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. L. MITCHELL, Publisher.
Vol. 22—No. 3.
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For Woman’s Work.
SPRm§TDDEo
WHITE-necked branch and silvered While the vale they proudly screen
stem; With majestic evergreen,
Tipt with gold and brightest gem, Yet t h e y new-made tassels bring
See, the spring-tide Alder blended, « »» / • u c •
See them far away, how splendid- Fro* ll the “green-fire” of rich Spring-
Dove-like tinting on their hem! Make their outline sharp and keen!
Is there mirror on the hill Spring-fire cuts the emerald grass;
Gives to firs against their will, Flocks of celandines we pass;
Blue-gray purple shades to rise, Fiery star—St. Bridget’s flower—
Point their fingers to God’s skies— Brought her by its magic power
Azure arch that’s o’er them still? To the shieling-home at last!
Creeklets glad their voices raise:
“Wintry floods are past!” they praise.
They can keep their deep beds peace-
ful;
Undisturbed, they flow on graceful—
Each drop happy in its chase! Louisa A’HmuTy Nash.
For Woman’s Work.
COOD MATURED REVENGE.
f HEN the college degree was proper
ly conferred and the last round
of applause had died away be
w
hind the valedictory on those green hills
about Haddon Hall, Miss Dial was con
fronted with the rather unconifortab e
proposition that while all the world may
“love a lover,” not all the world loves a
sweet girl graduate, even though,
-she be in love —until said “sweet girl
graduate” has declared her affec
tions and assumed an engagement
ring!
The professions open to a young
woman with the right to put an
“A. B.” after her name —what were
they? There was school teaching,
which she abhorred! The very idea
of coming two hundred days out of
the three hundred and sixty-five
and addressing the same lot of in
fants who either despised or adored
you, but in either case never showed
It to your face! Then there was
stenography! But that was really
intended for the girl without the
“advantages” that a college diploma
Is supposed to carry in its wake, and
which, just en passant, are often
really greater handicaps than steps
on the road to success.
There was journalism, with the
“lady editor” “doing” musicales —
going to hear the daughter of the
mayor play a sonatina, and then (be
cause the mayor owned forty and
a fraction per cent, of the stock of
• the paper) writing of “rapturous ap
plause,” which was really joy—joy,
pure and simple,—that the “effort”
was over.
Brother Jack, just back from Har
vard, offered a suggestion:
“Dial, you’re the cleverest girl
In the world at a joke. Why don’t
you go into entertaining?”
IMPRESS UPON CHILDREN THE NOBILITY OF DOING. THE DISGRACE OF LEAVING UNDONE.
BY FELIX L KOCH.
“The very idea! How? Sing a
song—with my lovely soprano voice?
Or, perhaps, read a play—like some
phonograph, or not nearly so good?”
“No! Practical joking!”
“Oh —and land in the penitentia
ry, so that you, my lawyer-brother
may collect fees to get me out! Cer
tainly kind and brotherly of you!”
The brother wheeled around, and
looked her squarely in the face.
“No, I mean it! Look here, Dial;
up at the ’varsity we fellows were
ever aching for a lark, and you girls
were just as bad. There was always
someone to get even with, in a good
natured, genial way. Now, no one
ever beat you at that game, and I
believe it would be a new side-line
for a woman—one that would pay.”
For the first time the girl was in
terested. With brother at the helm
—brother, with a lawyer’s degree,
and prospects as a future Chief Jus
tice of the state —everything must
succeed! What Jack suggested was
always correct, and she heartily en
tered into the scheme.
“How would you proceed?”
He busied himself a moment.
“Well, of course, it’ll be your
business, not mine, but I’ll give you
a tip. You must advertise: this is
an age of advertising! Make your
“ad.” catchy and so’s it can be read
in a moment. Then await your first
case, and when it comes —make it
a howling success!"
They sat together at the desk,
and in a few moments the copy was
ready for the papers.
Pay Back Old Scores in a Harmless
Way.'
Miss Dial Mannon,
Professional Revengeologist and
Player of Jokes.
ATHENS, GEORGIA, MARCH, 1909.
Satisfaction Guaranteed.
Terms According to Extent of the
Prank Played.
25 Walmsley Place.
“Now, then, how will we place it
in the papers?” she asked.
“Leave that to me,” Jack retorted.
Jack knew the newspapers—all
lawyers do!
“What will it cost me to get this
‘ad.’ in the paper tomorrow?” he
asked.
“Three dollars’”
“And you will place it —?”
“Anywhere except on the first
page!”
The man before the counter look
ed the man behind the' counter
squarely in the eye.
“What was that?”
“Anywhere, except on the first
page.”
“My friend, did you hear what
this man said?”
The bystander, waiting for his
paper, assented.
