Our readers are not strangers to the name and fame of the leading editor of the chief paper in Georgia.  They have heard of him as an eloquent orator with a brilliant imagination which saw a New South in almost millennial array, and told of it with an enthusiasm so contagious that to the sons of the Pilgrims after the fulness of a great dinner it seemed that the “Promised day of Israel” had at last arrived.  It is true that when this dinner had been thoroughly digested, certain ones, removed from the afflatus of the occasion began to ask, “Are these things so?” And when the Glenn Bill sought the endorsement of public opinion, and substantially received it with no word of reprobation from the eloquent orator and editor, some recalled the speech of Sheridan in reply to Mr. Dundas, “The right honorable gentleman is indebted to his imagination for his facts.”

* * * * *

In all this time no one suspected the Atlanta Constitution of possessing the humorous character which it has lately revealed.  In late issues of February it has, in the garb of gravity, about two columns that are ridiculously funny.

It appears that Prof.  Sumner Salter, a graduate of Amherst College, a son of an honored pastor of Iowa, a musical director of exceptional gifts and a teacher of eminent ability, was solicited by parties in Atlanta to take his residence there in the interest of the musical cultivation of such as could secure his services.  He soon attracted the patronage of society, and all went smoothly until the tempter came.  Alas, there was a serpent in Eden, so there was a skeleton in the closet of the Atlanta Constitution.  It was a dreadful skeleton.  The Constitution seriously publishes the fact that “it was whispered about for some time,” until patience ceased to be a virtue, when it sent a guardian of public safety in the form of a reporter to investigate.  “Was it really true that a white man who was giving music lessons to white people was also teaching a colored class at another time and place?  If so, what about the New South?  The black man had no business to be black, but he was all the same, and being so what right had Prof.  Salter to teach colored people to sing?  Let the matter be thoroughly searched out.  The reporter departed on his mission, with a countenance more in sorrow than in anger, and returned vice versa.

  “’Tis true, ’tis pity,
  And pity ’tis ’tis true.”

The professor was actually doing this very absurd thing.  He had taken charge of a colored class in the church of which Rev. Evarts Kent is minister and was teaching them how rightly to use the talents with which God had so richly endowed them. {95}

Accordingly, in the year of grace 1888, the Atlanta Constitution publishes the astounding fact, and calls the world to heed it, in conspicuous head lines:—­

  “WHITE OR BLACK—­A PROMINENT MUSICIAN WHO TEACHES BOTH COLORS—­HIS
  BUSINESS SAID TO BE INJURED.”