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i 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