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VOLUJIE TWO
KUJISLH TH IRTY-THREE.
WHAT WE THINK OF WHAT WE SEE
By A. E. RAMSAUR, JTanatinn Editor.
Every now and then the papers contain a story
of the very meanest man on earth. Sometimes he
is stingy, like the man who wanted to charge inter
est on the money in his purse which lie had lost and
which had been retained over night by the neighbor
who found it. There is the story of the citizen
who give to charities, would not sub
scribe to build a church and would not even buy a
cemetery lot because he might be lost at sea and
so would not be able to use the investment. But it
remains for the glad circus season to bring to light
the identity of the very meanest, lowest-down, orn
eriest man in the whole wide world. This week the •
Wild West Shows were in Atlanta. A boy living
on the South side had been watching the billboards
and reveling in the pictures of the Indian fights,
the robberies of the mail train, the taking of the
Indian village, etc., and hoping that he might be
allowed to see it actually happening when the great
day arrived. It is useless to attempt to describe
his feelings. No man but can remember how he
felt over the prospect of seeing his first circus. We
will leave that to the imagination. Suffice it to
say that at last the day of the circus arrived. The
boy went to his father and begged permission to
go. The father repliedr “No Sirree! It’s wrong
to go to circuses. You be a good boy, and do your
chores all up this morning, and this afternoon I'll
take you out to the cemetery to see your grand
mother’s grave!”
n
Ever since the days of William Tell the people
who dwell in the high places of earth have been
happier and more independent than the unfortu
nate dwellers in the valleys and the low grounds.
They have more backbone than any other class.
As an illustration we offer an item which appeared
recently in The Dahlonega Nugget. The Nugget is
published in the high, free air of the foot hills of
the Blue Ridge, and its editor is not going to
truckle to anybody. This is what he says: “Last
week several typographical errors appeared in The
Nugget by trying to correct proofs before day.
Anyway, we made you understand what we meant.
Now, if The Nugget contains anything that dis
pleases you, and you want to stop taking it, all
you have to do is to notify us and we will refund
your money. Nothing compulsory about it.” Now
there you have it good and plain. There is no rear
son for any dissatisfied subscriber of The Nugget
to go moping around and complaining to his neigh
bors that his paper is not giving satisfaction. He
has been put on notice that if he doesn’t like the
way it is run, the editor or the editorial policy, the
typographical errors or what not, all he has to do
is to come forward and get his money back. The
editor of The Nugget wears no man’s collar and
will adopt no man’s opinions. He goes about his
ATLANTA, GA., OCTOBER 10,
business in an earnest frame of mind, is amenable
io his own sense of right, and those differing from
him to the extent of not endorsing his paper may
go hang —and he will also refund the money. Thh
last is what makes him a most remarkable man.
And he is remarkable as an editor. He is remark
able in more ways and more remarkable in each
way than anybody we ever heard spoken of. If
he had said simply that he didn’t care who didn’t
like The Nugget, and that whosoever was not sat
isfied with it need not read it, that would have
been startling; but to god farther and talk about
refunding, why that is a good long ways bejond
“the end of the limit,” as Mrs. Katzenjammer
said on one occasion. We want to know where he
got that money. Nobody but a man with a swollen
fortune would have the nerve to talk that way;
and even then he would probably not speak out
so plainly. We believe he just has confidence
enough in his paper to feel that nobody in his alti
tude can get along without it. It pays to live on
the heights. The editor is qualified to furnish a
good paper and his readers are qualified to recog
nize a good thing when the rural delivery places
it before them. We wish our subscribers all lived
higher up the ridge.
* H
A news item date October 2, states that
Mr. John D. Roclremler left his home in Cleve
land, Ohio, on that afternoon to go to his winter
home in the Pocantico Hills. That incident is, of
course, full of interest to all classes of people,
everywhere. And more than that, the mind of ev
ery reader must have turned with almost pathetic
interest to the sad hours just preceding his depar
ture. One longs to know just hew they were spent;
just how Mr. Rockefeller passed away the forenoon;
just what his emotions were, if it were possible to
probe that great soul and discover them in their
hidden and secret abiding place. For, think, he
was leaving Cleveland. He was going to the Po
cantico Hills to abide during the season when ac
cording to immemorial custom Winter wraps the
world in cold and frost. Therefore the home to
which he was about to depart, together with his
manservant and his maidservant, his ox and his au
tomobile, was a winter home. But the faithful re
porter, realizing the desire that would fasten upon
every citizen of this favored land as to the doings
on that last day of our Richest Citizen, added this
paragraph:
“Mr. Rockefeller spent the morning previous to
his leaving in playing golf on the links at Forest
Hill. He left orders that the links shall be kept
open and in good condition for twenty days more
for the use of his friends.”
So there we have in a few terse sentences a full
account of the forenoon. Mr. Rockefeller played
golf. And did he, when he had finished his game,
have the links removed and stored in the basement
for the winter? Not by a long chalk. He left or
ders to the hired man to keep the links open and
in good condition for twenty days more so that
bis friends could use them. During these golden
days no doubt his friends are using them. Until
October 22 they will use them and as they play
they will speak oft and kindly of the man who,
although he was removing to his winter home and
leaving behind the cherished Lares and Penates of
a Summer sojourn, could still find time to think
of friends.
But when the actual moment of parting with
those humbler friends of his; his retainers and de
pendents, arrived, what did Mr. Rockefeller do?
On this moment the heart dwells tenderly. Here
is what he did, set down clearly by the hand of
that same faithful reporter:
“Just before leaving Forest Hill Mr Rockefel
ler called all of those who live permanently on the
Rockefeller estate and bade them good-by, saying:
‘My friends, with all my heart I wish you every
blessing.’ ”
Now isn’t that just like him? He is a man whom
the people can trust, for he is not one thing todav
and another tomorrow. Since the very beginning
of his marvelous career he has been distributing
blessings—and nothing else worth mentioning. Some
men, less alive to the best interests of his depend
ents, would perhaps have offered them a gift of
money —but he was well aware that should he do so
it might be spent at the corner groggery or for co
ca-cola or other naughty things. And he steeled
himself against that kind of thing. He said:
“With all my heart I wish you every blessing.”
How happy those humble people must have been!
Humble they may be, poor, perchance; but never
hereafter without cause for pride. Mind you, it
was no bargain counter, lukewarm blessing. It was
a whole hearted, generous, satisfying benediction.
And can’t we just imagine how those people valued
it?
But, Gentle Reader (if such an individual has
survived the olden time), can’t you imagine your
self trying to get away with a stunt like that?
Can you bear to imagine just what the hired man
and the driver and the cook would have said as
you started away to your winter home? or even
imagine trying to get away from a hotel where
you had sojourned but a might, leaving only your
blessing! The average man who stops at a hotel
where the food is the limit and the rooms worse
and where the rates invade the realm of larceny,
has, in addition to all this to pay strange colored
gentlemen whom he has never seen before, with
whom he has never so much as had a correspond
ence, certain amounts in the circulating medium of
the commonwealth. Get away by blessing them?
We would like to see it!
TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
FIVE CENTS A COPY.