“Now, sir, before witnesses you
have declared that you will place
this ‘ad.’ anywhere except on the
first page. Therefore, I demand
that you set it in the center, —exact
center, —of the third page!”
“But that is only if the right side
is full. Then we work ads. toward
the center.”
“No matter. A bargain before
witnesses is a bargain. I am an at
torney,” and he handed in his card.
The clerk flushed, but there was
no help for it. Campaign time was
near at hand, and if it was noised
about that the Tribune went back
on its promises, half the efficacy of
its editorials would be lost.
So the next day the city awoke
to the fact that there was such a
being as a “Revengeologlst” in its
midst, a lady who must have a bu
reau of some extent, since she could
get her “ad.” where no small “ad.”
had ever been seen before —in the
center of a page of solid reading
matter. It was really worth while
to look into it.
The feature writers were the first
in her wake. They scented a good
“story,” and the reporter from a Chi
cago paper got the beat on them.
In glaring headlines he came out
with a story about:
The Latest Profession for Ladles
of Culture: Paying Back Old Scores
on Your Enemies, Without Harm or
Malice; How a Young Woman is
Earning Her Livelihood.
And then it went on to tell of
these stories—all press agent fabri
cations, by “Brother Jack.”
There came a client, and that very
shortly.
It was a girl from the seminary
on the hills. She wished to repay
a bit of “beating out” by a social
rival, who had invited the same set
of friends before this girl had done
so—in spite of an agreement to the
contrary.
She was bound to “get even,”
and left it to the "Revengeologlst”
to see how.
Dial took Jack’s advice, and
“clinched the job.”
Then she secured particulars, and
the young lady left.
The next day eight dozen invita
tions went Into the mails:
MISS ALZA CONWAY
Requests the pleasure of your com
pany Friday afternoon,
December twenty-third,
4 to 6 P. M.
No reply desired.
The last line was a most extraor
dinary thing to put on an Invitation,
of course, but—society is polite, and
doesn’t ask questions!
KATE QARLAND, Editress*
Price 10 cts- $1 per Year.
Friday afternoon, December twen
ty-third, at a quarter to four, the
carriages began to arrive, and their
fair mistresses dismounted. The
drivers were sent about their busi
ness, to call promptly at six.
To the first of the young lady
callers, the maid replied that “Miss
Conway was not at home!”
“Not at home!”
The girl, suave—-as all French
maids are—met the question polite
. ly:
“No, Mad’m; ze Miss Conway is
invited out, I believe.”
. “But surely you are mistaken!”
“I assure you—will the ladies
come inside? It is very cold outside,
and you can step into ze parlor.”
Two very irate young ladies step
. ped into the parlor, and held a con
' sultation.
“Didn’t you receive an invitation
’ for this afternoon?”
“Why certainly!”
‘ “And—look! here comes Miss
' Weber and Miss Foster, and there’s
Grace Spickman, and all the rest of
the set! Oh, I tell you, it must be
• a surprise party for Alza!”
, “But if it is a surprise party, evi
dently not even the housekeeper has
been informed of it.”
Mrs. Conway was in the south,
and there was only Alice “at home.”
The maids knew nothing of it what
soever—they declared, over and
over.
Then into the crowd of angry
young women there came another
; caller—their mutual friend, Miss
Cantor.
“Why, girls, what are you all
standing in the hall for? Where’s
Alice? Why aren’t you upstairs or
inside? Dearie me, —what is the
matter?”
They explained.
Her consternation seemed equally
■ great.
“Well now, this IS nice! Tell you
1 what—you come right ’round the
park to our house, —every last one
°f you. Mother’s holding a recep
tion this afternoon, and a few more
wont matter at all. I may as well
have you first as Alice, and so you
• come—come on!”
When a girl is in her "party”
’ dress she doesn’t need much urging
1 to come to a party: she’ll seize the
chance.
1 The girls accepted with pleasure,
, then and there. They even walked
to the other house, despite the trails
and the sashes.
And such a reception as it was!
It really seemed that “Mother’s
friends” had all just gone, or had
all sent regrets, or—well, there were
none of them there: only mother and
Mrs. Bannan, who acted as chaper
ones.
So there was the reception, after
all. And in upon it promptly at five,
wholly unconscious of all the stir
she had caused, walked Miss Alice
Conway, who had had “another” re
ception that afternoon as a certain
friend had known, and the invita
tion for Miss Cantor’s reading from
“5:40 to 7:00” had come here at Its
close.
What * happened to her one hates
to say—until the clever little hostess
told her story. And then what oc
curred between the hostess and one
of her guests will likewise scarce bear
repetition! But, at any rate, the
author of the plot did not go undis
covered, and the advertisement of
the “professional revengeologlst”
no longer needs to occupy such con
spicuous position in the public print.
Folk know too well where to find
her when she is needed, as she now
so often is.