Newspaper Page Text
I HE*f!^ — (jj "\
ißlx i» <?
t i O I- WlrOH®
VOLUML THREE
HUMBER SIXTEEN
WHAT WE THINK OF WHAT WE SEE
And tomorrow, all over dear old Georgia, there
will be people saying: “I told you so.”
Nearbeer is just getting nearer all the time. If
the Council doesn’t hurry, it will be right on the
spot.
*
Is it true that the people of New York want Har
ry Thaw to have bars at his windows and none to
lean upon?
The ideal brain food has been discovered by
French scientists to be potatoes. Irish potatoes
would promote the telling of Irish stories?
A physician in New Jersey traveled 1,500 miles to
recover a lost dog. What a future is in that man’s
grasp if he will advertise as a finder of lost umbrel
las!
We publish the following for the benefit of our
younger readers:
“What is the rule of three?”
“That one ought to go home.”
*
An Indiana woman shot and killed a man and
was acquitted on the ground that she mistook her
victim for her husband. Now Indiana is offering
an inducement for widowhood that we can’t con
scientiously endorse.
*
There is a common ground of sympathy between
Alfred Vanderbilt and quite a lot of us since he
stated his income is less than a million dollars a
year. Let’s all try to move along quietly; since
our income is so meager.
We see from a news item that “Two Wisconsin
girls have been expelled for writing poetry.” We
wish we could get the attention of our Legislature
directed to this needed legislation long enough to
pass a protective measure.
There are arrangements going forward in Denver
for a provisional hospital during the Democratic
convention. According to the experience of years
past, an enlargement of the Turkish bath facilities
would be nearer the needs of the occasion.
•6
“A popular novelist has married a man fifteen
years her junior. His name was Chance, and that
may explain why she took him.” —Philadelphia
Ledger. “Undoubtedly it does explain it, if his
front name was Last.” —Washington Herald. Well,
first and last, there is small margin for chance in
matrimony.
ATLANTA, GA., JUNE 4, 1908.
Sy A. E. SA/IS A US, Managing Editor.
The man who runs an aeroplane and drops on to
somebody’s head will not be called an aeropianist;
he will be charged with being a number of other
things.
“I’s been a sinnah!” vouchsafed a recently con
verted brother, during an experience meeting in
Ebenezer Chapel. “A heen-yus, low-down, contam
inated sinnah for lo dese many yeahs, and never
knowed it!”
“Don’t let that molest yo’, Brudder Neweome,”
spoke up a sympathetically inclined deacon, “de
rest of us knowed it all de time.”
*
Little Effie, on her first visit to the country, saw
a number of chickens from the front porch of the
farmhouse. She watched them for some time as
they scratched industriously. Then she ran into
the house to her mother.
“Oh, mother,” she cried excitedly, “come out on
the porch and see the chickens wiping their feet
on the grass!”
We find this item in the Chicago Record-Herald:
“Patriotism is not dead in this country. A Chi
cago man who has a season ticket to both baseball
parks says he intends to let them lie unused during
the Republican national convention if he can secure
admission to the Coliseum.”
We just rise to remark that patriotism would
consist in attendance upon the games rather than
upon that little old Convention.
I?
That the great deeds of men, done unostentatious
ly, bear their proper reward, is proven by the fol
lowing :
“Dr. Russell Cool, of California, happened to sup
press an epidemic of measles while on a vacation
trip to Tahiti, and Chief Oreaori gratefully invited
him to a banquet in his primitive palace. The
South Sea potentate and his white guest sat amia
bly on the floor, and dined off roast pig and other
native delicacies served on broad leaves and eaten
with the fingers. After dinner, host and guest ad
journed to seats outside the palace, lit long, fat,
black cigars, and gazed out over the moonlit Pacifh.
“In the eyes of Chief Oreaori, Robert Louis
Stevenson, who did so much to improve the condi
tion of the South Sea Islanders, was the greatest
white man that ever lived. The Chief related to Dr.
Cool many incidents to illustrate Stevenson’s kind
liness, then asked a score of questions about the
health of Stevenson’s widow and of his step-child
ren. When the last question had been answered
there followed a long period of silence. The two
friends puffed slowly at their cigars and luxurious
ly regarded the radiant tropic moonlight glowing
upon rustling palm fronds and the silvery ocean.
Then Oreaori turned to the doctor and demanded,
‘Now tell me about John L. Sullivan!’ ”
Most of our readers are more or less familiar with
the books of Mr. Will N. Harben, the noted author
whose home is in Dalton, Georgia. Most Georgians,
in particular, are proud of him. We therefore ven
ture to give the following account of the effort of
a lady to secure the story of his life at first hand:
“Mr. Will N. Harben has a good story to tell, one
with a moral which he says might read, ‘What’s
the use?’ One of the ladies who are constrained
to entertain their literary clubs with ‘afternoons
with authors,’ wrote Mr. Harben, asking him polite
ly to furnish her with the story of his life.
“Being a busy man, Mr. Harben sent a courteous
letter of regret instead. Whereupon the lady wrote
politely to ex-Governor Northen, of Virginia, be
cause she had seen his name attached to a Harper
record endorsing Mr. Harben’s latest novel, ‘Mam’
Linda.’ Whereupon the ex-Governor, being at least
no less busy than Mr. Harben, politely wrote to the
Mayor of Dalton, because Dalton was where Mr.
Harben was born. Whereupon the Mayor, being
also busy, politely wrote to Mr. Loveman, of Dalton,
because Mr. Loveman was a friend of Mr. Harben.
Whereupon Mr. Loveman politely wrote to Mr. Har
ben. Problem: Who is to blame, or did the lady
get the biography?”
We have found the following discussion of the
meaning of the word “politics”:
“Politics —‘the administration of public affairs
in the interest of the peace, prosperity, and safety
of the state.’ That is the theoretic idea, and a pol
itician, in consonance with this primitive theory, is
one who administers affairs in the interest of ‘the
peace, prosperity, and safety of the state.’ We
have a few coined phrases that have not become en
tirely obsolete which accord with the original mean
ing of politics. There is that brief declaration that
‘public office is a public trust,’ and another some
what less current saying—‘The aim of the honest
man in politics is to promote the common welfare
and not his own.’ These proverbs have thjir coun
terparts in the cynical remark that ‘Public office is
a private snap,’ and in that famous motto of the
official grafter, ‘Addition, division, and silence.’
The people —the saving majority—will never stand
for crookedness in politics when they are convinced
that crookedness exists. The self-seeking politi
cian, working by mole-in-the-ground methods to
accomplish his ends, is better apprehended in this
year 1908 than ever before. To use an expressive
bit of slang, ‘the people are onto his game.’ ”
That sounds quiet and peaceful, doesn’t it, when
you reflect what quantities of arguments you have
had to listen to for the last three or four weeks!
TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
HVE CENTS A COPY.
