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■ " ' ■*- <ls%. WOAUSWORK- I B B>>*' T, L. MITCHELL, Publisher. Vol. 23-No. 3. For Woman’s Work. Dim Mwim ©EAR, in a lonely hour, by rose-fram’d window dreaming, I chanced upon a letter old. Methinks I must have paled— My senses reeled—and, with the rose breath blending, A subtle, sweet, half wild, entrancing spell! Those wondrous yesterdays came back to prove your letter — Came floating back, made vital with your smile, And overwhelmed my soul with so great longing. Dear heart! • • • j’j give the stars in heaven To see those smiles again. • * * Ah, hope, how vain! Sometimes I dream to hold your hand again, As in that hour all charmed with summer dusk, When, smiling there, above our broken vows— Crush’d each the storm within, and wreck’d the rose! And if you matchless were in passion’s glow, The vision that my soul knows as its ghost Were face and form and’eyes all eloquent With fire repress’d, but beautiful in calm! I sometimes dream to hold your hand again— That lovely hand in sun-brown beautiful — Just for the sweetness of the old, fair dream, (Knowing the hope that thrill’d my heart is dead) When I had held it just a year ago! No man e’er knew a sweeter Nemesis, Because no man lov’d maid so dear before, Oh, if a voice should break, when next we meet, With half the old time, golden, lilting joy! Why blame the dream —how could the dreamer help? And let the past come back for just a thoughtless day. Yet there’s no miracle may mend a broken vow, And shattered ideals may be built no more; We'll watch the fireflies in the deeps of dusk Again, and drink the far-faint coo of doves; And at the parting of the ways, again, We’ll smile adieu, the heart too full for words, And I shall melt into life’s sea again, And try with song to soothe men’s pain, and mine; And you—but now the moon goes down Behind the clouds, the page is dim. • • * Goodnight! Albert Irving Mason. z f For Woman’s Work. FOR MARYLAND’S HONOR. A Storjjof the War for Southern Independence. BY AUSTIN RUST. (Copyrighted 1910, by Lloyd T. Everett.) '(Continued from last month.) CHAPTER V. Crucifixion of the Soul. ■ MOMENT’S silence ensued. With the decreasing sounds of the con • * flict most of the throng had pass ed on down the street, but four or five .men, apparently of a kind with Phil’s ATHENS, GEORGIA, MARCH, 1910. antagonist, lingered near, while Han cock, weak and helpless, leaned for support against a shade tree, with only the unarmed Elliott between him and the angry giant. No police man was in sight. The fellow took all this in with a swift glance, and, still burning for vengeance on those who had shed his brother’s blood, seemed disposed to disregard Elliott, his threats, and his promises, by NOT HOW LONG WE LIVE BUT HOW USEFULLY. pressing his apparent advantage “You are flying the right colors, young man,” he said, indicating El liott’s lapel decorations, “but I don’t like your actions, nor the company you keep, neither. Come on, boys; let’s take them both prisoners—this Yankee lieutenant and his Southern guardian. There’s too many spies runnin’ round here loose these days, and we kin do a little answering to Mayor Brown, ourselves.” The giant took a half step forward and brand ished his club menacingly, yet hesi tated before the resolute attitude and unflinching gaze of the young student, who gave not an inch be fore him, though the boy’s square shoulders and sturdy athletic figure —with its five feet, ten, of height— seemed to fairly dwindle in the pres ence of the huge form confronting him. Phil had his right fist tightly clenched at his side, ready to fly out with lightning-like rapidity and force at the proper moment. His expe rienced eye measured the distance to the massive chin and heavy jaw of his antagonist, where he would land his knockout blow should it become necessary to follow diplomacy with force. At the same time he took watchful note, out of the corner of his eye, of the cudgel grasped firmly by the man’s right hand, and of the possible necessity for eluding a blow at the moment of delivering one. With the preponderance of bulk and brute force against him, he knew he must be wary of his tactics, and was determined that but one blow should be struck—that one to be his own. “I have told you who I am, and that I shall hold myself responsible for this, my prisoner,” he said, speak ing deliberately. “My name is well known in Patriot circles, here. We have parleyed enough. If my assur ances are not sufficient for you, then come on and do your worst.” “The name of Phil Elliott is all right, too,” was the surly rejoinder, accompanied by a vile oath, "but that’s not saying that you are the right chap to carry it —not by