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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
Address all Household letters to MISS LIZZIE O. THOMAS, Atlanta, Ga.
My Love and I.
AT SWEETWATER PARK.
Down where the fragrant south wind sighs
Through spreading oaks and towering pines,
Where ’neath the shade cool comfort lies.
And in the waters health reclines.
O'er flowery mead and grassy lawn,
Beneath the soft, rose-tinted sky,
We wander in the dewy dawn,
My love and I.
Beside the clear, swift-running brook,
That winds among the rocks and trees,
Where cupid lurks in every nook,
And sings or sighs in every breeze;
With lips that crave love’s precious boon,
And eyes that speak in glances shy,
We loiter through the summer noon,
My love and I.
Then where the bare and ghostly walls
Of the old, ruined mill now stand,
Whose patched and ragged shadow falls
Where war’s red flame once swept the land;
Charmed by the music of the stream
That sings its ceaseless lullaby,
Upon its bank we sit and dream,
My love and I.
But now the flery god of day
Sinks from our sight adown the west,
And kisses with his dying ray
The distant mountain’s lofty crest;
Yet still we wander hand in hand,
Where evening zephyrs gently si & h i
’Till by the rocky spring we stand,
My love and I.
The silver chariot of the moon
Rolls slowly up the eastern sky,
And tells my heart that all too soon
The hour has come to say good-bye—
So, guided by its lambent ray,
Through paths where soft moon shadows lie,
We slowly homeward wend our way,
My love and I.
O hallowed scenes of one glad day;
The grove, the spring, the brook, the mill,
Through all the future’s devious way,
Their memories will haunt us still;
And when in years to come, perchance.
Back to these scenes our thoughts shall fly,
We’ll live again this sweet romance,
My love and I.
Lucius Perry Hills.
Vagaries of Cupid.
There are incongruous lovers, and mar
riages that make the cynics laugh. And yet,
I wonder, if it is quite fair to impute all the
nonsensical things committed in the name
of love to the vagaries of the little sun-god?
’Tis a phantasy, a delirium, a sweet mad
ness, that once in a lifetime subdues the
wisest, the bravest, the strongest, and sets
to naught the carefully matured plans of a
lifetime.
One thrilling kiss from passion’s lips,
brushes away the sophistries of reason. And
they are most blest who lose self in the
abasement of love. Dickens is love’s best in
terpreter. He shows love always in its purest,
holiest consummation. In “Great Expecta
tions’’ he says:
“It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-
humiliation, utter submission, trust, and be
lief against yourself and against the whole
world, giving up yourself—your whole heart
and soul—to the one beloved.’’
Amiel says: “Still it seems to me that
love—true and profound love—should be a
source of light and calm, a religion, and a
revelation.’*
And stern old Ugo Bassi, from a life of ex
periences, of truths discovered, says :
“Measure thy life by loss instead of gain,
Not by wine drunk, but by wine poured forth ;
For love’s strength standeth in love’s sacri
fice,
And whoso suffers most, has most to give.”
Then, according to the accepted version,
love has no note peculiarly his own upon
which to pipe the amatory strain; but, like
the mocking-bird, strikes every chord at
large with such magic that those from whom
he has borrowed, recognize every variation,
except their own. Love comes to all once;
and to those favored of the gods, more times
than one. The twang of that little rose-
wre ithed bow is never heard, yet the air is
thick with Cupid’s arrows; doing more dam
age than Xerxes and his army ever did in the
flower of their fame. They are glancing
hither and yon, and it’s no more possible to
escape than it is to conceal the wound. There
is only one other archer as faithful—the one
who comes cowled in black and plucks an
icy arrow from the loaded quiver, with skele
ton hand, and sends it home, amid the groans
and prayers of the bereaved.
Love is the arch-dissembler. Love receives
slights and yet, his revenge is not always
consistent. I have in mind a story told me by
a society leader, illustrating this very phase
of love’s retaliation.
It was at a flower festival, one May night,
that they met. She a simple schoolgirl,
home on a vacation ; he a learned professor.
It was the “old story,’’ with variations. Her
love was an exaltation, a religion, and a
revelation; his, no one was exactly able to
decide which.
They were the most noticeable couple of
the year. Always together, always absorbed,
always ideal. She, tall, willowy, fair as some
Viking saint. He with the smiling, hazel
eyes, lofty brow, beautiful mouth. But in
the end, man of honor that he was, he grew
tired, and she saw it. At first she was all
fire and passion and tears and then she froze.
A woman of stone would have shown more
feeling. On the day that was to have been
their wedding, she was speeding as fast as
steam would carry her to a university in a
far-distant State. For two years sh$. slaved
and prayed and endured until oi^t of the
ty, became one of the ripest scholars of the
day. Under able management she tc ured the
Old World as the “famous pianist’’ from
“The States.” Then she came home, and
this society leader who felt like, as she said,
of avenging Cupid, planned for a meeting.
