The age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1897-1902, 1902-01-15

Inc success that Miss Anna f1oDSon OF
Greensboro is achieving In the literary
world is propably surprising to many Of
her friends in the South, because few
persons knew of her ambition in this d.
rection. And while it should be no longer
cause for surprise that the gifted
women of the South should draw from
the scenes about them a picture upon
which the whole world may look. and
looking. pronounce it true, accurate and
possessing the color, the atmosphere, the
stroke of the master hand STILL when
the young Southern woman whom one
hears of at cotiilons, balls dinners, finds
time to write stories for the papers and
magazines one may be excused at ex-
pressing surprise.
Conspicuous among the young women of
the South and widely known in society,
Miss Hobson is meeting with instantane-
Gus success with her stories of Southern
life, her latest sketch. Cotton Picking
Time in the South" appearing In the
January number Of Everybody's Maya
zine. The story is illustrated by Frost,
who never fails to grasp the authors
thought In Miss Hobson's story Mr..
Frost gives US the familiar scene when
the fields are white with opening cot
ton." and among the Illustrations that
seem to breathe of a Southern sun, of
first sweet day in early spring, is one, of
a stretc ! of woodland, a silvery brook, a
gently sloping hillside, the picket fence,
and the only figures being t sc of the
little pickaninnies drinking in de glor
les ub de springtime,'
Miss Hobson is particularly happy In
her descriptions. and they will appeal at
once to the artistic mind.
October and cotton pickin' time in the
south; the time of the year when scarlet
Christmas berries hang themselves In
graceful festoons all about the fields and
bushes, when muscadines and fox grapes
fill the woods with fragrance and golden
rod and black-eyed Susans throw their
yellow-coated armies against each other
for the supremacy of the field. and look
with naughty disdain upon the humble
little daisies and asters that grow in
clusters around their feet; the time when
'littie niggers" skirt the fields and hunt
along the fences and bitches for may
pops, now yellow and luscious, and little
boys love to go deep into the woods for
ripening chinquepins and chestnuts.
Summer is loath to depart and amuses
herself with playing hide-and-seek with
autumn, who has already turned the cor
ner and come In sight with his gay heral-
dries, though only heeting glin1pses of
his red and yellow coat can be caught in
and out among the gums and naples as
we see him approaching with his gaudy
train. Nearer and nearer he comes, and
already we feel his breath upon our
cheek We see the leaves fall down and
spread a carpet for his feet The tall yell
lowing hickories send down their brown
clad messengers to make obeisance, as
if imploring gentle treatment at his
hands From the fields and woods the
note of dove and whirr Of partridge sound
forth in welcome, while many merry
throated songsters iutter and chirp about
as If to prove their loyalty, and cover up
the disgrace of their faint-hearted COM
panions who have quailed at the first
chilling touch and flown away. There is
an uncanny feeling in the air. Signs of
cndnBe on all nature, a SuDtle uncertain
ty and elusiveness hangs over everything.
"At twilight we sit without and listen
to the sounds of the evening. There are
crickets chirping under the step; we hear
the milkman calling up the cows from the
pasture; the barking of a lonely dog In
the distance, then the dull thud of wood
as it is brought in and heaped up for the
6raS ~ tho avapipn
"A whip-poor- will calls in deep distress
from the woods and saucy Bob White
answers back in gay derision. Far away
in the still distance some one is calling
to the pigs, and the weird echo comes to
us, 'Whoo-o-o-p pig, whoo-e-o-p pig, pig
pigl' II has a lonely, far-away sound in
the evening air. Then the winding of the
hunters horn is heard through the
woods, the yelping of hounds, and the
echo of galloping horses, as they round
the hill and are off.
Then all is quiet. We sit very still and
a gentle melancholy creeps over us. Then