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EDITORIAL PAGE THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday By THE GEORGIAN COMPANT At 20 East Alabama St., Atlanta, Ga. Entered as second-class matter at postoffice at Atlanta, under act of March 8, 1979 Subscription Price—Delivered by carrier, 10 cents a week. By mall. 56.00 a year. Payable in advance. Whisky and the Law M *1 * Will the Solicitor General Do His Duty in Savannah? Will the Judge of the Superior Court Direct the Grand Jury’s Attention to the Facts in the Case? Those enterprising people of Chatham county who are in dustriously violating the prohibition laws of this state, particu larly in brazenly soliciting mail orders for whisky to be filled in Savannah and shipped broadcast, should be promptly and vigo rously prosecuted. It is bad enough that Savannah seems willing to wink at the outrageous violations of law in that city, and permit the whisky traffic to flourish unrestricted, unmolested, and undisturbed, but it should not be permitted to reach out into other parts of Georgia, with a deliberate intent to make the entire state an accessory to its crimes and an accomplice in its misdeeds. It seems that by sending the price to certain Savannah peo ple, one may obtain, by quick shipment, any brand of any old liquor desired. Hundreds of citizens of Georgia know this, for hundreds of them have received neat little circular letters in forming them of the same, and especially calling their attention to the fact that a little wine for one stomach’s sake is opined to be about the fit and proper thing around Thanksgiving Day, and doubtless will draw their own conclusions. It may be that Savannah glories in being “soused and satis fied.” It may be that Savannah thinks it a fine joke that “blind tigers” can not be convicted in that metropolis, no matter how boldly they ply their trade. It may be that Savannah fails to see in the keeper of an open whisky shop, despite the laws pro hibiting that, an undesirable citizen. It may be that Savannah is a lot of things that other cities are not, nor yet hope to be. But Savannah is not the state of Georgia, and Savannah law breakers should, at least, be made to operate inside their own illegally permitted field of endeavor, no matter how disgrace ful that may be to Savannah, unless it be determined to call the Savannah law breakers’ hands entirely. Every lawyer knows it is against the law to solicit whisky orders in Georgia, by mail or by word of mouth. It should be an easy matter to convict one of these mail .order “tigers” in Savannah—if not in the state courts, then in the Federal courts. And now that the authorities of Chatham county are aware of the names of persons alleged to have been violating the prohi bition laws of Georgia by soliciting mail orders for whisky to be shipped out of Savannah, it will be interesting to watch and see what comes of it. Will the solicitor general do his duty in Savannah? Will the judge of the superior court direct the grand jury’s attention to the facts in the case? If not, inquiry might be made of the Federal authorities, with an eye to seeing whether the United States mails may be used to defy the laws of Georgia inside the state of Georgia? Legal Victory for Wilson’s Policy The refusal of the United States supreme court to hear argu ments for the constitutionality of the South Dakota “Unfair Scales Law” virtually settles the legality and practicability of a far-reach ing Federal anti-monopoly plan proposed by Mr. Wilson on the stump. During the campaign Mr. Wilson advocated a Federal statute that would send monopolists to jail for selling goods at lower prices in one place than in others for the purpose of driving local com petitors out of business. Such statutes already exist in nine or ten states of the Union. The settlement of their constitutionality opens the way for congress to apply the principle to the whole field of interstate commerce. The effect of such a Federal law would be far-reaching. It would mark an epoch in the development of the commercial con science of the country—an epoch as important as that signalized by the abolishment of railroad rebates. The action of the supreme court is a striking indorsement of the political and economic prevision of the president-elect. r~ -—— Haste in Eating and Drinking A German merchant visiting this country made some comments recently on our method of drinking. Aougo to a bar, said he, “and gulp down one or tito drinks, preferably ice cold, which is injurious. There we Germans surpass your people. It you would sit down and slowly sip your glass of beer, it would benefit you more and act as a medicine.” None of us has to verity this statement. The habit of most men is to order some mixture either off the ice or shaken up with ice and then pour it down into an unoffending stomach. This is probably a growth of the ice-water habit, which has uu doubtedh done more tor the cause of dyspepsia than any other one vice save swallowing food without chewing it. Contrast a scene in a German beer garden with a scene in an American bar, and you get a tangible idea of the difference between peace and excitement. Perhaps after we have ruined our stomachs we will come to our and learn th.