Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME VII.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS.
Lawyer*.
ROBERT A. MASSEY,
Attorney at Law>
Douglasville, Ga.
(Office in front room, Dorsett's building.)
Will practice anywhere except in the County
Court of Douglas county.
yy a. james,
Attorney at Law,
Douglasville, Ga.
Will practice in all the courts, State and
Federal. Office on Oourt-honse Square.
yyM r. Roberts,
Attorney at Law,
Douglasville, Ga
Will practice in all the courts. All legal bus
iness will receive prompt attention. Office in
court-houoe.
0 D. CAMP.
Attorney atlaw,
Civil Engineer and Surveyor.
• Douglasville, Ga.
g Q. GRIGGS,
Attorney at Law,
Douglasville, Ga
Will practice in all the courts. State and
Federal.
JOHN M. EDGE,
Attorney at Law,
Douglasville, Ga.
Will practice in all the courts, and prompt
y attend to all business entrusted to his care.
J ». JAMES.
Attorney at law,
Dougiast ille, Ga.
Will practice in the courts of Douglas,
Camplx li,
Douglasville, Ga.
Doctors.
pn. T. B. WHITLEY,
Pbywiaian and Surgeon.
Douglasville, Ga.
Special attention to Surgery and Chronic die
eaacif in either sex.
Office up stair* in Domett’s brick building,
p & VERDERY,
Physician and Surgeon.
Office st Hudson A Edge’s drugstore, where
he can Im* found at all hours, except when
profeNdoually Special attention
given to Chronic uaxes, and especially all cases
that have been treated and are still uneured.
JanlK ’HS ly
J B. EDGE,
Physician and Snrgoen.
Chronic diseases of all kind given special
attention.
Office at the Drugstore of Hudson A Edge,
Hoard street, Douglasville, Ga.
Den ist.
!J R. COOK,
Dental Surgeon.
Has located in Douglasville. Twenty years'
experience. Dentiatry in all it* brane Uh* dons
tn the most approved style. Office over post
office.
Painter.
Fp 8. BUTLER.
House Painter,
Douglasville, Ga.
Will make old furniture look as well a* new.
Give him a trial in this line. Will also do
house carpeaterinn work.
Buret in the Water.
On the 28th of October, 1840. pcr-
NM present at the Northport camp*
ground, in W» do County, saw a me
teorite fall into the water near (bo
vamp. As it fe I it burst into fragments,
or that was the conclusion drawn bv
those who wit e*s *d its desc uL Search
w;i* mask at the time for fragments,
but none were then ivuud, the tide at
all time covering the spot where the
meteorite struck the w ater. Two yearit
ago one who witnessed the fall agaiu
made the -earvh, and >ome *ma I frag
ments were recovered. Fro<n time to
time t e search ha« tn-eu continued and
other fragment' base lx* u brought to
light, on ’ of »h ch wa* considerately
wnt to Protestor F. C. Kobin-on, of
Bowdola College. More recotly quite
a large mat*, weighing perhaps twenty
pounds, wm ncoifirJ* and this mass
Pru’easor Robinson has now in his pos
•eestoa, mm bto ni* gratification. Ho
will proceed to analyte it—JfruntsricA
(Ataowj T.itgritph.
The Wee HR 1 Star. 1
Bereft.
Touch with thy virgin lips these flowers; then
twi
Them in thy hair and lay them on thy
breast.
Among them thou wilt weave this heart of
mine.
And near thine own it lovingly may rest.
Thus for an hour my bliss shall be supreme;
And, dreaming in thy smile, I may forget
That as these flowers fade so ends my dream,
So fades my hope, and thou hast no regret.
Ye blossoms pure! return her stainless kiss;
Your fragrant breath give to her sweeter
sighs;
Her haughty soul entrance till radiant bliss
Reveals the love look in her joyful eyes.
O cruel raaid! cold art thou as one dead
With whom my love eternal lieth urned.
Thou vanished star! whose light my spirit
led.
But not a spark of all its warmth returned.
Some day, perchance, in dreams thou wilt re
call
A sweet remembrance of my love and woe.
