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THE ATLANTIAN.
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Bell Phone Main 271
ALL SAINTS.
In a church which is furnish'd witli mill
ion and gable,
With altar and reredos, with gargoyle
and groin.
The penitents ’ dresses arc sealskin and
sable,
The odor of sanctity's eau-de-cologne.
But only could Lucifer, flying from
Hades,
Gaze down on this crowd witli its pan
niers and paints,
He would say, as he looked at the lords
and the ladies:
“Oh! where is All Sinners’, if this is
All Saints’!’’
—Edmund Yates.
HARD ON THE FLOWERS.
Coming home the other day in a rush
of excitement, Dora rushed to her mother
and said:
“Oh, mamma! guess what we are go
ing to do?’’
“I don’t know, dear, but hope it is
nothing dreadful. ’ ’
“We’re going to study botany, and
next Saturday we are going out to the
woods to tantalize the flowers.”—New
York Times.
HIS PEN NAME.
‘ • Hero! ’ ’ cried the hotel clerk, glanc
ing at the register whore the new arrival
had just scrawled “No. 1523”, “Wlmt.’s
the idea!”
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” explained
the ex-forger, as he corrected his social
error; “that’s my pen name.”
SHARP BOY.
A mother, admonishing her son, a lad
about seven years of ago, told him he
should never defer till tomorrow what he
could do today. The little urchin re
plied : ‘ ‘ Then, mother, let’s eat the re
mainder of the plum pudding tonight.”
PLAYING WITH FIRE.
First Bachelor Maid—Miss Singleton
is playing with fire again.
Second Bachelor Maid—How is that!
First Bachelor Maid—Going with an
“old fame” of hers.
C. D. KNIGHT,
Member City Council, Member
Division 457, O. R. C., Elk,
and Member Sl.rine.
Cl
THE TORTURIN’ OF THE
OYSTERS.
(With Apologies to Rudyard Kipling).
Dr. Wiley says that when salt is put on
oysters they suffer excruciating pain.
“What makes that oyster look so sad?”
the grave Head Waiter said,
“A touch o’ salt, a touch o’ salt,” old
Doctor Wiley said.
“They are torturing the bivalves, they
are saltin’ of ’em down,
They are givin’ ’em tabasco fit to make
the divils drown,
An’ they’ll die in ’arf a minute in an
agony profoun’;
Oh, they’re torturin the oyjiter most
alarmin ’. ’ ’
‘ ‘ I’ve served ’em ’ot, I’ve served ’em
cold, ’ ’ the grave Head Waiter said,
‘ ‘ They suffer either hot or cold, ’ ’ old
Doctor Wiley said.
‘ ‘ I’ve poured the cocktail sauce on ’em, ’ ’
the grave Head Waiter said.
“You should have been arrested then,”
old Doctor Wiley said.
‘ ‘ They are saltin ’ down the bivalves;
you can hear the critters moan,
’Tis an agony of torture that will make
an oyster groan.
I’m goin’ to start a great reform if I
’ave to act alone.
Oh, they’re torturin’ the bivalves most
alarmin ’. ’ ’
“Wlmt’s that a loanin’ on the bar?” the
grave Head Waiter said.
“ It’s one of them S. P. C. A., ’ ’ old Doc
tor Wiley said.
* ‘ What’s that that whimpers over ’ead ? ’ ’
the grave Head Waiter said.
“It’s oysters’ souls that’s passin’ now,”
old Doctor Wiley said;
“And they’re formin’ in procession; you
can hear the Dead March play.
The officers are coinin’ an’ you’d better
skip away,
The coppers are in column and we’d
better say good day,
Or they’ll put us in the cooler for a
longish sort of stay,
After torturin’ the oysters all the even
in’.”
—Sanborn Gove Tenney, New York Sun.
THE WAGES OF SIN.
A county chairman at the Republican
state convention at Saratoga, N. Y., last
September was indignant over stories
that he had bought voters at a previous
election.
“ It ain’t true! ” he declared, heatedly.
“It ain’t ture! We didn’t have no
money to speak of, and we didn’t do no
bavin ’. Of course, we bought a few here
and there, but not what you might call
any real buyin ’, by a long shot. I don’t
see why they spread these slanders ’round
like this! ”
A CASE OF SWELLED HEAD.
In youth her parents told her she
Was such a matchless maid,
It filled her with conceit, and so
She’s forty in the shade.
When you see a man spending all the
nionoy he has and all he can borrow from
,his get an office, you had bet
ter vote ±Oi omer fellow.
EVERY ONE KNEW IT.
The newly married pair had escaped
from their demonstrative friends and
were on the way to the depot when the
carraige stopped. The bridegroom looked
out of the window’ impatiently.
“What’s the matter, driver?” he
called.
“The horse has thrown a shoe, sir,”
w T as the reply.
‘ ‘ Great Scott; ’ ’ groaned the bride
groom; “even the horse know's we’re just
married.”—Ladies’ Home Journal.
JUST A NOISE.
“Do they have music at this hotel?”
“No; only an orchestra.”
CHINA.
Wiseman—Well, China has started off
fairly well in the independence busi
ness.
Cynicus—But it had to borrow money
right off the bat.
Wiseman—True. But it doesn’t have
to go abroad for firecrackers.
E, S. HARTMAN
Good Business Man and Good
Citizen
The enterprising haberdasher store
of Hartman’s, 6 Peachtree Street, has
grown up in this town from very small
proportion to be a strong and substan
tial concern. The success of Mr. Hart
man has won him many friends. His
uniform fair dealings, courtesy and
business ability speaks for themselves.
E. S. HARTMANS.
Proprietor of the Mens Shop with
a Reputation. Something About
Him.
There is no real reason why any one
should go abroad to buy goods.
Mr. Hartman is a young man, and
has come here to stay, and we are
glad to see the enterprising firm doing
the big business they are doing, and
hope that it is but a forerunner of the
time when all our city needs will be
supplied by enterprising firms who
make their money in Atlanta. Who
discharge the duties of good citizen
ship in Atlanta, and who help to make
Atlanta the Gate City of the South, as
she is. Watch Hartman growl