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i i j ; i Tno* m - - i \ ? "GO ON?TELL ALL!" Synopsis.?Dyck Calhoun, gifted young Irish gentleman of the time J of the French and American revo Jutlons. meets Sheila L,iyn, seven- . teen-year-old girl visiting In the | neighborhood. They are mutually attracted. Sheila never knew her dissipated father, Erris Boyne, her mother having divorced him. In Dublin Leonard Mallow and Dyck 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. While Dyck 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 or not. Sheila begs her mother to go to Dublin with , her to help Dyck. Mrs. Llyn opI poses the Idea. A letter from Mrs. Llyn's wealthy brother In America decides them to go and live with him. Dyck refuses y> enter any * plea except "No Defense." He might have escaped by revealing Boyne's treachery but refuses on Sheila's account. He Is sent to prison for eight years. Sheila writes Dyck, assuring him of her j belief In his Innoocence. Released after serving four years, Dyck finds himself destitute, his father dead. In London Dyck receives a letter from Sheila Inviting him to come to America and sending money for the voyage. He feels he cannot In honor go to her. Dyck Joins the * British navy as an enlisted man. Bad conditions in the fleet result In mutiny. Dyck, Joining the mutineers, Is chosen by them to command the ship, ths Ariadne. Dissatisfied with the conduct of the other ships' crews, Dyck breaks with them and sails the Ariadne to the West Indies. He arrives in time to turn the tide of victory In a battle between the French and English fleets. Calhoun Is arrested for his part In the mutiny but thanked by the admiral for his work In the battle. The British government gives Dyck the freedom of the Island of Jamaica, of which his old enemy, Lord Mallow, | is governor. With a companion. . Dyck secures treasure worth ?40.000 from a sunken Spanish ship, and becomes a wealthy and respected j planter. Sheila comes to Jamaica. Dyck ana Sheila s momer uwuo i tha' the girl must be told all the truth about her father's death. ' & C (CHAPTER XV?Continued.) ?9? Ever since the day when she had seen Dyck Calhoun at Spanish Town she had been disturbed in mind. Dyck had shown a reserve which she felt was not wholly due to his having been imprisoned for manslaughter. In one way he looked little older. His physique wus us good or'better than when * she first saw him on the hills of Playmore. It was athletic, strenuous, elastic. Yet there was about It the abandonment of despair?at least of reckless- ; * ness. That much was to be said for him, that he had not sought to influence her to his own advantage. She was so surrounded In America by men who knew her wealth and prized her beauty, she was so much a figure In * Virginia, that any reserve with regard to herself was noticeable. She was enough feminine to have pleasure in I, lilt* mil HIUl MIC v>U9 mvugut uvo..? ? by men; yet it played an Insignificant part in her life. It did not give her conceit. It was only like a frill on the skirts of life. It did not play any part in her character. Certainly Dyck : Calhoun had not fluttered her. That one to whom she had written, as she had done, should remove him- , self from the place of the deserving friend, one whom she had not deserted i while he was in Jail as a criminal? ! that he should treat her so, gave every j nerve a thrill of protest. At the lodg- ' Ings in Spanish Town, after Dyck Cal- j houn had left, her mother had briefly ! said that she had told Dyck he could * not expect the conditions of the Playmore friendship should be renewed; that, in effect, she had warned hint , off. To this Sheila had said that the | * killing of a man whose life was bad ; might be punishable. In any case, thut thing was In another laud, under abnormal conditions; and, with utter lack of logic, she saw no reason why he should be socially punished in Jamaica for what he had been legally punished for in Ireland. As for the mutiny, he had done what any honest man of spirit would do; also, he had by greut bravery and skill brought victory to the king's fleet in West In diun waters. Then It wus she told her mother how she hud always disobeyed her eommauds where I)yck was concerned; That she hud written to him while he was In Jail; that she had come to Jamaica more to see him than to reform Salem; that she hud the old Celtic spirit of brotherhood, and she would not be driven from It. In a sudden burst of anger her mother had ! charged her with deceit; but the girl i said she had followed her conscience, and she dismissed It ull with u ges- j tare as emphatic us her mother's an- ; ger. That night they had dined with Lord Mallow, and she saw that his attentions had behind them the deep purpose of marriage. Lord Mallow had ability and knew how to use it; and he was never so brilliant as on this afternoon, for they dined while It was still daylight and hardly evening. "I saw a man's her..