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PAGE FOUR
THE DALTON CITIZEN,
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1921.
The Dalton Citizen
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OHetol Organ of the United States Circuit and District
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DALTON, GA., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15,1921.
m
The election is over, now let’s go to work.
It is not the griefs we seek to unload on our
friends that really bother us.
If there is anything more demoralizing than
city politics we have never yet encountered it.
Chas. W. Morse marched right over to Europe
and then turned round and marched right back
again.
Pay every cent you can on your debts. By
so doing you strengthen your credit and increase
your own self-respect.
. .
Don’t Be a Crepe Hanger.
Hard times are mostly brought about by hard
time talk.
There is as much money in this country today,
perhaps more, certainly more gold, than ever be
fore. It is simply loafing, and it is doing it be
cause the people are doing pretty much the same
thing—loafing and talking hard times.
Get busy—do something!
The Quitman Free Press, wide-awake and alert,
and as a result prosperous, in its “It Takes Cour
age” editorial, puts it this way:
Stop talking hard times.
Quit gathering in knots on the street cor
ners and telling everybody you never saw
anything like it.
Don’t be a crepe hanger.
. Any cheap skate can be a good winner, but
it takes courage and grit and faith to be a
good loser. _
Have we got grit or will we lie down?
W^ien we talk hard times we absolutely de
stroy business. We destroy confidence and
courage. The time and energy spent in wail
ing could be used to advantage in trying to
find a market for the farm products or in do
ing something else to help the situation.
Let’s be good losers. Let’s have courage
and cheerfulness—sign manual of a manly
soul. J
It is more or less amusing to see the republicans
easing into the league of nations. They are now
playing a four-part piece.
We notice in a dispatch that a terrible acci
dent has happened to the wood-chopper of Doorn.
Engaged in cutting wood a chip flew up and hit
him. Whether it was on the rist or jaw we have
no way of knowing.
Headline says “U. S. is to be accorded same
rights as Japs,” referring to the island of Yap.
And it. has been the opinion of many for a long
time that the island is not big enough for two
powers to have the same rights at the same «mt>,
Doing Good Work.
The Latest Ku'Klux Atrocity.
The disarmament conference now in session in
Washington is going to do some good. In fact,
there is already some worthy accomplishment to
its credit if the senate doesn’t kill it,“which is
hardly probable.
The four-power Pacific treaty has been formal
ly signed, and is now ready to go to the senate
.for ratification. It is, as the Atlanta Constitution
says, a miniature league of nations. It is good as
far as it goes, but it. does not extend as far as the
League of Nations, which eventually will include
this country. England, France and Japan are the
other three members of the four-power Pacific
treaty, and they are already members of the
League of Nations. And soon, no doubt, this
country will be. The Wilson-£aters cannot kill
the League of Nations, because the idea is now
stronger with the American people than it has ever
before been. The masses of the people are opposed
to war, and they realize that with the nations of
the world leagued together to maintain peace war
will become at most only a remote possibility.
The Wilson-haters of the George Harvey type,
small bore politicians with more spleen than
statesmanship, no longer have the ear of the
great majority of the people of this country, who
are becoming fast disillusioned, provided they had
any illusions as to peace, which we doubt. Even
Senator Lodge, the smallest statesman of them all,
says, “there has been a far-reaching change in the
mental condition of the world since 1520.” We do
not, however, think there has been very much
change except in the mental attitude of such men,
as Lodge—more correctly speaking, political at
titude..
The four-power pact abrogates the Anglo-Jap
anese alliance, and makes for ease as to the far
eastern question which has been giving serious
concern to the people of this country, as well as to
the people of other countries, especially those of
England, France and Japan. For this the Wash
ington coherence is due the thanks of the world,
because for one thing it is a death blow to Amer
ican and Japanese jingoism, and this within itself,
if long persisted in, is dangerous enough to bring
on war.
Now as to the curtailment of the navies of
America, England and Japan we have no way of
knowing just what will happen, but it seems much
should be accomplished, and a great load of taxes
removed from the backs of the war-burdened peo
ples. We have never felt that a proportionate
reduction of the navies of the three great powers
would tend to lessen the prospect of war, but the
spirit that shows a willingness to do such a thing
is the real cause for rejoicing. It means sanity,
and sanity means hatred of war, and if enough
people learn to hate war there will be no more
of it.
