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pDEl |P I \ Wf c?THE ESia t THE RIG& COPYRIGHT 13*^51^ ' * ^ . , A "TO VIRGINIA!" t Synopsis. ? Returning home after .a day's shooting, Dyck Calhoun, gifted-young Irish gentleman of the . iime of the French and American revolutions, meets ShelTa Llyn, seventeen-year-old girl visiting in the ^ neighborhood. 'They are mutually attracted. Sheila never knew her dissipated father. Errls Boyne. her mother having divorced him and resumed her maiden name. Reaching home, Dyck finds Leonard Mallow, son of Lord Mallow, wtth a message from the attorney gyi1 ?""" "i.-inin cr MilpR Calhoun. Dyck's father, to Dublin. They go to* Dublin and there Mallow quarrels with Dyck and a duel Is arranged. They fight with swords and Dyck Is victor. Errls Boyne, secretly In French employ, gets Dyck drunk and tries to persuade him to Join In revolt against ' 'England. They quarrel and Dyck Is overheard to threaten Boyne. While the former Is overcome with drugged wine, Boyne's second wife enters the room and stabs her faithless husband to the heart. Dyck is arrested on a charge of murder. He does not know If he killed Boyne of not, he was so muddled with the drugged wine. Sheila begs her mother to go to Dublin with her to help Dyck. Mrs. Llyn opposes the Idea. 6 o CHAPTER VI?Continued.) Sheila took the letter. It ran as follows: "Dearest Sister: "It Is eleven years since I wrote to you, and yet, though It may seem strange, there have not been eleven days in all the time in which I have not wished you and Sheila were here. Sheila?why, she is a young woman! She's about the age you were when I left Ireland, and you were one of the most beautiful and charming onAntiiroo rin<l oror (TflVP lifp to. "My estate is neither north nor south, but farther south than north. In a sense It is always summer, but winter in my place would be like summer in Norway?just bltingly fresh, happf'y alert. I'm writing in the summer now. I look out of the window and see hundreds of acres of cotton fields, with hundreds upon hundreds of negroes at work. I hear the songs they sing, faint echoes of them, as I write. Yes, my black folk do siug, because they are well treated. "Not that we haven't our troubles here. You can't administer thousands of acres, control hundreds of slaves, and run an estute like a piece of clockwork without creaks In the machinery. I've built It all up out of next to nothing. I landed In this country with my little fortune of two thousand pounds. This estate is worth at least u quarter of a million now. I've un estate in Jamaica, too. 1 took It for u debt. What it'll be worth lu .another twenty years I don't know. I shan't be here to see. I'm not the man I was physically, and that's one of the reasons why I'm writing to you > io-da.v. "I want you and Sheila to come here to me, to muke my home your home, to take control of my household. and to let me see faces I love about me as,the shadows Infold me. "This place, which I have called , Moira. Is to be yours,?or, rather, , Sheila's. So, in any case, you will | want to come and see the home I have marie?this old colonial mansion, with its Corinthian pillars and veranda, high steps, hard-wood floors polished like a pan, every room hung in dim ltv and cnituz, ami me smen 01 | fruit and. flowers everywhere. You will want to see It all, and you'll want to live here. I have placed to your credit in the Bank of Ireland a thousand pounds. That will be the means of bringing you here?you and Sheila?to my door, to Moirn. Let nothing save death, prevent your coming. As far as Sheila's eye can see? f north. south, east and west?the bind will be hers when I'm gone. Dearest sister, sell all things that are yours, and come to me. You'll not forget Ireland here. Whoever has breathed her air can never forget the hills and dells, the valleys and hogs, the mountains. with their mist of rain, the wild girls, with their hare ankles, their red petticoats, and their beautiful, reckless air. None who has ever breathed'the air of Ireland can breathe In another land without memory of the nucient harp of Ireland. But it is as a mem lnory?OPfp, wunueriui, ami aoiumg, yet a memory. Oh. believe me, I speak of what 1 know! 1 have been away from Ireland for a lone time, and I'm never going back, but I'll bring Ireland to me. Come