OR, THE AVORT.n HAS CHANGED. l99 



[From tlie Atlanta Journal.] 



HOTEL POETRY. 



The National, Hotel. 



Our friend, Major D. U. Sloan, senior proprietor of the 

 National, has much native wit about him. He occasionally 

 drops into poetry, which bristles with points, as note the 

 followinsf : 



o 



Friend and stranger, you would do well, 

 To stop at the National Hotel, 

 In Atlanta, you'll see it stand 

 At Peachtree crossing, close at hand. 

 Stands in the center of the town — 

 The business center — sets you down. 

 Our doors are open night and day, 

 With a welcome in the good old way. 



Not first-class, in a high-faluten sense ; 

 First-class middle-class, all intents. 

 Nabob or Dude might histe his nose, 

 The Peacock tribe expect to lose. 

 We seek no style, we make no show ; 

 For paraphernalia we do not go. 

 Of solid comforts have the best. 

 In these good things we do invest. 



'Tis not glitter that makes us rest, 

 The homelike fare is oft the best ; 

 Good appetite needs no display. 

 Better tempted the good old way. 



