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I ! ; THE ATLANTIAN » i 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.