Cheraw chronicle. (Cheraw, S.C.) 1896-2005, August 11, 1921, Image 6
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. , 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