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Woman’s Page. CONDUCTED BY EDNA CAIN. o . “MAYBE A SERMON— MAYBE A SONG.” On several occasions people have asked me why I did not write poetry and I would smile deprccatingly and try to look as if I could write it if I only cared to. To tell the truth I felt flattered, sc miserably weak is human ity, and was unwilling to admit that the Muse ami I were not on harmoni ous terms. Tiiis was the beginning, and finally I even deceived myself with the notion that I could if I would. After this the undoing of my puffed up pride only awaited an opportunity, and it came shortly on a rainy day. lam foolishly fond of rainy days, and when they come with their gray mist and soft monotonous patter on the roost, “I betake myself to thinking, Fancy unto fancy linking.” It was on one of these adorable days that I wrote my first poem. I assure you I felt myself a seer and a prophet, and—after half an hour of laborious effort—the following ‘‘little thing dashed off in an idle moment,” was completed: A Voice in the Rain. () summer rain! <) sobbing rain! What grief has crept from its dim lair, And seeks to find a voice in thine— Whose burden thou must bear? The sun is wrapt in clouds of gray, The earth lies still and cold; My fancies wander through thy mist Forlorn as sheep without thy fold. () summer rain! O sobbing rain! Methinks thy voice of woe Is that of souls whose tarnished scrolls Os deeds hath brought them low. Their summer days are sad and gray, Their mist wrapt sun is cold; They’re doomed to wander here always, Forlorn as sheep without the fold, And, making moan in undertone, 1 hear thy voice in thine O summer rain! O sobbing rain! 1 feel their grief is mine. With a show of carelessness, but with much inward anxiety, I showed it to the senior editor. Much to my disgust he received it in a most matter of fact way; I remembered afterwards that, as an editor he was not wholly un accustomed to—poems. Then he told me he thought the little child of my brain very pretty, and all that, but didn’t 1 think it limped rather pain fully? I said I didn't. Then he point ed oat to me wheiein its feet failed to match, and said he didn't think it would ever get into print on such feet. (But you see it has.) 1 suppose he was right about its miserable feet but 1 wasn't the one to admit it, so the poem formed the subject for that day's dinner table argument. Suppose its feet are deformed, said I, as I warmed up to the subject, it has got a thought in its head. People who merely want jingling rhymes will read Mother Goose. But I believe they will appre ciate the beautiful thought in this too much to criticise any discrepancy in the wording, said 1, waving my fork defiantly. (You must really pardon me for insisting on the beauty of the thought in that poem. But a man of very superior judgment in such mat ters —not the senior editor—has told me it was beautiful, aud in all modesty 1 agree with him.) But the senior editor could not see it, and insisted flippantly that the poem would never have a walk over in pub lic opinion unless its shortage in feet could be reduced. My assurance was oozing and my soup was growing eold on account of the heated argument, but I determined to try one more grand stand play in hopes of making a “touch down.” (A man spent a whole afternoon explaining the technical terms of foot ball and base ball to me; I know he will feel it was time well spent when he secs that.) So I grew figurative in my eloquence. Why the poem is like a deformed man at a din ner table, said 1. his brilliant thought and ready wit so charms the guests that they never notice his poor, twisted feet, even when he is wheeled away from the festive board in a—“waste basket,” softly murmured the s. e. aud then 1 wilted aud fell into the soup, which was quite cold by this time. Aspiring poets have found this world a cold, damp place long before 1 made the discovery. And the tender buds of “genius'' (tender cabbage heads, as the s. e. would say) are constantly be ins served up in the soup by these terrible critics. Doubtless you will think, even hope, that this ends ray poetical experiences, but it doesn’t. Next to rainy days I love sunshiny ones, and on a dreamy j summer day I again felt the Muse . moving my soul, or thought I did, and my second poem begun— ‘•The hills that rise across the way, Are soft with summer’s purple haze,” Just then a Person sitting in the room inquired if I had sent the girl to town for a roast for dinner. I said I had, and made a great bustle with my paper and pencil to call the Person's attention to the fact that I was very busy. The Person calmly went on to say that the girl certainly wasn’t as as careful as she might be in cooking; the fragments of the last roast had been given to the kittens when a real savin’ cook would have made them into hash. Hash!