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VOLUME XIII.
A MEMORY.
A dainty shell lies gleaming at my
feet,
Pink-tinted like the |>etal of a rose;
Old Ocean’s music lingers, soft and
sweet,
Within its fairy cltatnbers. and there
flow<
From out it elfin whorl a magic strain.
Faint whispered, like the echo of a
dream,
All filled with tinklings of a summer
rain
That drops its music in the wood
land stream.
* • *
A tender word lies nestling in my heart,
Txive-tinted like a maiden’s deep’-
ning blush;
Dear xneipory softly plays a mystic
part,
And wakens dreams that bring a
happy flush.
And life is filled with murm’rings
sweet and low.
Faint echoes of the dearest and the
, I»est
Os that which gives our souls a radiant
glow.
Eike rose-kissed sunset clouds, far
down the west.
M\ry Loi ise Hixti.ey.
SUMMER
ANO HER SPENOOR
OF COLOR AND BEAUTY.
Summer Trips and Out
ings. Americans Abroad.
How We Should Spend
Our Holidays.
This is the time of year when
one falls-a-dreaming.
Kurth and sky are poems
bound in green ami gold, where
in God has written peace and
good will to man.
The air and the sunbeams
are magie artists that will paint
roses on your cheeks and
brush the cobwebs out of your
brain, to say nothing of Billing
you ft eyes full of sparkles and
your whole being with joyous
rhythm. These are the morn
ings when we can stand on tip
toe and which the mid summer
come tripping towards us, cloth-'
ed in the glowing tints of rose]
and gold, for summer is tropi-i
cal in her nature and loves the |
rich and royal splendor of 1
oriental colors. “Par from the;
madding crowd’s ignoble strife.” {
where the skies are blue and ,
cloudless, summer is ideal and
glorious, and holds one long
and blossomy carnival. Visions
of cool, green meadows Bit be
fore us, agleam with starry
* blooms, dew-kissed and fragrant.
nature’s silver question.
Nature’s silver question de
clares itself in the gleaming
broohs and streamlets, which
argue musically with the sun
beam advocates of gold, present
ed ip. its purest and richest form.
The heat and stifling rush of
the city becomes a feverish
The Graphic.
Lagrange, troup county, ga„ Tuesday, July n. him
memory, and soul and mind
and body lean gratefully to rest
on Nature’s bosom.
Where do city people spend
their summer? They are al
ready planning to slip of from
home and give themselves a
splendid airing.
Many prominent people will
bid farewell to every fear and
“sail the ocean blue." For the
old world is new to the new
world’s restless children, and
ivyelad England will have many
a summer tourist to wander
over her downs and sing her
praises, in the rosy month of
July. Blue-eyed Switzerland,
with her smiling lakes and
dimpling valleys, is always a
happy hunting ground for the
American traveler, while olive
cheeked Italy, gay-hearted
France and the beautiful Rhine
land will al! come in for a share
of American preference and ad
miration. While thousands of
wealthy people will seek their
summer recreation on the other
side of the Atlantic, hundreds
of other citizens will hie them
to the seashore and the moun
tains of their own native land,
where sunburn and freedom ad
libitum, await their coming. To
those whose pockethooks are
not quite so elastic, the small
inland towns will prove a de
lightful change from city brick
ami mortar, ;md the sweet, fresh
air will kiss many a pale cheek
into round and rosy beauty.
But what of those whose
purses are of microscopic pro
portions?
Must they remain amid the
sweltering heat, with never a
breeze to their mimes? Bless
you, no! They will make an
nual and affectionate pilgrim
ages to their country cousins,'in
whose guileless and bucolics
ears they will pour marvelous
tales of city lore, wherein weak
ness and wicked oess stalk abroad
like roaring lions, seeking whom
they may devour!
CHANGE OE SCENE BENEFICIAL.
Change of surroundings is
lovely and helpful to almost
everyone. It is especially bene
ficial to the city breadwinner
who needs to get out of his worn
and wearisome path into the
highways and byways of green
fields and pastures new. For
life is crushed and crowded in
the cities, and loses its fairest
"bloom for lack of breathing
room and sunshine.
Did you ever watch a sum
mer morning unfold, like a rose
bud, in the eastern sky? It is
a beautiful sight. Such chorals
of color, such symphonies of
sunlight can be seen at no other
hour, and when the very sky
itself seems to wrap its radiance
"DE Mme VOW ARE RIGHT, THEN GO AHEAD."
around the infant dawn, one
can but feel that the matchless
splendor is a sunrise hymn to
God.
If I should ever want the
earth, it would be in the sum
mer-time. And I would also
want the fullness thereof. But
I would want it fill in the coun
try, where nature grows her
sweetest blossoms and scatters
them for all. In the broad
stretches of primeval forest and
plain, where mankind is not,
then* is no selfishness; only
grandeur and vastness and free
dom, smiling up to God. The
sloping hillsides have not been
parcelled out and divided . into
squares and lots; the murmur
ing streams are clear and pure;
the mistelad hills are not seamed
and tunnelled but are wrapped ,
in tints as soft and dreamy as
the bloom on the rosy peach.
For God and Nature walk hand
in hand when man does not in
trude, andjt is.only in the heart of
man that selfishness is found.