- value of taking our time in matters pertaining and drinking. The Atlanta Georgian Turkey: “Let’s Call It a Draw!” By HAL COFFMAN. ■■r* &- few - V /v | CH 7 vz \w, r t f A ZZ: L /W k Z Out of the Mouths of Babes f’ | IHE little boy was wet and | muddy and mussy, and his face was dirty, and his stockings were down, and his hat was torn, and you could see the marks of the pup’s great, awkward paws all over him from top to toe. “Dear me,” said the little boy's mother, twisting her face Into a hard knot to keep from laughing and crying at the same time. "Dear me. what a dreadful little boy you are—you are so naughty, so dirty. Why can’t you ever be good like the little boy next door?” The little boy’s mother was tired —very, very tired. She had had some bad news in a letter, and she had received the grocer’s bill, and she was called on the phone to come right up to school and see why the little girl didn’t get on better in her number work, and the plumber sent word that he really couldn’t come that day, as he had promised so faithfully in the morn ing. and the tooth that grumbled all night was lamenting almost aloud now. And the little boy had looked so neat and pretty a few minutes ago, and the little boy’s mother was really cross and didn't care who knew it. When she told the little boy how naughty he was. and told it in a cruel, hard voice that made the lit tle boy look up quickly to see If it really was his mother speaking, the little boy's eyes filled with quick tears. The Reconciliation. He hid his chubby face in his stubby, grubby hands. “This morn ing.” said the little boy brokenly, “this morning you said T was sweet.” and the little boy's mother caught him in her arms with sud den remorse. “You are a sweet little boy,” she said. "Oh, you are, you are! I think so now. Do you think I am sweet, too?" And the little boy. alarmed, threw his sturdy arms around his moth er’s neck and kissed her. and said: "Yes, Muvver, I do—l sure, sure do.” And then he laughed, and the little boy's mother took him up stairs and dressed him all over again, and told him a story while she brushed his hair—a nice story that he always loved—about when TUESDAY. NOVEMBER 26, 1912 By WINIFRED BLACK. ’ the little boy’s mother was a little girl, and the dog was stung by the bees, and every one thought he had gone mad. And then she gave him a red ap ple and took one herself, and they were all very, very happy—to gether. That was it —that's what made the happiness—together. The little boy and the one who had been angry with him, and the puppy who never was angry’ with any one. Together—and nothing but that mattered. Oh, little boy. little boy, I hope you will never have to say thgt again—“This morning you said I was sweet.” It is such a sad thing to say and still sadder to think and not say it. How Bitterly He Speaks. "This morning you thought I was sweet.” That’s what turned the corners down at that poor woman’s mouth. Her husband used to think she was sweet. Everything she did was lovely to him, and now —what- ever she does is wrong, and she is never right at all. Oh, if she could only throw her self into his arms and say. “This morning you thought I was sweet.” Perhaps even his hardened heart would soften and he would remem ber a little. The man with the tired eyes and Our Language A MANIKIN'S a little man— That simple fact no one would stump; But a napkin's not a little nap, And a pumpkin's not a pump. Foundlings are little babies found — That’s very plain to any chump; But a stripling's not a little strip, And a dumpling’s not a little dump A kidlet is a little kid — That’s seen by e'en the dullest nut: But a hamlet’s not a little ham, And a cutlet's not a little cut. A princess is a lady prince; But it is not held by any bloat That a mistress is a female mat, Or a buttress is a nannygoat. Oh, English, you are strangely made! You're not a tongue for chumps ot fools! I'll never master you. I’m afraid— You've more exceptions than you've rules. the shoulders set, to mean “What’s the use?” This morning, when they first met —this morning, when lova was young—the woman- the man loved thought he was good, she thought he was brave, she thought he was wise, she w’as proud of him and believed in him, and now— How bitterly the man speaks of love and of what love brings. If he could just say as the little boy said—but no, he can not; he must stub along the hard way, the cruel wav, the rough way of life, alone — all alone—for the woman who walks beside him is only there in body; her heart and her mind are far, far away, and that is the saddest loneliness of all. When we are parted from those we love, by land or sea, by miles only, it is nothing; but when it is indifference that parts us, or anger, or hard-hearted cruelty, or the wicked influence of those who would make us miserable, that is suffering indeed. “This morning you thought I was sweet.” So you did, old friend, so you did. You loved to be with me, you liked to hear what it was that bubbled from my heart to my lips, you were proud of my confi dence. Tonight I’m afraid I should only bore you, so I will keep away —as far away as I can—and try to make myself believe that you would be just the same as ever if we were together again. How pretty it was. the foolish little laugh that caught your fancy; good, sir, with the discontented eyes, How empty and silly you think it now. She doesn’t know why, and are you quite fair to blame her? You Have Changed—Not He. How fine you thought his calm repose when first you knew him, little Mrs. Disillusion. Is it only stupidity, you think? Yet it is you who have changed, not he—not he. "This morning you thought I was sweet." bittie boy. little boy. I am glad you said it straight out, child fashion, and did not nurse the pain of it in your deepest heart, as some of us less wise do. For when I saw you and the puppy and your mother all together on the porch, you looked so very, very happy— together. THE HOME PAPER Ella Wheeler Wilcox Writes on Radiating Happiness IEiO It Is the Only Sure Way to Happiness For One’s Self in the Future Life. rajaOifl Peace in the Home. Written For The Atlanta Georgian By Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copyright. 