* 011 a pole on my way hack to King's house. You have to use firm methods here," Sheila said. "It Is not all a rose garden. You have to apply force?" ? Lord Mallow smiled grimly. "C'est \ la force morale toujours." "Ah. I should not have thought ft was moral force always," was the # Ironical reply. 'We have criminals here," declared 'he governor with aplomb, "and they teed some bundling, I assure you. We have in this Island one of the worst criminals lu the British empire." * DEF1 V . ILBERT P "Ah, I thoupht tie was In the Uui- I ted States!" answered the girl, sedute- I ly. I "Vou mean General Georpc Washlnp- 1 ton," remarked the povernor. "No, it I Is one who was a friend and fellow- s countryman of yours before he took to killinp unarmed men." i "You refer to Mr. Dyck Calhoun, 1 I doubt not, sir? Well, he Is still a 1 friend of mine, and -f saw him today 1 ?this afternoon, before I came here. I I understood that the crown had par- 1 doned his mutiny." < The povernor was annoyed. ' "The crime Is there Just the same," ! he replied. "He nfutinled, and he stole ' a kirip's ship, and took command of 1 It, and broupht It out here." i " A ? ?-l ?--1 Icl?n,l i ca?c\i kwu uuu ^uui loiunui * understand." I "Ah, he snld that, did he?" < "He snld nothing at all to me about ] It. I have been reading the Jamaleu i Cornwall Chronicle the last three 1 years." 1 "He Is ever a source of anxiety to < me," declared the governor. 1 "I knew he was once In Phoenix 1 park years ago," was the demure yet sharp reply, "but I thought he was a 1 good citizen here?a good anfl well-to- 1 do citizen." ' Lord Mallow flushed slightly. "Phoe- ' nix park?ah, he was a capable fellow with the sword! I said so always, 1 and I'd back him now against a champion; but many a bad man hns been 1 a good swords|?an." "So, that's what good swordsmanship does, Is it? *1 wondered what It ' was that did It. I hear you fight him still?but with a bludgeon, and he 1 dodges It." "I do not understand," declared Lord 1 Mallow tartly. . 1 "Ah, wasn't there some difference over his going for the treasure to Haiti? Some one told me. I think, that you were not In favor of his getting his tlcket-of-leave, or whatever ' It Is called, and that the provost mar- ' shal gave it to hlra, as he had the ! right to do." "You have wide sources of Information In this case. I wonder " ' "No, your honor need not wonder. I was told that by a gentleman on the ' steamer coming here. He was a native of this Island, I think?or per- ' haps it was the captain, or the mate, or the boatswain, I can't recall. Or maybe It came to me from my man- ^ ager, uarius coianu, wno nears Tilings wherever he Is, one doesn't know how; hut he hears them. He Is to me what i your aide-de-camp Is to you," she nodded towurd a young man nearby at ( the table. "You shall see my Dnrlus Boland?Indeed you have seen him. j He was there today when you pave me the distinction of your presence." "That dry. lean, cartridge of a fel-1! low, that pair of pincers with a face 1" "And a tongue, your honor. If you did not hear It, yet you will hear It. He Is to be ray manager here. So he will be under your control?If I permit him." "If you permit him, mistress?" "If I permit him, yes. You are a power, but you are not stronger than the laws and rules you make. For Instance, there was the case of Mr. Dyck Calhoun. When he came, you were for tying him up In one little corner , of the Island?the hottest part, I know, near to Kingston, where it averages ninety degrees In the shade at any time of the year. But the king you represent had not restricted his liberties so, and you being the king, that Is, yourself, were forced to abide by your own regulations. So it may be the same with Darius Boland. lie J may want something, and you, high up, looking down, will say, 'What dev- |1 iltry Is here." and decline. He will then j IIIMI i! i m m iin ^ I "You Refer to Mr. Dyck Calhoun, I Doubt Not, Sir." turn to your chief justice or provost marshal general, or a deputy of the provost marshal, and they will say that ! Darius Behind shall have what he wants. bectiuse it is the will of the , will you represent." Almost the Inst words the governor used to her were these: "Thofce only live at peace here who are at peace with me;" and her reply had been: "But Mr. Dyck Calhoun lives at peace, does he not, your honor?" To that he had replied: "No man is at peace while he has yet desires to satisfy." lie paused a minute and then added:' "That Krrls Boyne killed hy Dyck CirUmun?did you ever see him that you remember?" "Not that I remember." she replied quickly. "I never lived in Dublin." "That may be. But did you ever know his history?" She shook her j head in negation. His eyes searched ENS! ARKER % tier face carefully, and lie was aston Ished when he saw no sign of con 'usion there. "Good God, she doesn' Snow. She's never been told!" he salt to himself. "This