And say: “I was bis queen and be my thrall.
My knightly lover in the long ago.”
These parting flowers—then but a faded
wreath—
The emblem of my withered heart will be;
Their perfume and its passion lost in death.
Gone like the visions I have dreamed of
thee.
—Alfred Wheeler.
EXPERIENCE IN ARIZONA.
Charles Parker, being a voting naan
from the East, and a newly-fledged
graduate of the Military Academy, was
not looked at with sublime awe by the
frontiersmen around his Arizona post,
and certainly not with a fearful respect
by the military.
The frontiersmen from their proud
height of dyspepsia and dirt recognized
tidy Mr. Parker only as a “tenderfoot,”
while the older officers and soldiers
were naturally slow to concede mili
tary merit to a youngster who had es
caped death or court-martial for a short
er period than themselves.
In reality Lieut. Parker knew very
little of the energetic West as it mater
ialized around Fort McDowell, and
what little he did know did not swell
him with pride. It was his idea that if
knowledge is power, knowledge of Ari
zona was only mule power and not to
be coveted. He was not in deadly fear
of that truculent creature, the Arizon
ian in a rod shirt, but if he had chosen
an individual to stand betwixt the wind
and his nobility, the gentleman in the
carmine camisa would not have obtain
ed the situation. His life was not to
tally without ch;trm, for he was in love
with his Colotfel’s daughter, one of
those charming young ladies found only.
Parker that when hi 4 could gev a
leave it should be for a wedding jour
ney, It was the peculiar charm of this
arrangement that it was made without
the Colonel's assistance or knowledge.
Lovers must have their secrets. A lov
er without a weighty secret would cut
as poor a figure as a sccretless states
man. However, the chances of Park
er’s getting a furlough were dim. His
Captain was on an Indefinite sick leave,
having a splendid time and entering
heartily into business, while his First
Lieutenant was engaged in Washington
on some onerous duty which required
peculiar talents anil considerable “in
fluence.”
The morning when history finds him,
the lone Lieutenant, acting as Post Ad
jutant, was sitting at his desk in the
Colonel’s office, gravely referring offi
cial papers to himself in some of his
many capacities, such as quartermaster,
commissary, ordnance officer, post
treasurer, chief of scouts, overseer of
schools, or perpetual officer of the day.
By his formal words one would have
thought him on very frigid terms with
himself. Instead, for instance, of say
ing, “Parker will vou take a squint at
this!” he wrote: "Respectfully referred
to Lieut. Parker, who will take the ac
tion required.”
Meanwhile the Colonel was knitting
his brows over an order from head
quarters.
“What do you think of that?” he
said at la»t, handing the paper to Park
er.
The young man read the order, but
made no answer. He liked to have his
opinion asked, but he did not suppose
that his crude ideas would be of value
to an officer of so much greater exper
ience.
“What do you think?” repeated the
Colonel mildly.
“I suppose it’ll have to be done,”
said the Lieutenant vaguely, not know
ing on what point a reply was wished.
“Yes,” mused the Colonel,“but how? :
This says he is supposed to be at San- i
font but the description is vague to I
tqake a search on.”
“O. that,” said Parker, “why I think
I know the man already. I saw him >
last summer when I was surveying the i
, line from Gila Bend to Tucson. He ,
; keeps a saloon in Hanford.”
The Colonel shook his head. “I was '
going to send for an older officer, but i
if you can identify the man you'll i
have to go. * Humph! not a very I
pleasant or easy duty 1, -and he looked ’
hard at the voung man's smooth face; ;
“it’s w orse than Indian fighting. May- '
be I better have an older officer gv
with you.”
“If vou think it necessary.”
“1 don't,” said the Colonel, instant- >
ly determined by Parker’s look; and he i
■ wrote in pencil ihe draft for an order: ;
“Lieut. C. Parker will proceed imme- I
! diately to Sanford. Ari., with a detail
' of six* men. and arrest escaped military I
I convict John lb’vine.”
“Just have that published.'*
Parker hesitated; but as the respoa- .
