Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, (Vol. III, No. 1), January, 1909Various
History
Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, (Vol. III, No. 1), January, 1909
Various
United States -- Politics and government -- Periodicals
Through the darkness, stealing, stealing,
Comes their cadence, soft and low,
While their music, pealing, pealing,
Falls in sadness on the snow;
Bid thee think of tasks neglected,
Tell thee of the work undone,
Of the hopes that have been shattered,
E’er the year its course had run.
Hear the bells! their voices saying:—
“Of thy hopes keep but the best
With the falling of our voices,
Sinks the Old Year to its rest.”
THE NEW YEAR BELLS.
Through the darkness ringing, ringing,
Come their voices bright and glad—
With their music bringing, bringing,
Thoughts that bid us ne’er be sad—
Bid us turn from thoughts of sadness,
For our dead hopes cease to sorrow;
Tell us of the dawn of gladness,
Hopes that brighten on the morrow.
Hear the bells! their voices saying:—
“Now the Old Year’s sunk to rest
With the pealing of our voices
Dawns the New Year,—that is best.”
Zarion E. Weigle.
[Illustration]
The Pipe of Zaidee
BY FRANK E. ANDERSON
“Mr. Lomax, seek your evening’s pleasure with me—”
At this unexpected sentence in English, addressed to him by name in
Constantinople. Page Lomax wheeled sharply from the railing over which
he had been watching the shadows of silver minarets dissolve like
Cleopatra’s pearl in the Golden Horn, now amber as Rhine wine beneath
the dying sun. By his elbow stood a Turk, whose snowy turban capped
bold features from which only one eye glittered. A sabre scar, which
ran across the man’s cheek until it lost itself in his flowing beard,
accounted for the absence of the other. The fellow was of middle
stature, but powerfully made. A loose caftan hanging from his broad
shoulders framed within its folds of vermilion the white linen swathing
his chest and the orange sash—whence the arabesqued head of a stiletto
scolded at its neighbor, a Mussulman rosary of russet beads—and the
green trousers of zouave cut stretching to his saffron half-boots. He
extended a card, on which Page Lomax read:
THE BRISTOL
Boulevard des Petit Champs,
PERA.
Hosein Aga, Chief Dragoman.
“My hotel!” Mr. Lomax commented. “I reckon you’re all right.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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