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THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN
Published Every Afternoon Except Sunday
By THE GEORGIAN COM PA NY
At 20 East Alabama St.. Atlanta. Ga
Entered as second-rlavn matter at p- - '"fflceat Atlanta under act of Mar^h 8, 1&"3
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Payable In Advance.
“He Would Come in for Lunch,
Stay Ten Minutes, and BeGone”
That Is the Story of Many a Man Whose Life Ends Too Soon.
More Time for Eating Means More Time on Earth.
(Copyright, 1013.)
An eminent lawyer, distinguished and useful citizen of
Chicago, lies dangerously ill as this is written. All of his fellow
citizens sympathize with him and hope for his recovery.
Those that knew him in various capacities speak of him with
respect, each according to his acquaintance.
The waiter at the Hotel La Salle says: “Too bad he is sick.
A fine man. I saw him often. He would come here for his lunch,
stay ten minutes, and be off again. He is a worker.’’
A worker indeed I
But in that story of the waiter Is perhaps an explanation of
the illness of a useful citizen and, certainly, the explanation of
many premature endings of important careers.
The natural working life of a man who takes care of himself
should be eighty years, at least.
Gladstone, Bismarck, Moltke, Palmerston, Pope Leo, Titian
the great painter—these and many others were at the height of
their powers at fourscore—good workers up to the very end,
and men of long life.
Others of greatest value to the earth have disappeared be
fore their work was fairly begun. And those that knew them
might have said as the waiter said of the great Chicago lawyer,
“Ten minutes at lunch, and gone.”
Rosebery, in his book on Napoleon, “The Last Phase,” tells
of Napoleon's contempt for the man who stayed long at his
meal? Napoleon thought that fifteen or twenty minutes was long
enough to sit at table. Inexorable Nature informed him that
half of the ordinary lifetime was “long enough” for a man who
refused to give proper attention to his digestion.
If Napoleon had not ruined his stomach, he wouldn’t have
been overcome with sleepiness in battle because of a bad liver,
he wouldn’t have suffered later the tortures that killed him at
St. Helena, AND HE WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN BEATEN AT
WATERLOO.
The old Jewish wise men said, “The blood is the life.” And
the blood is INDEED the life. The brain is no better than the
blood that feeds It. The blood with its stream of life, its fighting
leucocytes, its red corpuscles that absorb electric power, is to
the human machine what electricity is to the electric machine.
Lower the quality and the supply of blood and you will ruin
the human machine.
The blood depends upon digestion, on slow, regular, careful
eating.
The man who in his vigor, like the late E. H. Harriman or
the great Napoleon, despises Nature’s rules and abuses the
laboratory where his blood is made, will pay dearly in the end.
Eat slowly. If you have only ten minutes for your luncheon,
eat only as much as can be EATEN SLOWLY IN TEN MIN
UTES. Wait and eat the rest when you have time to eat.
Do not eat when you are tired, when you are excited, when
the blood is in the brain instead of being in the stomach, where
it should be, to digest the food.
Do not eat when you are worried, when your mind is on
other things.
Better go hungry through the day, with a glass of milk, or
an apple, than “eat luncheon in ten minutes and be off again.”
It is time for the man who would not dream of treating an
electric machine or a gas engine with contempt to learn that he,
too, In the language of the Bible, is "fearfully and wonderfully
made,” that he is a machine, an engine like any other entitled to
decent treatment and care.
Promoting a Wife’s Happiness
Even in the Far West the men can teach us a lot. Listen to
L. C. Dillman, empire builder and associate of James J. Hill, who
has spent eighteen years in trying to be the right sort of husband.
Of all his many promotions his chief one, he declares, is the
promotion of the happiness of Mrs. Dillman. It ranks ahead of
his copper minin? ventures in Alaska and his efforts at railroad
construction.
“Woman is not a mysterious creature,” boldy asserts Mr.
Dillman, and he bases his system on this idea.
“There is no joy in the future,” he says, “it is all of to
day. If I had only one dollar to spend on my wife, I would
spend it like an artist. No matter how little a man has, he should
employ part of it making life pleasant for his wife.”
We can’t all be artists, but most of us can afford a dollar now
and then to spend on our wives. Let us take stock from Mr. Dill
man. After all, there’s more in the way a thing is done than in the
thing itself. This kind of philosophy practiced for a while might
result in the discovery that our wives are much finer creatures
than we ever imagined.
