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IA/ Oh/i fl ®i \ Wv JM W 0 11 n I /fl JH « Ml DM A. .liar C-MBmHhI i KdMstfV I PHraOflP k__Wr u.. v 7 : vsFS T. L. MITCHELL, Publisher. Vol, 7—No. 2, Alone I sit; 'tis eventide. My loved ones wander far from home: How can T better while the hours Than bidding fancy freely roam? Go, then, my long neglected muse, Bring forth thy treasures new and old, Bright koh-i-noors from fancy’s field, And from thy mines of thought, their gold— Mount thy Pegasus, bid him soar O’er loftiest height, through deepest glen, While I, intent thy flight to trace- Bring out my pen. I take my pen from off its rack; My dear old pen! It points me back Along my childhood’s sunny track. What grief to me, ’Twas then, as now, to get the nack Os guiding thee. The school house old I still recall, It’s rude desks ranged along the wall, It’s wooden benches hard and tall. With dangling feet, ’Twas there I did my pot hooks scrawl In patience mete. ? fWISiW' ‘f > m wtof'« /r' ,-^FXLi : ?W ■ W : «W» .? (AM. RIGHTS RESERVED.) ■* butterfly ? W' , w>ww STORIES. ‘ JM&W •:• GOLDEQ #*< BY.MARY.KENNABD. [qjß (CONTINUED FROM JANUARY NO.) // / r>\ .-A- - ■ • rrL.- ~«Yggg» ■ ;. -> ■’ • -3 ■•^. v : -" k . . TBSWV . ' -/t ■ . - - - "- • . - - ; -y w ./.* "„ " '‘ "- . -TT s?» ■< J > i ''X-,. : l ' ' of others. ’ ’ At first the King believed him, but time wore on, and no change came. Great doctors from all parts of the world were sent for; all remedies that had ever been heard of were tried; and still the King’s breath was icy, and his lieart lay cold and frozen in his breast. “Leave me, false counsellor!” he cried fiercely to the hawk, at last, ‘‘you have brought me to this misery—you! Never let me see your black wings again!” So the hawk was driven away; and that night when all the palace was asleep, the king rose from his wretched bed, and stretched his trembling hands out from the window, into the star-lit air, For Woman’s Work ATHENS, GEORGIA, FEBRUARY, 1894. -Eave: A Pen Pietae. BY DU DEMA DAMON. I still recall my fond delight When first I learned my name to write; ’Twas scrawled on every place in sight— Ah, Ego’s wile I How doth it still, with subtle might My pen beguile! But then, as time went on apace, I learned another name to trace— (My B’s were formed with special grace) The name was Ben. What fears, lest tell-tale blush disgrace My stealthy pen! Ben was a gallant school-boy knight, And I a saucy, romping sprite Os sixteen summers brief and bright— That age, ’twould seem, Os which the poets most delight To sing and dream. Oft when my eyes seemed most intent, Upon a knotty problem bent, Some.doughty missive love anent, Without the ken Os watchful teacher, had been sent From smitten Ben. GOOD CHEER IS LIFE’S OWN SUNSHINE. He tried to soothe the King with flattering words, and led him to the Golden Pillar. But the air of the Iron Hall was icy; the shivering king drew back, and fled from it. No, not even his beautiful golden tower could com fort him now. ‘ ‘This is only a chill —a strange, long chill,” said , A vara. “ But great kings must expect to have some illnesses not common to low born mortals* A king’s sickness, even, should be different from that We homeward took, when school was out, Across the bridge a lengthened route, And stopped to fish—but not for trout — T’was bounie Mav. Ah me! the memories twined about That blissful day! When to my room I stole at night, What rapturous lines I did indite— Beneath my candle’s scanty light— To handsome Ben! The thoughts themselves were not too bright— From unskilled pen. O, dear first love 1 Can time or place That earliest joy from memory ’rase; Can later, stronger love displace That first born thrill? And leave behind no mark or trace— Say, truthful, quill? A wiser, loftier love to-day Over my loyal heart holds sway— ’Twill constant burn for aye and aye; And yet 1 own " ygT W~F‘ -MjjfcA ''~ 7 S -:■. .JiEHffi: ■ ■ i; 'VS/taF ■' ~ ■ a Jk t£jfaHK#L ( ..OfeW ■■ . 1 ,• ■ . ssw .- ♦ 1-' j >” '»> ,u -■..., • - ~ TA \* 1* • ,A_ iKa* ‘T-L»-®iL/ByFr -S’ #F : -'- ■ ■i ... . ~■ “Oh, Olive, Olive!” he cried. “Come back to me. I need you now! ’ ’ A pair of white wings fluttered softly through the air, and the bird of peace nestled by his side. “You called me, King Rupert,” slie whispered. “Yes, yes, Olive! my heart is frozen. Can you—will you—help me now? All the doctors in my kingdom cannot. ’ ’ “Where is Avara ? ” “I have driven him away. He could not help me in my misery. I never wish to see him again. But you—Olive—you promised to help me!” “Rupert, there is but one cure for your frozen heart: “When the purest thing on Earth has touched your lips your heart will melt; not until then.” “ And that thing—what is it?” “If I tell you, it will lose its power. You must find it for yourself. I may help to guide you to it, but I must not tell you.” “Well, guide me then. What is the first thing to do?” “The first thing to do,” said Olive, slowly and solemnly, “is to right the wrongs you have committed. Buy again the Home of the Blind, and have them gathered up and restored to it. Give to the veteran soldiers the money that you took for the fallen trees. “Ah, King, you know now what it is to suffer cold. Repeal the heavy taxes with which you have burdened the land. Give back every cent that you have unjustly wrung from the people. Re store ’ ’ “Stop! You ask too much. How can I do all that? There is no money left in the royal coffers.” “Where has it gone?” “It has been ground into gold dust and put into the Golden Pillar.” “Then —break down the Golden Pillar! You have no right to it, O King. You have won it by robbery and extortion. Restore that precious dust to its rightful owners.” “Break down my pillar! My precious Golden Pillar, that I’ve spent years in building! Rash Bird, you ask too much. I cannot doit.” “Then —I cannot help to melt your frozen heart. There is no other way.” There was a long pause. The Dove waited for Rupert to speak, but he did not; and at last she sadly rose and flew away. “Call me again, when you want me;” she said, as she fluttered off into the darkness. “She has left her secret, though,” murmured the King, “The purest thing on Earth! I may find it without the Dove.” ***** *** Soon a decree went forth that “The purest thing in the world” was wanted at the palace, The King had heard that the purest thing KATG GARLAND, Ebitress. 50 Cts. per Year, That love was born in bonnie May Long years sgone. O, rainbow arch in heaven’s blue! O, crystal drops of heaven’s dew ! Thou t transient both, but pure and true, And so I ken Our youthful loves we need not rue— And thus 1 pen; The last love truly is the best, And yet young love is ever blest If it can stand fair honor’s test; It anchors fast The wandering heart, and holds at rest Till danger's past. Come, recreant muse, where dost thou stray? Thou hast been two long hours away, I can not longer brook delay— ’Tis after ten— Thou play’st me false, I’ll put away My weary pen.