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Show When the Village Bards Were Younger w Ifli A NUMBER of subscribers, some of whom have W Vaken this journal from the beginning, having ii in mind the contributions of a few who were as- J sociated with it at an earlier day, and also a , I h thing or two written by those who are still with l it, have suggested that some verse, grave and p gay be republished in this number and we are 'J delighted to comply with the request. i ' In glancing through old flies, memories swiftly I f crowd as through tear-dimmed or happy eyes, k I names and events are recalled. Among the va- j I rious verses that were inspired during the early I v struggles of a magazine of art for art's sake, it is difficult to choose for reproduction when space a I is brief, but the following may serve to show the pi I sentiments of a few of those who wrote here be- f i fore they were swept along in the commercial , rush of the age, though that does not apply to Sail represented. THE TOWER By Angus K. Nicholson. The weeping wind wails on the hills Where stands a tower with pallid stare, And drooped are all the wild maned pines When lonely souled I wander there. The chilling peaks grow dim afar, The vales below are all a-red; A fading radiance leaves the West And night comes down with ghostly tread. Around these placid, pallid walls The pelting Boreas shrieks in vain; Nor shocks the sky's diapason, Or the mad dashing of the rain. And yet who knows this deathless calm Pale giant in the lightning's glare Conceals the furtive ghosts of old That Phantom shapes stand on the stair. For thus the rocks fling back the surge That rushes on with ceaseless flow; Yet 'round their crests the waters sing The dirges of an endless woe. t If so unto the world I, too, j A pale and placid face could turn; And heed not Fate's vindictive blasts, Nor Hatred's flres that baleful burn. For I know well, calm giant wall, That torrent tides that loudest roll Are milder than the inward storm The fiery tempests of the soul. JESSIE BARTLETT DAVIS. !By C. C. Goodwin, i Closed lips which once o'erflowed with music f sweet; Closed eyes which once with laughter were alight: Pulses all still which once exultant beat; The brief day ended, now the solemn night. . Tell us, was there a wak'ning? DIds't thou see f, lii A golden curtain slowly rise, and hear J The orchestra, sublime in harmony, I Play welcome numbers as thy soul drew near? 1 Thou, who could so divinely sing on earth, e Jul Cans't thou take up the loftier, sweeter strains, . nl As sung where perfect music had its birth, 1 The enchanting measures and the deep refrains? Do Art thou rehearsing now those glorious bars, V WL To greet friends with when they, too, reach the 4 1 1! stars? 1 ' f M i ! in i' IF By R. W. Sloan. I think If I could only hold thy trusting hand, And rest beside thee, I might then command To rise, the faith once had in me alone, And bid to live the sweet emotions flown Once more. I feel If I could in your true eyes frankly gaze I might rekindle lights of by-gone days, And all the longings all the hopes, renew That in times past your fond heart flooded through For me. I know If all our hopes prove not forever vain, If faith its sure reward will sometime gain, I'd fearless journey through the gates of death Thy dead love but to quicken with my breath To life. SPINDRIFT By Tod Goodwin. The waning flush of the relentless" sun, Spread far above the towers of steel and stone; The toilers homeward turned the day was done And in the endless throng, I walked alone (Strange solitude that I could not define) When suddenly a tiny hand clasped mine A wan smile lit the pallid", baby face, Her little fingers opened to disclose A crumpled petal from some fairy place; "See man," she said, "that once was on a rose" Poor kiddie who had never known the sweet, And flower ways for tired little feet. So hiding tears she was not meant to see, We found a wonder place where roses grew; And filled her arms and filled the heart of me With more of sweetness than I ever knew; Then in her ecstacy with: "Thank you, man," The little rose-leaf baby turned and ran. A fleck of spindrift in the city's swirl And none knows whence you came or where you went But here's a hope, poor little blossom girl: That 'ere the sum of life for you is spent, The little rose-leaf baby you may know Will have an easier, rosier way to go. THE TALE OF THE COW By Angus Nicholson. J. Harden from his sack took forty dollars, all In bills, Wherewith to buy a cow across some intervening hills; But on the way thirst smote him where his tonsils ton-sils seek repose, And he sought a place where gin is sold and where the lager flows. Twice thirty drinks drank Harden to the bovine's rustic health, Making quite a big incission in his quadrepedal wealth; And meanwhile Mrs. Harden found a medium, pale and grim, Who gave a most consoling and concise report of him. John's metal and his spirits plainly underwent a sag As he rode upon the pillows of this monumental jag; And when they found him in his cups, his face was drawn and sere, Indicating the incursion of the rickles and the beer. This shows no man should take a drink when on a mission bent To purchase cows or other frills for stable ornament; orna-ment; And he knows now and can't forget while that big stew was on, When dreaming he was milking cows, the bars were milking John. THE WATER'S FINE By Tod Goodwin. ' Mrs. Lulu Shepherd will go to Maine to fight for the "drys." Daily paper. Must you leave us, Lulu, leave us; must you beat it overland? Are you angra, Lulu, angra, 'cause the suds remain re-main uncanned. Are you peeved