I * tf
The Atlanta Georgian
THE SHOP GIRL—“How I wish I had her wealth and position.’*
THE WOMAN—“How I wish I had her youth and beauty.”
Winifred Black Writes on "Fooi’s Gold”
They Never Stay Rich, Somehow, Those Get-Rich-Quick People,
She Says. It’s Always for Such a Little While.
By WINIFRED BLACK
H R arrived In western Colo
rado the other day—a real
Get Rich Quick Wallingford.
He was big and prosperous look
ing, he wore the finest clothes they
had ever soen on that side of the
slope, and he spent money like a
prince In n story.
Ho bought—on paper—a valua
ble ranch, signed contracts for the
building of a fine house, contribut
ed largely to the local woman’s
dub projects, and amaaed the dis
couraged minister of a struggling
congregation with a generous
check.
He tipped the bell boys In the
little hotel till they wouldn’t wait
on any one but him. He hired the
best automobile In town and kept It
busy, had his shoes shined twice a
day and tipped the man who shined
them a quarter every time he saw
him. He gave the drummers in the
barroom big, black cigars—and no
child ever got by him without a
nickel at least, to take home to
show mamma—and then he wrote
checks, got them cashed and—dis
appeared.
Back, Dead Broke.
Quite In the regulation manner,
but just there the story stopped be
ing a story and became real facts.
The country marshal followed his
man, caught up with him, arrested
him and—In just about a week's
time Get Rich Quick Wallingford
will be In the penitentiary with his
brothers, the rest of the crooks,
and he won’t get out till he's done
his full stretch of time, either.
They never do It—In real life—the
real Walllngfords.
And some day, some ten years or
so from now, poor Get Rich Quick
will go back to Broadway—dead
broke. He'll look for some of his
old friends. Where will they be?
In Jail or In some penitentiary, or
hiding from some country town
sheriff somewhere — never on
Broadway—the Get Rich Quick
people don't stay where the lights
are bright for long.
They can't—poor things, poor,
warped, blinking, cross-eyed things
—nobody will let them, and poor
Get Rich Quick Wallingford will
have to go down to the Fast Side
and he'll borrow a dollar here and
a half dollar there, and his shoes
will get the worse for wear and his
eyes will lose their bold stare and
be furtive, And hts fine clothes will
all be gone and he'll be delighted
to have some one give him “the
makings” of a cheap cigarette.
Some of His Dues.
Some night he’ll turn up on
Broadway again—outside one of
the smart restaurants he liked so
well—once. He'll be begging for
a quarter or a dime or a nickel,
anything he can get, and ten
chances to one some "Jay” he
tried to fool will give the price of
a night's lodging and he’ll slink
away In a tremor of relief, for he’s
fallen on hard days, poor Walling
ford—the hardest kind of days, the
sort of days that he knew all the
time, behind all his bluster and
brag and spending, were waiting
for him down there, when the road
turned the wrong way for him, the
crooked, cruel, crafty, stupid, In
evitable road.
Every time he threw a five dollar
piece on the bar and told the bar-
keeper to “keep the change,” he
knew that road was turning some
where out there in the dark for
him. Every time he made some
poor, half-starved preacher in some
poor little struggling church think
Wallingford had dropped from the
skies, till the check came back
from the bank, he knew It—and
half wished the bank account was
real so he wouldn’t have to fool the
preacher so badly. Every time he
talked some poor school teacher
Into investing the money she had
been years saving In one of his
paper schemes, he saw the road,
twisting there before him ahead
and shuddered down to the depths
of his coward's soul.
Poor, shifty, scheming, planning,
bragging, lying, cheating Get Rich
Quick Wallingford—and all his
tribe and brethren. I’d rather be
the “jay” he has so much fun fool
ing. I’d rather be the man he
"short-changed” when he was hard
up for cash. I’d rather be the poor
teacher crying herself to sleep
when she found out that all her
work and self-sacrifice, all her
dreaming of a home somewhere In
the country in modest plenty, were
in vain. I’d rather be anybody
than Wallingford—even If he did
get rich quick for awhile. Wouldn’t
you?
It's always for such a little while,
isn’t It? They never stay rich,
somehow, those Get Rich Quick
people. Every time I see one of
them I wonder, if there Isn’t some
thing in the old superstition about
money that is ill gotten—It turned
to dust, they used to say, In your
very hands.