When Woodrow Wilson sought to make future
wars impossible through the League of Nations,
he set in motion the thought that will yet bring
permanent peace to the world! That thought is
now ruling and directing the affairs of the Wash
ington conference! *
The Citizen takes pleasure in giving space to
the editorial below, copied from the Columbus
Enquirer-Sun of December 11th.
It is the comment of a fearless Georgia editor
on the cowardly work of night-riders in his im
mediate section.
The reading public is already familiar with the
case and its tragic ending.
An old man, nearly seventy years of age, was
taken from his home by these cowardly night-
riders and brutally beat up, but before the job
was finished one of the Ku-Kluxers lost his own
life, which is as it should be. A young boy, not
yet in his teens, living with the old man and his
wife, with steady aim, brought to end the life of
one of the night-riders with a shotgun.
It is a sad picture and yet there are a few here
and there who try to apologize for the depreda
tions of the Ku-Klux. The young boy, Emory
Wilkinson, is a hero who will not soon be for
gotten. He was shot by the “brave” regulators
in the lower part of his legs and feet, but he is
not seriously injured.
Here is the Enquirer-Sun’s comment on the
latest Ku-Klux atrocity. It is under the heading
of “One Man’s Hellish Work:!”
One William J. Simmons, Grand Wizard and
Emperor of the Kuj-Klux Klan—an organiza
tion of masked night-riders and regulators
which he instigated and invented, for the dol
lars that he and his cohorts could coin out of
• it—has departed suddenly for the North Caro
lina mountains “for his health,” following a
grand kick-up among his grand kleagles and
goblins and official what-nots in the supreme
Kloncilium, in fne “imperial city” of Atlanta.
We could wish that his Imperial Highness
might have been in Columbus, and in The En
quirer-Sun office, a day or two ago, instead;
that instead of “resting” in the North Carolina
mountains, living a life of ease at some high-
priced hotel, he had been right here in our
pffice, to witness a sight that we and others
saw—the direct result of the “inspired vision”
that prompted the "Grand Wizard,” as he
claimed, to give to the world his Ku-Klux
Klan.
We would have shown him a gray-bearded
old man, now nearing his 68th birthday, frail
of form, weighing not more than 150 pounds,
about 51-2 feet in height, whose withered body
was a mass of scars and bruises almost from
head to foot—the victim of some of the Im
perial Wizard’s brave Ku-Klux.
The real wonder is that this old man is still
alive; for it was evident to all who saw his
bruised and scarred form that he had suffered
enough physical punishment to have brought
death to the average man. Taken from his
home at night, from the bedside of his blind
wife, by eight or ten masked night-riders;
thrown into the bottom of an automobile and
kicked and cuffed while being driven to the
swamps for his “decreed” punishment, his
arms being almost twisted out of their sockets
the while; then stripped and beaten, almost
into insensibility, with a '"buggy trace, or
something equally brutal—such was the brave
work of these men whom Emperor Simmons,
with -his Ku-Klux doctrines, had taught to
take the law into their own hands whenever
they saw fit to do so.
But we could have shown the Emperor
something else;, we could have shown him a
scrap of a boy, barely twelve years of age;
a bright-faced, mild-mannered, barefoot boy,
also frail of form and with his feet and legs' -
bound in surgeons’ bandages, covering the
gurfshot wounds that he received from the
hands of those knightly night-riders—he had
to be brought up to our office in the arms of a
reporter—and yet who, at his tender age, has
had to-stain his hands with human blood; in
defense, however, of his own life and his own
home.
And we could, if he had been here, have
carried the “Emperor” into a humble home
across the river, where one of the Emperor’s
faithful subjects lay cold in death—shot down,
a night or two before, by this 100 per cent
American boy—while at his bier there wept
his aged mother and father, and his young
widow, with a sixteen-months old baby by
her side; all, all of them, the victims of “Em-
porer” Simmons’ devilish Ku-Klux and night
riding propaganda.
Yet all this is but one or two scenes in one
small corner oi the Emperor’s “domains?’