Is too startling. I'l speak to the mother." A little later he turned from th liother with astonishment. "It's mad less," he remarked to himself. "Sh tvlll tind It out. Some one will tel ler. ... By heaven. I'll tell he Irst." he hastily said. "When slv cnows the truth, Calhoun will have m chance on earth. Yes, I'll tell her my self. But I'll tell 110 one else," h added; for he felt that Sfiella, one ?he knew the truth, would resent hi flavins told abroad the true story 0 the Erris Boyne affair. So Sheila and her mother had gon to their lodgings with depression, bu ?ach with a clear purpose in her mind Mrs. Llyn was determined to tell he laughter what she ought to hav known long before; and Sheila wa firm to make the od? man who hai ?ver Interested her understand tha lie was losing much that was wort! while keeping. Then had followed the journey t Salem. Yet all the while for Shelh pne dark thought kept hovering ove efterything. Why should life be a complicated? Why should this on man who seemed capable and ha< the temperament of the Irish hills am vales be the victim of punishment am shame?why should he shame her? Suddenly, without her mother' knowledge, she sent Darius Bolam through the hills in the early morn Ing to Ennlskillen, Dyck Calhoun' place, with a letter which said onl, this: "Is it not time that you cam to wish us well in our new home? W shall expect you tomorrow." When Dyck read this note he though t was written by Sheila, but inspire' py the mother; and he lost no tim in making his way down across th country to Salem, which he reaches 1 foiv hours after sunrise. At th loorway of the house he met Mrs Llyn. "Have you told her?" he asked li inxlety. Astonished at his presence, sh ?ould make no reply for a moment 'I have told her nothing," she an iwered. "I meant to do so this mom ng. 1 meant to do it?I must." "She sent me a letter asking If 1 tvas not time I came to wish you wel In your house, and you and she woul i-xj^ct me today." "1 knew naught of her writing you, ;vas the reply?"naught at all. Bu now that you are here, will you no tell her all?" Dyck smiled grimly. "Where Is she? he asked. "I will tell her." The mother pointed down the gai den. "Yonder by the clump of palm I saw her u moment ago. If you g thut wuy you will find her." In another moment Dyck Calhou was on his way to the clump of palms and before he reached It the girl cam out into the path. When she saw bin she gave a slight sturt, then stood stll und he came to her. "I have your letter," he said, "an I came to say what I ought to sa about your living here; you will brln blessings to the place." She looked at him steadfastly "Shall we talk here," she said, "or li side the house? There is a little she tor here In the trees"?pointing to th right?"a shelter built by the lat manager. It has the covering of hut, but It Is open at two sides. WI1 you come?" As she went on ahead he could no fail to notice how slim and trim sh was, how perfectly her figure seerae :o fit her gown?as though she had bee poured into it; and yet the folds c her skirt waved and floated like silk flouds around her! Under cover c the shelter she turned and smiled a him. "You have seen my mother?" "I have just come from her," he at swered. "She bade me tell you wha ought to have been told long ago, an you were no!) for there seemed n reason that you should. The sorrow that had come to your mother b< longed to days when you were scare out of the cradle. But you did no know. You were not aware that you mother hud divorced your father fo crime against marital lidelity an great cruelty. You did not know eve who that father was. Well, I mus tell you. Your father was a ham some man. a friend of mine until knew the truth about him, and the he died?I killed him, so the cour said." Her face became ghastly pale. Afte a moment of anguished bewilderment she said: "You mean that Krris Boyn was my miner; "Yes. I mean that. They say killed him. They say he was foun with no sword drawn, but that m open sword lay on the table beside rn while I was asleep, and that it ha< let out his life-blood." "Why was lie killed?" she asket horror-stricken and with pale lips. "I do not know, but if I killed bin U was because I revolted from th proposals hy made to me. I?" He paused, for the look on her far was painful to see, and her body wa as that of one who had been strue by lightning. His heart smote bin and he pulled himself together to tei her all. "Go on," she said. "I want to heal I want?to know all. I ought to huv known?long ago; but that can't b helped now. Coutlnuc?please." Her words had come slowly, in gasp almost, and her voice was so fraye he could scarcely recognize it. All th pride of her nature seemed shatterei "If 1 killed him," he said present!' "it was because he tried to tempt m from my allegiance to the crown, t become u servant of France, to?" ? Authi f "The Seats ol ^ "The Righ i- He stopped short, for a cry came