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THE ATLANTIAN
“MORE TRUTH” THAN
POETRY.
Your dollars will perish but a gooil
name will always live. It is better to
die in honest poverty than to grow rich
through fraud.
Character is head anil shoulders shows
gold, said Benoni Platt, who used as a
motto inscribed in the inside band of his
hat: “What shall it profit a man if he
gain the whole world and lose his own
soul l ’ ’
When a society man dies it is whis
pered around, what is the value of his
estate, not what good deeds has he done.
The society man drives a fifteen thousand
dollar team up to the Golden Gate—pos
sibly the team was purchased from our
square all round good fellow Gerald How-
att—he is met by the Recording Angel,
who asks him six words: Where did you
get that [tile? In looking further into
his earthly record he is told as a society
man that he had two sets of manners,
one for his employees, and one for so
ciety, there were also mingled in his for
tune Gin Mill Staggers’ children’s cries
for bread, and widow’s sighs. He was
told that he had a marble heart for the
poor, that the almighty dollar was mir
rored in his heart, and he passed out of
one world into the next with a grasping
shrivelled up soul.
DANGER FOR HIM.
(From the Weekly Telegraphy.)
It was on a crowded suburban car out
of Washington, one day last summer, that
a middle-aged woman, carrying a fretful
baby, was forced to squeeze herself into
a small space left vacant beside a dapper
youth of possibly 20 years. Ilis counte
nance had all the expression of his im
maculate white suit, except for a look
of disgust which lie assumed as the baby,
in its restlessness, would touch him with
foot or hand. Finally lie turned toward
the woman and inquired, in a tone audi
ble to those near him:
“Ah, beg pawdon, madam, but has this
child anything—all—contagious ? ’'
The nurse was a motherly-looking wo
man. Glancing compassionately at him
through her gold-rimmed spectacles, she
remarked, meditatively:
“Well, now, I don’t know, young man,
but—ah—it might be to you. She’s
teething! ”
BOLD AS A LION.
“ I understand that Mr. Grabwell start
ed in life by borrowing $50. You must
admire a man with courage like that.”
“No, I don’t,” replied Mr. Growcher.
“The man I admire is the one who had
the courage to lend him the fifty.”—
Washington Star.
A FAMILY TALK.
(From the Sphere.)
The Irate Intruder: Look here, you’ve
been in there half an hour and never
said a word.
The Man in the Telephone Booth. I
am speaking to my wife, sir.
‘ ‘ Bobby, won't you be a good boy and
go to Sunday-school this morning?”
“Mamma, will you let me skip my
hath. ”
(From the Chicago Tribune.)
gffo AtUmtian
Box 118, Atlanta, Georgia
THE ATLANTIAN will give free space to all Secret Societies and Labor Or
ganizations.
On the other hand, we put everybody on notice when THE ATLANTIAN makes
a statement which we believe to be true, and such statement goes uncontroverted, we
shall insist that it is true.
Published Monthly by The Atlantian Publishing Co.
VOL. 5 SEPTEMBER
No. 56
Our Motto: “Pull for Atlanta, or Pull Out. ,f
Editorial Etchings
Labor Day
Labor has been man’s lot since the beginning of his
history on the earth.
The works of labor are seen in the ruins of the great
cities of antiquity, in the pyramids of Egypt, in the cata
combs of Rome, in the great cities of our own day and
in the tremendous public works which crown our civiliza
tion.
Notwithstanding the evidences of labor down
through the generations, it has remained for our own
generation to give labor recognition by dignifying one
day in the year as “Labor Day.”
It was well and fitly done, for of all the days which
we celebrate as holidays or feast days, Christmas alone
can compare with Labor Day.
Labor feeds the world, Labor clothes the world, La
bor transports men and things about the world, Labor
builds our towering edifices, our inter-continental canals,
our railroads, our highways, our irrigation works, our
ports and docks. From the humblest laborer’s cottage to
the capitol at Washington, the hand of labor is in evi
dence. Capital, which is the accumulations of labor, is
inert and dead until energized by the hand of Labor.
