His hoss went dead, an’ his mule went lame,
    He lost six cows in a poker game;
    A harricane come on a summer’s day
    An’ carried the house whar he lived away,
    Then a earthquake come when that wuz gone
    An’ swallered the land that the house stood on! 
    An’ the tax collector, he come roun’
    An’ charged him up fer the hole in the groun’! 
    An’ the city marshal he come in view
    An’ said he wanted his street tax, too!

    Did he moan an’ sigh?  Did he set an’ cry
    An’ cuss the harricane sweepin’ by? 
    Did he grieve that his old friends failed to call
    When the earthquake come and swallered all? 
    Never a word o’ blame he said,
    With all them troubles on top his head! 
    Not him!  He climbed on top o’ the hill
    Whar stan’in’ room wuz left him still,
    An’, barrin’ his head, here’s what he said: 
    “I reckon it’s time to git up an’ git,
    But, Lord, I hain’t had the measles yit!”

Among those who have been on the staff of the “Constitution” and have become widely known, may be mentioned the gifted Corra Harris, many of whose stories have Georgia backgrounds, and who still keeps as a country home in the State where she was born, a log cabin, known as “In the Valley,” at Pine Log, Georgia; also the perhaps equally (though differently) talented Robert Adamson, whose administration as fire commissioner of the City of New York was so able as to result in a reduction of insurance rates.

Atlanta reporters, it would seem, run to the New York Fire Department, for Joseph Johnson, who preceded Mr. Adamson as commissioner, was once a reporter on the Atlanta “Journal.”  The latter paper used to belong to Hoke Smith.  It was at one time edited by John Temple Graves, who later edited the Atlanta “Georgian,” and is now a member of the forces of William Randolph Hearst, in New York.  The late Jacques Futrelle, the author, who went down with the Titanic, was a Georgian, and worked for years on the “Journal.”  Don Marquis, one of the most brilliant American newspaper “columnists,” now in charge of the department known as “The Sun Dial” on the New York “Evening Sun,” was also at one time on the “Journal,” as was likewise Grantland Rice, America’s most widely read sporting writer.  Lollie Belle Wiley, whose poetry has a distinct southern quality, is, I believe, a member of the “Journal’s” staff.  As the eminent Ty Cobb once wrote a book, it seems fair to mention him also among Georgian authors, though so far as I know he never worked on an Atlanta paper.  And if Atlanta’s three celebrated golfers have not written for the papers, they have at least supplied the sporting page with much material.  Miss Alexa Sterling of Atlanta, a young lady under twenty, is one of the best women golfers in the United States; Perry Adair also figures in national golf, and Robert T. ("Bobby”) Jones, Jr., who was southern champion at the age of fourteen, is, perhaps, an unprecedented marvel at the game—­so at least my golfing friends inform me.