i- from her lips which appalled him. t "My God?my God!" she said with 1 bloodless lips, her eyes fastened on I his face, her every look and motion the Inflection of despair. "Go on?tell f-' all," she added presently with more I- composure. e Swiftly he described what hapI pened In the little room at the tralr tor's tavern, of the momentary recone dilation and the wine that he drank, u drupped wine poured out but not I " drunk by Krrls Boyne, and of his later 0 unconsciousness. At last he paused. B "Why did these things not eorae out 8 nt the trial?" she asked In hushed < ' tones. He made a helpless gesture. "I did e not spqak of them because I thought 1 of you. I hid it?I did not want you ' to know what your father was." r Something like a smile gathered nt 1 e her pale lips. "You saved me for the * moment, and condemned yourself for1 ever," she snld In a voice of torture. I "If you had told what he was?If you ' had told that, the Jury would not have condemned you, they would not have 0 sent you to prison." II "I believe I did the right thing," he r said. "If I killed your father, prison was my proper punishment. But I can't j remember. There was no other clue, ^ no other guide to Judgment. So the j law said I killed him, and?he hnd evidently not drawn his sword. It s was clear he was killed defenseless." "You killed a defenseless man!" Her voice was sharp with agony. s "That was mentioned at the trial? y but I did not believe It then?In that p long ago." She trembled to her feet n 'They Say I Killed Him." j, e from the bench where she was sitting, i, "And I do not believe it now?no, on I, my soul. I do not." "But it makes no difference, you d see. I was condemned for killing y your fnther, and the world knows that g Erris Boyne was your father, and here Lord Mallow, the governor, knows f. it; and there Is no chance of friend> ship between you and me. You dare I- not lie friends with me?" ? Her face suddenly suffused and she e held herself upright with an effort a She was nbout to say, "I dare, Dyck? 11 I do dare!" but he stopped her with a reproving gesture. >t "No, no, you dare not, and I would e not let you if you would. I am an exd convict They say I killed your fnn ther, and the wny to understanding between us is closed." y She made a protesting gesture. "Closed! Closed!?But is it closed? No, no, some one else killed him, not you. You couldn't have done It You would have fought him?fought him l* as you did Lord Mallow, nnd in fightlt lag you might have killed him, but d your sword never let out his life 0 when he was defenseless?never." s A look of Intense relief, almost of happiness, cunie to Dyck's face. "That e Is like you, Sheila, but It does not * cure the trouble. You and I are as r far apart as noon and midnight. The r law has said the only thing that can d be said upon It." n She sank down again upon the j !t wooden bench. "Oh, how mad you I* were, not to tell the whole truth long 1 ago! You would not have been con- j n detuned, and then?" t She paused, overcome, and his selfcontrol almost deserted him. With r strong feeling he burst out: "And b then we might have come together? e No, your mother?your friends, myself could not have let that be. See, Sheila, 1 I will tell you the whole truth now? ^ aye, the whole absolute truth. I have j y loved you since the first day I saw e you on the ldlls. Not a day has ! d i passed since then, when you were not ! more to me than any other woman in ' all the world." A new light came Into her face, the ' shadows left her eyes and the pallor e , n,.(1 from her llns. "You loved me?" I i she sold in ti voice grown soft?husky j e still, hut soft as the light In n sum- ' 8 nier heaven. "You loved me?and have always loved me since we first i ' met?" II "I have always loved you, Sheila, j j and shall do so while I have breath I r, and life. I have always given you the | e j best that Is In me, tried to do what i e was good for us both,, since my misfortune?crime, I.ord Mallow calls It, >s as does the world. Never a sunrise d .that does not find you in the forefront e of all the lighted world; never a flower I. have I seen that does not seem sweeter f, ! ?It brings thoughts of you; never a e crime that does not deepen its shame o , because you are In the world. In pris| on, when I used to mop my floor aud 13 a ,| Dr of ;; f the Mighty" ;; it of Way" tl Copyright by Sir Gilbert Parker =-l 0 t( clean down the walls; when I swept the dust from the corners; when I t( folded tip nty convict-clothes; when c I ate the prison food and sang the S( prison-hymns; when I placed myself beside the hench In the workshop to j, make things that would bring cash to h my fellvw-prlsoners in their need; e when I saw a minister of religion or w heard the Litany; when I counted up g the days, first that I had spent In Jail a and then the days I had still to spend In Jail; when I read the books from n the prison library of the land where