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> I JijL W- llkkkw AYI HI rfi ■HSi® I|mwL • ■ T. L. MITCHELL, Publisher. Vol. 12—No. 1. For Woman’s Work. )HIUP, do come, won’t you? lam so anxious for you to meet Miss Andrews. Now don’t be perverse, for I’ve counted on you to help us out.” p “Not to-night, sister mine.’’ The speakers, on the piazza of a summer cottage at Virginia Beach, were Capt. Phil Payton and his sister, Maida. The season was waning, the male element fast disappearing, and, as Maida said, there were “not men enough to go half way round.” “You know, Phil, there are so few men here. I think it real mean of you, Ido indeed! And what will Miss Andrews think?” “You know, Maida, Ido not care a farthing what Miss Andrews thinks. ” “O, Phil, how rude! One would think your heart, too, would have been pierced by her arrow-pointed smiles. Why, Phil, she is the wealthiest and the most bewitching girl in our set —and, besides, she is so good!” “Very sorry, but I’m not in a mood this evening to offer incense at the shrine of your paragon.” “Don’t speak so loud! she may hear you; she was at the window as I came out. ” “I hope she did; that would make of me a veritable pariah, then I’ll not have to dance attendance for the rest of my stay.” Capt. Payton was at heart neither uncivil nor unkind, but he had been feasted and toasted on every possible occasion until adulation began to pall; as he said, he was ready to return to Cuba and hard tack. ' • Capt. Phil, as he was called, was plain and practical in his views, and as he had seen service on the Plains, he could not fathom the depths of this present-day hero-worship. “Why, we only did our du ty,” he insisted, “and if you are trying to make heroes of us on that account, you can find hundreds of heroes to admire in the every-day walks of life.” But, notwithstanding the Captain’s views, his handsome form— decorated with braid and brass buttons, and all crowned with the laurels won at San Juan— continued to be the cynosure of all feminin ity at the Beach. W'A"' Etfcld2 • ..I .. .. ■ . ? /|gS miiidww aj 1 1111HJ/ W ATI u o >L ./ e - p - paigb - J \ tw STAND to-day on the table-land That lies at the top of life’s long hill, I And pause a moment to cool my brow And the dull pain-throbs to still; As I cast a backward glance adown The steep and thorny road My weary feet have stumbled o’er, Bowed down by heavy load Os disappointments thick and sore, Os blighted hopes, and vows unpaid; The loveliest flowers, but plucked to fade ; The fairest fruits to ashes turned; Till I could toil no more. And cooling sands by fierce suns burned— OUR GREATEST WORK IS IN UPLIFTING THOSE WHO ARE ABOUT US. ATHENS, GEORGIA, JANUARY, 1899. BmtMf A© PnmeSo One only refuge then remained, One source that never failed To comfort give and strength renew— The faint grew strong when prayer prevailed. A Voice sweetly whispered, “Peace, My child; I traveled all the way, I bore the sorrow and the grief, And strength will give for each new day. I know the trials seem severe, Yet two score years I’ve been thy guide ; Still trust in me, I’ll not forsake, My promises thou oft hast tried; And darkness, light for thee I’ll make— There’s naught for thee to fear.’’ “Why, Phil,” continued Maida, “how do you ever expect to se lect a wife if you don’t dance attendance? You don’t expect chance to set one down at your feet, do you? This is not an age of fairy god mothers. ’ ’ “When I choose a wife, sister mine, rest assured I’ll never make my selection from the butterflies of fashion. I prefer heart and brains to manufactured beauty and the almighty dollar.” “Phil, I’ll wager you an opal against a diamond, that you marry Kate Andrews.” “I could take you up, Maida, but I would not make even Miss Andrews the subject of a bet. ” “Even Miss Andrews, Phil; why«tf«?” “Maida, I have heard of Miss Andrews before to-night. She is a woman who possesses a heart of marble within a beautifully moulded casket of clay.” “Be that as it may, still that doesn’t excuse you. Do you know, Phil, there are only two classes of men who dare be unconventional; those who know nothing of the world, and those who, knowing it, have arrived at a state of indifference. Os course you will have to ad mit that you belong to the latter class.” “So be it. Now, Maida, be a good girl and leave me to the solace of my cigar.” “Civilization is thrown away on such a primeval savage; you should have lived ages ago —so there!” With this parting thrust, dis appointed Maida returned to the parlors. The subject of this conversation, a girl of queenly mien, walked away from her position near the window. “How true the saying, ‘eave-droppers never hear good of themselves,” thought she, and a red gleam shot from her dancing eyes—eyes that matched so well the taw ny, dull red of her abundant hair. “And that is Philip, the ‘Cheva lier Bayard’ that has been sung in my ears. Capt. Philip, you and I shall meet, but under different circumstances.” The Captain finished his cigar, and was hurrying up the stairs to avoid the merry dancers, when a silvery laugh floated up to him. “I should like Mrs. Pay ton to laugh like that,” thought he, and that (Concluded on page 4.) And turning to the western slope That lies before me now, A radiance from afar I see, And cool winds fan my brow. The worldly hopes that vexed me sore, I cast them all away, For soon I’ll near my journey’s end And wake to perfect day. My one desire to hear at last My Saviour say, “Thy work is done, Come home, my child, enjoy the rest — The battle’s fought, the victory won— Prepared for those who love me best And to their faith held fast.” KATE GARLAND, Editress. 50 Cts. per Year.