What if we could have taken him, during
these past two or three years, throughout the
length and breadth of his “realm,” and over
Alabama and Georgia, into Mississippi and
Louisiana and Florida, and through Texas, .
where Ku-Kluxism has run rampant these
many months past; here, there and every
where—wherever the “Wizard’s” army of
“grand kleagles” and "grand goblins” and
grand grafters galore have organized their
“dens,” in his name, and conferred upon them,
at $10 per head, the right to mask and ride
and maraud to their hearts” content.
No doubt we could have shown him hun
dreds of homes where death had entered;—
if not by his direct order, at least as the di
rect or indirect result of his devilish teach
ings—could have shown him, not merely men,
but women, whose backs were bared and
beatten and tarred and feathered by his noble
knights; could have shown him neighbor set
against neighbor, the law of the land tramp
led and disgraced by the devilish work of his
disciples.
Qh, Emperor Simmons! you have builded
worse than you knew; haven’t you? You
went in to coin the “fraternal spirit” that
exists among men into cash for yourself and
your grand kleagles and grand goblins and all
the other grand grafters that surround you.
And the cash has come to you, and to them, .by
hundreds and thousands and tens of thous
ands of dollars; so much of it, indeed, that
you are falling out amongst yourselves over
the spoils. And every dollar of it wrung,
mainly, from more or less well-meaning but ig
norant men-; the type of men who can be most
easily persuaded to “join” something or oTher
that promises “secrecy” and “mystery,” at so
much per head.
Many of these work and pinch for weeks to
get the money to give to your grand goblins;
a part of which they, in turn, send to you,
and to Grand Kleagle Klarke and your Im
perial Kloncilium.
And you and yours live in a grand house, in
Atlanta, which you call a “palace;” as, indeed,
it is, compared with the humble homes that
have “contributed” their hard-earned money
that you and yours may live in luxury. But
even there, in such surroundings, your
"health” fails you, and you hie vourself away
to the - Carolina mountains—while your klea
gles and goblins fight like hungry dogs over
what comes into the imperial coffers.
Oh, Simmons! aren’t you ashamed of it all?
You, a one-time minister of the gospel; a man
of education and of some refinement, with,
supposedly, a conscience.
Don’t you see that you “sowed the wind,”
and that God’s people, wherever you sowed,
are “reaping the whirlwind?” Don’t you,
really, lie awake at nights thinking on these
things? You would if you had seen that
sixty-eight vear old man, with his bruised and
scarred bodv. standing in our office the other
day; and that scrap of a boy, whose steady
hand and unerring eye sent one of your
knights errant into eternity just a night or
two before.
Is it your “health” that is troubling you,
Simmons,—Imperator—or is it something
else?
The Last Public Speech.
The last speech delivered by President Wilson
• was at Pueblo, Colo. After that speech came his
collapse, and since that time he has been a very
sick man, and is still far from buoyant health.
According to Mr. Tumulty, his secretary, “the
speech at Pueblo may be the last public speech by
Woodrow Wilson, as it was the last before the
collapse, but therein he showed no sign of a brok
en man.”
Of his speech Mr. Tumulty says:
He drew- a picture of his visit on Decoration
Day, 1919, to what he called a beautiful hill
side near Paris, where was located the cemo
tery of Suresnes, a cemetery given over to the
burial of the American dead. As he spoke of
the purposes for which those departed Ameri
can soldiers had given their lives, a great wave
of emotion, such as I have never witnessed at
a public meeting swept through the whole am
phitheater. As he continued his speech, I look
ed at Mrs. Wilson and saw tears in her eyes.
I then turned to see the effect on the “hard-
boiled” newspaper'men, to whom great speech
es were ordinary things, and they were alike
deeply moved. Down in the amphithe'ater I
saw men sneak their handkerchiefs out of
their pockets and wipe the tears from their
eyes.
And here are the concluding words of the last
public speech delivered by President Wilson as it
fell from his lips at Pueblo:
What of our pledges to the men that lie dead
in France? We said that they went over there
not to prove the prowess of America or her
readiness for another war, but to see to it that
there never was such a war again. It always
seems to make it difficult for me to say any
thing, my fellow-citizens, when I think of my
clients in this case. My clients a r e the chil
dren; my clients are the next generation. They
do not know what promises and bonds I
undertook when I ordered the armies of the
United States to the soil of France, but I know
and I intend to redeem my pledges to the chil
dren; they shall not be sent upon a similar er
rand.