fi you had gone, and of the# struggle there; when I saw you, In my mlud's eye, In the cotton fields or on the ve- s randa of your house In Virginia; I had but one thought, and that was the I look In your face at Playmore and d Limerick, the sound of your voice as you came singing up ine nut jusi utrftire I first met you, the Joyous beauty of your body." "And at sea?" she whispered with a gesture at once beautiful and pathetic, for It had the motion of helplessness and hopelessness. "At sea," he answered, with his eyes full of intense feeling?"at sea, I was j free at last, doomed as I thought, an- A gulshed In spirit, and yet with a wild , hope that out of It would come deliverance. I expected to lose my life, I and I lived each day as though It j would be my last. I was chief rogue In a shlpful of rogues, chief sinner | In a hell of sinners, and yet I had no remorse and no regret. I had done all with an honest purpose, with the F good of the sailors In my mind; and so I lived In dally touch with death, honor and dishonor? Vet I never saw a sailor In the shrouds, or heard the night wntch call 'All's well!' In the midst of the night and mutiny, that I did not long for a word from you that would take away the sting of death. Those days at sea for ten long weeks were never free from anxiety, not anxiety for myself, only for the men who had put me where I was, had " given me captain's rank, hud?" Suddenly he stopped, and took from his pocket the letter he was writing on 1 the .very day she landed In Jamaica. ^ He opened It and studied It for a momerit with a dark look In his face. "This I wrote even as you were landIng In Jamaica, and I knew naught of your coming. It was an outbreak of t my soul. It was the truth written to I you and for you, and yet with the b feeling that you would never see It. I f was still writing It when Michael ? Clones came up the drive to tell me v you and your mother were here. Here s it is with all the truth and terror In c It-i-aye, theretwas terror, for It gave a the soul of my life to one I never r thought to see again; and, If seeing, 5 should be compelled to do what I have s done?tell her the whole truth at once a and so have it over. t "But do not think that In telling It 1 now 1 repent of my secrecy. I repent ' of nothing; 1 would not alter anything. F Whut was to be Is, and what Is has Its r place in the book of destiny. No, 1 8 repent nothing, yet here now I give I you this to read while still ray story of b tne days of which you know is In your Q..ro Hpro it is. it will tell the whole story; for when you have' read It and y do understand, then we part to meet no n more as friends. You will go back to S Virginia, and I will stay here. You t will not regret coming here; but you a will desire our friendship to cease; und what has been to be no more, while v the tincture of life Is In your veins, f. Sheila, read this thing, for It is the rest of the story until now." n hie handed her the papers, and she look them with an inclination of the s heud which said: "Give it to me. 1 M will reud it now while my eyes can v still bear to read it. I have laid on ray heart the nettle of shame, and while t It Is still burning there I will read all h that you have to teach me." "1 will go out in the garden while t you read it," he said. "In a half-houi 1 will come back, and then we can say good-by," he added, with puln in his voice, but lirmly. "No, do not go," she urged. "Sit here on the bench?at the end of It here," she said, motioning with her hand. He shook his head In negation. "No, " 1 will go and say to your mother that 1 1 have told you, and ease her mind, u t L-nnw ?hi> herself meant to tell you." n As lie went he looked nt her face closely. It was so young, so paretic, so pule, yet so strangely beautiful, and her forehead was serene. That was one of her characteristics. In all her life, her forehead remained untroubled and unllned. Only at her mouth and In her eyes did misery or sorrow show. He looked Into her eyes now, and he was | pleased with what he saw; for they had In them the glow of understanding and the note of will which said: "You and I are parted, but 1 believe In you, r and I will not show I am a weak wont- il an by futile horror. We shall meet no c more, but I shall remember you." ti As he turned away, it was with the b sharp conviction that he had dealt a e blow front which the girl would re- 1 cover, but wouftl never be the same I again. She was rich "beyond the ' dreams of avarice," but that would not V console her. She had resources within n herself, had what would keep her " steady. Her lips opened as though she n would say something, but nothing came l< from them. She only shook her head I f' sadly, as If to say: "You understand. ! " Go, and when you come again. It will P be f<?r us to part In peace?at least In a peace." ? Out In the garden he found her mother. After the first agitated greet- h Ing?agitated on