here, colleen, come to Virginia. Write to me. on the day you i get this letter, that you're coining soon, because I feel the cords binding me to my beloved tields growing thinner. They'll soon crack, but. please God, they won't crack before you come here. "New with my love to you and Sheila I stretch out my hand to you. Take It. All that It has worked for is yours; all that It wants is you. "Your loving brother, "BRYAN." As ?tu>iln read, the tears started from her ey^s; and at last she could lead no longer, so her mother took the letter from her and read the rest of it aloud. When she had finished, i there was a silence?a long warm si- j leuce; .then, at last, Mrs. IJyn rose to her feet. "Sheila, when shuli we j;o?" '. .' |isEf ? pabke^? aSr* FJfHElhlGHlY ~ ^ i . ?f it or my" >! GILBERT PARKER With frighteued eyes Sheila sprang up. "I said we must go to Dublin!" she murmured. "Yes, we will go to Dublin. Shelln, but it will be on our way to Uncle Bryan's home." Sheila caught her mother's hands. "Mother," she said, after a moment of hesitation."! must obey you 1" "It Is the one way, my child?the one thing to do. Some one in prison calls ? perhaps; some one far away who loves you, and needs us. calls? that we know. Tell me. am I not right? 1 ask you, where shall we go?" "To Virginia, mother." The girl's head dropped, and her eyes tilled with tears. CHAPTER VII Dyck's Father Visits Him. In vain Dyck's lawyer, Will McConnlck, urged him to deny absolutely the killing of Erris Boyne. Dyck would not do so. He had. however, Immediately on being jailed, written to the government, telling of the projected invasion of Ireland by the French fleet, and saving that It had come to him from a sure source. The government had at once taken action. Regarding the death of Boyne, the only living thing in his favor was thnt his own sword-polnt was free from stain. Ills lawyer made the utJ ^ As Sheila Read, the Tears Started From Her Eyes. I most of this, hot to no avail. The Impression In the court was that both men had been drinking; that they had quarreled, and that without a duel being fought Dyck had killed his enemy. That there had been no duel was clear front the fact that Krris Boyne's sword was undrawn. The charge, however, on the Instigation of the attorney general, who was grateful for the Information about France, had been changed from murder to manslaughter, though it seemed clear that Boyne had been ruthlessly killed by a man whom he had befriended. on one or tne nays or tne inui, j Dyck's father, bowed, morose, and obstinate, came to see him. Miles Calhoun looked at his son with dejection. His eyes wandered over the primly furnished cell. Ills nose snielled the damp of it, and suddenly the whole soul of him burst forth. "You don't give yourself a chance , of escape, Dyck! You know what Irish Juries are. Why don't you tell the truth about the quarrel? What's the good of keeping your mouth shut, when there's tunny that would profit by your telling It?" "Who would profit?" asked Dyck. "Who would profit?" snarled the old man. "Well, you would profit first, for it might break the dark chain of circumstantial evidence. Also your father would profit. I'd he saved shame, perhaps; I'd get relief from this disgrace. Oil, man, think of others besides yourself:" "Think of others!" said Dyck, and a queer smile lighted his haggard face. "I'd save myself if I honorably could." The old man fumbled with a waistcoat button. His eyes blinked hard. "You don't see," he continued, "the one thing that's plain to my eyes, and IIS llll> UIUI ,'V?I W|ll(? IIMII1VC Ul escape is to tell the truth about the j quarrel. If tlie truth were told, what- ! ever it is, 1 believe it would be to i your credit?I'll say that for you. If it was to your credit, even if they believe you guilty of killing Erris Boyne, they'd touch you lightly. Ah, in the name of the mother you loved, I ask you to tell the truth about the quarrel ! In the name of Cod " "Don't speak to me like that," interrupted Dyek, with emotion. "I've thought of all those things. I hold my peace because?because I hold my peate. To speak would be to hurt some one 1 love?aye, to hurt some one I love with all my soul." "Ami you won't speak to save rne? ; your father?because you don't love tne with all your soul! Is that it?" asked Miles Calhoun. "It's different?it's