She filled her parlors with the cultured of a
cultured city and promised them “an even
ing’s entertainment,” and played her trump
card when she brought out the pianist. The
silence was the greatest ovation she could
have received. She affected them like dream
music, night perfumes, and rainbowed clouds.
The professor’s face was a study; shame,
remorse, admiration, love, changed the line
aments until he was scarcely recognizable.
For one swift instant he put his hand over
bis heart, as one who receives his death
wound, and then those wonderful, smiling
eyes saddened, and his lips moved inaudibly.
“I could have clapped my hands and
shouted ‘glory,’ ” said she, “for I saw she
was most entirely avenged.
“Her music rose and fell and throbbed
like wood echoes on the ear. Some wept,
some looked for a visible presence of the
wonderful melodies. There seemed to be a
‘weird’ in the air, tugging at heart-chords,
every note burst into a star and twinkled in
the heaven of a soul.
“Later I had occasion to pass through the
conservatory, and there, behind a screen of
palms, I saw them. He was kneeling, his
face white and drawn, and she was looking
down upon him with a look that revealed
nothing. Her dress was floating against his
shoulder, in a drift of sapphire cloud, it was
gathered on each side of the bare white
throat, in two great blue flowers. The serpent
beguiled me; I stayed as I would had I
thought I would have been struck deaf and
blind thenext moment. It was high tragedy.
“ ‘Don’t you see,* he was saying ‘I loved
you, not for what you were, but what you
would be, therefore only to-day has my love
but reached its limit. It could not be more.
It is soul, life, heaven. Oh, sweet, be
merciful! be merciful!’
“She drooped towards him, and laid her
hands and pomegranate lips on his bowed
head.
“ ‘I love to love, dear,’ she whispered, ‘I
love all the love words in the English lan
guage. With them I thus requite thee.’
“There is a mount of transfiguration for
every one, I suppose. He came down from
his then.
“He crushed her against his heart, he
lifted her face, and kissed it, while I stole
away. To my soul, I don’t bslteve they re
membered the past. Only the other day he
told me ‘he had been married all his life, as
the time before that was a blank.’ ’
Golden Gossip.
Is Higher Education Detrimental.
Dear Householders: Gem’s question, Is
marriage and the making of a home the chief
end of a woman’s life? If so, isn’t, a college
course in higher educational training more
detrimental than a help to her in the perfect
fulfillment of those duties?” has arrested my
attention.
It all depends upon what kind of man she
marries, I think. If a highly educated girl
(thoroughly refined) marries a rough, coarse
man (no matter what may be his occupation)
her education is more of a curse than a bless
ing ; if she tries to teach the children to be
refined, to have pretty manners, she is more
than apt to be scoffed at by her husband, and
suffer the humiliation of being reproved and
blamed in the presence of her little ones.. If
she expresses a pretty, noble, soul-inspiring
thought to her coarse husband (she yearning
for a sympathetic companion), the result is
that he wounds her feelings by reminding her
“if she would spend more of her time in the
kitchen taking care of what his hard licks
have made and let her tomfoolery ideas
alone, they would make more,” or by some
such coarse expression.
If she must come from the college walls
and enter some coarse man’s kitchen as cook,
chambermaid, wife, nurse, in fact, maid of
all work, then, her education only makes her
burden harder so far as her own happiness
is concerned. I will admit, she will be better
capacitated to train her children by being
educated—if that training is left to her—but
when the father (who sees an entirely differ
ent way) interferes, then the children know
not what to do. I don’t think that an educa
tion necessarily makes a woman despise
domestic labor, but it lightens it—provided she
has a refined husband who, though, perhaps
he can not appreciate her, yet he respects her
and her efforts. As far as a woman’s own
happiness is concerned, especially if she has
to be a hard working farmer’s wife, she had
better not take a collegiate course, for she
will always be assailed with eternal regrets
and “what might have beens.”
If, on the other side, she can stifle self, and
wear a happy exterior, her influence would
be more felt if she has a finished education.
This is true of an educated man and an un
refined, ignorant woman. The Bible says :
“Be ye not unequally yoked, etc.”
The first part of Gem’s question I have
unthoughtedly ignored. “Is marriage and
the making of a home the chief end of a
woman’s life?” I do not know. I sincerely
hope not. Let’s hear from the sisters on this
subject, it is even of more importance than
“ 16 to i.”
My “nom” was assumed while in school ; a
friend and I were the only ones in our German
class and while reading Goethe’s “Egmont,”
we both fell in love with the story. I often
wonder what has become of my “Clara,” my
little Shelbyville friend ! I am so surprised
that Gem is not a girl. I always enjoyed
your letters Gem, and imagined you were the
daintiest, sweetest little girl just like Kitsy.
