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WHAT WE THINK OF WHAT WE SEE
We have been shocked and mortified by the news
which comes to ns that a professor oif Romance
Languages at Harvard has been forced to resign
because a suit for breach of promise had been filed
against him. Viewed from one standpoint, the suit
seems to be evidence that he is qualified for teach
ing those branches, but it later developed that the
plaintiff was a Boston woman. That does make a
difference.
•
Somebody who had no business doing such a
thing, suggested to the House of Representatives
that they deserved a raise. They had been plod
ding along, saving the country for a long time, liv
ing hard and economizing in order to make both
ends meet, and the extra cost of living, and the
loss of the free pass, made some prompt relief
a necessity. They got to looking around and in
quiring how to go about getting their salary raised,
and the same busy-body told them that all they
bad to do was to take it. They hesitated a long
time, looking first at the treasury, and then con
sidering Bill and Joe back home at Hogan’s Cross
roads, but they just couldn’t get rid of the idea.
It was worse than a bee in a bonnet. So, in the
afternoon, after they had been let out, and Uncle
Joe had gone down Pennsylvania Avenue to the
little boarding-house around the corner, a few of
them went over to the Senate and talked it over
with the senators. The Senators were willing to
do what was right, but they had to have time to
reflect what the viewpoint of Joe and Hank back
at Posen’s Corner might be. So the matter rested
awhile, but some of the representatives walked by
the treasury on their way home and inquired how
things stood jover there. The information secured
seemed to clear up things. The money was there,
and there was nothing to do but take it I How
easy! So they got together and gave themselves
a raise from $5,000 per to $7,500 per. All kinds
of labor is higher than it used to be; so, why not ?
It does look like all branches of the Federal
power are utterly regardless of the rights of per
sons or of states. Some little time ago, it became
the most unpleasant duty of a state grand jury*'
to indict Mr. Perkins and Mr. Fairchild in New
York City. Those gentlemen had committed a lit
tle forgery, and had misappropinated a little money
which didn’t belong to them, but the jury realized
that they did it from the most altruistic motives j
that they loved honor not a whit less; they simply
loved their policyholders more; therefore,, the jury,
when an indictment was found, were overwhelmed
with regret that their duty forced them into the
unpleasant action, and along with the indictment
they apologized to the aforementioned altruists.
But what does that Federal Grand Jury in Chicago
do when they got hold of the Hon. John R. Walsh?
A plenty; an elegant sufficiency. They not only
indicted Mr. Walsh flatly and plainly, without any
sense of the outrageous nature of their conduct:
they got some more indictments, and then they car
ried their brutality to the extent of bringing some
ATLANTA, GA., JANUARY 24, 1907.
others; until, before they were willing to stop,
they had brought indictments, which, in penalties,
aggregate 1,820 years imprisonment. That last
twenty yeans is carrying the matter too far.
Eighteen hundred years is long enough for any man
to be imprisoned; even if he had done something
very wrong—almost criminal; but in this case the
adding of the twenty is simply horrible. The Fed
eral juries must be restrained.
A Swiss gentleman, named Bignami, has issued a
prospectus in which he outlines plans for forming
ia colony for ennuied literary workers and other
brain-tired folk, and establishing a retreat where
they may congregate far from the noise and hu’ry
and bustle and care of every-day life and just rest.
The plan is broad enough to include all kinds of
people who are just tired, and who just want rest.
The retreat has not been geographically located as
yet, but it will be a kind of Forest of Arden, with
modern improvements. No work, no worry, no
bills, no cooks, no gas-meters; the retreat will be
sans these and everything, except rest, sweet rest.
There these world-weary and work-oppressed peo
ple can go and find what they yearn for. It will
be quiet; they can commune with their souls during
the long, dewy forenoons; in the sunny afternoons
they can again commune with their souls, and when
the moonbeams fall o’er flowery bank and dell,
they can again commune with their souls. No ris
ing by the clock, no combing their hair, no answer
ing the telephone. No nerve-strain, no brain fag,
no coca-cola, no cigarettes—no anything but Sim
ple Life. If this retreat is established and the re
tirement of its members is for life, we trust that
a symposium will be held to determine who is to
go. We have in mind an author or two whom we
wish to get in as charter members.
