Sign Painter's Work – Advertisements on Fences, Billboards

1887

The Sign Painter's Work

Interesting Information About the Advertisements We See on Fences

"That man is a sign painter by trade," remarked a contractor, pointing to a man who was erecting a fence before a building that was to be torn down, "but he finds it pays better to put up fences where building is going on and let out the spaces to advertisers. The big profits in the business have brought about a healthy competition, and everything is now reduced to a fine art. I remember a few years ago this sign painter came to me and offered to put up a new fence free of charge in front of a building I was erecting providing he could use the boards for advertising purposes. I jumped at the offer and thought the man was a fool for making it. The shoe was on the other foot, however, for I should have received several hundred dollars to boot for the privilege.

"This man has brought the business down to a science. He has scores of agents scouring the city for eligible sites, as well as canvassers to drum up advertisements. His fences, which are very neat and attractive, are built in uniform sections and join together on the groove principle. An advertiser can thus have his announcement changed to different localities at will without going to the expense of having a new sign painted. The old method of building a new fence every time made this mode of advertising very expensive, and the lessees often lost money by being unable to let out all the spaces; but the cost is now reduced to a minimum by making the sections to slide in and out like the lid of a box.

"The rates, of course," he continued, "depend upon the location. A sign on Broadway costs the most, but many of the cross streets are nearly as desirable. The big advertisers make contracts by the year. Some of their signs are very elaborate. As soon as one building is finished they are put up elsewhere. The lessee who has a number of these contracts runs no risk in leasing a privilege, because he has his advertisers beforehand, and their signs are ready to slide into position. The first charge is made for the painting of the sign, and then so much per day for its use as an advertisement. The artistic appearance of the signs has improved very much since the introduction of the movable section, for enterprising houses no longer look upon it as extravagant to have trademarks or pictures of specialties correctly painted on a fence. These signs don't remain long in the same place. A building is soon put up in New York." — New York Evening Sun.

An Enchanted Cavern – The Beauties of the Grotto of Capri

1887

An Enchanted Cavern

Beauties of the Grotto of Capri — An American Bicyclist's Adventure

Tradition has it that this "Grotta Azzura" was known in the earliest Roman times and then lost again in the Middle Ages, although the knowledge of its existence was preserved at Capri, and that in the last century it was rediscovered through chance — a shipwrecked sailor was dashed through the narrow opening in the cliff; recovered consciousness to find himself in heaven, as he thought — in reality upon a little ledge in the grotto — and escaped by swimming.

Can I not enter swimming when it would be impossible for a boat? The guide says, "No," but will take me out there, and it is worth the attempt; so watch and valuables are left at the hotel and we are off. On the way we meet a party returning, and upon reaching to the cave we find that the entrance, about three feet high and four broad, is filled by every wave and the spray sent dashing up the rocky sea wall I must enter as the wave recedes.

Undressing and leaping into the sea, I was tossed about a little by the waves, my mouth filled with salt water and I almost decided to give it up; but, after holding to the boat for a few moments and hearing the guide expatiate upon the "Grotta Bellissima," decided that I could risk a bit of a knock for the purpose of seeing one of nature's most beautiful creations. The boat was pushed as near as was safe and I made a plunge for the entrance, but just a little too late; I saw that the coming wave would catch me, and fearing a blow on the head — where even the felt hat I wore for that contingency would not have saved me — I dived on the instant, and the wave, coming roaring in, pushed me by its weight into the depths, instead of against the rocks. I think I must have gone down fifteen feet and been under the surface nearly a minute, for I swallowed an immense quantity of the salty fluid before I came up dazed, after a hard struggle, to find myself in smooth water, surrounded by a wonderful, supernatural, blue light, with countless stars gleaming above me. The water is very clear and seems to be fathomless, while my limbs are bright, polished, sparkling silver. Ideas of distance are lost; I can see for miles in every direction, up and down as well, and it is a surprise to me when, after swimming for ten minutes, I find myself at the other end of the grotto.

There was no resting place except a crevice in the rock for the fingers of one hand, and I hung there swinging back and forth and feasting on this wonderful sight — a feast half mingled with - fear as to my safe exit. The entrance appeared hopelessly far away, entirely closed every few seconds by the inrushing water, and then, upon its recession, admitting a ray from the outside world. The impression and experience is, under such circumstances, altogether indescribable and unearthly. After perhaps fifteen minutes I launched out once more, and swam, in fear and trembling, for the entrance; before reaching it two or three big waves came rushing in, tossing the salt spray into my eyes, and accompanied by a cold wind. I approached as near the entrance as I could, waited until a great wave dashed itself with full force into my face, struck out quickly, and, behold, I came out without the slightest trouble and seized the boat before the next wave came! — George P. Fiske, M. D.. in Outing.

Musicians of the Street — Picturesque New York Figures

1887

MUSICIANS OF THE STREET.

The Picturesque Figures Who Make Melody on the Sidewalk.

[Special Correspondence.]

NEW YORK, Nov. 15. — Street musicians in New York are not limited to the hand organ. Every portable instrument under the sun stops at times and tunes up under your windows. Yesterday two men, one with a bagpipe, the other with a pibroch, went through my street making music weird, wild and pathetically sweet. Here and there a nickel was thrown to them from the upper stories, and here and there fell a tear. The concert was musical. They had not the hackneyed, manners of hardened street musicians. Solicitation was new to them. But they woke the echoes with old Scottish airs that moved hearts and moistened eyes.

If one might judge of them and their history, one might say that they were Scotchmen, stranded in New York without money and took this simple plan of earning a little. Sometimes a man stops on a corner after nightfall and sings a song, not in the cracked and dreadful voice of the blind professional street singer, but in sweet and melodious notes. One by one the passing people halt to hear him, and a few remember to pay for the pleasure he has given. He is perhaps of higher station, and temporarily in distress, Possibly he does it for a lark, for the pleasure of giving pleasure to those whose pleasures are few.

Sometimes a very old man, dignified and patriarchal, plays upon a large clarionet, making such music as the souls of musicians love. It is evident that in this humble guise a master breathes upon the instrument. That he has descended from some height of talent, and perhaps fame, is evident. His garments, too, have come down. When he trembles during the pauses in his music his hearers feel their throats thicken and somehow their hands find their way to their pockets. The throng about him increases all the time. His selections are not the much harped upon airs from the popular operas; they are the classic airs of the past. And when he was applauded the pale, old face flushed up with pleasure, and he acknowledged the compliment with the grace of an artist.

Histories, forsooth, have the street musicians. They have lived romances and supped on tragedies. Poverty walks on one side of them and art on the other. The way has been long and up hill all the way, with here and there a light, a halt and a bit of joy. They suggest blind Homer. They do more. They keep our hearts tender. — G. G.

A Bit of Dog-gerel (Poetry with Theme of Evolution)

1887

A BIT OF DOG-GEREL

We bought him when a puppy,
And we know he was a pug,
For he had the usual trademark
On his ugly little mug.

He had eyes the size of walnuts,
And his nose to heaven turned,
And his underjaw protruded
As if for flesh it yearned.

While his color it was off'll
And his face was black as tar,
And the moles upon his cheeklets
Were the same as puggies' are.

And we knew he was a "thorough"
When we watched him at his play,
For his monkey-like expression
Gave his origin away.

And this origin of species
Is a very funny thing,
When the grandson of a monkey
Can be such a cunning thing.

LATER.

He's developed to a bulldog,
Evolution has begun,
And we fear he'll be a terr-ie-or
Before his race is run.

But there's one small consolation:
It is, that now he's ug-
Lier, if that were possible,
Than when he was a pug.

—Detroit Free Press.