Where did it all go, Mr. Walling
ford, that fortune you and your
smooth, smirking partner made In
bogus stock mining? I saw you In
a hotel corridor the other day; you
were trying to look rich yet; but
that suit of yours wasn’t quite the
latest cut and hadn’t those very
shiny shoes been half-soled a time
or so?
You didn’t dine at the hotel, I
noticed. You just registered there.
Did you slip around the comer to
the dairy restaurant, and tip the
waitress a nickel, just to save your
face? And you walk now. Better
for the health, didn’t I hear you
say? Where’s the shiny red ma
chine of yours? Why, you could
hear the toot of the horn a block
away, only a little year ago, and
where are they now, all the neat,
prosperous, bright-eyed persons
who flocked around you and laugh
ed at your meanest Joke, a little,
little year ago?
Gone—With Your Cash!
Gone—with your money—gone
with the aromrt of prosperity.
Gone, Wallingford, like the hopes
of the poor fools you have laughed
at. Gone, like the clear conscience
you had—before you began this
miserable Get Rich Quick business.
Gone, gone—and you are going.
Wallingford, going fast. Don't send
your card up to me and tell me
you met me once In some mining
town—and try to get an Introduc
tion to some decent folk. You’re
past all that, Wallingford, long
past—you’re on the road, the swift,
twisting, darting road.
It won't take you long to reach
the turn of it now—poor Get Rich
Quick man, poor dupe of the ones
you’ve duped—what ever made you
think you could beat the great
game and keep beating it for long?
Fool’s gold, that’s what you had,
fool’s gold, and it’s gone—as fool’s
gold always goes; and now you
have nothing left, nothing—was it
worth the price, do you think?
THE CIRCUS
By WILLIAM F. KIRK.
/ T cornea to the village at daybreak.
And all is a hullabaloo,
\\ ith tent poles all bare and canvas to spare,
With camels and elephants, too.
The roustabouts swear as they hustle,
The outfit is moved from the train.
And naught but excitement and bustle
From now until nightfall will reign.
The farmers are up with the robins,
All swearing “Uy heck!" and “By hen!”
Their wives help to hitch up the Dobbins
And drive into town with the men.
The villagers join with the farmers
In best Sunday raiment arrayed,
And Romeos stroll with their charmers,
Awaiting the gilded parade.
To one who is weary of cities
And sated with pomp and display,
The thrill of real joy he knew when a boy
Returns with this marvelous day.
And the wealth of the haughty and scorning.
Like so much cheap junk he would trade.
To start once again in Life’s morning
With peanuts and red lemonade.
■v
the: home: paper
Mysteries of
Science and
Nature.
Onr Five Senses Are
Simply Windows Look
ing Out of the Sphere
of Ignoranee in Which
We Are Shut Up-
Some Animals Have
Senses We Have Not—
We May Develop Oth
ers in Time.
By GARRETT P. SERVISS
I MAGINE an Intelligent being
fastened at the center of a hol
low sphere, suspended In the
air and having five small open
ings, giving unconnected glimpses
of the world outside.
One of the windows overhead
affords him a view of a patch of
blue sky across which clouds
sometimes drift, and at certain
times In the year the blinding
sun passes over it, while almost
every night he sees a stream of
stars moving slowly across it.
Another, opening in the side of
the sphere, enables him to see a
part of a large tree whose leaves
and branches are occasionally
shaken by the wind, and as the
seasons change the leaves turn
red or yellow and fall off, to re
appear some months later.
A third vision, at the bottom of
the sphere, shows him a piece of
ground covered with sand or grav
el; a fourth, not far from the
third, reveals a portion of a lawn
of grass; and the fifth looks out
upon a body of water, but does not
disclose its shores.
The Imprisoned being not only
notices the succession of day and
night, hut the difference between
winter and summer, for snow
sometimes covers the patches of
ground beneath him and ice forms
Ml% n *h» wata*
Our Senses Are Win
dows in Our Sphere
of Ignorance.
Now, suppose that the prisoner
has no knowledge of the world
around him except such as he can
obtain by looking through his five
little windows and reasoning up
on what he sees. He will then be
In a situation resembling that of
men and women shut up In the
sphere of ignorance that is pierced
by the windows of their five
senses.
