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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 CONTINUED ON DTK PAGF $1 Y.UR