distinguished Family,
In 1862, while the war between the
states was at Ita height, Clifford- An
derson was born In Macon. His fall),
er, Clifford Anderson, senior, was i
Virginian by birth nnd ancestry, with
a mixture of Scotch blood In his veins.
His eldest sister was the mother of
Sidney Lanier, the famous Southern
poet, who was therefore a cousin of
Colonel Anderson. His mother wns a
LeConte, descended from the well-
known family and a sister of Joseph
and John LeConte, the famous Geor
gia scientists. Colonel Anderson's
father fought through the war, rose
to the rank of captain while stUI n
young man and was elected a member
nf the ConfetVrate congress while In
Ihe field. He was considered the ablest
lawyer In Georgia In his day. He
wns attorney-general of the state from
1(30 to 1890. He died In 1(99. Mrs.
Effect of Happy Memories Upon the
After Life
UTER.
There, are Jeiv things more'Important
to the human life than.the selection of
proper associations; for they not only
reflect character, hut also affect ,IL and
upon the expedience* of chtldhoom de
pend the memory and sentiment of
tnaturer years, which are thfc guiding
factors of future nobleness.
Fpon the Influences of home life are
a child's thoughts, 'ambitions and love
educated. 1 and', accordingly a,re- these
traits revealed In after life as he gravi
tates naturally to 'hts most congenial
sphere. »
To all, the responsibilities of good
varupies are v.ery great; but to the
tutrdlans of youth they are inealou-
lahe, for no amount of pretext Is ef-
ual if example be missing.
Tie associations cf youth .are pecu-
h-iry Indelible to a chlld’e memory, and
h" one can foresee by what little
jrlvallty an Impressionable child may
hr influenced. A melody, a ,gentle
’ v,| rd and glance, the odor of certain
tarden flowers, or a frown, an Injua-
Ve, may alike affect their thoughts,
I r n * *he dawn to'end of life, "for mem-
hhi Ims as many anoods as the temper
shift* its scenery like a diorama."
“hen loving associations have been
'■Atoulatlng within us for years, even
* ivslhle suggestion that there could
*** *h. v possible substitute for them
«ems almost sacrilege. George Eliot
Th» Illusions that began for
«n"i 0 T* 'ere less acquainted with
' l nave Ust . one of their value when
m'cover. »hcjn to be Illusions. They
"« ihe Ideal,' belter; and In loving
, it of loving something—not visibly,
, ,y ex **tent,.but a spiritual pro-
"i of our visit,Ip, tangible selves,
ailsli the childish loves And pssociu-
' memory of that warm little
" In which every high Impulse was
m-illp.,1 - * ,
_ U jth equal force, however, must
cruelty and all kinds of Injustlci
and what more accumulative and pow
erful In Its effects than bitterness, from
which emnnate* atheism, and, In fact,
almost every sad, doubting character
istic to which the "flesh Is heir.''
What little child was ever taught
Christianity or the love of God by the
doctrine of hell Are only’.' - And what
little heart, permeated with the natural
Impulses of youth, wns ever made hap
py or genuinely good by the monoton
ous doctrtneir of the eternal conse
quences of good conduct? Childhood's
longings are not always perversely ob
stinate, and if In maturer years we
should hava quite "put aside childish
things," still It I* the refinement of
cruelty to Insist upon children sharing
our Interests, for to the little girl whose
arms are hungry for a doll there can
be found no solace In housekeeping re
ceipts; nor with nny degree of satis
faction to a boy could Gibbon's Rome
ever substitute the Joys of "Tom Brown
at Oxford." Unquestionably the pur
suance of childish duties Is as Impor
tant ns those of after Ilf*, but also
with equal Justice should they And
recompense In childish Joys, which will
ever encourage and feed the memories
jf love nnd Justice.
If “Ignorance Is a painless evil, so
also Is the memory of.ti.ose merry. In
nocent childhood days, tne thought* ol
which, like the sun. rise every morning
to flood the day with happiness, and to
which rnys respond and blossom dies
highest Impulses.
In life's complicated game, when the
devices of skill are so frequently de
feated by unforeseen and unavoidable
Incidents, what better capital and off
set to depression thnn happy memories,
to which one's mind naturally revert*,
and such cheerfulness nol only riai-.es
life desirable, but from n practical
standpoint Is a line asset for all.
In encouraging children by example,
associations, happy environment anil
every rational form of Indulgence, one
unconsciously benefits humanity* in
general. The,future of. nil
depend* upon It* children, and their
•uccetift depend* largely upon their
THE CUCKOO’S NEST
llw remembrance of unklndneas, early Influences and associations.