different." "Ah, it's a woman!" "Never mind whut it is. I will not I tell. There are things more shameful thnn death." "Yes." snarled the old man. "Rather than save yourself, you uring dishonor upon him who "gave you birth " Dvck's face was submerged in color. "Father," said he, "on my honor I wouldn't hurt you if I could help it, but I'll not tell the world of the quarrel between that man and myself. My silence may hurt you, but it would hurt some one else far more If I told." "By God, I think you are some mad dreamer slipped out of the ancient fold! Do you know where you are? You're in Jail. If you're found guilty, 1m cont tr\ ttrlcAn* lit lpfist for the years that'll spoil the making of your life; uud you do it because you think you'll spare somebody. Well, 1 ask you to spare me. We've been a rough race, we Calhouns; we've done mad, bad things, perhaps, but none has shamed us before the world ?none but you." "I have never shamed you, Miles Calhoun," replied his son sharply. "As the ancients said, alls volat proprlis?I will fly with my own wings. Come weal, come woe, come dark, come light. I have fixed my mind, and nothing shall change It. You loved my mother better thun the rest of the world. You would have thought it no shame to have said so to your own father. Well, I say it to you?I'll stand by what my conscience and my soul have dictated to me. You call me a dreamer. Let it be so. I'm Irish; I'm a Celt. I've drunk deep of all that Ireland means. All that's behind me is my own, back to the shadowy kings of Ireland, who lost life and gave it because they believed in what they did. So will I. If I'm to walk the hills no more on the estate where you ure master, let it be so. I have no fear; I want no favor. If it is to be prison, then it shall be prison. If it is to be shame, then let it be shame. These are days when men must suffer if they make mlsfnL-ot IVoll T will differ fpnrlpsslv If helplessly, but I will not break the onth which I have taken. And so I will not do It?never?never?never!" "But of one thing have you thought?" asked his father. "You will not tell the cause of the quarrel, for the reason that you might hurt somebody. If you don't tell the cause, and you are condemned, won't that hurt somebody even more?" For a moment Dyck stood silent, absorbed. His face looked plncjied, his whole appearance shriveled. Then, with deliberation, he said: "This Is not a matter of expediency, but of principle. My heart tells me what to do, and my heart has always been right." There was silence for a long time. At last the old man drew the cloak about his shoulders and turned toward the door. "Walt a minute, father," said Dyck. "Don't go like that. You'd better not come and see me again. If I'm condemned, go back to Playmore; if Tm acquitted, go back to Playmore. That's the place for you to be.. You've got your own troubles there." "Ami von?If vou're set free?" "If I'm acquitted, I'll take to the high seas?till I'm cured." A moment later, without further words, Dyck was alone. He heard the door clang. He sat for some time on the edge of his bed, burled In dejection. Presently, however, the door opened. "A letter for you, sir," said the jailer.' The light of the cell was dim, but Dyck managed to read the letter without great difficulty, as the writing was almost as precise as print. The sight of it caught his heart like a warm band and pressed It. This was the substance of the letter: "My Dear Friend: "I have wanted to visit you In prison, but my mother has forbidden it, and so, even If I could be let to enter, I must not disobey her. I have not read the papers giving an account of your trial. . I only know you are ' barged with killing a bud man, notorious in Dublin life, and that many think he got his Just deserts in being killed. "I will not believe that your fate Is an evil one, that the law will grind you between the millstones of guilt and dishonor; but if the law should rail you guilty, I still will not believe. Far away I will think of you, and I believe In you. dear, masterful, madman friend. Yes, you are a madman, for Michael Clones told me?faith, he loves you well!?that you've been living a guy life in Dublin since you came here, and that the man you are accused of killing was In great part the cause of it. "I think I never saw my mother so troubled in spirit as