I ribiiity of the arrest was to be upon •
; him hie determined to speak. “If that ■
| order is published, word of it will go j
to this convict by the 'underground, 1 I
and be will give me the slip.”
“Suppose you were to go away with
out an order. ” said the Colonel, "that
would excite suspicion a* well.”
DOUGLASVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 10, 1885.
“Let it be a false order.”
“Let it be a false order.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. When
those fellows see a soldier they are on
the alert, order or no order. They
know the soldier is after some one, and
they send the word on by their under
ground for the benefit of whom it may
concern. You will have to take the
chance of traveling as fast as the news
of your coming.”
But Parker had an idea. He thought
he could entrap an Arizonian as easily
as if he had worn a red shirt from in
fancy. ‘‘l learned some thing, ’ ’ said he,
“last summer when I was down there.
When they knew I was surveying, I
could have had as many blacklegs
in my society as I wished. Mr. Devine
waited on me at his saloon. Send me
down on telegraph business
“Good!” cried the Colonel. “Make
out an order to examine the line and
publish it here. You will have the real
order and warrant in your pocket.”
Tn half an hour the ambulance rolled
out of Fort McDowell into the long
road across the desert. The soldiers
were in good spirits over their holiday.
Very true, they carried carbines and
revolvers, but in Arizona carbines and.
revolvers are as readily associated with
good spirits as cheerfulness with beans
and big grocery bills in New England.
The roads were deep, but the six-mulu
team of “shave-tails” slided steadily
on, and by night sixty-five miles of
sage-brush on each side of the way had
received an additional layer to its cen
tury-old and hoary coat of alkali. This
travel brought them to Sacaton on th*
Gila, where Parker had been the sum
mer previous. When the people learn
ed his present errand he was hospitably
entertained, and no warning of his com
ing was sent forward. But in* a consul
tation with the Indian Agent, to whom
he revealed his true orders, he learned
that the convict, frightened with previ
ous rumors, had soul his saloon and
was about to leave. This rendered an
arrest a matter of double difficulty and
danger. Under the circumstances, al
though the next day was Sunday, Park
er determined to push on. At 6 o'clock
Sunday morning the ambulance was on
its way with a drive before it to San-j
ford of eighteen miles. Half a milo
from his destination he put off his un
concern and ordered the driver to stop.
Then he pulled Ms true orders from his
pocket and read them. The soldiers
exchanged glances. They thought the
young Lieutenant would not take
AfeMMgLgo easily if he fepew the desper-
"We will drive into the plaza in front,
of Smith’s. Devine will probably be
in some saloon opposite. If people ask
our business, it's telegraph. We have
come twenty-three miles out of our way
by the telegraph line to make them be
lieve it. I shall go fleross the plaza to
the saloons. You will loaf along fifty
yards in the rear with your carbines.
I’ll let you know when I want you.
Now, drive on.”
Arrived at Sanford *.hese directions
were carried out to the letter. A small,
but hard-looking crowd gathered
around the ambulance where it halted.
“Hallo, Lieutenant!” said Smith, the
town shyster, coming out. “What is
it?”
“Telegranh,” replied Parker for all
to hear. "I’ve come out to see what
you folks can put up for it.”
"Good,” said Smith, while a murmur
of approbation went through the crowd.
‘Til take you around to see the people.
Have the man put up the rig.”
"Can’t stop long enough. I’m going
on to Florence to get their ideas. That’s
the short way home, and I must get
back to make my report. Driver, keep
the team here. You men can go where
you please, but be back in time to
start.”
The ruse havingsucceeded so far, Park
er and Smith walked across the plaza
to the saloons (Sundav or Monday the
heart of Sanford business) while the
men followed aimlessly along, carrying
their carbines on their hips.
The Arizonians considered this a
very peaceful spectacle, but they did
not know that in every carbine there
was a bullet of 405 grains with seventy
grains of powder behind it
"Come in and have something.” said
the hospitable Smith when theyiiKd
crossed the square; "help you talk bus
iness.”
Parker accepted and they went in.