Again and again, my fellow-citizens, mothers
who lost their sons in France have come to me
and, taking my hand, have shed tears upon it
not only, but they have added, “God bless you,
Mr. President!” Why, my fellow-citizens,
should they pray God to bless me? I advised
the Congress of the United States to create the
situation that led to the death of their sons. I
ordered their sons overseas. I consented to
their sons being put in the most difficult parts
of the battle line, where death was certain, as
in the impenetrable difficulties of the Forest of
Argonne. Why should they weep upon my
• hand and call down the blessings of God on
me? Because they believe that their boys died
for something that vastly transcends any of the
immediate and palpable objects of the war.
They believe, and they rightly believe, that
their sons saved the liberty of the world. They
believe that wrapped up with the liberty of the .
world is the continuous protection of that
liberty by the concerted nowers of all the
civilized world. They, believe that this sacri
fice was -made in order that other sons should
not be called upon for a similar gift—the gift
of life, the gift of all that died—and if we did
not see this thing through, if we fulfilled the
dearest present wish of Germany and now dis
sociated ourselves from those alongside whom
we fought in the war. would not something of
the halo go away from the gun over the man-
tlepiece, or the sword?. Would not the old
uniform lose something of its significance?
These men were crusaders. Thev were going
forth to prove the might off justice and right,
and all the world accepted them as crusaders,
and their transcendent achievement has made
all the world believe in America as it believes
in no other nation organized in the modern
world. There seems to me to stand between
us and the rejection or’qualification of this
treaty the serried ranks of those boys in khaki,
not only those boys who come home, but those
dear ghosts that still deploy upon the fields of
France.
Our Tom continues to make one of himself
every time the opportunity presents itself, and if
there is no opportunity he does it anyway. He
wanted (no, he didn’t he was only acting for the
publicity he could get out of the incident) to slap
an army officer’s face the other day because the
officer was staring at him in an “insolent manner^ for pay
An eastern educator says we should be proud
of the modern girl, and Johnny Spencer up and
says lie can lick anybody who says he is not.
And we have been thinking for some little time
that Tom Watson was the only man who could
or would fight on paper.
There are a lot of things we are not in favor
of Henry Ford’s trying to do, but we do want to
see him tackle the Mussel Shoals development
proposition. The completion of this work means
much, not only .to the South, but to the entire
country.
)
Our Tom wanted to slap an army officer’s face
the other day in Washington, and he was willing
to do it for “two pennies.” All we got to say
is he is willing to work cheaper now than when
he was raking in thousands of dollars from the
slackers he was advising to stay out of the army.
And yet some people say he isn’t crazy.
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♦ CLIPPINGS AND COMMENTS ♦
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Congress failed to knock out the Ku-Klux
Klan. It is now up to the people to take a hand
and get rid of them.—Rome Tribune-Herald.
Don’t worry, brother. They are knocking
themselves out as fast as they can.
You can’t hitch your wagon to a star while
filling your flagon with moonshine.—Athens
Daily News.
Perhaps not, but you’ll see more than on
after you’ve had a pull or two at the flagon.
■■ Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis has at
least demonstrated one thing, viz: that base
ball is bigger than Babe Ruth.—Atlanta Con
stitution.
Perhaps so; but has he yet succeeded in con
vincing Babe that it is a. fact
By the way, someone has suggested that
when the marines can spare the time from
checking hold ups on the mail cars they might
drop back in the dining cars and see what they
could do there,.-—Macon Telegraph.
Well, if they would perform their duty they
could do a great deal, and then some.
Senator Watson wants to know what has
become of the broom Gov. Hardwick said so
much about at the Macon convention—the
broom he was going to clean, out the capital
with. All the state’s cash seems to have been
cleaned up, already.—Madison Madisonian.
Yes, and also the rentals of the state road have
been spent for five years. This in order to
accommodate the tnx-dodgers who arc responsible
for the state’s financial ills.
