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VOL UJIL TWO
TiU/IVE'R FO HT Y-S IX.
WHAT WE THINK OF WHAT WE SEE
Be careful; some New Year resolutions ravel very
easily.
Ten days do seem like a long time sometimes, do
they not?
The Gal in the Fountain can now come ashore
without wading.
**, *
Talk about “the man with a barrel”! Why,
these days in Georgia, The Man with a little half
pint flask is a king!
* *
A man in Allentown, Pa., shot himself through
the head “just to see how it feels.” And then he
went away without mentioning his sensations at
all. , ; ,
M *
“One hundred brand-new $lO gold pieces! Can
you imagine a prettier sight?”—Atlanta Georgian.
—That’s easy. What about two hundred brand
new $lO gold pieces?
Honest now, what would you think of a doctor
who sent you a prescription for a rheumatic back,
with directions to take just thirty minutes before
you felt the pain coming on?
M •?
“A gentleman was bitten by his own dog as he
was entering the front yard just after dark last
evening.”—A paper published in this town. —The
dog had probably not seen him earlier than ten for
several years past.
w n
Another “Jeff Davis captor” has recently died in
Michigan, and the probabilities are that the supply
is not yet exhausted. We would like to see the
whole gang when they assemble later. There will
probably be a million of them.
*
“An old Dutch Bible found in the Humansdorp
district of Cape Colony has a frontispiece depict
ing Cain shooting Abel with a blunderbuss.” —The
London Globe. And in all probability the same
neighborhood could furnish another Bible depicting
Jehu as a chauffeur.
•t M
The members of a Chicago widows’ club have re
solved not to propose during leap year. If they are
like the dear bereaved widows of Georgia they know
how to bring the proposal from the other side of
the house, and that mighty quick.
•t *
The rats are beginning to increase in numbers
and boldness in the Atlanta Police Station, thereby
endangering the lives of the scattering prisoners
who are confined there since Jan. Ist. This val
uable municipal building will soon be infested by
bats and owls; all owing to prohibition.
ATLANTA, GA., JANUARY 9, 1908.
Sy A. E. RAMSAUR, Managing Editor.
A chair pusher at Atlantic City recently found
a purse containing four hundred dollars. Soon after
he picked it up, a lady, the owner, came up and
took the purse, praising the finder in very cordial
terms. She told him he would be rewarded for his
honesty, and then bestowed upon him two nickels
and two pennies. Honesty is its own reward up
that way.
Mr. William J. Bryan recently visited Guthrie,
Oklahoma, during the session of the Legislature,
and his presence in the city inspired the chaplain of
the Legislature to pray that Mr. Bryan be the next
President of the United States. The Deity was re
cently invoked in a football game; He is now re
quested to invade the realm of politics; we natural
ly wonder what will come next.
m n
Statistics recently compiled show the interesting
fact that New Yorkers are spending half as much
for car fare as they do for beer. We are proud
of the Empire State. We would wager something,
if it were not wrong to wager, that almost twice
as much money is spent in the cities of this state
for car fare and like innocent amusements as is
squandered in beer. You see the cars are still ac
cessible.
n *
A certain Oregon Justice of the Peace is becom
ing very popular as a marriage official. His popu
larity is said to be due to his short ceremony. When
very nervous couples line up before him, it is about
as follows:
“Do you people want each other?”
“We dp, we do,” is the required answer.
“Then, goodness gracious, have each other, for
nobody else wants you. You are married.”
* *
It is said that Benjamin F. Butler of Massachu
setts was a tireless worker when he got started on
anything. He and his secretary often sat in the
library until almost daylight in order to finish some
task. During some night sessions of the Senate,
toward a close of Congress, a Senator called on Gen
eral Butler one morning at three o ’clock. The same
Senator* called again the following morning at day
break and found the General and his secretary still
at work.
“Don’t you ever stop?” the Senator asked.
“No,” General Butler said, “Satan finds some
mischief still for idle hands to do.”
“General, I never knew before just who my em
ployer was,” said the secretary at this moment.
There have been times when we feared that the
spirit of poesy was dead; that the real poets were
all in the long-ago and that the verse-carpenters of
this day were mere near-poets; but we are reas
sured. Comes one with a song, named Elmore, an
Indiana product, from whose verse we would be
happy to quote at length, but our limited space
makes us forego, most reluctantly, this inclination.
One little sample will be sufficient, however, to
make clear our joy. Here it is:
“Sassafras, Oh, sassafras,
Thou art the stuff for me.
And in the Spring I love to sing,
Sweet sassafras, of thee.”
« *
Just imagine the meanness of the husband who
was overheard participating in the following con
versation :
“John, do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you adore me?”
“I s’pose.”
“Will you always love me?”
“Ye —look here, woman, what have you been and
gone and ordered sent home now?”
< n
Down in Georgia the colored gentleman has some
slight knowledge of the law of the land. This is an
instance of his wariness, as related recently: A
neighbor said:
4 ‘ ’Rastus, I’d like to borrow that mule of youri. ’ ’
11 Goodness sakes, Boss, ’ ’ was the answer of ’Ras
tus, “I’d like to ’commodate you, but I’s had some
’sperience wid de law. If a man is ’sponsible for
de acts of his agent an I was to len’ you dat mule,
it wouldn’t be no time till I was ’rested for ’sassina
tion! ’ ’
*
Here is another good Irish story:
Michael Callahan, a section boss for the Southern
Railroad in the little town of Ludlow, Kentucky,
has a keen Gaelic wit. One warm afternoon, while
walking along the railroad tracks, he found a sec
tion hand placidly sleeping beside the rails. Calla
han looked disgustedly at the delinquent for a full
minute and then remarked:
41 Slape on, ye lazy spalpeen, slape on, fur as long
as you slape you’ve got a job, but when you wake
you ain’t got none.”
Pity but that the sleeper could have had a long
nap.
“Uncle Allen got two more ribs broken last week
in an accident with his horse. That makes twelve
ribs he has had broken, besides several other bones
in various ways. He stopped a bullet once, Vhis
crushed in a threshing machine, a log rolled on him
and broke some bones, runaway teams have frac
tured others, but each time he soon got on his feet
and is still very much alive, although he is now in
his seventy-third year.”—The Columbia Statesman.
What a constitution Uncle Allen must have had when
he started! Barring automobiles, he will probably
keep Uncle Joe Cannon company and live to be a
hundred.
TWO DOLLARS A TEAR.
FIVE CENTS A COFT.