The saloon consisted of two rooms,
i front and rear. In the front room were
. two or three loungers, but from the
i back room there issued through an
i open door at the end of the bar various
I sounds which gave evidence of acrowd-
■ed table of gamblers. Parker gave his
' order and placed himself so dial by
, turning his head he could command a
; full view of the back room. Then be
i looked for his men. They were already
i at the saloon door leaning on their car- '
| bines. They played their parts well, i
1 for they seemed only waiting for their
superior before they took a turn at the
■ bar.
Parker poured out a generous Arizo
na glass and took it up; but instead of |
replying to Smith's bacchanalian salute !
; of "Well, Lieutenant, here’s how.” he
turned hie eyes and glant'ed into the
| back room.
Directly in front of him at the oppo
■ sit side of the table sat Devine. At the
word “Lieutenant” the convict raised
his eyes and met Parker face to face.
His hrst instinct being to escape recog-
, nition, he resorted to the clumsy device
, of dropping his glance and slouching
; forward his sombrero. Parker looked
I at him absently, turned to the front of
I the saloon, and still holding up his
glass, made the signal. Then,
arinkitxg, he set (be glass
walked direeth to the door of
Hing-room. fie did not
X. • <! ioilow £ A. <h
FAWNING TO IN ONE—CHARITY TO ALE.
said*. “"John Devine, I want you.”
A dozen pair of eyes were turned to
ward him and a dozen hands sought
for the ever-ready “guns;” but the
pistols were not drawn. Almost im
mediately the men assumed a look of
welcome, and seemed tacitly to ac
knowledge that they had mistaken the
intruder.
“Hullo Lieutenant!” cried two or
three in a frantic effort to set them
selves right. “Hullo! Come in, come
in. Glad to see you. Barkeep, some
thing for the Lieutenant. Come in.”
“Thank you,” said Parker, wonder
ing what deceit this greeting was
meant to cover. "I’m on business,and
business comes first Come, Johnny, I
want you.”
"What! want Johnny? What’s he
done?” they cried in grieved surprise.
"Now, Lieutenant, you don’t want
Johnny, do you?”
Parker made no answer, but he kept
his eye warily on the crowd.
Devine threw down his cards, as if in
despair. “All right; I’ve got to go.
This thing has been hanging over me
tor a year, and I’m glad it’s come.”
“But don’t be in a rush,” cried the
others; “don’t be in a rush, Lieutenant.
Have a drink. Come in and sit down.
We ain’t seen you in years.”
Parker was so dumbfounded by this
continued politeness that he looked
about for the cause. It was evident. A
big Sergeant stood behind him with
two cocked revolvers aimed at the
crowd; on each side of the door were
soldiers with pointed carbines.
The Arizona desperado understands
the doctrine of chances as well as the
rest of us.
Devine arose to follow. He looked
mournfully at his big pile of chips.
"Who’s banker?” asked Parker,who,
being a pretty “stiff” poker-player
himself, understood Devine’s feelings.
“Banker, cash Johnny’s chips. Sorry
I can’t let him stay so that you can
have back at him, but the money’s
his.”
The disappointed banker made the
exchange.
While the party were taking Devine
to his house, where the convict wished
to say good-by to his wife, a horseman
passed them at full speed going toward
Florence, a little town five miles to the
east. The incident did not escape the
unsophisticated Lieutenant.
. He sent an orderly for the ambulance
and hurried Devine* through his fare
wells. When the wagon drove up he
|xa<lv- Everybody was mounted.
We had the appearance of be-
WSjjptly hopeless.
way?” said the driver.
iwl|jg|||k>ked Devine keenly in the
face and answered, “Back through
Sacaton.”
The convict dropped his head, and
his hopelessness was no longer as
sumed.
“Our friend on the horse will prepare
his ambush for nothing, won’t he?”
asked Parker.
“He just will,” replied the convict
with a laugh.
That night at 10, having driven
eighty-three miles since 9 in the morn
ing. the detail arrived at the Fort and
Devine was secure in the post guard
house.
The Colonel was delighted and sur
prised.