—l tore my hair at this, and crash! mash! dash! danced through my brain. Then the innocent Person grew silent and I added two more lines to the poem: “Their tops the bending rainbows kiss, They seem a fairer land than this,” And then a giuff “hello!” was heard at the back gate aud, as the girl had gone after the roast, I had to go see who it was. I went, softly repeating my lines, to find a man with potatoes to sell. I asked the price, and when he answered, instead of telling him whether 1 wanted any, or not, I went on abstractedly, with another line: “Where lies our”— Much to my surprise the man said snappishly that he’d never been ac cused of lying about prices before, and he guessed I needn’t take ’em unless I wanted to, and drove off; and I went back and wrote down: “Where lies our lowly valley ways.” Then the Person asked me if I really thought Airs. Cumso did shut her hus band out of the house when he return ed from the lodge the other night? Now, in ordinary moods, I am rather patient but my sense of the fitness of things is outraged at the notion of combining poetry and potatoes, dreamy mists and matrimonial fogs. I set the paper weight on the poem with a bang! and got up, saying in a very soft voice that I didn’t know, but if the story were true I wished T had been Mr. Cumso. I’d so enjoy being shut out of the house where I couldn't see anybody for a few days. The Person looked up in mild surprise and wanted to know—but I tied. I couldn't trust myself with that gentle creature any longer. So those are a few of the rea sons why I don’t write poetry; why there is no “poet at the breakfast ta ble” in our house. Only another “mute inglorious Milton,” a frozen current of genial soul as a monument to one of the might have beens. Drop a tear and let us turn the page. Grades In Deportment. May King 100, Lucy Street 100, Julia King 100, Kitty Henry 99, Lucile Roan 99, Annie Bell Roan 100, Daisy Kellett 99, Mary Milli can 96. Bertha Roan 97, Annie Thurston 100, Kate Cain 100, Mat tie M ilson 100, Flossy Turner 96, Annie Wheeler 96, Minnie Henry 100, Annie Mallett 100, Tennie Mallett 100, May Evins 99, Maud Sewell 100, Mattie Nelson SO, Ana Bryan 99, Ella Millican 100, Annie Cleghorn 98, Imo Dalton 100, Pearl Dalton 99, Carry Roan 96, Ethel Dunn 98, Mary Wilson 100, Lena Dalton 100 ; Mary Hollis 99, Josie Nelson 80, Effie Rhinehart 100, Roxey Harris 99, Loula Jenkins 98, Lou Wilbanks 97, Janie Mor -1 ton 100. Head Marks. Daisy Kellet 1, Imo Dalton 1, Ella Millican 2, j Annie Cleghorn 1, Annie Bell Roan 1. Whit Henry 1, Litle Wilson 1, Bertha Roan 1. Nature dispenses blessings and misfortunes very evenly’. South Carolina has Tillman and she also has a new kind of millet which is like a mantle of charity. The seed is ground into flour which is es pecially adapted for batter-cakes: the juice makes a very fine syrup and there is a substance in the I roots which is a fair substitute for Jersey butter. It really means something to be “in clover” in South Carolina. RACCOON MILLS. The protracted meeting at this , place closed last Sunday night with two accessions to the church. Wo had some fine sermons during the meeting. The people here regret very much to give Mr. Rosser up, but we hope to get another good preacher in return. Miss Ada Horn, of this place, and Mr. Albert Bagly, of Alabama, were married in the public road about one mile from here last Sun day. I did not learn who married ; them. Misses Carrie Agnew and Mattie ; Wyatt spent last Tuesday inj Rome. Mr. J. M. Wyatt has been on the sick list for several days. He Jias been chilling. Miss Ana Alexander returned home last Saturday after a pleas ant visit to friends and relatives here. She was accompanied home i by her sister Mrs. S. R. Wyatt. Mrs. Rebecca and lona Smith, who attended the protracted meet ing here, have returned to their home near Lyerly. Dr. J. M. D. King, of Menlo came over Saturday and left Sunday morning for Macon to attend the meeting of the Grand Masonic Lodge of Georgia. A colored woman, 91 years old, died at her home about two miles from here Saturday night. Mr. Bud Garret is still confined to his room with fever. It is hoped that he will soon be restored to his usual health. Mrs. Booker is visiting friends at Menlo this week. The Baptists of this place have called Rev. Mr. Starkey of Menlo, to preach for them another year. We think they will be well pleased with him. Mrs. H. C. Gilbert had snap beans for dinner the 25th inst. J. S. Majors, of Menlo, was over to see his best girl across the river Sunday. It is a good thing he doesn’t have to pay bridge toll. If he did it would be very expensive for him in the run of a year. Birdie. In Memoriam. The vast concourse which at tended the funeral of Mrs. Mattie Wyatt at Alpine church, on Oct. 1896, was a fitting and significant tribute to her noble and beautiful life. Habitually wearing the or nament of a meek and quiet spirit, Mrs. Wyatt was a model wife and mother; a true, sympathetic and helpful friend ; a generous, kind and considerate neighbor, an ex emplary, useful and happy Chris tian character. She was a daughter of Mr. Oliver Alexander and was born Jan. 26, 1837. Before she was fifteen years old she made a profession of relig ion and united with the Pleasant Green Presbyterian