Whether or not the Ku-Klux Klan actually
is going out ol Dusmess remains io De seen,
but the signs all point in tnat direction. It
should not nave been organized, has done no
good, and if it is disappearing it will not be
regretted. It has contributed nothing to pub
lic good. Its going will be welcomed.—Sa
vannah Press.
The Klan has done much harm in arousing
race and religious prejudices, and aside from these
evils many of its members have engaged in cow
ardly and murderous outrages. It is a most dan
gerous organization, and its going is indeed to
be welcomed.
What the railroad managers declared was
impossible for them to do they are doing. It
has taken a long time to convince them that
transportation rates would have to be reduced.
Lack of business is now forcing them to take
action. What does any good merchant do to
stimulate business when his goods will not
move at existing prices? He reduces prices.
The railroads protested that in their case it
could not be done. Nothing would stimulate
business activity more now than the continued
downward tendency of transportation charges.
—Dawson News.
The Citizen has contended for a long time that
high freight rates, as well as high passenger rates,
not only hurt business generally, but reduce rail
road revenues by the millions. High freight rates
arc hamstringing business.
We are sorry for those good fellows, Bill
Sutlive and “Tom” Shope, because they miss
so many good things of life, dwelling in be
nighted darkness so to speak. Ignorance is
no excuse in law, but it causes a man to
miss a lot of enjoyment, even though it may
he due to environment, lack of opportunity,, or
just liard-headedness. Now, last night we had
a feast. A ’possum, big and fat, roasted until
it was a tender bundle of juicy deliciousness,
and chitterlings, battered and browned, cook
ed by an expert. And as we took off our belt
to make room for the fifth helping, we thought
of those otherwise fine fellows and good old
scouts, and sorrowed that they should go
through life and miss, some of its finest deli
cacies provided by a' beneficent Creator. As
a role, we never waste time trying to convert
an unbeliever into the mysteries of such deli
cacies as chitterlings’and ’possum—there isn’t
enough to go around for those who appreciate
them—and we are not trying to convert
Shope and Sutlive now r —we are just sorry
they miss ’em.—rTifton Gazette.
We have in days gone by got along fairly well
with ’possum arid ’taters, and we might do the
same thing with chitterlings if i| wasn’t for our
imagination and the memory of what Ernest Camp,
of the Walton Tribune, called ’em that time. And
as for Bill Sutlive, we cannot speak for him, but
we do remember the hard things he has said about
the soft subject. No amount of sophistry will
ever convert him to a religion of chitterling wor
ship. Brother Herring, like Ephraim of old, is
wedded to his idols, and there is little use in try
ing to^pry hini away from them, but we can ex
tend sympathy to him and fervently pray for him,
ever having in mind the fact that the prayers of
the righteous availeth much.
CHEERY LAYS
for DREARY DAYS
By JAMES WELLS, The Printer-Poet
ssad
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♦ LETTERS FROM THE PEOPLE ♦
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Childhood Home.
’Tis but a cot with lowly roof—
But those rough boards kept out the rain;
And storm that beat with icy hoof,
And raged oftimes at door and pane.
Twas home; and fairer to my eyes
It stands than palace of a king;
For in time-that behind me lies,
W&s spread there love’s sheltering wing.
To every rough board in that cot,
Memory binds my throbbing heart;
And as I gaze upon that spot,
Out of the past what bright scenes start!
I see the roses ’bout the door,
That crimsoned in the summer heat,
And hear upon the oaken floor
The quickened tread of gladsome feet.
I see—;but what I see the souls
That hold like sweet memories know;
As ’fore my eyes the past unfurls,
Bringing the rose-bued long ago.
Twas home; and over it a light
That ne’er can perish ever stream;
And in the darkness of my night.
I catch the glory of its beams. -
JESSIE BAXTER SMITH.
Appreciation.
To the Editor of The Dalton Citizen:
Dr. Frank Crane has written a beautiful essay
on appreciation. In it he ^expresses' the opinion
that all things beautiful and good belong to those
that appreciate them, that possession comes by
appreciation. Monev will buy bread and shelter,
and raiment^ but possession of the spiritual graces,\
the finer things of life, can only come to those
who love them.
