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THE ATLANTIAN
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A PARTHIAN SHOT.
A good story about Dr. Lyman Abbott
was told at Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont’s suf
frage lunch in New York.
Dr. Abbott, so the story runs, dined
with a prominent suffragist at her great
house in Fifth avenue, and during dinner
stormed at the suffrage cause with all
his well-known force and vigor.
The poor suffragists, over their Astra
khan cavaire and winter strawberries,
were quite squelched by Dr. Abbott’s
eloquence, but on his departure his host
ess planted a Parthian shot between the
shoulders of the distinguished clergyman.
As Dr. Abbott passed out of the court
yard of the mansion on taking leave, a
hugo wolf hound began to bark and bay
furiously, whereupon the hostess opened
a window and called demurely:
“Oh, Dr. Abbott, pleaso don’t bite my
dog. ’ ’
ON SUSPICION.
Not long ago, the name of a man was
called in court as a witness, and an
answer came that tho man called was
dead.
“And how do you know tho man’s
deadf’’ asked tho judge.
“Well,” the other man replied, stand
ing up, “I don’t know. It’s a very
difficult thing to prove. ’ ’
“That’s what I thought,” said the
judge sarcastically, “you don’t know
whether the man’s dead or not.”
“You are quite right, sir,” the other
rejoined, “I don’t know whether lie is
dead or not, but I am positive of this:
they buried him about a month ago on
suspicion. ’ ’
“You may give three important il
lustrations of tho power of the press,”
says tho teacher of the class.
The pupil who has not hitherto dis
tinguished himself is first to reply:
“Oider, courtship and politics.”
There is no action so slight but it may
be done to a great purpose and ennobled
therefore; nor is any purpose so great
but that slight actions may help it, nud
it may bo so dt.no as to help it much,
most especially that chief of all pur
poses, the pleasing of God.—John Buskin.
That man is not himself blessed with
a very happy temper who is unable to
enduro tho cross-grained people with
whom the world abounds. In the busi
ness of life, copper coins as well as gold
pieces are necessary.—La Bruyere.
Mrs. Knowsmith—“My husband is an
out-and-out optimist.”
Little Ethel—“What is an optimist,
mamma f”
Mrs. Knowsmith—“A person who
doesn’t care what happens so long as
it don’t happen to him.”—Exchange.
“I washed Willie’s pants t’udder day,
and dey shrunk so dat de po’ chile kin
ha’dly walk in urn. Won’er how I
gwine fix ’umt”
“Try washin’ de chile. Maybe he
shrink, too. ’'—Exchange.
i I.
But if you ask: Shall he be poisoned at his work? there
is no room for any respectable argument; and, whatever
anybody may think about any disputable phase of the
labor question, it would obviously be a good thing to clear
the ground of those phases respecting which there can be
no honest difference of opinion.
Most of the precautions necessary to reduce lead
poisoning to a minimum—such as well-ventilated, well-
lighted workrooms, with flooring that permits the re
moval of all dust; clean workclothes; ample and sanitary
lavatories; a place to eat outside the workroom—are such
as should be required in the name of mere human decency
anyway.
A spirited fight is under way for a uniform law in
all States having lead-using industries. It will be inter
esting to note which States refuse to pass the bill.—Ex.
COULD REACH IT.
A temperance lecturer was enthusias
tically denouncing the use of all intoxi
cants.
“I wish all the beer, all the wine, all
the whiskey in the world was at the
bottom of the ocean,” he said.
Hastily Pat arose to his feet.
“Sure, and so do I, sor,” he shout
ed. “I wish every bit of it was at the
bottom of the sea.”
As they were leaving the hall the
lecturer encountered Pat.
“I certainly am proud of you,” he
said. “It was a brave thing for you
to rise and say what you did. Are you
a teetotaler?”
“No, indade, sor,” answered Pat. “I
am a diver.”—Cleveland Leader.
Heroism
This is the splendid century—this is the world’s
great hour—this is the mighty year of history.
