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', <. M /* jv *'"* -*• — (u b R AR y) sPaB ® VOLUML ONI NO. TO RT Y-NI NE. 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. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR. FIVE CENTS A COPY.