“I spoke,” said he, “of having an
other officer come here. I think I bet
ter have him come now and give you a
leave.”
“Thank you,” said the bold Lieuten
ant; then he explained that leaves were
best for wedding-journeys, and so led
up to a full revelation.
“In that case,” replied the Colonel,
with a dusty, Arizona wit, “I will send
for my other daughter and give Helen a
leave too.”— Chicago Tribune.
A laxly correspondent, writing to us
fromMest Point, Miss., relates the
following: "During the administration
of Mr. Buchanan, the daughter of a
Senator was married in Washington.
The President, Cabinet and many mem
bers of Congress were in attendance.
After the ceremony Mr. Buchanan step
ped forward to present his congratula
tions to the bride—a prominent feature
of which was a hearty kiss. A mem
ber standing in close proximity inquir
ed: 'ls it understood that I am to fol
low suit?’ ‘No, sir,’ replied the Presi
dent, ‘it is understood that I kiss for
the Nation.’ ” The bride was a
daughter of General Toombs, of Geor
gia, the member of Congress was Gen
eral McQueen.of South Carolina.—A’eu>
Orleans Times-Deinocrat.
An English doctor says that a person
who can move his ears at will is a sus-, j
picious character and cannot be trusted.! '
Shoddy Aristocracy.
If you will take a historical telescope ♦
and look over the social horizon for the
past two cMituries, you must observe
I that every decade brings the idea of ar- '
istocracy lower and lower every year.
The status and the idea are growing
very much the same, too, and the time ;
must come when all the requisites that
I dance attendance on social life in Amer
| ica nnder the name of aristocracy will
be nationally recognized as shoddy.
Martha U ashington and the mothers
of the republic were content to live
plainly and respectably, and the dis
gusting practice of referring to women
as the leading ladies of the land palls |
on the taste of sensible people. In the
social circle, prescribe within the
bounds of the home, is woman’s sphere.
In this country we worship women be- !
cause they are mothjjs and wives, but
the people raisinganv
He Stopped the Car.
The car was going down French’s
hill, and there were a few jovial pas
sengers aboard. At Prospect street a
lady got out. A young man, who,
with a few of his friends, were having
a bit of quiet fun and had evidently en
joyed themselves, said: ."I’ll bet ci
gars for the crowd that I’ll stop the
car without ringing the bell, speaking
to the driver or conductor or asking
anyone to stop it.”
“Oh, you’ll go outside and slap hold
of the brake. You’re too smart, you
are,” remarked one of his companions,
smilingly. “You’ll cut yourself if you*
don’t mind.”
“No. siree, I’ll do no such thing 1 .
I’ll neither touch the brake nor ask
anyone to touch it for me, and I won’t
ask anybody to stop the car.”
The bet was taken.
Up jumped the car-stopper, and seiz
ing one of the straps, tugged at it as
hard as he could.
The conductor saw him and conclud
ed that the man was a greenhorn who
wanted to get out and was yanking at
the wrong tag. He stopped the car
and threw open the door.
The man had sat down again. *
"Don’t you want to get out here?”
said the conductor.
“Oh. dear, no.”
“Then why did you pull the strap?”
"I was only trying to see if it was
firm enough to hold me if I happened
to come along iu the car some night
when I couldn’t get a seat.”
The door slammed, aud the conduc
tor said something as he leaned against
the rear brake. It was something not
very complimentary to such darned
fooling.
But the man had won his bet. He
had stopped the car.— Fall River Ad
vance.
Plantation Philosophy. ? "
De man whut ken ask de most ques
tions ken answer de fewest.
De pusson whut is de last ter laugh
wider joy is de soouest ter groan wid
er sorrow.
Ter some pussons slander is nachul.
De hog would ruther waller in de mud
den ter lie down in clean water.