she is at this time. Of course, she could not feel as 1 do about you. It Isn't that which ; makes her sad and haggard; it Is that I we are leaving Ireland behind. "Yes, she and I are saying good-by 1 to Ireland. That's why I think she might have let me see you before we ; went; but since it nnjst not be, well, then, it must not. Hut we shall meet 1 again. In my soul I know that on the hills somewhere far off, as on the first day we met, we shall meet each other once more. Where are we go- ' ing? Oh, very far! We are going to my Uncle Bryan?Bryan Llyn, In Virginia. A letter has come from him urging us to make our home with him. You see, my friend?" Then followed the story which Bryan Llyn had told her mother and herself, and she wrote of her mother's decision to go out to the new, great home which her uncle had made among the cotton fields of the South, ; When she had finished that part of the 1 tale, she went on as follows: "We shall know your fate only : through the letters that will follow us, but I will not believe In your bad luck. Listen to me?why don't you come to America also? Oh, think it l over! Don't believe the worst wili | come. When they release you from : prison, innocent and acquitted, cr'*? j the ocean and set up your tent soder | the Stars and Stripes. ~Mnk of It! Nearly all those men in America who fought under Washington and won were born in these Islands. They took with them to that far land the mem- ; ory and love of these old homes. You and I would have fought for England and with the British troops, because i 1 I we detest revolution. Here, in Ireland, we have seen Its evils; and yet If we had fought for the .Uulon Jack beyond the mountfins of Maine and In the lonely woods, we should, 1 believe, In the end have said that the freedom fought for by the American states was well won. "So keep this matter In your mind, as my mother and I will soon be gone. She would not let me come to you?I think I have never seen her so disturbed as when I asked her?and she forbade me to write to you; but I disobey her. Well, this Is a sad business. I know my mother has suffered. I know her married life was unhappy, and that her husband?my father?* died many a year ago, leaving a dark trail of regret behind him; but, you see, 1 never knew my father. That was oil long ago, and It is a hundred times best forgotten. "Our ship sails for Virginia In1 three days, and I must go. 1 will keep looking back to the prison where lies, i charged with an evil crime, of which he Is not guilty, a young man for i whom I shall always carry the spirit i of good friendship. "Do not believe all will not go well. The thing to do Is to keep the courage of our hearts and the faith of our souls, nnd I hope I always shall. I believe In you. and, believing, 1 say good-by. 1 say farewell in the great hope that somehow, somewhere, we shall help each other on the way of life. God be with you! "I am your friend, "SHEILA LLYN." "P. S.?I beg you to remember _.at America Is a good place for a young man to live In and succeed," Dyck regd the letter with a wonderful slowrfess. He realized that by happy accident?It could be nothing else?Mrs. Llyn hnd been able to keep from her daughter the fact that the man who had been killed In the tavern by the river was her father. Sheila's Ignorance must not be broken by himself. He had done the right thing?he hnd held his peace for the girl's sake, nnd he would hold It to the end. Slowly he folded up the letter, pressed it to his lips, and put It in the pocket over his heart BOOK II CHAPTER VIII. Dyck Calhoun Enters the World Again. 1 "Is It near the time?" asked Michael , Clones of his friend, as they stood in 1 front of the prison. < His companion, who was seated on a stone, wrapped .In dark-green cover- < Ings, faded and worn, and looking 1 pinched with coJd In the dour Novern- I ber day, said, without lifting his head: "Seven minutes, an' he'll be out i God blecs him!" "And save him and protect hlra!" : said Michael. "He deserved punishment no more than I did, and It's < broke him. I've seen the gray gather 1 at his temples, though he's only been i In prison four years. He was condemned to eight, but they've let hlra < free. I don't know why. Perhaps It was because of what he told the gov- i ernment about the French navy. I've i seen the Joy of life sob Itself down to I the sour earth. When I took him the < news of his father's death, and told i him the creditors were swallowing what was left of Playmore, what do I you think he did?" Old Christopher Dogan sraiieci; nis i eyes twinkled with a mirth which had more pain thail gaiety. "God love you, I know what he did. Ke flung out his hands and said. 