The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1870-07-29

From Our oSsn oOrresDOndens
New YORK, July 90. 1870.

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Point. The truth of the story is hard to get at.
The smoke is so thick upon the pearl that its
natural lustre is entirely hid. Rival newspapers
have sent their interviewers to him, and still the
truth hangs fire. To-day we read an eloquent
letter from him which wrings the heart; to-
morrow opposing parties print a revelation that
uuwrings il. In the midst of these contradic-
tions the question seems to be tapering into lis
there a black boy at West Point at all, or is he a
newspaper myth, an Ethiopian Frankenstein
galvanized into life by horrid sensation-seekers?'
Is 1t true that he has been snubbed and
sworn at, laid out, set up, and had a head put
on him whenever ] feel strongly use good,
plain, idiomatic English), or does he live in
clover with his bread buttered on both sides ?
IL l take the word of this reporter the convic-
ton is fxed upon me that the black boy at
West Point is treated with the sweetest cour-
tesy, the most distinguished consideration by
the officers and drill-masters there. If l turn to
that one l am compelled TO believe that he is
regarded with the same intolerable federation
with which q cclored blag .yer-boots aspiring
to O cadetship would be contemplated. Rea-
son reels before the alternative presented, and l
catch myself promising myself to devote my
first holiday to visiting the black boy at West
Point. 1 should like to know whether, after
all, there is one really there. If SO, whether he
writes his letters to the newspapers all alone by
himself. At present he has but one rival in this
respect in English literature. Is it necessary to
say that / allude to Lydia Thompson? The
''Ready Letter Writer forbid
Literary Egg-suckers.
New York is mushroomed with men who
earn a living by writing short stories. The re-
preventative story-writer is an unwholesome and
painful sight. He may be able to shake ro-
mances out of his coat-sleeve, but the sleeve
itself is very practically ragged, and as the interior
of it catches the corner of your eye, you per-
ceive that it comes next to the skin without the
intervention of q linen or muslin garment. Pos
sibly q pair of wristbands, with an expensive
edge of dirt, deceives the careless observer into
a belief in the existence of a shirt, but that pre-
tense is not invariably successful. The coat is
remarkable for the affectionate tenacity of the
button-holes and buttons for one another, aud
the smell of drink as inseparably clings to him
as the proposition TO to a verb in the infinitive.
This is the representative s~tory-writer, but
there are several exceptions Is him. Who is
this that cometh, with flbert nails as clean as a
mandarin's, and a general air of touch-me-not
neatness ? This is he who wrote 'Found In an
Ash-Barrel; or, The Baby. Farmer of Blooming
dale" His popularity is SO unquestionable that
the Daily Ne,1s gives him credit for every story
of his that it copies, and the Police Ne,cs and
the Neo idea pay him three dollars a column.
" DellcVe me, III is something 10 WlclQ an lnfu-
ence like to this, to know that the public is
waiting to grab for every masterpiece that leaves
your right hand, while you have only to grab
the greenbacks which obsequious publishers
cram into your left. This is indeed to write
with a purpose, to teach the young idea Cor
rather the Neto Idea) how to shoot, so as to hit
the b~ulls-eye of buncombe and morbidity. A
few e.Gry-writers there are-but you will
scarcely find them among the men-who betray
any intent other than that of making five dol
lars by an infinitesimal outlay of time and talent.
The bouquet of Bohemia fingers about the vast
majority. They suck the literary eggs of cele-
brated novelists, and then cackle as if they had
laid one themselves.
The Elevated Railway.
Flows that for high ?" is a very natural ques-
ton with respect to the Elevated Railway when
we consider the expensiyeness of its failure.
So many features connected with it are interest
ing and extraordinary. Accidents upon it arc
to be depended upon with such absolute GER
tainty as to promise to become q popular and
easy method of suicide, greatly superior to
charcoal or Paris green. Something wrong"
is the obscure HAT permanently descriptive of
it. No one expects anything better. Thanks
to the logic of a highly intelligent and original
officer connected with it, the public places i'm
mense faith in its practical demonstration of
how great a strain it can safely-that is to say,
with danger-be subjected to. When the last
serious accident occurred, the arguments used
by that authority were an exquisite example of
dialectic discrimination. "Nothing better could
have happened, I" he exclaimed, in substance, in
allusiou to the wounded victims. This provi-
dental fatality, for which we ought to be
grateful, teaches us where our weak point
is and what amount of strain the road
will not bear. o let us be
~joyful4!' Since he was not a scratch the worse,
perhaps it is only human nature for him to have
thus expressed himself. At any rate it is an
unusual and pleasant sight to see an officer of a
public company so quick to recognize the hand
of Providence in some one else's injuries. 1t
proves him to possess o healthy, happy heart,
and leads one to believe that similar calamities
will be accepted as proving the Elevated Rail-
way to be under the especial blessing of Provi-
dence. 1t is something to be able to feel that a
road of peculiar danger built for the express
accommodation of the public has of its head
one who knows where to put Che responsibility
of loss of life or limb. 1t is not too late for men
holding equally important positions to follow so
lovely and sensible an example. Suppose, for
instance, one of our theatres with narrow lanes
of exit should be burnt down some night while
crowded to the brim According to Elevated
Railway logic, 1t would be the best thing that
could have happened, illustrating as it would
that the Hobbies should have been made wider
and the aisles not blocked up with camp-stools.
Who could impeach an argument like this?
Japanese Fans.
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