By the way “Kitsy,” I enjoyed your story,
“The Aftermath” in the “Sunny”. I think
it an exceptionally good short story.
Loving Lill come oftener.
Love to all.
Lou. A Rhodes.
Jackson, Ga. (Egmont.)
Dame Durden’s Dream.
Dear Household: I am going to tell you
truthfully of the personal acquaintance which
I have had with the supernatural. I have
never been a student of mysticism, and what
ever has come to me in this line has come
unsought.
I am nervous and imaginative, conditions
very congenial to “spooks,” but I am neither
a victim to superstition nor a spiritualist.
With which preface I will now tell you one
of the most remarakble adventures of my life.
In my early youth a relative invited me
to accompany her to her home .n California. I
had never before left my mother for a single
night, but as my health was very delicate,
my physician advised me to take the trip.
One afternoon, a few days previous to my
departure, I fell asleep and dreamed. I
thought that I was looking through an open
window onto a moon-lit lawn, where I dis
tinctly saw a palm-tree, a cactus-tree, and a
fig-tree as large as an ancient oak. Then I saw
a man glide from tree to tree and enter my
window. He came to my bed and drew a
knife across my throat. I woke cold with
terror. But my strangest sensation was that
the dream seemed too frightful to repeat, I
dared not name its horrors aloud. Yet, it did
not haunt me as some dreams do and in ten
minutes I had entirely forgotten it.
That night the same scene returned in my
sleep, I could almost count the shadows un
der those strange trees, and the man’s face
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was very distinct. He entered my window,
came up to my bed and drew a knife across
my throat. I leaped up screaming, but when
my mother questioned me I dared not reveal
the cause of my terror. As before, the vision
was quickly forgotten. But it returned the
next day when I took my afternoon nap, re
turned with every detail exactly reproduced.
This time I awoke thinking. “I must not
leave home. I must not.” I tried to tell my
dream but my tongue was as reluctant as
though I had commanded it to lick a rattle
snake. Some umbrage of silence was myste
riously laid upon me, and the dream was
soon forgotten.
Six months later, I was in Stockton. Cali
fornia, with a girl friend. We had a merry
evening. At its close I was given the guest-
chamber which was down-stairs, opening on
a lawn. It was very warm and I retired
leaving my window open. I was weary and
sleepy and my eyes were just closing when I
suddenly remembered my dream of six
months ago. For my window opened on a
moon-lit lawn where a palm-tree, a cactus-
tree, and an immense fig-tree were standing.
A sudden, unreasoning terror beset me. I
rushed to the window and closed and fast
ened it. As I did so a man leaped up on the
lawn outside and I saw the face my three
dreams had made familiar. I ran to my
friend’s room and gave the alarm. There
were several men in the house and they were
soon roused and ran out on the lawn. They
found the man. He was an escaped lunatic.
They found him still crouching under my
window and he was armed with a knife!
I solemnly believe that the visions which
appeared to Pharaoh and to J a-c-a u u° >Jl -
David were no more holy than the v'.siun
which came to warn a sick, innocent g’.rt
about to leave home for the first time in her
life and about to be threatened with so awful
a danger.
Dame Durden.
Letter From Antoinette.
Read the letter on “Boy’s and Girl’s” page
from Antoinette of Tennessee. We think it
was intended for the “ Household” and should
have been addressed to that department.
The most cautious man we ever knew, was
the one who was afraid to buy a lead pencil
for fear the lead would not reach right
though it.—Syracuse Post.
A GIRL’S FAMILIAR FRIEND.
In all the World There’s Nothing so Fine as
The Friendship of Women.
Ruth Ashmore, in summarizing her paper
on “A Girl’s Familiar Friend”—girl friend
—in “Ladies’ Home Journal, offers this wise
counsel: “ ‘Have a friend, but guard your
friendship and your friend as you would a
crystal vase.’ Once the crystal vase is broken,
all the careful mending in the world can
never make it as it was, and once there has
come in your friendship the words that
jarred, the actions that were unkind, and the
looks that seem to cut like a knife, the
friendship, like the beautiful vase, can never
be as it was. And what is a girl without a
girl friend? She stands alone. Men think
that she must differ from other women, and
that there must be something about her less
sweet and less feminine than that which per
vades her sisters. I am a believer in the girl
friend. Any girl can, with a very little
trouble, gain the admiration of a man, but it
takes something finer, something better, and
more charming to attract a woman, and to
make and keep her a friend. In all the history
of the world, there is nothing so fine as the
friendship of women ; whether it be given to
men, or whether it be given to women, it
stands out magnificent, unselfish, sympathetic
and Christlke—when it is the right kind of
friendship. You will remember that to him
who was without sin, the joy, the beauty and
the sympathy of friendship was known, and
that it was a woman who was a friend, who
stood by Mary watching until the tragedy of
the cross, had ended, and waiting until the
glory of the resurrection had begun.”