Nothing lies beyond the hills of yesterday so glorious
as living reality.
Fame for untold ages dipped her pen in blood and
wrote immortality upon the battlefield. Glory made
monuments of crucifix and gibbet, and martyrs were
torches that brought the light of reason and humanity.
But we fight in greater causes and battle with nobler
weapons. Valor lives to serve and no longer serves to die.
It was a fine folly to give and take the sword-thrust,
but it is a nobler sanity to heal wounds than to bestow
them.
The search for the golden fleece was a superb thing,
but not so magnificent as the hunt for the bubonic flea.
The quest of the Holy Grail studded the skies with
imperishable names, but the extermination of the mos
quito pest did more to make this earth a cleaner and
safer sphere.
The ancient heroisms were spectacular and dazzling
and tremendous.
Down the ghostly roads of time we see them tramp—
the bronze-shod phalanxes of Macedon—the Little Cor
poral and his giant guard. We salute them and their
time.
Theirs was an older and blinder civilization.
They were conquerors, but destroyers.
Their usefulness is ended—we are of another age—
builders and creators.
We live in and for this new truth: that real glory
lies in the battle with menace and not with men.
The scalpel, the microscope, the sewer, the drain-pipe
have achieved beyond Theseus’ dagger and Aneas’ spear
and Gallahad’s lance and Bonaparte’s cannon.
Long brought more to his followers with a bottle of
anaesthesia than did Alexander.
Carl’s miraculous knife lifts him nearer to godship
than did ever falchion or mace.
The great adventure is no longer marked by a trail
of tears and fears and havoc.
The new soldier serves for the common good.
He comes in the name of faith—to heal—to cleanse.
Doubt and superstition and ignorance and wrong
living and dirt are his only enemies.
Brotherhood is his battle-cry, and hope his oriflamme.
He bears but one weapon—imagination—and where
he treads he banishes despair and pain.
“He fights at Armageddon and he battles for the
Lord.”—Exchange.
BY WAY OF ENGLAND.
Mr. Champ Clark has the happy knack
of being able to parry inconvenient in
terruptions with some smart retort that
immediately squashes the opposition. He
was speaking at a rather noisy meeting
not long ago, and after a short time a
big chunk of wood was thrown at him.
Fortunately the aim was bad, and it
fell harmlessly on the platform.
Mr. Clark picked it up and showed
it to the audience.
‘ 1 Good heavens I ” he exclaimed in
tones of mock anxiety, “one of our op
ponents has lost his head! ’ ’—Pearson’s
Weekly.
WANTED IT ALL.
Mistress (to maid who is emigrating
to Canada)—Well, good luck to you,
Mary! The voyage’ll soon be over.
Mary—But 1 m looking forward to
tho voyage, mum.
Mistress—That’s right; and I hope
you won’t be seasick.
Mary—Oh, but I—I don’t want to
miss anything.—Punch (London).
QUESTION OF AUTHORITY.
Two men were hotly discussing the
merits of a book. Finally one of them,
himself an author, said to the other:
“No, John, you can’t appreciate it. You
never wrote a book yourself. ’ ’
“No,” retorted John, “and I never
laid an egg, but I’m a better judge of
an omelet than any hen in the State.”
V. R. GRESHAM
Opens New Plumbing & Heat
ing Business Under the
Firm Name of
GRESHAM-JACKSON CO.
And Will be Located at
26 Luckie. St.
V. R. Gresham, formerly with Jen-
nings-Gresham Co., will open a new busi
ness at 20 Luckie street under tho firm
name of Gresham-Jackson Co., Plumbing
and Heating Contractors. Mr. Gresham
and Mr. Jackson having been connected
with tho plumbing and heating business
for the past fifteen years, and know the
business thoroughly. They are now ready
to furnish estimate to owners, builders
and architects. They will also make re
pairs on plumbing and heating plants.
Any order given them by their many
friends will be given prompt attention.