her part?he said: r "The story has been told, and she Is h now reading?" He told her the story of the manuscript, and added that Sheila had carried herself with courage. Presently the woman said to him: > She never believed you killed Errls oyne. Well, It may not help the sltutlon, hut I say, too, that I do not beeve you ''Id/ I cannot understand hy you did not deny having killed I m." "I could not deny. In any case, the iw punished me for It, and the book i closed forever." "Have you never thought that some ne?" "Yes, I have thought, but who Is acre? The crowd at the Dublin ho?1 where the thing was done were ecret, and they would lie the apron ff n bishop. No, there Is no light, and, d tell the truth, I care not now." "But If you are not guilty?It Is not oo late; there Is my girl! If the real rlminal should appear?can you not ee?" The poor woman, dlstressedly pale, er hair still abundant, her eyes still right, her pulses nglow, as they had ver heen, made a gesture of appeal Ith hands that were worn and thin, he hud charm still, In a way as great s her daughter's. "I can see; but, Mrs. Llyn, I have o hope. I am a man whom some men ear?" "Lord Mallow!" she Interjected. "He does not fear me. Why do you ay that?" "I speak with a woman's Intuition, don't know what he feprs, but he oes fear you. You are a son of his Have You Never Thought That Sorr.e One?" ory; you had a duel with him, and eat him; you have always beaten ilm, even here where he has been upreme as governor?from first to ast, you have beaten him." "I hope I shall be even with him at he last?at the very last," was Dyck Jalhoun's reply. "We were made to e foes. We were from the first. I elt It when I saw him at Playmore. nothing has changed since then. He vill try to destroy me here, but I will ee It through. The man Is a fool. I ould help him here, but he will have ione of It, and be is running great isks. He hns been warned that the laroons are restive, that the black laves will rise If the Maroons have ny Initial success, and he will listen o no advice. And up there"?he urned and pointed?"up there In Treawney the Maroons are plotting and ilannlng, and any day an explosion nay occur. If It occurs no one will be afe, especially If the blacks rise too? mean the black slaves. There will e no safety then for any one." "For us as well, you mean 7" "For you as well as all others, and ou are nearer to Trelawney than aost others. You are In their path, lo be wise, Mrs. Llyn, and get back o Virginia as soon as may be. It Is better place than this." "My daughter Is mistress here," ras the sorrowful reply. "She will ave her own way." "I will teLl her what I fear, and she nay change her mind." "But the governor may want her to tay," answered Mrs. Llyn none too agely, but with that in her mind k-hlch seemed to Justify her. "Lord Mallow?oh, If you think here Is an Influence In him to keep er, that Is another question," said )yck with a grim smile. "But, neverheless, I think you should leave here nd go back to Virginia. It Is no safe lace for two ladles, In all sense^. Vhatever Lord Mallow thinks or does, his Is no place for you. This place Is our daughter's, for her to do what he chooses with It, and I think she ught to sell It. There would be no rouble In getting a purchaser. It Is nut? "Hut the governor might not think s you do; he might not wish It sold." "Good-by?God protect you!" he added, looking into Sheila'a eyea. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Pens Prized by Collectors. Pens occupy their place us historic plies and there are collectors of such hings as there are collectors of old hairs, old hooks, cdd canes and posage stamps. A quill pen said to hove een used by Dickens wns sold sevral years ago In London for $17. 'he pen with which the treaty of arls was signed was one of the rel?s left hy the late Empress Eugenie. '? *-1 a.lnr?o L?nmt? tlio dutnnnrl \ llMllllKlwiiiano nuvff vr?. inde upon the President for the pens rith which he signed Important bills, nd they have also rend that a Prealent has sometimes used three or our pen* In writing his signature, rrltlng his first name with one en, dotting an "1" with another, nd so on. It Is nlso said that ,'hen a state paper which It Is beeved will be considered historic Is to e signed by the President there Is Ivalry among pen manufacturers to nve a specimen of their product used. His ^hereabouts. First Flea?Been on a vacation? Second Flea?Nope on u tramp.? tew York World. IMPROVED UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL SundaySchool ' Lessonf (By REV. p. B. FITZWATER, D. D.. Teacher of English Bible In the Moody Bible Institute of Chicago.) . . (?, 1921, Western Newspaper Union.) Lesson for September is ABSTINENCE FOR SAKE OF OTHERS (TEMPERANCE LESSON). LESSON TEXT?I Cor. 10:23-33 ; 3:16, 17.. GOLDEN TEXT?Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.?I Cor, 10:31. REFERENCE MATERIAL?Rom. 12:1; 14:13-21; 16:1, 2; I Cor. 6:9-20; 9:19-27. PRIMARY TOPIC?A Clean. Strong Body. JUNIOR TOPIC?How to Win the Race. INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOPIC ?Presenting One's Body a Living Sacrifice YOUNG PEOPLE AND ADULT TOPIC ?The True Meaning of Temperance. The occasion of this teaching was the uncertainty as to the right attitude towurd "things sucrlflced unto Idols." This problem was most vital while the Christians were In the midst of the heathen, and with some modifications no less vital still. In mingling with society many perplexing questions arise, such as amusements, way or spending sunuay, enjoyment of luxuries, owning stock In certain corporations, etc. Our lesson contains principles adequate for our guidance In all these problems. It was customary to divide the animal offered In sacrifice Into three purts. One part was consumed on the altar, another part was given V the priest, and the third part was kept by the party bringing the offering. The priest's part was frequently sold In the markets. The part which the offerer kept was sometimes eaten at home and sometimes In the court of the temple. The Christian who bought meat In the market was liable to get meat which had been dedicated to the idol god. Then, too, one would be invited to eat socially at the table of someone who had kept his portion of his offering and now set It before his guests. Some with adequate knowledge had no scruples about it; others with less knowledge thought it sinful. The one who has knowledge should bear with the weak one, and at the same time should seek to teach his brother the truth so as to set him free from bondage of superstition. The glory of God should control in all things. I. "All Things Are Lawful for Me" (v. 23). , 0 This declaration is limited, of course, by things which are right in themselves. It is not true that a Christian Is free to do those things which are wrong. The Christian can only indulge in "lawful things" as they are expedient and unto edification. As Individual Christians we have liberty to do many things which because of their Influence on our fellow Christians we should abstain from. Certain amusements may be lawful to indulge in, but such Indul - AL. gence may lnnuence otners in wi*> wrong way and result In their ruin. Even with one's self that which Is not edifying should be ruled out. II. "Let No Man Seek Hla Own" (v. 24). The Christian is under the control of love. The controlling principle of love is unselfishness. The one dominated by love considers the other's interests rather than his own. One has a perfect right to arise at midnight and play the piano, but if he lives In an apartment, or even In a house in town. It Is wrong to do so, for he would disturb his neighbor. . III. "Eat the Food Set Before You" (vv. 25-30). It is not Incumbent upon us to be on the hunt for occasions of the conscience either of ourselves or others. Exercise your freedom in the enjoyment of all right things which the Lord places before you, but as soon as it Is brought to your attention that certain things are to the disadvantage of others, you should desist; that Is. exercise self-control. IV. "Do All to the Glory of God" (v. 31). This is the grand and supreme rule of life for the Christian. The Christian is not at liberty to do that upon which he could not ask the blessing of God. In all our concerns nere ueiuw we should have God's glory before us constantly. In our eating, employments and pleasures, we should have as our transcendent aim God's glory. How could one ask God's blessing upon the Intoxicating cup, dancing, gambling, theatergoing, Sunday* desecration. luxurious extravagance, etc? V. "Give No Occasion for Anyone to Stumble" (v. 32). We should so live that no one can ever say that we have been the occasion of their downfall. VI. Follow the Example of Jesus Christ (11:1). Christ through love gave up all for the sake of others. He did not please himself. Everyone, therefore, who Is. a Christian should Imitate Him. VII. The Christian's Body Is the Temnle of the Holy Ghost (3:16, 17). This great truth Is true of the Church as a body, but that which is true of the body is true of the individual composing the body; so the point in this Scripture Is the serious consequence of defiling the body. The Lesson of the Lily. To the thoughtful mind, the lilyblossom is a wicket In the great unseen portal of death, through which we may obtain bright glimpses of what is beyond. It opens in all its snowy purity and exquisite grace from the dry, withered sheaf, as the transfigured immortal life bursts from the temporary imprisonment of death. And if the death of the plant should thus mossmii imu uuuicuuii Ui beauty, what Infinite possibilities better than our brightest hopes are held by that darkness which hounds our vision here! He who raises up the lilies every summer, each from Its own root In the mould, will not leave our life in the dust.?Hugh Macmlllan.