Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1914-03-08

PeIsplCupus Joe DIOWH mas long ue-
sired.
OF course, now, you have guessed
that there is story behind Joe
Browns yearning; II is an old story.
but always good, and they tell me
that the men at the clubs haven't
stopped laughing over 1t yet.
1t was several years ago that a
pert, red haired young man came into
our midst and announced himself as
Kingdom Gould. He talked very
nicely indeed, and Joe Brown was inn
pressed along with others. also, to
speak in absolute justice to Mr.. Con-
nally. What mattered it if his
trousers were frayed the least bit?
Did he not talk OF cotIlions and mil
lions? What mattered it II he was
a bit frugal? Did he not speak suave-
ly? And besides, there was no need
for him to be lavish. Joe Brown took
IT upon his hospitable shoulders to
reveal the true Southern hospitality
to the brilliant young visitor.
So around Joe Brown went to the
clubs, Kingdom Gould" in his wake
The visitor was introduced widely and
entertained unstintedly Probably he
would be nonchalantly accepting Joe
Browns hospitality even yet, II his
dear friend-Mr. Connally hadn't
taken the sudden notion to visit his
private car-that, luxurious private
car Of which Atlanta society had
heard so much talk for several DAYS
Well, Joe Brown went to the yards.
The car in which Mr. Gould" trav-
eled was there, all right, but it was
not palace on wheels, nor luxurious.
nor even comfortable Very dusty
and dirty and battered and SCARED
II was, just like all the other box cars
around it.
And that is why Joe Brown Con
nally would like to meet the real
Kingdom Gould.
| HAVE always commended, like the
most loyal champion in the
world, that golf and tango ana
bridge and all those things are pos
sesscd of a sound intellectual basis
They are no mere fripperies for the
serious minded to scornl and now
can smile, because my claim is proved
The SHOWS and rain and shivery
wind mas kept our folks away from
golf the last two weeks or so. and
Lent has come TO halt the dances and
the card parties. And what do you
suppose our people are doing instead
what but writing poetry?
Now, writing poetry is an intelec-
tual achievement, and one that / hon
or highly-poetry is not the flubdub
and the rot that persons who can not
write it are always ready TO swear
And by that token | accept the flood
Of poetry that pours upon my desk as
vt>y good sign, indeed, that our At
lanta people can think OF real things
to do
And now. about that poetry! Right
on top of the pile on my desk is a
verse or two from Mrs. Gertrude Har-
man Crane, Alright dainty little poem.
which ] shall repeat to you, because !
know she doesn't mind Here 1t Is:
"The Wings of Love"
My love folds about you, dear. like
soft white wings,
And gently caresses, like murmur-
ing wind,
1t troops with you sadly, when
tears it doth jnd
And ali, how IT scars with your heart
when II sings.
At dusk. with the shadows. those soft
wings are spread,
To guard and protect you, dear, all
the long night,
While the moon floods your dreams
with her golden light,
They hover so tenderly Ger your
white bed
Which verse, | am sure. you will
join me in commencing. And there is
another sweet young metrical child OF
the spring on my desk, which l must
mention, 1t comes from am ambi-
tious young man in Macon. who was
Inspired to poetry ny The Sunday