I doan b’lebe dar eber wuz er man
whut didn't sorter dodge the truth at
some time durin’ his life. Ez fur my
se’f. Use told many a tale whut I knowd
wa’n’t so. When I wuz er boy, er lie
come so nachul dat when I got ter be
a man. I couldn't altogether break off
de habit. Yer’ll tin’ many er mail
whut’ll say dat he neber tolfc er lie,
an’ yer may say so at de same time,
but bof o’ yer knows dat ye air a
couple o’ liars. Doan talk ter me ’bout
dis heah human nature, fur I’se er
chile o’ de same school myse’f.— Opio
P. Read.
A Judge’s Little Joke on His Friend,
Since the great Chief Justice Lemuel
Shaw, no Judge in Massachusetts has
been so celebrated for his power and
Eeculiarities as the late Judge Otis P.
ord. During the sixteen years that
Judge Lord sat upon the Superior
bench it was gall and wormwood to
him that his hurried decisions at nisi
prius were to be carefully scrutinized
and often overruled by the Supreme
Judicial Court. His complaints were
constant and at times were loud over
what he considered unfair treatment
by the higher court. At times he could
not or would not speak of that honor
able- body with patience, and his hostil
ity to certain of the Judges was well
known. It was supposed by most law
yers that should opportunity come to
him he would refuse a promotion which
would necessitate sitting upon the same
bench with Judges for whose legal at
tainments he had so often expressed
contempt; and when, in 1875, his name
was sent in as successor to Judge Wells
upon the Supreme Court bench many
looked to see the honor declined. For
a number of days, indeed, it was gen
erally reported that Judge Lord was
hesitating in the matter, and even his
intimate friends had doubts about his
acceptance. One morning, as the late
Stephen B. Ives, who probably possess
ed more of Judge Lord’s confidence
than any other member of the bar at
least, was entering the court-house, he
met the Judge, coming down from the
lobby. “Well, Judge?' he said, “have
you decided about going on to the Su
preme bench?” Looking him squarely
in the face. Judge Lord gravely re
’ plied: "Stephen, I have thought the
matter over as to where I could be of
■ the most use, and have concluded to re
i main where I am.” “But, Judge,”
, expostulated his friend, “you should
I not be hasty in this matter.” "It’s no
use, Stephen,” interrupted the Judge,
: "I tell you 1 have absolutely made up
my mind to stay where I am.” "But,
' Judge,” continued Mr. Ives, “I am
terribly disappointed, and you will
grieve all your friends if you insist upon
I this course.” “I think not, Stephen, I
think not,” said Judge Lord, as he laid
his hand kindly upon the shoulder of
■ his tried and trusted friend, “for,” he
i continued in an exultant voice, "I have
1 this morning qualified as a Justice of
j the Supreme Judicial Court, and,” he
added more gravely and quietly, “I
hope I shall live long enough now to
show them that I do know a little law.”
—Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
Many British manufacturers enter
tain the notion that anything is good
enough for the colonies, and Mr. Ar
thur Clayden, writing from New Zea
land, says: "I have again and again
had pointed out to me the vast super
iority of American work to English. A
coach builder assured me that he had
stood out against American fit-
MUgLbut had at last to yield to neces-
- English manors would nut,
the A
NUMBER 31
V enice.
We arrived in Venice last evening,
latitude 45 deg. 25 min. N., longitude,
12 deg. 19 min. E.
Venice is the home of the Venetian,’
and also where the gondola has its nest
and rears its young. It is also the head-'
quarters for the paint known as Vene-;
tian red. They use it in painting tho
town on festive occasions. This is the
town where the Merchant of Venice
used to do business, and the home of
Shylock, a broker, wfoo sheared the
Venetian lamb at the corner of the Ri
alto and the Grand canal. He is now.
no more. I couldn’t even find an old
neighbor near the Rialto who remem
bered Shylock. From what I can learn
of him, however, I am led to believe
that he was pretty close in his deals.*
and liked to catch a man in a tight
place and then make him squirm. Shy-. 1
lock, during the great panic in Venice
many years ago, it is said, had a chat-’
tel mortgage on more lives than you!
could shake a stick at. He would loan!
a small amount to a merchant at three;
per cent, a month, and secure it on a|
pound of the merchant’s liver, or by »
cut-throat mortgage on his respiratory!
apparatus. Then, when the paper ma-l
tured, he would go up to the houss|
with a pair of scales and a ’pie knife
and demaud a foreclosure.