We have made headway, we now recognize the
utility and the dignity of labor, and thoughtful men fore- j
see the time when the value of labor will be fully recog- |
nized and the terms “capital and labor” now used in
antithetical sense will then be used as they should in the
co-operative sense.
For to that must we come before economic peace
will prevail in the earth.
Capital, which is but stored-up labor, must get into
such an attitude towards active labor that the one need
not starve in order that the other may prosper.
We have had competition and the corporation, now
we wait the day of co-operation; and when that day
comes, as come it will, “Labor Day” will mean as much j
to the men of affairs as it now means to the laborer who
gives of his slender resources in order to leave better
conditions for his children.
Every lover of his fellows, every worker for a nobler,
a higher, a sweeter civilization, should feel it a bounden
duty to contribute, by word and deed, towards making
each Labor Day a red-letter occasion in the annals of his
city or town.
H
PROVING HIS TITLE.
A. L. Hamilton, the millinery expert,
complained in New York about the tariff
clause prohibiting the importation, for
millinery uses, of all wild bird feathers,
save the ostrich’s.
Mr. Hamilton pointed out that many
game birds are killed because they are
pests, and he asked why the Audubon
societies would have the feathers of all
these birds wasted.
“I represent the birds, Mr. Hamil
ton,” said an Audubon devotee. “I
speak tor the birds. Whom do you rep
resent, and what right have you to
speak?”
“I represent the millinery trade,”
Mr. Hamilton answered. “I speak for
the thousands who will be thrown out of
work if this foolish clause goes into ef
fect. As to my right to speak—well, I
think I ’m rather in the position of the
department store proprietor there.
“A department store proprietor inau
gurated in the basement a 10-cent, three-
course luncheon for his workers. He
thought, one day, he’d try the luncheon
himself, and accordingly he hopped up
onto a peg and called for the soup. But
the waiter, not knowing him, said:
“ ‘Oh, no, mister! You ain’t in on
this. You don’t belong to this store.’
“ ‘I’m quite aware of that,’ the pro
prietor answered. ‘The store belongs to
me. ’ ’ ’
THE DISCOURAGED POET.
Alfred Noyes, the British poet, though
usually very successful in marketing his
wares, suffered a slump on towards the
end of his American visit, and naturally
became low-spirited in consequence.
‘ ‘ Every thing seems to be going
wrong,” he sighed one evening at the
Franklin Inn in Philadelphia. “I’ll have
to change my luck somehow or other ”
He laughed grimly and resumed:
‘ ‘ I asked the maid at my lodgings this
morning what had become of the paper
that I’d left lying on my desk.
“Oh, sir,’ she said, ‘I thought it was
waste paper, and I threw it in the waste-
paper basket. ’
“ ‘No,’ said I, ‘it wasn’t wasto paper.
I hadn’t written anything on it yet. ’ ’
THE FACETIOUS HUSBAND.
‘ ‘.Tottie Footlights, a friend of Gob-
sa’s young wife,” says Henry R. Law,
“came to him one day and remarked:
“‘Mr. Golde, next Thursday is the
first, anniversary of your wedding. Don’t
forget it, will you? Thais (Thais was
Gobsa’s girl wife)—Thais, you know,
will expect something awfully nice, a
new car, or a diamond stomacher, or—
“ ‘Humph!’ said Gobsa, ‘I’ll do bet
ter than that for her. I ’ll pretend to be
dangerously ill.’ ”
HAD BEEN TRYING THEM.
(From the Philadelphia Record.)
‘ ‘ Perhnps you drink too much coffee, ’ ’
suggested the doctor. “I should advise
you to try n substitute.”
“Sir, your advice is superfluous,” re
plied the patient. “I have lived in board
ing houses for twenty-five years.”