Wendover laid down his book with
a It was no use to try to write
without his letters that It did not seem
Cuckoo. And Cuckoo could do so well
for that matter—unless he wrote to
worth while to write to her. How many
times he had written to her during the
laet threo months—and how many
times had she answered him? A let
ter of a page and a half, In very big
writing, and .two poatcards lay In hi*
pocket-book—that was oil. A letter and
two postcards, saying what a ripping
lime she was having—nnd he was
ashamed to say how many times he
had read them, until he knew them by
heart. The big, scrawly writing, the
scene of violets which clung stHI to
the big, shady rooms of the court
seemed so desolate. Lady Mary, at
work on her eternal embroidery for
exhibition at eternal church bazaars,
had remarked that morning upon the
peaceful silence which tilled the house
that that noisy child depsrted. She
hail hinted, ton, that It was extremely
Improbable that the noisy child would
return—at any rate, In the character
of a fixture at the court. 8he would
very likely marry one of Cecelia's
young men—Cecilia's house parties. It
seemed, wore famous for the number,
variety and extreme eligibility of the
young men Invited: and Wendover,
who had long ceased to regard himself
as either young or eligible, felt that
he could have massacred the entire as
sembly of Cecilia's young men without
mercy.
nut In Ihe park, Ihe cuckoos were
calling to each other insistently. Wend
over listened to thn sound as It drifted
in through the open windows of the
library, and the old, rhyme which
chronicles the movements of the first
bird of spring rang monotonously In his
ears;
In April
Come he will;
In May
He sings all day.
In June
He alters his tune;
In July
He prepare* to fly—
Wendover got no further. Was
Cuckoo preparing to fly, with one of
Cecilia's young men, to the accompa
niment of rice, white satin nnd wed
ding cake? It was quite impossible.
So, more years ago than ha cared to
remember non-. Cuckoo’s mother had
flown, never to return, and he had
thought that the string Itself had
flown with her. and that no summer
would ever come to All .it* place. To-
was to fly as her dead mother had
done!
There was a step on the terrace out
side. He looked up. Cuckoo was
standing at the window, smiling down
at him In the shadow of a great pearl
gray hat.
"I’ve come back. Cousin Everard,”
He rose and shook hands stupidly.
Oh. the touch of Cuckoo's hands, small
and soft In their long gray gloves,
after those three months of empty
loneliness and silence!
“I—I thought you were having auch
a ripping time," he sold.
“So I did,” she said frankly—"an aw
fully ripping time. I told you I meant
to, didn’t 1, when f persuaded Aunt
Mary to let me gq? It's been nothing
but one e-nor-mous rush. I’ve enjoyed
It frightfully. Cecilia doesn't give one
time to breathe."
She didn't seem to give you much
time for writing.”
Cuckoo smiled serenely.
"Oh, nobody writes letters now.
Cousin Everard—only postcards. Or
telegrams. But telegrams are more ex
pensive."
Wendover looked at her—at the small,
soft face under the gray hat, the small,
soft hands In the gray gloves, the gray
eyes which held an odd smile some
where In their depths. •
"I see." he said. "That's why you
sent me—postcards.”
The smile deepened In Cuckoo's eyes,
"You say I'm always so extravagant,"
she murmured demurely.
Wendover changed the subject.
"And how'did ydu like Cecilia’s—
young men?"
Cuckoo's gase sank modestly to the
tip of an absurd little shoe.
"Oh, they—tt)ey were perfectly rip
ping, too," ifhe said vaguely. "I liked
them frightfully. They were so—so
different from anything I've ever seen
before."
"I suppose so." Wendover'* tone
was sharp. The old rhyme rang In
his memory, and he nltered It to suit
the occasion. "In July, she prepares lo
fly.’Nie said to himself. Rice, and white
sutln, and wedding rake seemed vei-j
neur.
"So unlike you, for Instance," Cuckoo
said softly.
"Me?"
"Yes. So smart—and up to date. No
line could call you up to date, Cousin
Everard. You don't play bridge, and
you hate motora, and you're a perfect
mult at gomes. You can only shoht
and ride, as men used to do before
games enme In.”
"You’v# been playing games—for
three months?" * Everard aald.
Cuckoo gave a little sigh.
"Oh, yes—gomes after breakfast and
games after lunch and games after
dinner. They all said I picked them
Young Anderson began hts education
In private schools and when 15 years
old entered the -sophomore class ut
Mercer University. He was graduated
In 1980, two months before he was 18
years old, a record In the university.
He came to Atlanta and rend law at
night while working for his living
during the day. He found a clerical
position with nn agricultural Journal,
and In 1882, feeling that he had mas
tered enough law to warrant hts hang
ing out a shingle, he returned to Ma
con nnd after a year at the Mercer
law school, began his profession. In
1886 he returned to Atlanta and began
to build up a practice. The usual ex
perience of a young attorney followed,
but within a few years he had gained
a clientele that assured him comfort.
