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w F MTi w . F WoauNsWork- - =S4 =?'. - \ .' i ■'- ■. ■• ..r - = 5 . _-= W - ■■k - . . - ■ '• . <<£'■■- = t . ■ ._. ■ . T. L. MITCHELL, Publisher. Vol. 22—No. 4. For Woman’s Work. to ibecthißo LOVE left me in an angry mood, And Love hath stayed away; And oh, forsooth, my heart would break If this should be alway. And love of others, here, hath been — But hath been turned away; And if at the eleventh hour she should return, Oh,well, she’d find my heart doth fiercely burn Beneath the old sweet spell! And as / wait, those who wait me, May just as well depart. She who hath left me hath the key— She locked and barred my heart; And I may wait yet, years and years, And Time may leave its rust, And waited things And waiting’s victim— All, all may go to dust, Come thou Love’s tryst to keep At the eleventh hour. Wert there a spark of life in me Thy kiss would give it power, And from such slumber deep Thy dear kiss would awaken me From love asleep. Ethel Burbank Langston. For Woman’s Work. IN AT THE DEATH- BY IRMA B. MATTHEWS. THE sun beat down unmercifully upon the parched earth. A young girl is standing in front of a low r cabin, her hand shading her eyes, seemingly unmindful of the blinding heat. The cabin was a very poor one, but most of the houses of the poor in Cuba were little more than hovels. Inside the open doorway, how ever, everything looked neat and clean. But in spite of the poor dress the girl who stands there watching, reveals a figure and face that many a ball room girl might well envy. The dusky hair pushed back from a low brow and liquid brown eyes; the olive complexion and full red lips made a picture that one would not easily tire of; and yet she, the tender, innocent one, is termed a rebel, and as such may be shot should a squad of Spanish soldiers pass that way. The girl’s eyes are fastened on something that seems to be but a speck in the distance, but as it draws nearer we see that it is a horse man. He springs lightly from his horse as he comes up: “Ah, Juan, it isyou!” “Si sister mia, it is I.” He is not so pleasant to look upon—this new comer—although he is a boy scarcely more than sixteen. He is dark browed, with square set jaw, and is so dark as to suggest that there may be even darker blood than Spanish in his veins; yet he is attractive, for one who looks into his eyes will take the second look. I wish I might describe those eyes. They are piercing as though they might fathom one’s very soul, and yet there is a slumberous fire in them that has never been awakened. * “What brings you here to-day, Juan? Is there news?’’ “To see you! Has it not been three weeks since last I heard from you? and I could not know of your safety in these times.” “It is true, but you answered not my last question.” “Plenty of news, Cariota —of Spanish cruelty. I wish you had not to stay here so unprotected. We know not how soon you may fall a victim to their deviltry.” “Fear not for me, but you—’’ “I go where duty leads me, and ’twas this I came to tell you. General Maceo has been summoned to meet the Spanish in a confer ence and I am to go with him.” “O, Juan,” she cried, clasping her hands tightly. “We will be safe enough this time, little one,” he laughed, “for we go beneath the white flag, and —if it only results well for Cuba! I dream of the day when Cuba shall be free. Then will I build a pretty cottage for you, and we will be happy, Cariota mia.” OF ALL RICHES A CONTENTED LIFE IS GREATEST ANO BEST. ATHENS, GEORGIA, MAY, 1909 “When comes the time? It seems so long!” “We’re gaining all the time now, and perhaps help will come. But I must tarry here no longer. Come, let me see you smile before I go. Remember the hiding place should any ore pass this way; and fear not for me, I will yet live to dye this manchete of mine in many a treacherous Spaniard’s blood.” He spoke gaily, but the girl shook her head. “Be careful, Juan, and the Holy Virgin keep you. I like it not. These men who war on women and children can also be treacherous to men!” He sprang upon his horse. “Adois,” he cried, as he galloped away. She watched him out of sight, then turned into the house. • ♦ ♦ “You have come, I see,” the Spaniard said, and there was a look of insolence upon bis face. “I have come,” was the answer, and General Maceo drew himself to his full height. “What do you wish of me?” “I wish to see the man who has eluded us long enough,” the Spaniard answered. “And we have him at last,” he added meaningly. Maceo gazed around him. Triumph, treachery, malignity, was written upon every face. In a flash he understood, and his face grew stern. He had been allured here, not for a conference, but —to be murdered! Juan stood near. He also understood; the slumbering depths of his eyes had awakened at last, and sparks of fire seemed to flash from them. General Maceo signed to him, “Escape, warn friends.” That was all. Juan had rather have faced death with him, but General Maceo had commanded, and it was enough. He was but a boy, and had not been noticed in the general rejoicing at what they considered a skill ful strategem. Silently, stealthily, he mingled with the crowd, and escaped without exciting suspicion. Maceo faced the Spaniard who had first spoken. His manner ex pressed nothing but scorn. “I understand you!” he said in a hoarse voice. “I should have expected nothing more from tyrants and cowards —from men who murder helpless women and children. My death will be but one more added to the long list of crimes you have already committed. Others will take my place. Aye, I will take an oath that though dead I will yet lead my men to victory! Cuba shall be free, or never a Cuban left to tell the story!” The Spaniard’s face was distorted with rage. “Kill me, you cowards! lam only an unprotected man to-day. Yesterday not one of you dared to stand before me!” There was an oath, a shot, and Maceo fell never to rise. It was a barbarous act, but Maceo had led his last charge. The flying Juan heard the shots and bent low over his horse, his face pale, his eyes fixed. On and on and on he rode, now pausing to rest his tired steed, now to break the terrible news to some Cuban insurgent: and every where there went up rhe same cry, “ Venganza! Revenge!” It was twilight when again he reached the little cabin. The sun’s last rays still gilded the few floating clouds that hovered near the horizon, but Juan saw them not. Cariota hears a clatter of hoofs and comes forth in alarm, but it turns to joy when she recognizes the rider as he reins in his steed. She springs forward. “ZPzof,” she cries in fright,as she sees his white, set face: “What has happened?” “He is dead,” he answered slowly, as though measuring every word. “Maceo has been murdered by the Spaniards.” “Maceo dead! Murdered! Tell me,” catching his arm, “are you crazy?” “No,” he replied grimly, “not yet, I have told you true,” and then he tells her of the cruel treachery, of his escape, of all. “I knew it,” she cried, “I knew you could not trust them! Dios! But they are perfect diablos." The young form before her straightened. “We have sworn to avenge him,” he hissed. “With his spirit to lead us we will drive every Spaniard from the island or spill their hearts’ blood! And I,” he cried, in a voice that made the girl shrink back in terror as he raised his clinched fist toward heaven: “I will be there, then, with Maceo.” • * • It was after the most severe fighting at Santiago that a soldier, as he wiped the grime and powder smoke from his face with a hand kerchief that was anything but clean, asked of a comrade: “Who is that black fellow yonder?” The other twisted himself around to look in the direction indicated. “That young chap? Thunderation, man, don’t you know? That is the most important scout with this outfit. He is Juan Roldan. He knows every inch of the ground, and fights like a perfect devil. He doesn’t know what fear is, I saw him in the thickest of it to-day.” And then they saw Juan reel and fall: he had been in at the death! KATE QARLAND, Edltr®««. Price lOcts- $1 per Year.