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How the East End Was Redeemed
(Continued from page 7.)
Hildred smiled and slipped a book she had in
her hand, under one of her gorgeous pillows. “I
have just been reading,” she said, “about Robert'
Louis Stevenson’s ideal of happiness, and it is
decidely unique. He says that, “it is a greati
task.’ ”
“It may be,” Guen answered, with a far off look
in her gray eyes, “but it is also a result.”
“What from?”
“Oh, the right kind of atmosphere, work, and
environment! ”
“That could only be true,” Hildred returned
thoughtfully, “for a few people. Stevenson’s ideal
is higher, it includes the race.”
“Explain.”
“Certainly, if yon care to have me do so,” Hil
dred said, her eyes growing tender as she looked
into her cousin’s face, while she went on. “Steven
son thought that happiness was an obligation laid
on every human being. That it was just as much a
duty as being honest, or truthful, and that cir
cumstances, however distressing or appalling, only
deepened the obligation.”
Guen understood the abrupt pause.
“Don’t think about me, Hildred,” she said
with ready courage. “Talk to me about the duty
of happiness, just as much as you would any one
else.”
Hildred pulled the book out slowly from under
her head. “This prayer,” she commented, turning
a leaf, “is really what we all need to say, at times;
but there have been days in my life, when I could
not have made it at all. •' The most pointed pleasure, ’
he refers to, might mean unendurable pain.” And
then Mrs. Wightman read with feeling emphasis,
the words: ;
“If I have faltered more or less,
In my great task of happiness;
If I have moved among my race
And shown no glorious morning face;
If beams from happy human eyes
Have moved me not ; if morning skies,
Books, and my food, and summer rain,
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain;
Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take
And stab my spirit broad awake.”
“Why, that sentiment is almost fine enough,”
Guen exclaimed, “to be added to the Litany, don’t
you think so?”
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The Golden Age,
Atlanta, Ga.
The Golden Age for November 15, 1906.
But Hildred did not answer, because she was
ciying. She had heard the heart-break in the
tone with which Guen asked her superfine question.
“I know, dear,” she said at last, “that happi
ness is the greatest of all tasks to you, but it is
not impossible. Race ideals will hold us, when our
personal ideals are all put away, for the time being,
and besides it must needs be, the discipline, I mean,
or it would never have been allotted us.”
“Thank you, Beloved,” Guen said quietly. Pres
ently, she crossed over to the Roman couch, and
knelt down, placing a light caressing hand on Hil
dred’s bright hair. “I used to think the task we
have been talking about, forever out of reach,”
she said, in a sweet unsteady voice. “But since
I have been here, under your influence, I have
been slowly changing my point of view, and now I
feel ready to pledge my future to better things, in
other words to the great task. Books and
morning skies, summer rain and human eyes,
shall no longer appeal to my sullen heart in vain.”
And then to hide her own emotion, Guen went
to the piano, and played a lovely sonata, and Hil
dred, after a time of delightful listening, fell asleep
as tranquilly as a little child.
(Continued next week.)
The Georgia Baptist Convention.
Cartersville, Ga., Nov. 6., 1906.
Editor Golden Age:
The time for the meeting of the Georgia Baptist
Convention draws near. The opening session will
be held in the Cartersville Baptist Church Tuesday
evening November 20.
The women are expected Monday morning, No
vember 19. Cartersvillle is a small town and it
will tax us to the limit to take care of the two
conventions. But we mean to do our best. Practi
cally every home in town will be open. The dele
gates and those who come to transact the Master’s
business will be welcomed gladly and cared for
generously. But we will be compelled to ask those
•who are simply out for a good time or to see the
country to postpone their coming to a later date.
We can care for six hundred visitors. But that
is about the limit. And there will probably be
that many delegates. Hence there will be no room
to spare for mere friendly visitors and those not
strictly on business. Our regret in Cartersville
is that we have not more room and cannot make
a sweeping invitation for everybody to come. But
we just can’t do it because there isn’t room.
Delegates who are planning to come are requested
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When writing advertisers please mention The Golden Age
to send their names promptly to Rev. John E.
Barnard or to me. Homes will be provided, but
do not be surprised if notices of assignments are
not received before you leave home. Come right
on and you will be cared for. But send us your
names. W. J. Neel,
Chairman Entertainment Committee.
A Florida Sunset.
No ripple stirs the sleeping bay,
As gently fades the closing day.
But on its placid, polished breast
Bright sunset lances lightly rest.
The mangroves by the water’s edge,
Reflected are—the wildoats sedge
Moves not, but bends each bearded head,
As one who stands beside the dead.
His softened glory left behind,
“Sol” sinks beneath the glassy brine, —
A holy hush is in the air,
While Nature breathes her evening prayer.
When, suddenly, the sea-wind wakes,
And for the night sweet music makes,
As when by master hands are swept
The iv’ry keys that long have slept.
It stirs the mangroves waxen leaves;
The bearded oats together weaves,
Rustles the saw-palmetto hedge
That grows beside the waving sedge.
In ripples breaks the placid bay,
And fills a sail that far away
Upon the dark’ning horizon
Is dimly seen as day is done.
•—S. Burton Lucas.
A Prayerful Pose.
Dorothy’s mother had company, and her father
was asked to put the little six-year-old to bed. This
had happened so seldom in her experience that she
climbed into bed without saying her prayers. Just
as he was leaving the room she called out, “Oh
papa, I forgot to say my prayers.”
He came back to the bed and said, “Now, say
them while I stand beside you.”
To which the little one replied: “Why, papa, I
can’t say them lying down. Mamma and I always
say them on our hind legs.”—Ex.
11