Today he Is one of the foremost law
yers of the state.
Colonel Anderson was first associ
ated with Porter King In his practice,
but wh,n Mr. .King died In October,
1904, a younger brother, James L. An
derson, came ft-oiq Macon and the pres
ent Arm of Anderson & Anderson was
formed. *'.
Colonel Anderson, hts ‘taken nn ac
tive Interest In politics.* Of course* he
Is a Democrat, os -n-tre all his fore
fathers. But h'e h’a* sought but one
office at the hands of.the people. He
was elected county commissioner' In
1899 and has been ; twice re-elected.
How Ha Met Hie . Wife.
Miss Kittle Van Dyke, daughter of
a knlckerbocker family of New York,
visited Atlanta about !th« time ' that
They met and the South capltulatec
the North. In 1884 Mr.'Andersbn pnld
a visit t<\ Minneapolis, the home of the
Van Dyke family, and returned with
a wife. He was 22, Ids wife 17.
With hts Increasing practice, after
having successfully conducted several
famous and long contested suits. Col
onel Anderson found himself in pos
session of an Income to relieve him
from any fenrs of the future nnd he
decided to build a home’ which should
be worthy of Atlanta’s best district.*
He selected a tract In Brookwood, on
the Peachtree' road, and In 190V Ids
home was completed. It Is a splendid
specimen of. the Italian renaissance
style and the. Italian .Idea extend* „to.
the Interior a* well os 'the'design'of.
the building. He has named his home
"La Colllna,” the 1 Italian for- "Little
Hillock.” as the house stands on a
slight elevation.
Colonel Anderson's daughter. Adorn.
Is now nearly 19. She Is completing
her education nt Highcllff Hall, on the
Hudson, above New York city.
Clifford Van Dyke Anderson, the son,
Is 15. The photograph shows him In
the uniform of the Marls! College, of
Atlanta. He Is now a student at the
Donald Fraser Academy at Decatur.
’■ If ■ Colonel Anderson Ims 'a hobby, be-
yondhls- regard-for-hls regiment. It Is
books, line bindings and rare editions
appeal to him and Ms library at "I.a
Colllna'- ls-coqsldctred-a.ntadsl i-niiec-
tlOR' q{ stqndqvd work*. While the
Owner loves bmdlngs he hns not lost
sight of the- text' and nothing but the
best . author* nre represented on his
punish and many of the leading
works In these languages are found In
hla library.
Colonel Anderson Is one of the few
prominent men In Atlanta who hava
love'a good horse too much to
drive 's gasoline car,” he laughed In
reply to a question. "And I have some
beauties In my stable, too.”
ful way In which you and Aunt Mary
had neglected the most-important part
of my education. But I explained to
them that you weren't a bit up to dale.”
“Or smart," Everard added, with per
haps eVcusable bitterness.
Cuckoo’s eye* rested upon him for an
Instant with an expression which he
could not read,
"No." she snld, very gently. "No one
could call you amart. could they? They
were alt so smart at Cecilia's—and so
very up to date. You haven't said how
you think I'm looking, Cousin Ever-
urd."
"A little pole, I think," Everard an
swered stiffly.
"And you haven't asked me If I'm
glad to be back."
The stiffness died nut of Wendover'*
manner.' He looked at her with wist
ful eyes.
“I couldn't expert that, 'could I,
Cuckoo dear? No—I won't ask you."
She began to dratv off her gloves with
a little air of deliberation.
The Blue Fox Cloak
By ALEXANDER 8TEPANOVITCH.
The family of Assistant Chancellor
Sergiu* Ivanovltch WordbeJ was moat
respectable. In thalr , elegant , house
there were unmistakable signs
wealth everywhere. And the copper
sainover was'always boiling on their
hospitable table. Mme. Sonja Sora-
flmotvQS understands how to entertain
"I'm sorry, because I wanted to tell
ou—oh, wi
you—bh, well—something."
"Something that hae to do with your
coming bark?"
"Well—not exactly. I was going to
any that I'm most—moat dreadfully
glad to get back,” ahe said quietly.
Wendover was speechless. She went
calmly on.
"You aee, l wanted to go away—I
wanted to see what people were like—
other people. Other men. If you like. I
wanted to see If they were like you.
They were not Oh, I know Cecllla'.i
young men arc quite charming—I'm
not saying anything against them; but
they're not like you. I don't think
any one of them would have taken In
horrid little squalling child whos*
mother had—Jilted hlin, and fed it and
clothed It, and petted It and loved It.
os you have done. I don't think any
one of them would have let h little,
mischievous, Interloping cuckoo over
run his house and worry nnd torment
him—as you have done.” She paused
for a moment and glanced at him with
the ghost of a smile. “But I think
perhaps Cousin Everard—If you don't
mind my saying so—I think none ■ i
them would hare asked me, flve min
utes after I came back, when I was
going away for good."