'Let it go! It's nothing to me.' Michael, have I said true?" Michael nodded. "Almost his very words you've used, and he flung out his hands, as you said." "Aye, he'll be changed; but they've kept the clothes he had when he went to prison and he'll come out In them. I'm thinking?" "Ah, no!" Interrupted Michael. "That can't be, for his clothes was stole. Only a week ago he sent to me for a suit of my own. I wouldn't have him wear my clothes?he a gentleman ! It wasn't fitting. So I sent him a suit I bought from a shop, but he wouldn't have It. He would leave 'V I "I Have Never Shamed You, Miles) Calhoun." ? prison a poor man, as a peasant In peasant's clothes. So lie wrote to me. Here is the letter." He drew from his pocket a sheet of paper, and spread it out. "See?read it. Ah, weJI, never mind." he added, as old Christopher shook his head. "Never mind, I'll read It to you!" Thereupon lie read i the note, and aciuen: "\\eu see cum i of the Calhoun* risin' high hejont s poverty and misfortune some duy." t Old Christopher nodded. 1 "I'm gind Miles Calhoun was buried l on ihe hilltop ahove I'Inymore. lie had his day; he lived his life. Things went wrong with him, and he paid the price we all inusi pay for work 111- I done." J t "There you're rlgh?. Ct ristopher 1 Dogan, and I remember the day the f downfall began. It was when him t that's now Lord Mallow, governor of \ Jamaica, came to summon Calhoun to 1 Dublin. Things were never tfWsuine,! * ' v' / C *fter that; but 1 well remember one talk I had with Miles Calhoun Just be- w Tore his death: 'Michael,' he said to tl ate. 'ray family have had many ups h ind downs, and some that beur my h name have been In prison before this, si iut never for killing a man out of o; fair fight.' 'One of your name may h le in'prison, sir,' said I. 'but not for a killing a man out of fair fight. If tl rou believe he did, there's no death a ind enough for you!' He was silent v for a whUe;'then at last he whispered E Mr. Dyck's name, and said to me: tl Tell him that as a Calhoun 1 IdVe 1< 11m. and as his father I love him ten times more. For, look you. Michael, t' though we never ran together, but v quarreled und took our own paths, yet a we are both Calhoiwis, nnd my heart h Is wann to him. If my son were a o thousand limes a criminal, neverthe- t1 less I would ache to take him by the li hand.'" tl "Hush! Look at the prison gate," said his compunlon and stood up. d As the pates of the prison opened, a the sun broke through the clouds and l gave a brilliant phase to the scene. ^ v "Michael?Ever-Falthful Michael!'* k e Out of the gates there came slowly. 8 yet firmly, dressed In peasant clothes. c the stalwart but faded figure of Dyck tJ CaJhoun. Terribly changed he was. He had entered prison with the flush upon his j, cheek, the tilt of young manhood in j, his eyes, with hair black and hands it slender, and handsome. There was h IAAIT nf rAiitli lr* hla fapp nntv It uv ivvn ui j vuiu id ciiw *hvv m?.>( ? - p| was the face of a middle-aged man from which the dew of youth had vanished, Into which life's storms had come and gone. Though the body was held erect, yet the head was thrust slightly forward, and the heavy eye- j brows were like a penthouse. The eyes were slightly feverish, and round the mouth there crept a smile, half- 11 cynical, but a little happy. All freshness was gone from his hands. One hung at his side, listless, corded; the other doffed his hat In reply to the 3alute of his two humble friends. As the gates closed behind him he looked gravely at the two men, who were standing not a foot apart. There ^ swept slowly into his eyes, enlarging. 