LIVE NEAR TO NATURE’S HEART.
1 believe people would be
better if they lived nearer to Na
tures generous heart. She
would teach them nothing
wrong. Our summer outings
should be seasons of blessing to
us, if we would only let our
selves grow and blossm natural
ly and truthfully, in the spirit
ual sunshine of unselfish faith.
So many people seem to think
that if they act naturally they
are weak and simple. It is the
nervous, overwrought excitable
manner that appears to‘be culti
vated and desired these days,
when heart and brain throb
feverishly together in life’s un
natural strain.
But it is a great mistake. Na
ture never hurries nor strains
herself, and she is always grow
ing and blooming about us in
beautiful example. The summer
is the time when she grows
young again, and the fields and
the forests are her favorite abid
ing places.
Leave your business and your
heartaches and prepare for
pleasure and recreation and rest
in the purest air aud sunshine
you can find. Clasp hands
with rosy-fingered summer, and
go with her as she scatters the
blossoms, and pluck the fruit of
these flawless, beauteous days.
And divide your pleasures and
your blessings with those less
favored than yourself, and you
will find them deeper and
sweeter than'you ever dreamed
of Wore.
Mary Louise Huntley.
For prompt delivery ’phone
your grocery orders to Swain &
Edmundson.
A QUIET SUNDAY
IN THE COUNTRY.
Saturday afternoon I folded
my pen and ink and paste pot
and joyfully stole away to the
country to rest until Monday
morning.
Not many glimpses of the
country fall to my share these
busy times, and all day Satur
day I dreamed of my impending
vacation.
I decided I would cultivate
the acquaintance of every living
thing on the farm, including
the chickens, dogs, cats, horses,
mules, cows and a brood of new
baby ducks, technically known
as goslings.
“Isn’t this perfectly glorious?"
1 announced vigorously, as I
took possession of a large rocker
on the breeze-swept veranda,
after having removed an etching
of soot from my nose and made
myself more presentable. “1 low
sorry lam for the rest of La-
Grange! But, when I come to
think about it, there isn’t much
“rest" there. We are in a hurry
and ‘hustle’ there, and are city
like in many ways.
“Why I had to come out here
to get some new thoughts in
my brain. The warm weather
melted iny old ones, and I’m
afraid they will never get cold
and self-poised again."
And I left my chair and sat
on the top step, right in front
of the door, where I captured a
dozen different breezes at one
time, and could almost imagine
myself at Cumberland Island
again.
“Do you really enjoy the
country?” inquired my hostess.
“Enjoy it!” I had no words to
sufficiently express my appreci
ative feelings.
But my inflection spoke for
me, and she smiled beautifully
upon me and understood.
About this time, a soft but
heavy footfall sounded just back
of me, and I turned and found
myself looking in the face of
one of the most superb English
mastifla I have seen in many a
long day.
He was introduced to me as
Ponto, but such a kingly fellow
ought to be called Ilex or Prince
or anything else that’s royal
and dignified. Ponto weighs
more than I do, and is one of
the most important members of
the family. He shook paws'
with me in a stately yet cordial
manner, and gave me a frank
and friendly look.
He was so attractive and
splendid, I longed to cultivate
him, but was deterred by several
drawbacks. I found to my
sorrow that he was like Bill
Nye’s dog, which, according to
his master, was one of the
greatest living entomologists, so
vast and varied was his collec
tion of insects. I do not care
to be a summer resort for fleas.
Round the house and under
the shade of the apple trees I
went, following my hostess, who
showed me goslings and chick
ens galore.
Having no children, she
makes pets of everything on the
place, and the feathered inmates
of the barnyard seem to know
her instautlv and to accord her
•/
a vociferous welcome.
We went to the pasture where
the “cows, were cropping the
grass and clover" (I think that
is the proper way to speak of
cows, when you have been to
the country and have met them
On their native heath) and look
ing as if they had a piece of
chewing gum ir, their mouths as
big as a tennis ball. It sounds
so wise and agricultural and
pastoral to write of the cows as
being engaged in “cropping
grass and clover.” It has a
ring that is at once picturesque
and correct, even though the
cow may be a low-bred “scrub”
and is eating rocks and rubbish
with vicious energy. But in
this case, the cows were genuine
Jerseys, and they were truly
“cropping” bona fide grass aud
clover, while every now and
then they would lift their pret
ty heads and gaze at us in soft
eyed surprise.
I enjoyed watching the milk
ing process very much, and had
a try aj it myself, and will
never be able to understand
why I got warm and tired and
scared instead of milk. I think
I would have done finely if my
hand had not cramped and I
had not observed the manner
in which Tenelea turned herself
around rudely, and gazed at me
with a calm and superior ex
pression. Ido lot like to be
patronized by a cow.
' lam going to try to milk
her again, the next time I go
out where she lives and I shall
show her that I am not such an
ignoramus as she thinks I am.
But it was dark by tins time,
and we went into supper, escort
ed by a family of white kittens
that rushed to meet us as we
came up the back steps. Some
of the kittens had a trimming of
soft gray fur on their white sum
mer clothes, and they reminded
me of little Francis Shackelford’s
cats,at Cumberland Island, which
rejoiced in the names of Sweet
Peas, Smut, America and Tom
my Watson —the latter being
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