Venice is one of the best watered!
towns in Europe. You can hardly walk!
a block without getting your feet wet,!
unless you ride in a gondola.
The" gondola is a long, slim hack
without wheels and is worked around!
through the damp streets by a brunette!
man whose breath should be a sad
warning to us all. He is called the!
gondolier. Sometimes he sings in a!
low tone of voice and in a foreign’
tongue. Ido not know where I have!
met so many foreigners as I have here!
in Europe, unless it was in New York’
at the polls. Wherever I go, I hear aJ
foreign tongue. Ido not know wheth-;
er these people talk in the Italian lan-'
guage just to show off or not. Perhapa!
they prefer it. London is the only!
place I have visited where the Boston;
dialect is used. London was originally
settled by adventurers from Boston.;
The blood of some of the royal families'
of Massachusetts may be found in the
veins of London people.
Wealthy young ladies in Venice do!
not run away with the coachman..
There are no coaches, no coachmen and
no horses in Venice. There are only
four horses in «Venice and they are
j made of copper and exhibited at St?
Mark’s as curiosities. 1 < ■,
The Accademia delle Belle Arti of
Venice is a large picture store where
went yesterday to buy a few pictures'
for Christmas presents. A painting byj
Titian, the Italian Prang, pleasea me
very much, but I couldn't beat down
the price to where it would be any ob-l
ject for me to buy it. Besides, it would!
be a nuisance to carry such a picture!
around with me all over the Alps, up;
the Rhine and through St. Lawrence
county.
'The Italians are quite proud of their
smoky old paintings. I have often
thought that if Venice would run less to
art and more to soap, she would be
more apt to win my respect. Art is
all right to a certain extent, but it can
be run in the ground. It breaks my
heart to know how lavish nature has
been with water here, and yet how the
Venetians scorn to investigate its bene
fits. When a gondolier gets a drop of
water on him, he swoons. Then he
lies in a kind of coma till another gon
dolier comes along to breath in his face;
and revive him.— Bill Nye in N. JT.‘
ilercury.
The Secrets of Ventriloquism,
An excellent ventriloquist is now per
forming in our variety theateia, writes
a New York correspondent of the Al
bany Journal —a woman, and therefore
without the mustache behind which
most performers in that line conceal
the slight movement of their lips. Im
nothing connected with the magical!
show is there more radical humbug
than in ventriloquism. There is no
such thing possible as "throwing the
voice,” and all the old stories of Wy
man, or anybody else, doing astonish
ing ventriloquiai feats in the middle ot
a crowd are fiction. The auditor must*
be at a little distance or there can be
deception. This young woman uses!
manikins, curtains, a trunk, and the
other usual aids; but her unshaded
mouth is absolutely still while she i>
talking. Her lips are slightly parted.!
but they do not even quiver when she
is singing in a very loud, strong voice.
The whole art consists in speaking with
out stirring the mouth, and in a divert
ing power of mimicry. As to the seem
ing distance given to the voice, that isf
done by decreasing the volume and at
the same time indicating, by pantomine
or otherwise, the direction desired. P
asked her how long she had been ac
quiring her skill. “I always had it,”
she replied. "I used to be a mill-hand
in Manchester, England. A ventrilo
quist came along, and I found that he
couldn’t do as much as I had, as long
as I could remember, been perfectly
able to do. I showed him that I could’
beat him at his own business, and he
put me into it. There wasn’t anything
to learn, except to work the figures, do
the patter (dialogue), and get used tsi
an audience. I formerly earned 83 si
week working twelve hours a day; now
1 get sls, and the whole doesn’t amount’
to that much time.” Were she rid of
her English provincial accent and
coarseness, so as to be acceptable to re- i
fined audiences, she would easily muD
tiply her present income.
According to statistics, novela con»
stitute nine-tenths of the books read in
England, and nineteen-twentietha ol
the books read in the worid. —•—