That masterpiece that hangs on the wall, to
whom does it belong? Not to the man that bought
it, but to the man that appreciates it. Music, and
that black lettered classic, the true hearts of the
world, they are yours, and only yours when you
love them enough. You may buy a palatial man
sion, all the books and pictures in the world; you
can entertain lavishly, but spiritual qualities and
true hearts can only be loved into your possession.
. I have never paid taxes on the far mountain
slope, and to the over arching sky I hold no man
made title. But they are mine always by the di
vine right of, appreciation. That heart of yours
does not belong to you if I love it, appreciation
gives me perfect title, and the beloved has no
rights as against the lover.
There is inspirational power in every human
soul, but it only radiates toward him that appre
ciates. Love discovers the beloved and makes
that heart its own. The violets by the roadside
do not exist to unseeing eyes, and that stranger
in your midst can, by the Dower of appreciation
be transformed into a kindly neighbor, that little
known neighbor can be loved into being a helpful
friend.
HIRAM SMITH.
5 EXCHANGE OPINION *
w 91
SISWSRIfiSfiaKSRSfilfiifilRifiWifilfilfiiliWSfiSiiliSffiiiiSfi
Senator Walson chides Henry Ford because
Ford’s son kept out of the war. Maybe young
Ford read the Jeffersonian and took Watson’s
advice like some other less fortunate ones who
landed in the penitentiary.—Walton Tribune.
The idea of Tom Walson chiding anybody
about being n slnckcr during the war goes to prove
that he is ns ernzy ns he nets. lie was not only
a contemptible slacker himself, hut lie was the
slacker’s friend and defender, and he was such
That Moratorium.
According to the Greensboro Herald-Journal
“’wav down south where the people are on
the level, the old boll weevil has played the
devil.” Well, we don’t know* about that. We
feel that “Machine Jim” Brown’s advocacy of
a moratorium has done Georgia more harm
than the boll weevil.—-Dalton Citizen.
And we fool this tendency has crown so of
late that the business man to save himself ought
to slop letting tho follow who wants a "stav law”
have credit. Wc know what that would mean
but wc also know that “stav law?’ the mora
torium, or whatever else you mav call it. is
tho law of the hoishevist—and the law of the bol-
shevist is to nationalize property, and to na
tionalize property those who have worked for and
accumulated property would have to step aside
and share it with the man who does not work.
11 is no worse to stop credit than it is to set
un “stav laws.” A system remiirinc cash in each
transaction is to he preferred, because the “stay
law” and the moratorium mean no nnv at all. The
worst slash that has over boon made at the busi
ness morale of the slate of Georgia is the claim
that a “stav law” ouuht to he passed.
Tho host propaganda that can ever be spread
to counteract such rotten foolishness is to close
the account book and require the cash wherever
The Empty Stocking
There’s a little empty stocking
Hanging by the chimney place,
And a tear of little sorrow
Running down a childish face;
And a little cry of anguish,
As he sees no toy or drum,
Breaks forth from a little kiddie—
“Oh, Old Santa didn’t come!”
There’s a little empty stocking
Hanging up beside the wall,
And a little girl is dreaming
Of a precious “sleepy doll.”
Oh, what bitter disappointment,
As she sheds a childish tear,
While her little red lips tremble:
“Dear Old Santa was not here.”
Oh, the little empty stockings
Through the land on Christmas morn!
When the whole world is rejoicing
That the blessed Christ is born.
Let us fill the empty stocking,
With the things the children love,
Spreading cheer and gladsome laughter
In the name of Him ahove.
******
Can’t Spend It.
The polecat is a lucky bird—
His money’s, never spent,
For anywhere that he may go,
He’s always got a 0s) cent.
Spoke, Too.
Some women are like wagons,
Said old man Abner Ypung,
For every time you meet-with one
They have a waggin’ tongue.
******
Yea, Bo!
The man who’s always talking
Has little “beans to spill;”
The brook does lots of babbling
But it doesn’t run the mill.
—Dalton Citizen.
And there’s the chronic growler
Who’s always “in dutch;”
The dog does lots of howling
But it doesn’t accomplish much.
—Greensboro Journal.