because the city, like yourself, will not dry up? Ah, linger longer, Lulu, join us in a stirrup cup. For we like you, Lulu, like you, and we hope that you do well With your threadbare peroration on the shortest cut to hell; But if you insist on leaving, it is surely up to you To relieve us of some others, take along a boob or two. And Lulu, when you lead your flock as all good Shepherds should, Across the great old state of Maine, through dale and dell and wood, And reach the broad Atlantic, do not stop not in the least, But push the brethren overboard, jump in, and all .swim east. TELL ME, MAN OF MORALS, WHY? By R. W. Sloan. There's not a bud that scents the air, And blushes fresh with virgin hue, That does not owe its beauty rare To drinking deep the glist'ning dew. There's not a rose smiles in the morn With opened petals no, not one That will not swear its smiles are born From drinking up the flery sun. Chorus : Then drink, good friends, for death is nigh! Fill every glass and lift it high! Why should all nature drink but I? Why, man of morals? Tell me why. The seven seas drink rivers up; The thirtsty earth drinks up the rain; r At night the stars drink up the sun, The next night gap for drink again. And then the sun drinks up the sea, His burnished face all seamed with scars And never daylight will there be Unless he drinks the moon and stars. Chorus: One truth from nature must appear To all who stop and calmly think They know it best who've paid most dear All things that live must live by drink. And so the wise will wisely quaff To all the good that may be found; The joy of life is still to laugh And drink eternal health all 'round. Chorus: THE QUESTION By Arthur W. Copp. Out in the stretching solitude of Space Could I find rest? If I but sent my lonely soul away To where an unknown world has unknown day, Could I find there a soothing, peaceful place, Can you attest? Unnumbered pain-racked souls have gone before To search for peace; Unnumbered millions of the ages past Have stepped beyond the portals, where at last Their search begins; has one soul found this door Where heartaches cease? If I but dropped my arms, but bowed my head, And quit the fight, Could I too find this spot with peace bedewed? Could my dulled soul forget its solitude In this unmarked Beyond, where reigns God's dead, Eternal Night? "PARADISE OF THE PACIFIC" By A. P. (Pete) Taylor. HP HE lure of the South Seas is still as strong - as in the days when Robert Louis Stevenson, Steven-son, Charles Warren Stoddard, and other prominent promi-nent writers, found the Hawaiian Islands to be a charming, fascinating, and picturesque island group which formed the setting for many of their literary products. Although the days of the monarchy have ab vSBHWwH'flBp- v-jvA1 SbvmIIIe ' vmImIHShIIIII jjjn jBmBBBfWptIB bb ANYWHERE AND EVERYWHERE IN HONOLULU passed and the old throne room in the royal palace pal-ace at Honolulu lacks the presence of the king and queen and the brilliant functions which were modeled upon those in vogue at the Court of St. Mr ft ,4s I ,UaH1r-- 'lM W cLiiisJ Hi vwr t!HHH B99w3rCpBflBfl9HB9SBSSBV rflflflflfl ENTRANCE TO HA WAIIAN PROMOTION COMMITTEE BUREAU, A. P. TAYLOR, SECRETARY-DIRECTOR SECRETARY-DIRECTOR IN FOREGROUND James, there still remains the same charm of hospitality, the entrancing atmosphere of a perfect per-fect climate winter and summer; and the strum and tinkle of the guitar and ukulele are still to bo heard in the moonlight seasons. ! While much that was quaint in the old days f of the monarchy has passed away and Honolulu H has become a progressive, bustling , modern H American city, yet the superb climate with the M close-hand mountain sconery and the miles of al- jfl ternatlng rugged and smooth seacoast with sand- M ed beaches, still claim the attention of the trav- fl H Although Hawaii has been noted for decades as a winter resort, the Islanders themselves are beginning to realize that the travel world must fl also be told that the summer season is equally M as attractive as the winter. Honolulu, with its two powerful wireless sta- M tlons and its cable station connecting the group -with all parts of the world day and night its up-to-date street railway and telephone system; its miles of paved streets and fine country roads; M its splendid town and beach hotels; the surpass- M ing water resorts whence came one of the most popular songs of the day, "On the Beach at Wai- M kiki," where one may swim in the ocean waters in M January as well as in June; its wealth of flower- M ing trees which are in full bloom in late spring M and throughout the summer, offers untold oppor- M tunities for recreation and pleasure for the idle H rich and those who have had a severe attack of wanderlust. M The Hawaiian Islands are the "Isles of H Peace," and as Mark Twain wrote to the Hawaii M Promotion Committee in 1908 in acknowledgment of a koa mantle piece for his home at Redding, H the Hawaiian Islands are 'the loveliest fleet of H islands that lies anchored in any ocean." H BJPJPPJrqflBBwpjBjBjBJBJBjBjBjBJBJBpy'jft PJ hflPEHHlMHHHHSHIilBVunriJvHHHIIIIlHfefilAHBHSHBffiattBa I HL M HBKSflHflHJBHKiBHBHHBIBNiflflflBRRBfllflHHHflfll bB HHHHDSHHBBXPnnWT cT!BHBilHfl9lnlHIHlyHVfabk9"pWlfliHIH : JiWi5 BMBbbJ1WM!itiWBBMBwBH jvHKuftlllH hH UBBHKmwBBKBBtHBHBBPmBKBSUBKtKSEKmSB J3& sflflMilllH 111 jHHqHHHhBwmHBHBHBbBHhbh hH HlmiBBHBriTiitfffiff jjSBlBifflWBwHlHlllBlBHlBBtffflllffl 111 llllxHPalllHHIIJ'QEbSPQIilllllBKcrlllHRht- iHliM'aB?iMMywMMHBlB?ll5r5TllllH IH BBBBBIBBIJBBIBIIBBejBIIBB -JB-IEdBPMMi yip I pj CITY ANDHARBOR OF HONOLULU, "P RADISE OF THE PACIFIC," THE WORLD'S ALL YEAR PLAYCmUND M 'ill |