1912, by American-Journal-Examiner. HOW are you treating the peo ple with whom you associate daily? What sort of mem ory are you creating in the minds of members of your family, to re main with them after you pass on, as you may pass, any day, any hour? And just what kind of a home are you helping to build? What does the word "home” sig nify to you? Possibly you are a religious indi vidual, and have in your mind an ideal of heaven. If so, it is, of course, a place where there are joy, love, peace, song and praise. It is bright, beautiful and attrac tive —a spot where every dream is realized and where nothing mean or unkind or disagreeable can en ter. But unless you are constantly making an endeavor to establish a similar condition within your own home, you will never be allowed to find such a heaven when you pass on. Not Way to Make Angels. Unless you are empjoying the qualities which would render you a suitable citizen of Heaven, you can not receive a pass to enter that kingdom. Angels are not made in a mo ment. A man or a woman who bring* into use the devilish characteristics of quick ugly tempers, sulky modes, selfishness and fault-finding in his or her home will not be trans formed into an amiable angel and enter Heaven by the mere act of dying. Such individuals will be taken on fast flying airships of their own manufacture to the purgatories and helis of their own manufacture. And they will associate with de mons like unto themselves until they learn their lesson of self-con trol and work their passage Into a better place. Perhaps you do not believe in any heaven or any life beyond this. If not. you are to be pitied. But 1n that case you should quite as fully realize the need of making a place on earth where you will ob tain and give all possible happiness while you remain. What is the good of all your work and worry and starving and strain ing after success, unless you are forming habits which give peace and pleasure and love and content to those with whom you associate, whether they are blood kin or not? If you are single and live in a boarding house or club, or if you The Farmer’s Idle Wife By JAMES J. MONTAGUE. The farmer’s wife is now so occupied with social affairs that she has lost the art of making butter and jam and doing the work of the farm that her grandmother did. This results in a great eco nomic loss to the country.—The substance of a government report is sued from the Agricultural Department. THE farmer’s wife, In early days, got up at half-past two. And shined the plows and milked the cows and put the prunes to stew The breakfast for the hands she’d set upon the stroke of four. And then she’d bake her bread and cake and scrub the kitchen floor. But nowadays the farmer’s wife has time to call her own. "Good gracious!” says the Government, "how idle she has grown!” The farmer’s wife, in times gone by, brought up the calves and lambs, And sacked the oats and fed the shoats and smoked the hickory hams. And when she'd cooked three great big meals she cheerfully arose And with her churn sat down to earn the money for her clothes. But now she often visits 'round and gossips, like as not “My goodness,” says the Government, "how worthless she has got!" The farmer’s wife, some years ago, was wholly free from nerves; Twelve hours a day she'd slave away at putting up preserves. Six children dangling at her skirts, a seventh on her arm, She’d gamely set herself to get the mortgage off the farm. But now she sometimes takes a rest, like city women do. "Great heavens!” cries the Government, “what is she coming to?" The farmer's wife departed from this vale of toil and tears For happier climes, in those old times, when under thirty years The farmer got another mate, he somehow always found The ideal wife who toiled through life and rested —underground. But now sometimes her years add up their full allotted sum. "Great Scott!” exclaims the Government, "how shiftless she's become' 1 are married and have a family, 0T if you are one of a family, the same obligation rests upon you to BE AGREEABLE,- TO BE KIND. TO BE THOUGHTFUL, TO BE GOOD NATURED, AND MAKE MUCH OF THE VIRTUES AND LITTLE OF THE FAULTS OF YOUR COMRADES AND COMPANIONS, Correct Without Nagging, If you are the head of a family, it may be necessary—indeed, will be necessary—for you to sometimes correct the faults of your younger charges. But there is away to do these things which brings better re sults than continual nagging and fault finding. Begin by saying how dear your children or other dependents are to you, how you long to see the best in life come to them, and how deeply it pains you to have them fall of being and doing their best. That will make whatever criti cisms follow more telling in their effect. V hile If you are always nagging, always scolding, always complaining, your words fall with out any effect save to make others dread the sound of your voice. Do not carry home a despondent manner and a hard luck and hard work cry continually. And if you are a woman, do not greet the members of your family with these things. Many a well cooked meal has been ruined by the wall of the woman who prepared it, and by her drooping mouth and fatigued man ner. And many a household, which has been cheerful all day, has felt a sudden gloom fall over It after the husband and father entered with his groans and grumpiness. Mottoes For a Home. Here Is a little mantram or rosary which you might paste on a card and place It where every member of your household will see It. It Is from "Simplified Lessons,” by F. Harty: "Every one In this house wants to do right. "We are all peaceful, calm and harmonious. "We love one another. We feel kindly toward one another. "We do not condemn each other’s faults. "We are all children of God. and by our every thought and act we are trying to help other mem bers of the family.” This can only result In bettered conditions for your home, if you read it over dally and try and live up to its words. Peace be unto you and your • home.