a jug ful. And seeing you are so powerful anxious for me to come on, well and good. But I must say you are too brave a lad for me to take any un fair advantage of. ‘High Hiram’ alius b’lieves in totin’ fair.” There was something of rude chivalry about the fellow, and dropping his weapon, it was his naked fist that he faised for a murderous blow. put that blow never descended. This was the exact moment for which Elliott had been waiting. Like a veritable catapult his right shot out and upward, catching his huge assail ant squarely on the chin, and the fellow went down like a log. Two of his companions, seeing him fall, started forward with oaths and cries of rage, and Elliott, seizing the stick dropped a moment before by the now prostrate giant, awaited their on slaught. A strong, hearty voice rang out behind him: “Jim Simpson, Theo Blanchard, go slow; this Mr. Elliott is a friend of mine, and when you aim a blow at him, you will have to reckon with ‘Yours truly’ as well. You fellows had better look out for your pard, High Hiram, and me and Mr. Elliott will look after this lieutenant.” A brawny young fel low with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and wearing a mechanic’s apron, had come around the corner and, sizing up the situation at a glance, had planted himself beside Elliott and uttered this determined warning. Phil recognized in this KATE QARLAND. Edltresr. Price 10 cts- $1 per Year timely reinforcement one Steve Meri wether, son of his overseer and withal a sturdy friend, who had left the farm the summer before to learn his trade in the city. He was apparently well known to the two men confronting Elliott. One of these laughed good naturedly. “All right, Steve,” he said, “I reckon we have had enough fighting for one day, anyhow. Big Hi alius was a little speedy, and he was all worked up over the death of Tim, who was shot down by the Yankees before his face. I am sorry we got into this trouble with your friend. But,” he added, dryly, “he seems well enough able to take keer of hisself!” The speaker and his friend pro ceeded to look after the now reviving Hiram, while Phil and Steve pro cured an ambulance and soon had Hancock fixed as comfortably as pos sible at the hospital. The young Lieutenant, still weak, but improving, grasped Phil’s hand as the latter was leaving. “You have saved my life at the risk of your own,” he said, simply. "I shall not forget it. I heard your pledge to your assailants, and shall hold my self in all good faith your prisoner, sir.” The Marylander made as light of it as he could. “I can’t really say how much danger either of us was in,” he said. “I am glad we pulled through together, thanks to the timely arrival of my friend, Mr. Meri wether, who has already taken his departure. I hope you will be all right again in a day or two, Lieuten ant. And you need not regard your self my prisoner, only for the next sixty minutes. I shall turn you over to Mayor Brown, immediately upon leaving here.” Phil was as good as his word, and it may be added that, after several days’ sojourn at the Baltimore hos pital, Lieutenant Hancock rejoined his command at Washington. Marshal Kane had done his duty like a man in assisting Mayor Brown to protect the Northern troops in their passage through the mass of infuriated citizens. But he had no desire for a repetition of the disa greeable duty, and that evening Bradley Johnson, at Frederick, re ceived by wire this stirring appeal from Kane: “Streets red with Maryland blood. . Send expresses over the mountains of Maryland and Virginia for the rifle men to come without delay. Fresh hordes will be down on us tomorrow. We will fight them, and whip them or die.” And with it came this telegram from Phil Elliott, Johnson’s faithful watcher in the City of Monuments: “The spirit of ’Seventy-six is abroad against the invaders. Now, if ever, is the time to strike for Baltimore’s and for Maryland’s deliverance. The people are aroused, but we need your help and leadership.” Bradley T. Johnson was nothing if not a man of action. Since hi» return from the futile March con ference in Baltimore, he had been busy preparing for the inevitable by organizing companies of minute men, prepared to resist the impending tide of invasion by every practicable means. Now he was prompt to re spond to the call from Maryland’s queen city. Early on the morning of April 20th, his Frederick com pany was assembled and, taking possession of a train on the Balti more and Ohio railroad, by eleven o’clock the men were marching down Baltimore street to Monument Square, the first of the reinforce ments pouring in from the adjacent counties —some even by water from the Eastern Shore. On this same day an appropriation