If he had a complete series of
windows affording connected views
of the outer world all around and
above and below, he could form
a correct idea of the form of that
world and the relations of Its va
rious parts. But as ItTs, he would
have to possess a very high de
gree of Intelligence In order to In
fer from his disconnected glimpses
the shape of the sky and the
ground and the relations between
them and their various parts.
Now, the five windows of our
senses give us hardly less im
perfect knowledge of the wider
world that Is presented to us.
Each of them Is very limited in
its range. The sense of sight cov
ers but a small portion of the In
finite gamut of vibrations of which
visible light forms a part; the
sense of hearing extends over
only a email part of another range
of vibrations to which sound Is
due, while the senses of touch
taste and. smell, though more
closely connected than those of
sight and hearing, are in them
selves not less narrowly limited.
If the windows of our senses
were more and more widely opened
they would finally blend together,
thus giving us a complete view of
the universe In all its relations.
We can see how limited our sense
of sight is when we consider that
there are animals which see rays
of light that are entirely Invisible
to our eyes. Yet these very rays
form an unbroken series with
those that we do see.
The animals that perceive them
are simply situated at a different
point In the sphere, so that thetr
sight ranges through the window
of vision In a slighUy different dir
rection.
Animals Often Have More
Acute Senses Than
We Possess.
The same is true of hearing, of
touch and of smell. Insects hear
sounds that are inaudible to usj
they also have organs of touch far
more delicate than ours; dogs and
deer possess a sense of smell that
seems almost miraculous.
But not only do the windows of
the five senses afford different
glimpses to different creatures, but
some animals evidently possess
senses entirely different from ours.
Birds, seals and ants have a sense
of direction which enables them to
find theU -nkf through the air, in
the sea and over the ground in a
manner Impossible to us. If the
aut possessed all of our five senses
In perfection, and his sixth sense
in addltipn, he would be superior
to us In his knowledge of nature.
A being with a thousand senses
would surpass us almost infinitely
in the means of knowledge.
There Is reason for believing
that all animal senses have been
acquired gradually, and it may be
that the most important ones have
not yet been developed. We get a
glimpse of these possibilities In the
strange phenomena of mesmerism,
clairvoyance and telepathy. Elec
tricity, as we become familiar with
it, is teaching us still more on this
subject. Who knows but, after
ages of use, electricity may open
for us another window In the walls
of ignorance and develop another
sense of which we do not at pres
ent dream?
Our Aim Must Be to
Open Other Windows
of Sense.
All the efforts of science hither
to have been directed to the brings
lng together and comparing of the
impression made by our five limit
ed senses. In this way we arrive
at more or less certain conclu
sions concerning things that are
not directly appreciable by the
senses. But this Is a very Indirect
and Imperfect road to knowledge.
The final result of all our progress
ought to be, and doubtless will be,
to open other windows or widen
those already existlrg, so that
eventually the universe will be
directly known to ns with a dear
ness and completeness of which
at present we can form no concep
tion.
Letters From The Georgian's Readers
CROPS IN GEORGIA.
Editor The Georgian:
Having Just returned from a
somewhat extensive trip through
Georgia I want to say that pros
pects for a fine harvest of crops
were never better. I have talked
to a good many farmers and they
tell me their crops are excellent.
We didn’t have much of a peach
crop this year, but the fruit was
good and the prices obtained by
the orchardmen were splendid. If
they have a kick coming I haven’t
heard it. All of which inclines me
to the belief that the farmers and
merchants of the State should
feel mighty good over the situa
tion. When the farmer is in fine
financial condition everybody
reaps some of the benefit.
Macon, Ga. R. T. P.
BRITISH JUSTICE.
Editor The Georgian:
I have been reading newspaper
accounts of the escape of Harry
Thaw from the asylum for the
criminal insane at Matteawan,
N. Y., with considerable interest.
I have a curiosity to know exact
ly what the so-called “British
Justice" will amount to In his
case. We are told that this brand
of Justice permits of no tom
foolery, no quibbling, no special
advantages gained by mere tech
nicalities. Public sentiment—at
least that which exists in the im
mediate neighborhood of where
Thaw is now held a prisoner—
appears to favor the fugitive.
Therefore, I am very much inter
ested to know how the Dominion
government will solve th* prob
lem which it confronts. Will that
decision give Thaw an advantage,
or will it place him at a disad
vantage? I believe a good many
people are interested in the out
come. j
Birmingham.
W. N. ARNO, J