And there’s prohibitionists
Trying to dry the earth;
The deserts are already dry
Now tell us what thhy’re worth.
—Quitman Free Press.
And there’s the chronic whiner—
The sigher, if you please—
The zephyr’s always sighing,
But doesn’t blow down trees.
- **#*••
A Dog Anthology.
(Just dog-gerel.)
Here lie the bones of Towser Jones
(Poor little homeless dickens!)
He went straight to his heavenly home
While he was catching chickens.
Oh, shed a tear for Bruno, dear,
The poor unlucky pup!
He fell into a sausage mill
And people ate him up.
Oh, cruel fate of Fido Waite—
His piteous grief proved killin’—
His mistress laid the darling down
And then took up the “chillen.”
******
Poor Jonah.
Poor Jonah had no landing place—
His was a bitter cup—
For when the sailors threw him down,
The whale then threw him up.
***.***
Mary’s Lamb.
Mary had a little lamb,
Oh, do not think it shocking;
’Twas just a toy old Santa Claus
Had stuffed into her stocking.
■*.*♦***
Sad Words.
Of all sad words
— Of tongue or pen
The bill collector
Is back again.
—Quitman Free Press.
Of all sad words
Were ever writ
Are penciled thus:
“Oh, please remit.”
******
What’s the Use?
Cryin’ ’cause a things gone wrong?
What’s the use?
’Cause tfunes don’t come right along,
' What’s the use?
Better have another try—
May be better bve and bye.
Goin’ to sit around an’ cry?
What’s the use?
Quittin’ ’cause you didn’t win?
What’s the use?
Vowin’ you won’t try agin?
What’s the use?
Keep a good stiff upper lip—
Swear you’re bound to win next trip;
Cryin’ o’er a little slip?
What’s the use?
there is a business deal. Wide extension of credit
today is to ruin any business making such a
practice. Extension of credit ought to cease till
the man who believes in the “stay law” changes
his mind and closes his mouth—becomes convert
ed again to the idea that an honest debt is a fair
business obligation.
One of the causes of real suffering today is
the fact that credit has been shut off from some of
the hoishevist element—shut off because the bol-
shevist first became a convert to the idea that be
ought not to pay his just debts. When the busi
ness man found that idea current, he became
frightened—had a good cause for it. He is not
over his fright.
No man under the sun has any idea of the
cost of Brown's proposed moratorium in Georgia*
It has broken banks, mercantile houses, supply
houses, stores, market fertilizer and mule dealers.
It has wrecked business morale. It has frightened
the little depositor clear out of the bank and now
hordes of ready cash has found its hiding place
under logs, in holes, behind stumps, between mat
tresses, and in all the old socks. That idea of a
delay in paying debts has been the. ruin of nearly
all business which has been stranded during tne
past year in this state. The tight is not over-
will not be over till the bolshevists stop impor
tuning the members of, the legislature to pass a
“stay law.” It is still bad because no man can'
say what Brown’s followers will do in the legis*
lature. _No business man has a particle of con
fidence in that body’s sanity. It will take years to
overcome the disrepute into which Brown’s ring
has dragged the Georgia law making institutions*
Business people who want to do business nexi
year can do so only under firm resolve that they
will not tolerate clap trap politics—will not sur
render Ihe ballot to the moonshiner with the but*
dog pistol nnd the quart of liquor. He must 8°
back to his post and right the situation with *
wisely placed ballot. There is the only remedy-
It is a possible remedv. The business man will re
main off duty until he is willing to go back ana
stand to his post at the ballot box. r
The rough neck, cheap cheroot, poker p]ay®
who got to his place of power on the slogan, free
speech, free press, free license to raise h-" 11 ’
did so because the business man with saner hope*
and ambitions stood aside—took a vacation anu
waited to see what would happen. He has f° un ( ”
out to his sorrow and heavy cost in business*
When the situation is bettered, he will be the
man who does it. Until he steus back into w*
place and takes hold of the wheel of the old snip*
she may be expected to drift—she will drift, an®
the business man will nay the nrice of the dntt'
ine. The hoishevist with his “stav law”_or mora
torium has nothing to lose.—Cordele Dispatch.