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ip7 <^|pm>Wi HFWPHfSnFT i ’HnT I---.--I = 1 B IWI 1 m N i tiivW', ffii mWiMr ■ J i T. L. MITCHELL. Publisher. Vol. 9.—No, 4. For Woman's Work. —BY THE SEA. HANNAH E. TAYLOR. Oi the beach at dusky twilight While the tide is coming in, Enwrapped I stand, and my soul is thrilled By the surges’ turbulent din. Os Galilee’s sea I’m thinking, Os an ancient hallowed day When Jesus of Nazareth lingered all night By its wave-washed beach to pray. By Word of God the worlds were formed Os things that are not seen, And still the great work is going on; For all this verdure green— That is food for man and beast Since time was, year after year— Is the invisible changed to The things that do appear. All this beautiful world to Him The frame of a picture seemed, While the heart of man, to His loving eyes, With eternal interest beamed. The star-set firmament above, The —to us—mysterious earth, Were, to their glorious Creator, Things of inferior worth. What does He say? “Consider The lilies of the field; Timy toil not, neither do they spin,” And yet what loom can yield For Woman’s Work. FIKE’S PEAK. A WALK TO TH IK SUMMIT. BY EMMA FREEMAN GRAHAM. “A moonlight excursion to the Peak to-night,” were the words ex citedly shouted in my ears by an exhilarated youth who was to make one of a party contemplating the ascension of the famous old moun tain that night ‘‘a-foot” —that being the only manner of arriving in time to see the sun rise ‘‘from the summit.” Tourists to Colorado Springs and Manitou have each and everyone a burning desire to go to the top of Pike’s Peak, though comparatively few realize this ambi tion. The Peak rises 14,147 feet above the level of the sea and meas ures nine miles from base to summit. Many persons could not endure the fatigue attending so lengthy a climb and are timid of risking their lives on the backs of burros, or still worse, in the cars ascending and descending the cog road; others find the high altitude simply unendu rable, and after a few miles’ ascent retrace their steps and hopelessly relinquish the dream of their summer trip. I had gazed day after day at the grand and inspiring old mountain and hoped and longed to make the ascent; now was my time! Wild with enthusiasm, I set about preparing for the trip. Our party num bered thirteen, a mixture of ladies and gentlemen, all excited and anxious for the hour to arrive when we would start. Only on moon light nights could the night trip be made, and the moon would be glorious on this evening of the 18th of August, 1894. We arrived at the base of the mountain at nine o’clock, well pro vided with extra wraps and lunch baskets, and tourists alpenstocks to assist in climbing. With light hearts and merry jests we ‘‘struck the cog road” (of which there are but three in the world) thinking it to be the best way of ascent. Songs, laughter and repartee resounded through the hills. For an hour and a half we proceeded with only the light from the stars; but at ten-thirty o’clock the moon began to rise—a glorious sight, excelling in sublimity and grandeur anything I have ever witnessed. I can only describe it by saying that an im mense halo of silver light seemed to rise above the shadowy moun tains, as though it might be a reflection from that place which requires neither the sun nor the moon for illumination, but shines with the light that never was on land or sea, and as it slowly widened, cast into bold relief the pine trees and thick foliage and caused them to appear as though covered with hoarfrost. This illumination lasted but a mo ment, when, as though from a catapult, the full bright moon shot into view, flooding the valleys and ravines with quivering yellow light, and, flashing through the noisy and tumbling waterfalls, gave them the appearance iff SpHP &! ass AN HONOR TO OURSELVES AND A BLESSING TO OTHERS. Such gorgeous array? Wherefore, If God so clothe the flower, Have trust and faith, thou weary soul, In such transcendent power. Yes, when we think, O, heart of man, , To what wondrous heights you rise, As we look upon Jesus praying there; We are His by brotherly ties, And yet we only turn about And stand in awe by the brink Os the fearful depths forever near, Where the heart of man can sink. And when it was day, and busy throngs Began their restless striving, Selfishly treading the same old paths With each new day’s reviving, Jesus came from the solitude, Came into the busy street, , And gently, lovingly spake these words: “Is not life more than meat?’’ Here by the breaking surges, Here in the misty light, O, Jesus, give to my craving heart A beam from your Heavenly height. Though beauty is always joy, And grand the way fame leads, But far above and beyond all else, Are unselfish and loving deeds. ATHENS, GEORGIA, APRIL, 1896. But we could not linger too long absorbing the beauty of the moon lit canon or we would not be in time for the rising of the sun which appears earlier from the summit. We were constantly passing and being passed by others on the same mission as ourselves; as many as sixty persons were on the road that night, few of whom reached their journey’s end. We had previously listened to dreadful tales of what had befallen many who had undertaken the journey on foot; of swollen and purple faces, gushing of blood from nose and mouth, and other dreadful con ditions before a point designated as timber line was reached. But who was ever known to profit by the experience of others? Certainly not those of venturesome spirit! For many miles we walked and rested and ate alternately, but before we reached the timber line all desire for food had vanished. Dizziness, coupled with nausea, took possession of us should we glance downward. Songshad ceased; laughter be came unknown, and conversation infrequent. We now passed, at in tervals, groups of persons lying by the wayside, some utterly exhausted and only waiting to rest sufficiently to “take the back track;’’ others still ambitious to push onward, but with fast failing confidence in their ability to do so. Many of our party had lagged behind, and those ot us who had not given up were slowly toiling forward, step by step, laboriously and seriously—stopping often and oftener to rest. Every where could be heard regrets and lamentations of “Why was I so fool ish as to undertake such a trip?’’ In my imagination I fancied it was like the road to Heaven; a narrow way; on one side a fathomless depth; on the other an insur mountable wall of rock: the only chance was straight forward, and amid the groans and regrets of the many who were unable to “continue to the end’’ we strove on to reach the goal —a position above the clouds! Arriving at Windy Point I find myself quite alone, proceeding with great difficulty from the lightness of the atmosphere, and suffer ing greatly from the intense cold- High up on that bold old mount I stand and look about me; at my feet the peaks of lofty mountains, all around me an interminable expanse of rocks, that dwindle in size as we near the top. The hills grow steeper, but with hard drawn breath and momentary rests we continue the ascent. About one mile from the summit I came upon a party who had built a tiny fire from a few twigs conveyed by them to the spot. It had the appearance in that great desert of rocks that a lighted candle would have floating on the Atlantic Ocean. One of the party spoke to me, asking if I would come to the fire and get warm. Endeavoring to reply, I found my lips swollen and my attempted answer almost inarticulate. The members of this party were also suffering greatly from the high altitude, and so great an ado were they making that I felt as though I could not endure it; so allowed them to precede me for some distance. My ears were now ringing, my fingers swollen and stiff, and I drew breath as through a wet towel. A few rods farther my head felt very large and light, my lips turned a deep purple, and suddenly I became totally blind. I sank upon the frozen, frosty ground thinking that death had come. I could not keep awake. My sufferings were terrible; I tried to pray that I might live to get home, but my thoughts seemed wandering. I seemed to be floating in the thin, cold air, and then I lost consciousness. How long I remained thus I will never know; probably but a very few min utes. Two gentlemen descending from the Peak found me, aroused me, gave me wine, and exhorted me to keep moving. The wine re vived me and I was enabled to arise and press on up this last almost perpendicular hill. I had lost all desire to reach the Peak; could not imagine why I had ever thought I cared to see it, but knowing there was warmth and life at the top while it was death to remain there, I had no alternative but advancement. Arriving a few moments before the sun arose, I procured a cup of excellent coffee at the Signal Service Station located on the Peak; refreshments come high there (no pun intended). Coffee retails at 25 cents a cup and eatables at proportion ate prices. The first appearance of the sun —which seemed to rise al most at our feet, so close appeared the horizon from that immense height—was like a bride coming forth to meet the bridegroom, veiled in clouds of purple, crimson, orange and pearl gray which seemed to fade away into asky of numerous tints when the orb of day sprang into view in all his mighty strength and glory. The sight was worth the trip through the valley of the shadow of death. Through a field-glass Denver, Pueblo and Cripple Creek were eas ily discerned; with the naked eye we drank in the glory of glinting lakes shining like mirrors in the morning light, huge picturesque boulders of granite, white topaz and agate over which tumbled whitest of waterfalls. And the most wonderful and sublime of all the enigmas of nature were the mirage lakes which can be plainly observed when looking toward the sun at a certain condition of the atmosphere, but which vanish as we approach them only tq appear at intervals farther nn. ' KATE GARLAND.Ebitrbss. 50 Cts. per Year,