"Cuckoo! You don't—you can’t
mean?"—
He was holding her hands lightly, as
: inem go; but
though he would never let
still the wonl* of the old rhyme buzzed
In hts ears. Perhaps Cuckoo heard
It, too,, for she -smiled up at him
gayly.
"I’ve tried my wings,” she sold, “and
I've come back. Will you let me atay
CouMn Everard? The world Is a very
good place—but I And 1 love the
day he told himself that Cuckoo, too, up wonderfully,’considering'the dread- Cuckoe’* Nest best."
ere known nil over Petersburg.
Nowhere did you get better caviar or
liner patties.
Sergius Ivanovltch would have liked
very much to have been present at
these at homes, but Saturday tvas the
busiest day of the week in the govern
ment office, and so he hud to renounce
that pleasure.
Now. as Sergius' whole salary wns
only 125 roubles a month, one muse ad
mit that his wife must be a wonderful
manager, even If, of cuurse, a govern
ment official had other sources of rev
enue than hts meagre saldry, especially
when the government hus put him In
charge of a strong box always Contain
ing a goodly supply of Internal revenue
stamps, many of which are worth as
much as 16 roubles a piece.
Now, one night as Sergius Ivaitot ‘*t-h
returned home after one of these week
ly solress he found his beloved wife
suffering with a bad, an atrociously
bad attack of the blues.
"What is the matter, my dove?" he
asked, tenderly. "Why do you look so
unhappy ?"
“Unhappy! Why should I not look
unhappy when here we are In the mid
dle of the winter and I have not a de
cent fur cloak to wear?"
But, duschlnkq, you have your er
mine cloak, which you bought only last
year.’’
"Oh, ermine! Everybody wears er
mine now. 1 want n cloak of blue fox,
such as Marta Vaslltewna wears."
“But, my dear, such, a cloak at Icaat
costs 3,000 roubles, und you must re
member that I am nut In charge of any
Red Cross funds, as Marla Vasllllew-
na's husband Is.”
Well, I must have one like hers or 1
shall die,” she cried, but ,8erglus only
shook hts head and shrugged his
shoulders nnd said he was tired and
wanted to go to bed.
suite In Hotel du Krem, slgnjng the
register as Mme. la Countesso Vern
von Labanow, with companion.
In the afternoon the countesa ordered
a carriage with footman and was
driven to the famous store of Dutelller
Fferes. Followed by her companion
and footman she entered the store and
the proprietor himself was soon busy
showing her hi* most expensive fur
cloaks, as madame had aald that the
priee was Immaterial to her, but not
one of them pleased.
Why, to buy a cloak of sable for
1,000 roubles I had never needed to
travel all the way to Moscow," she
said, looking immensely bored.
The proprietor whispered something
to a clerk, and a magnificent blue fox
cloak was spread out before the coun
tess, who Immediately bought it for
3,800 roubles,
"I want you to wrap It up and give It
to my footman." she said, as she tn.,k
out her check hook and made' out u
check for 3,800 roubles, on the Moscow
branch of the Credit Lyonnais.
The proprietor, seeing the check, be
gan to feel a little uneasy—so many
checks were returned as not good—but
he did not want to offend a good custo
mer by refusing to take her check.
Then an Idea struck him, and. asking
the countess to excuse him while ho
looked after the wrapping up of the
cloak, he went to the telephone, ami,
calling up the bank, where he wus told
A few days later two elegantly dress
ed ladies were •tttlng In a flret-class
compartment of a train de luxe, speed
ing toward Moscow. Arrived In that
that Countess Labanow had
sum on deposit and the bank would
honor her check for 3,800 roubles when
ever presented.
Two minutes later he personally car
ried the parqel to the waiting i arrlau".
und having ordered the coachmun to
drive to the palace of the governor
general, the countess drove off.
But when Dutelller Fierce the next
morning presented the check nt the
Credit Lyonnais they were dumbfound
ed to hear that a young lady had al
ready cashed a check for u similar
amount Indorsed by the Ann and that
the countess half an hour Jater had
withdrawn the rest of her deposit in
person. ,* ' 1 |
When the police Investigated they
found that when the count' loni.
rooms at the Hotel |Ju Krem she had
presented a genuine passport, und that
she had paid her. bill with a hundred
rouble note and been very liberal with
her tips. An account had been ope ned
for Countess Labanow D-bout two tlayt
city, they hired the most expensive previous iu the Credit Lyonri