There were days when there were giants in the
earth, and then there were other days when you
could hardly find one anywhere. But the former
times are coming back; their glory is being revived.
News comes to us that Mr. Rockefeller engaged
at ia certain hostelry seven rooms, but “occupied
only two of them.” Now, thut is a large scale on
which to do things. We have heard of the man
whose dignity entitled him to have two chairs, but
Mr. Rockefeller is leading in room occupancy as
in all else except hirsute growth. Then, there is
Mr. Taft. He is a gallant gentleman, and gave up
his seat in a street car to three ladies. Mr. Taft
is rather large in point of avoirdupois; so large that
our simplified word people have broached the sug
gestion that, instead of “avoirdupois,” the word
“Taftitis” be adopted. It is a good suggestion.
It saves labor for us, and from Mr. Taft’s stand
point it is better than having a cigar named for
him. We wait to see what Mr. Carnegie will do.
He is not the boy to let anybody get ahead of him.
Os course, he could, if he wanted to, occupy four
or five rooms, or he could resign his seat to a dozen
ladies, but we confidently predict that he will take
some new, untried course to further impress his
greatness upon his countrymen. In that connection
there is a little matter we wish to call to his at
tention. It seems that the Auld Brig of Ayr, which
is so associated with the name and fame of Burns,
is about to bo destroyed. Recent investigation has
informed us that the “Brig” is a bridge—the
spelling being an instance of Scotch thrift. Lord
Rosebery recently, in a speech, made in Glasgow,
said that he feared some American millionaire
would buy the Brig, have the stones numbered and
again built together in his back-yard in Chicago.
Now is the time for Mr. Carnegie to put in a
sealed bid. We take this method of informing him
how we stand on the question. Let him buy it
and give it to Scotland. We really don’t need
it here—-and the purchase would not be so impres
sive if he had the Brig wrapped up and sent home.
Let him buy it and fence it in—provided the stock
law is not in force there. Mr. Carnegie reads this
paper regularly, that is, when it is delivered reg
ularly, and when he runs to meet the postman on
the day for it to arrive, and it is late, he has to
be told the reason why. So, verb. sap.
Ever since President Roosevelt “fired the coons
heard round the world,” the question as to his right
to discharge them and prevent them from ever se
eming employment under the government in any
form, has been debated, in all kinds of forums,
from the cross-roads store to the Senate. Some
two weeks ago we made up our minds that the
President was quite right in ordering the discharge,
and so said in this publication; but it seems that
there are still some people, even those who would
be expected to be informed as to proper sources of
information, who do not read our utterances. Now
there is Senator Tillman. He never would have at
tacked the President as he did in his recent speech,
if he had taken occasion to read the right paper®.
We are at a loss to understand why the Senator
'should so champion the cause of the Brownsville
rioters. It seems so different from what we would
have expected of the Ben we once knew and en
joyed. “Life,” in speaking of Mr. Tillman’s atti
tude, says: “South Carolina has had slavery, se
cession, devastation, reconstruction and carpet
bags and now, as the cap-stone of her m : se r ies. she
has Tillman.” Among other kind expressions of
good will toward Mr. Tillman, thit periodical dubs
him “a reservoir of adjective and a fountain of
fierce vulgarity.” Come to think of it, Uncle Ben
has been able to produce a steady flow of adjective
and some slight mixture of fierce talk, on most oc
casions, hasn’t he? Still as a representative of
South Carolina and a user of that particular brand
of cough syrup which is bottled in pocket flasks
with the palmetto blown in the glass, he has hereto
fore been tolerable and even in instances, admira
ble; but his speech on the Brownsville negro ques
tion was nothing more nor less than the emptying
of a reservoir of superheated adjectives and the
running dry of his capacious tanks of rather vul
gar invective.
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