church. Two years later she was one of the thir ty-six original members of Alpine church organized in May, 1853. With this church she was connect ed until May, 1895, when she be came a member of Salem church at Raccoon Mills. She was largely instrumental in building the beau tiful house of worship recently erected at that place. On July 27th, 1859, she married Mr. Joseph M. Wyatt, who, with her aged father, and five children — three sons and two daughters sur vive to mourn their loss. But though bereft of her sweet com panionship, tender ministries, and loving counsels, Mrs. Wyatt’s fam ily and friends have a rich legacy in the abiding influence of her pre cepts, example and prayers, as well as in the consolation that she fell asleep in Jesus. “Asleep in Jesus! blessed sleep! From which none ever wake to weep, A calm and undisturbed repose, Unbroken by the last of foes!’’ Her Friend. Summerville High Scuool. The exercises of this institution will ■ resume August 31st, 1896, under the ; management of John C. King, Mary L. Hemphill. Principals. Your Guano notes and accounts were j due on the 15th of Oct. Please call ; and pay them. ! 4t Cleghorn & Hesly. TRION NEWS. Miss Jennie Hatfield, 16 year old daughter of Mrs. A. M. Hatfield, died Friday night of consumption and was buried Sunday afternoon at the ceme tery, the services being conducted by Rev. J. G. Hunt. Miss Hatfield was a good Christian girl, taken so early in life to a happier home. Weep not be reaved ones your loss is her gain. An infant of Mr. Cumming, who lives north of Trion died Saturday morning and was buried Sunday after noon . Rev. J. G. Hunt filled his appoint ment at the Baptist church Saturday night and Sunday, preaching au excel lent sermon at both services. Mr. A. S. Hamilton, Win. Penn and Mr. Wimberly spent Sunday at Rome. Misses Ada Murphy, Ellen and Bet tie Penn spent Sunday at Chickamau ga. Mrs. Ellen Giiflith and daughter, Miss Nettie Johnson, visited relatives at Raccoon Sunday. Miss Nora Westbrooks returned Saturday evening from a weeks visit to Rome. Mrs. S. D. Mullinax spent Saturday night and Sunday with relatives at LaFayette. Miss Mattie Espy spent several days of last week at Summerville, the guest of her brother-G. D. Espy. Hon. Mr. Copeland of- .LaFayette, addressed the people of Trion Monday night at the hall. Misses Alice Myers and Foy Murphy who are attending Shorter college came home Friday afternoon on a visit, re turning Monday morning accompanied by Miss Kate Myers w’ho enters as a student at Shorter college. Miss Kate Kellett spent Saturday night and Sunday with relatives at this place. Misses Alice and Joe Mattox, Fan nie and Molhe Rich of Summerville were in Trion Sunday evening. Mr. and Mrs. Lon Shamblin of La- Fayette, visited relatives at this place Sunday. Mr. Scott Myers and sous of LaFay ette, visited G. B. Myers Sunday. Master Fred Myers, who is working at the cotton business at Rome, spent Saturday and Sunday at home. TELOGA, GA, The sick ones of our community are all improving. Rev. W. A. Milner filled his regular appointment at Beersheba last Sunday. Win. Biggers and sister, Miss May, of near Martindale, were visiting rel atives here Sunday. Mrs. R. A. Watson of LaFayette, was visiting uncle Billy Watson Sun day. Mr. Spergin of near Waterloo, Ala., passed ihiotigh our val>y last week enroute to Tennessee to take to him self a better half; he was happy on the way. We wish him success. Gus McConnell went up to Chatta nooga last week oa business. Jerome Clarkson and family who have been in Texas several yea’-s pass ed through our valley last Thursday going to relatives in Walker county. He came back by private conveyance and was nearly two months coming. Mr. J. T. McWhorter is preparing to have his dwelling covered with tiu. Prof. J. D. Welch will have charge of the school here this winter. Mr. Welch comes with a good recommen dation as a teacher. Valley Girl. Dallas Turner’s Catch. The way of the transgressor is a hard one here in Rome. With her splendid police personele and coun ty officials, criminals find this burg a hard row to hoe. Yesterday a bout noon John Davis hired a hack man to bring him into Rome and when nearing the city limits gave the hackman a good pair of pants for his fare and got out of the hack. The hackman reported it as a suspicious circumstance to . the police. They traced Davis to the Rome depot and when he spied i them made a break, but ran into I the arms of Deputy Sheriff’ Dallas Turner who took him under his shrieval wing. Davis was pardon ed out of prison recently for killing a boy at Trion, Ga., about twelve years ago. Davis was taken to the jail but released for insufficient evidence. He had a sack clothes ■ and a slung shot.—Sunday’s Rome Tribune. Mr. F. M. Street died a*, his home at Sulphur Springs last week. His son, Mr. A. M. Street, of this place, had been with his father several days be fore his death and Mrs. A. M. Street, with Joe and Lucy, left for Sulphur, Springs Friday to be present at the fOTeral. 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