11 brightening them, the glamor of the u Celtic soul. Of all Ireland, or all who D had ever known him, these two were the only ones welcoming him Into the J world again! ^ Michael Clones, with his oval red fJ face, big nose, steely eyes and steadfast bearing, had in him the soul of a great kings. His hat was set tirmly on his head. His knee breeches were Sl neat, if coarse; his stockings were n clean. His feet were well shod, his 'J coat worn, and he had still the look that belongs to the well-to-do peas- ? int. He was a figure of courage and endurance. Dyck's hand went out to him and ' i warm smile crept to his lips. "Michael?ever-faithful Michael!" A moisture came to Michael's eyes. 01 He did not speuk as, with a look of s' gratitude, he clasped the hand Dyck ^ offered him. Presently Dyck turned to old Christopher with u kindly luugh. ? "Well, ohl friend! You, too, come ^ to see the stag set loose again? You're not many, that's sure." A grim, hard h ook came Into his face, but both hands went out and caught the old man's 0| shoulders affectionately. "This is no f( lay for you to be waiting at prison's rates, Christopher; but there are two nen who believe in me?two In all ' the world. It Isn't the killing," he JL added after a moment's silence?"it sn't the killing that hurts so. If it's j"'' :ruo that I killed Krris Boyne, what (| lurts most is the reason why I killed aim." "One way or another?does it matter io\v?" asked Christopher gently. "It Is that you think nothing maters since I've paid the price, sunk uyself in shame, lost my friends and come out with not a penny left?" asked Dyck. "Hut yes," ne added iv It'll a smile, wry and twisted. "Yes, [ have a little left!" lie drew from his pocket four small lieces of gold, and gazed ironically at hem in his palm. "Look at them!" He held out his land, so that the two men could see he littJe coins. "Those were taken "rom me when I entered prison. v rhey've been in the hands of the head >f the jail ever since. They give them o me now?all that's left of what I vas." "No. not ail, sir," declared Michael. 'There's something left from I 'lay- . nore?there's ninety pounds, and it's n my pocket. It was got from the iule of your sporting kit. There was ro lie boat upon the lake, the gun and all dials of riffraff stuff not sold with Maymore." Dyck nodded and smiled. p, "Good Michael!" I? Then he drew himself up stiffly and m dew in and out his breath as if with ,.i he Joy of living. For lour hard years ; m ie had been denied the free air of j ft roe men. Even when walking in ilf he prison yard, on cold or fair days. ' ,|t vhen the air was like a knife or when p| t had the mm of summer iu It, It still pi mil seemed to choke him. j w N Id prison he had read, thought and orked much. They had at leust done :iat for hlna. The attorney general ad given him freedom to work with is hands, and to slave In the workhop like one whose living depended n it Some philanthropic official ad started the idea of u workshop, nd the oflicials had given the best of tie prisoners a' chance to leurn trades nd make a little money before they >ent out into the world. All that )yck had earned went to purchase Idngs he needed, and to help bis fel>w prisoners or their faiMiles,. Where was he now? The gap hetveen the old life of nonchalance, friollty, fantasy and excitement was s great as that between heaven and ell. Here he was, ufter four years f prison, walking the highway with wo of the humblest creatures of Ireind, and yet, as his soul said, two of lie best. . Stalking along Ip thought, he sudenly became conscious that Michael nd Christopher hud fallen behind. Ie turned round. "Come on. Come on with me." But the two shook their heuds. "It's not fitting. you a CaJhoun of 'Inymore!" Christopher answered. "Well, then, listen to me." said )yck, for he saw the men could not eur ma new uciuucnii-y. i ui injury. In four years I haven't had a jenl that came from the right ,plure r went to the right spot. Is the title tavern, the Hen and Chicken, on he Llffeyside, still going? i mean he place where the seamen and the lerchant-ship officers visit." Michael nodded. "Well, look you, Michael?get you oth there, and order me as good a eal of fish and chops and haked udding as can be bought for money, lye, and I'll have a bottle of red 'rench wine and you two will have ?hat you like best Mark me. we'll it together there, for we're one of a ind. I've got to take to a life that ts me, an ex-Jailbird, a man that's een in prison for killing I" "There's the king's army," said Ilchael. "They make good officers In t" A strange, half-sore smile came to )yck's thin lips. ? ^ "Michael," said he, "give up these nin illusions. I was condemned for filing a man not In fair fight. 1 can't nter the army as an officer, and you hould know It. The king ktmself ould set me up again; but the dismce between him and me Is teij times ound the world and back again! No, iy friends, what is In my mind now 3 that I'm hungry. For four years ve eaten the bread of prison, and :'s soured nty mouth and galled my elly. Go you to that Inn and make eady a good meal." Dyck enliata as a quota man in the Britiah navy. (TO BE CONTINUED.) VHAT THEY MIGHT HAVE SAID ome Possible Expressions of the Mothers of Shakespeare's lm mortal ncroincs. Hamlet's Mother?Why don't you an around like other boys, Instead of loping here, muttering to yourself nd looking like a graveyard? You iuke tny flesh creep. Ophelia's Mother?One would think ou were Insane to see you rolling our eyes and throwing those old owers around. IMck them all up, he, before somebody steps on theui nd stains the carpet! Katherlne's Mother ? You've been cratchIng your sister's face 'again, nd you shook your flst and stuck our tongue out at the new minister jst now. March right to bed withut your supper! Juliet's Mother?You were kissing a [range little boy through the fence rday. You'll get a good spanking If find you doing It again. Romeo's Mother (calls)?Rorae.v, ome In out of the night air! You can ?e the moon without climbing on the tiicken house! 1 never saw such a Illy Billy! Portia's Mother ? Was there ever more conceited child? Always layig down the law to your elders as ' you knew It all! Rosalind's Mother?For the love of enven, Rosie, where did you find lose boy's togs? Take them off at nee and don't let rne see any mora ?niboy tricks! Lady Macbeth's Mother?When 1 put ou in bed I want you to stay there nd not go prowling through the hall 1 your nightie with a candle. You'll vnnr itpufh o' cold and set the oils.* afire!?(leorgiana Cheesman in le New York Sun. Perfidious Albion. The phrase "Albion perflde" (perfllous Albion) Is generally attributed ) Napoleon, who undoubtedly used , though the Idea long antedated the rent emperor. Thus Perlin In his Description ties Royaulmes d'Angle?rre at d'Ecosse" (1o8S), says: Due may say of the English that In ar they are not strong, and In peace ley ore not faithful." The Spaniard jys: "Angleterre bonne terre jnala ?nte" (England, good country, bad ?ople). On the other hand Francois [axetnlllen Nlsson, the noted French riter, who had lived among the Enssh many years while In exile, and new the people well, says In big navels" (1719): "I cannot imagine hat could occasion the notion rl.'nt have frequently observed In France mt the English were treacherous. It certainly great injustice to reckon eacbery among the '-ices familiar i the English." Protecting Big Trees. An Ingenious California tig-grower is bit upon a novel scheme for keepg ants from climbing his trees u.id hiding his figs, lie bus surrounded ich individual fig tree with a little oat, lined with cement. which Is kept ill of water. Any ant so Imprudent i to attempt approach Is certain to be owned. The fig orchard being supled with water by Irrigation, the oblem "f keeping the little circular oats tilled offers no dlllicultiea. IMPROVED UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL SimdaySchool J ' Lesson' -J (By REV. P. B. FITZWATER, D. D., Teacher of English Bible In the Moody Bible Institute of Chicago.) ? (?. 1921. Western Newspaper Union.) LESSON FOR AUGUST 14 <* PAUL IN ICONIUM AND LY6TRA. LESSON TEXT-Acts 14:1-28. GOLDEN TEXT?Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve.?Matt. 4:10. REFERENCE MATERIAL?Matthew 10:16-18. PRIMARY TOPIC?Paul Heals a Cripple. j JUNIOR TOPIC?Paul's Narrow Escape at Lystra. * INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOPIC ?Early Adventures In Asia Minor. , YOUNG PEOPLE AND ADULT TOPIC ?Examples of Paul's Missionary Methods. iJ I. Paul and Barnabas Preaching at Iconium (vv. 1-7). , , As to their work in Iconium observe : x 1. Their manner of preaching. This Is suggested by the little word "so" in ^ verse 1. They "so" spake that a great multitude believed. They were true preachers. Only that which brings conviction of sin and induces decision for Christ can be truly said to be preaching in the biblical sense, The same Is true of the Sunday school teacher. Let every Sunday school teacher at all times have as his supreme aim to bear the gospel of Christ so as to Induce decision for Christ. 2. Their attitude toward opposition. This Is suggested by the word "therefore" in verse 3. "Long time therefore they Carried." The opposition did not prevent their preaching, but incited them to continue preaching. Christian workers should learn not to give up work because of opposition. 3. The Lord accompanied their preaching with miracles (v. 3). Since the opposition was so fierce, special help of the Lord was heeded. 4. The effect of their preaching > k (v. 4). The multitude of the city was divided. Where men faithfully preach the gospel there will be division. II. Attempt to Worship Paul and Barnabas as Gods (w.-8-18). 1. The occasion (vy. 8-10)?the healing of the lame man. Qod's gracious / power exhibited in healing this lame man occasioned a new dlfiiculty. That which ought to have been a help was turned into a hindrance. The man was a confirmed cripple. He had never walked. He heard Paul's preuchlng, which caused faith to be born in his heart (Rom. 10:17). When Paul perceived that he trusted Christ, he> called > with a loud voice that all could hear ' for the man to stand upright. The cure t J wns Instant, for he leaped up and / ' walked (v. 1(1). There was no magnetic touch, no treatment, only the cpmmand, and the naturally Impossible ? became the possible and the real. 2. The method (vv. 11-13). They called Barnabas Jupiter and Paul Mercury, because he was the chief speaker. The priest of Jupiter brought oxen and garlands ready to offer sacrifices unto those men (v. 11). if they had only known, In the person of Jesus Christ God had actually appeared to men (John 1:}4; Phil. 2:7, 8). 3. Their efforts frustrated (vv. 1418). This foolish act was happily "' ortiul hir (hu fonf rif tho unnatlPK AA exhibited In the address of-dhe oeca- i slon. (1) They deny that tlie^M aydlvlne beings and declare that to wdr* '' . ship beings with like passion to themselves is criminal. (2) They direct them to turn away from these vala things unto the living God who made heaven and earth and has ever ,left witness of Himself In that He'has always done good, giving rain ' and j ^ fruitful seasons, filling their hearts with gladness. III. The Stoning of Paul (vv. 19-22). Wicked Jews from Antioch and Iconlum pursued Paul with relentless v hate to this place, where they stirred up the very people who were willing to worship them a little while ago. This shows that satanic worship can soon be turned Into satanic hate. This hatred took forrtr In stoning Paul and 4 dragging him out of the city for dead. God raised him up, and with undaunted courage he pressed on with his du ties as a missionary bearing the good tidings to the lost. Soon after this Paul turned back and revisited the places where he had preached, telliug them that through greut tribulation they must enter into the kingdom of God. IV. The Organization of Churches in *? ? ? J / no oo\ IB ine rieia ^v\. n Evangelization with Paul did not V mean a hasty and superficial preach- ^ ing of the gospel but the establishment of a permanent work. Elders were j appointed in every church. The work of the missionary is not done until there are established on the field self-governing and self-propaguting churches. J The Present Moment. Our life is all a mistake largely because we do not use the opportunity of "the present moment." The best ^ preparation for the future is the present well seen to and the last duty well done. We look back mournfully over the past and ask ourselves what we have accomplish?d, the amount of good done, and we are surprised at its paucity; we have allowed precious ^ time to dribble through our fingers like sand. We have overlooked the fact that "the opportunity of a lifetime must be grasped during the lifetime of the opportunity, which is generally brief." It is no use waiting till we have more time, more powers, more money, more advanatges, we must use what we possess, give readily what wo have got and develop the energy and use of the talents of the present moment. m Wise Work and Foolish Work. What is wise work and what Is foolish work? What is the difference between sense and nonsense, In daily + occupation? Well, wise work is, briefly, work with God. Foolish worltf is work against God.?"The Crown of * Wild OHves," by Buskin. % / J